Read Thread of Hope (The Joe Tyler Series, #1) for Free Online Page B

catch him before practice was the day he was arrested.”  He paused.  “And that is all I am going to say about Ms. Jordan.”
     
    Without saying as much, Stricker was telling me that he suspected something was going on.  That bothered me a great deal because in the short time I’d been speaking to him, Robert Stricker didn’t strike me as a guy who had any sort of agenda other than watching over his athletic program.  Even if nothing inappropriate was going on between Meredith and Chuck, the fact that someone else noticed that they were spending time together was not a good thing.
     
    “Did Jordan say how he knew Chuck?” I asked.
     
    Stricker started to say something, then stopped and let his eyes wander over my shoulder again.  I turned around to see what he was looking at. 
     
    Two men, dressed casually in button-down shirts and khaki pants, were heading toward the office.
     
    “Your ride’s here,” Stricker said.
     
    I turned back to him.  “My ride?”
     
    “You better hope it’s just a ride,” Stricker said, standing up.  “Just be straight with him, tell him what you’re doing.  He’s an intimidating guy, but honesty goes a long way with him.”
     
    “Him meaning Jordan?” I asked.
     
    Stricker nodded.
     
    “Thought you said you didn’t know him that well.”
     
    “I know him enough,” Stricker said.
     
    “Enough to call him before you came down the hall to meet me?” I asked.
     
    He didn’t respond, just let his expression frost over.  I should’ve known it was too easy to get in to see him.
     
    “I’ll bet it’s a long way from calling signals on an NFL defense to taking orders from a rich guy,” I said.
     
    Anger melted the icy expression, but he stayed quiet. 
     
    There was a knock on the office door and Stricker told them to come in.  Both were younger than me, late twenties, good shape.  Both nice-looking, smiled like they meant it. 
     
    The one on the right held up a hand at Stricker.  “Hey, Mr. Stricker.  Nice to see you.”
     
    Stricker didn’t smile.  “Yeah.”
     
    The guy looked at me.  “Mr. Tyler.  My name is James Hanley.  This is Trevor Boyle.  We work for Jon Jordan.”
     
    Trevor nodded politely at me.  They reminded me of those Mormon kids you see bicycling down the streets in your neighborhood.  All friendly and wanting to help out in any way they could.
     
    “Mr. Jordan was sorry not to have met with you last night.  He’s wondering if you’d join him for an early lunch,” James said.  “We’d be happy to escort you to meet him.”
     
    The request was pleasant.  Nothing sinister behind it.  But it didn’t leave much room for rejection.  And I’d shown up at his house the previous night to talk to him anyway.  No use wasting any more time.
     
    I looked at Stricker.  “Thanks for your time.”
     
    Stricker nodded, but watched Hanley and Boyle.  “You’re welcome.  Good luck.”
     

TWELVE
     
     
     
     
     
    It was not an ominous car ride out of a movie scene.  They suggested I follow them in my rental.  No threats, no warnings.  Hanley just gave me directions and said they’d go slowly so I could follow.
     
    Polite coercion, I suppose.
     
    We took the bridge off the island and up the 163 north, cutting through the steep canyons that housed Balboa Park and the zoo.  After snaking through the heavy traffic in Mission Valley, we took the 805 into Sorrento Valley, angling back toward the coast. I followed them off the freeway into the parking lot of one of the hundreds of identical looking office parks in San Diego’s own miniature Silicon Valley.
     
    I got out of the car and approached Hanley and Boyle.  “Where are we?”
     
    Hanley smiled, happy to be of service.  “These are the offices of Jordan Enterprises.”
     
    “Which is?”
     
    “Real estate development, mainly,” Hanley said.  “Mr. Jordan develops corporate properties like hotels and office buildings.”  He tossed a