FBI Agent Jade Monroe: Live or Die 02-Blood Trail
Page 1
Blood Trail
by
C. M. Sutter
Copyright © 2021
All Rights Reserved
AUTHOR’S NOTE
This book is a work of fiction by C. M. Sutter. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used solely for entertainment. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
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ABOUT THE AUTHOR
C. M. Sutter is a crime fiction writer who resides in Florida, although she is originally from California.
She is a member of over fifty writing groups and book clubs. In addition to writing, she enjoys spending time with her family and dog, and you’ll often find her writing in airports and on planes as she flies from state to state on family visits.
She is an art enthusiast and loves to create gourd birdhouses, pebble art, and handmade soaps. Gardening, bicycling, fishing, and traveling are a few of her favorite pastimes.
C. M. Sutter
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Blood Trail
FBI Agent Jade Monroe - Live or Die Series, Book 2
Recently released prisoners, Gary Rhodes and Leon Brady, need a new enterprise to keep them in cash. The thriving human trafficking business seems like an easy gig—snatch and grab unsuspecting teenage girls with the help of their own girlfriends, Claire Usher and Hope Daniels. Because the two spoiled rich girls are easily bored, risks are taken, and mistakes begin to happen.
FBI agents Jade Monroe and her partner, Lorenzo DeLeon, along with two other seasoned agents are tasked to South Dakota and Wyoming, where a handful of girls have been snatched without a trace or a single witness.
As days pass and the FBI closes in on the culprits, the kidnappers panic and victims begin to die. With only one girl left to deliver and the FBI hot on the kidnappers trail, a harrowing chase ensues through Colorado’s backcountry. The FBI needs to stop them before the last girl dies or possibly disappears forever.
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Table of Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
Chapter 1
My frustration was mounting. I pounded the steering wheel and checked the time on the dash. I was going to be late for work—I had no doubt—and it certainly wasn’t the first time. Twice before, in as many months, I’d arrived late to our St. Francis headquarters.
“Damn traffic jam!”
As I closed in on the bottleneck, I saw flashing red and blues—it was an accident and a bad one. The chances of someone texting while driving were high since the roads were clear and it was a sunny September day. There was no reason for that four-car pileup other than negligence.
I pressed Renz’s name on my infotainment center, and the phone rang on his end.
“Good morning, Agent Monroe.”
“Morning, Mr. Sunshine. How is it fair that you have a fourteen-minute drive to work and mine is an hour?”
“What exactly are you asking? Are you trying to justify the reason you aren’t here yet and I’m walking into our office as we speak?”
“I guess. There’s a crash on I-43 south, and the traffic is at a standstill. I’ll be passing it any second, but it’s pushed me back a solid fifteen minutes. I’m sorry, Renz.”
“Don’t tell me. Tell Taft. She’s your boss.”
“I’ll have to start leaving my house even earlier since nobody can predict accidents.”
“Nope, you sure can’t. So now what?”
“Now I walk in late and apologize to everyone for disrupting the morning update meeting after it’s already started.”
“I’ll let Taft know you’ll be a few minutes late. I can always bring you up to speed on whatever you miss.”
“Thanks, partner.” I tapped the screen and ended the call. With my blinker on, I squeezed into the bottleneck, which had diminished from a four-lane freeway into a one-lane path. I fell in line with the cars trying to make their way around the bumpers and broken glass on the road. As the highway widened again, I gunned my Mustang—I needed to make up time.
The guard lifted the gate and waved me through once I arrived at our headquarters along the shores of Lake Michigan. I parked in my assigned spot, crossed the asphalt to our back door, scanned my ID badge, and stared into the retinal reader, then after that door opened, I still had to enter my PIN on the next secured door. I powered through those steps in a matter of seconds then rode the elevator to the third floor, where our offices were located.
After dropping off my purse and briefcase, I sucked in a calming breath, grabbed a pen and notepad from my desk, and headed to the conference room. I was sure I would get the stink eye from Taft, and I deserved it. I had to do better.
I knocked and entered. To my surprise and relief, five people were in attendance. I would only be humiliated by half our staff.
“Jade, nice of you to join us.” Taft tipped her wrist. “It’s twenty after eight.”
“I’m so sorry, Maureen. There was a pileup on the freeway. I’ll make sure to leave the house even earlier going forward.”
She gave me a curt nod and continued with the meeting as I took my seat.
“As I was explaining to the rest of the team, Tommy and Fay left for Casper, Wyoming, yesterday morning. Word from the local police, who reached out to us, is that two friends, Gary Lee Rhodes and Leon Brady, former prisoners at the state penitentiary in Rawlins, Wyoming, may be up to no good again. They each have a laundry list of offenses, but both served their full sentences—five years—for
statutory rape and were released back into society last month. Gary still lives in Wyoming, and Leon moved to South Dakota, yet we were told that they’ve recently been seen together.”
“Where were they originally from?” I asked.
“They grew up in Gillette, Wyoming, as neighborhood friends. Both men were nineteen by the time they began their sentences, and both are twenty-four now, pushing twenty-five. Back then, anything they got into was because Gary put the bug in Leon’s ear. According to this police report, he has always been the instigator in their hijinks, except a good number of those hijinks were illegal. The underaged girls were also from Gillette, and even though they were sixteen at the time, they dressed and acted like they were twenty-one.”
I huffed. “As if twenty-one is even old enough to think logically. Their brains aren’t fully developed until they’re twenty-five.”
Maureen agreed. “True enough.” She ran her finger down the report. “They lived within a few blocks of each other and hung out at the same community park where all the high schoolers and older kids went, so they were well acquainted.”
I went on with my questions. “Is Gillette a small town?”
“Not particularly,” Renz said. “About the same size as Houma, Louisiana.”
I remembered Houma well from a case we worked several months back. “So, if the guys served their time and were released, then what raised a red flag? Are they under suspicion of something else?”
“According to the Gillette police chief, it’s a long story. Both girls involved in their initial sentence come from affluent families, and both were horribly spoiled—given everything they wanted—and still are, by the sound of it. The parents were the ones who pushed for the maximum sentence for Gary and Leon, and with their local connections, it got passed through. In Wyoming, the legal age of consent is seventeen, and anyone over the age of eighteen who has sex with a sixteen-year-old, is committing statutory rape, even if the sixteen-year-old consented. The parents believe the girls could very well be with Gary and Leon. The police chief said the parents have been a thorn in his side since the men were released from prison, but because the girls are now legal adults, there isn’t much the parents can do.”
“But they still want to control their daughters?”
Renz looked my way. “That seems to sum it up.”
SSA Kyle Moore took over. “The police chief has known both Gary and Leon their entire lives and said anything is possible with those two, especially if they put their minds together and act as a team.”
I waited for further details.
Maureen continued. “Supposedly, the girls have disappeared. They’re both twenty-one, but according to the parents, neither girl mentioned leaving town. They’ve just up and vanished, and they don’t respond to phone calls or text messages. Because the credit cards used by the girls actually belong to the parents, they were able to see where they were used. Hope Daniels’s card was used to buy diesel fuel at a truck stop in Schaeferville, South Dakota, just three days ago, and on that same date, Claire Usher was spotted at the counter in a truck stop along I-25 in Glenrock, Wyoming. She paid for snacks and thirty gallons of diesel fuel. The problem is, both girls own cars that take regular gas, and neither vehicle has a thirty-gallon gas tank. Law enforcement agencies in both areas, at the request of the Buffalo Police Department, checked video footage from those truck stops, and neither vehicle owned by the girls showed up at any pumps or parking spots. What did show up in both locations at the pumps on record were two similar white cube trucks without any identifiable features.”
I held up my hand. “Wait a minute. Where is Buffalo, and why is that town in play?”
Kyle responded by saying the girls had recently moved to Buffalo, where they rented a lower duplex together.
I wrote that down.
Renz took the reins. “Like I said before, the parents are concerned that the girls are with Gary and Leon.”
“So?”
He continued. “They believe it’s by force.”
I pulled back. “How can that be, when Claire Usher went inside alone to pay for the fuel and snacks? She easily could have asked somebody to call the police on her behalf.”
“That’s true,” Maureen said. “On the other hand, Hope swiped her credit card at the pump, so we don’t actually have footage of her being alone inside the truck stop she was at.”
“What about the drivers? Did they ever get out of the vehicles, or were the girls there by themselves?”
Kyle answered. “Both girls climbed into the passenger seats before the trucks drove out of camera view, so no, they weren’t alone, but we couldn’t see either driver or the plate numbers on the vehicles.”
I rubbed my chin. “But back to my initial question—so what? Maybe it’s just sour grapes on the parents’ part. They don’t want to admit, if it’s the case, that their daughters actually like Gary and Leon and want to hang out with them. Do we have a reason to think something illegal is going on? I assume the men can’t go far since they have to meet with their parole officers every so often, right?”
Maureen continued. “That’s correct, but their offenses weren’t nearly as serious as someone who lands in federal prison for a capital crime. They may only have to meet their parole officers once a month or even less.”
“But can they legally leave their state of residence without notifying their parole officers?”
Maureen tapped her fingers on the report. “I’d have to find out about that. Every state’s requirements are different depending on the offense. Still, the local police think there’s cause to worry, and that’s why I’ve sent Tommy and Fay to Casper ahead of you and Lorenzo.”
“We’re going to Casper too?”
“No, actually you two are going to Rapid City, and here’s why. Apparently, Hope and Claire aren’t the only ones who have gone missing since the release of both men. Interstate 25 goes from Las Cruces, New Mexico, north through Casper to Buffalo, Wyoming, where it ends. Interstate 90 goes from Seattle to Boston but also intersects in Buffalo as well as Rapid City, South Dakota.”
I raised my right brow. “So Gary lives in Casper. Leon lives in Rapid City, and two major interstates go through those cities and meet in Buffalo, where the girls who did live in Gillette just rented a duplex together? That’s either quite the coincidence or a well-planned idea, but for what purpose?”
“We don’t know yet,” Maureen said, “but teenage girls who live in small towns along both interstates between Casper and Rapid City are starting to disappear.”
“Hmm… but why does law enforcement think Gary and Leon are involved? I assume the interstates passed through those towns long before the guys were released from prison.”
Maureen chuckled. “Well, that is true, but the guys had no particular reason to choose to live in the cities they did. They don’t have family there, and the same holds true for the girls moving to Buffalo.”
Renz spoke up. “There must be a reason they all wanted to distance themselves from family. Gillette to Casper is around a two-hour drive, the same distance from Gillette to Rapid City. The girls live the nearest to their hometown, with Gillette being an hour drive from Buffalo.”
I raised a curious brow. “But still a world away from their parents, if that was their intention.”
Maureen continued. “I agree. Checking further, the police said that neither Gary nor Leon were home on the dates the girls were spotted at truck stops. Police stopped at both residences, banged on the doors numerous times, and nobody ever answered or was seen coming or going. They don’t have a legal reason to question the men, and I wasn’t told what excuse they intended to use for being there, but three days went by before the guys returned home. Gary was seen taking out his trash a few days ago. How they traveled isn’t known, since neither of them have a car registered in their name. As of yet, the girls are still a no-show in Buffalo, but that in itself isn’t a crime.”
“Uh-huh.” I took notes as Maureen spoke. “W
hat type of homes do Gary and Leon live in?”
Renz answered. “Gary lives in a dumpy apartment on the southern outskirts of Casper, and Leon is renting an equally dumpy studio apartment on the north side of Rapid City, but neither left prison with more than two hundred dollars on their person.”
I was still confused. “So somebody is funding their living expenses?”
“It appears that way since they don’t have jobs yet,” Kyle said.
“Obviously, we have no witness accounts of Gary and Leon abducting people. They’d be back in prison for life and we wouldn’t be having this discussion if that were the case.”
“Unfortunately, that’s true, Jade,” Maureen said.
“So, what is local law enforcement doing in the individual towns where the teenagers have gone missing?”
Maureen passed a copy of the most recent police report filed by the Buffalo Police Department across the table to me. “The usual. Looking at street cams, interviewing neighbors, talking to friends and family, and asking about school interactions with bullies and the like. We’re tracking Claire and Hope’s credit card transactions, but so far nothing has come up at all for box truck rentals or given us an indication that either girl is supporting Gary or Leon.”
I glanced at the sheet. “Why did the Buffalo Police Department only make the move to contact the FBI?”
“The case was passed to us because the abductions, all in a relatively short time frame, came from neighboring states,” Maureen said. “We’re assuming the abductions are all connected and the people who are committing those abductions are crossing state lines. Four of the teens are from Wyoming, and two from South Dakota. In all honesty, I’d say the push for our involvement came because Claire and Hope live together in Buffalo, and even though they’re of legal age to come and go as they please, it’s their parents making all the noise.”