Everyone nodded as if Dave Spencer was an impressive name in the FBI.
“For the last year, Jade’s been a sergeant at the Washburn County Sheriff’s Department, and the four years prior, she was a detective there.” He pointed at each person and told me their names. “To our far left is Cam Jenkins. Next is Valerie Moore, but we call her Val. The handsome dude to her left is J.T. Harper.” J.T. waved and shot a heart-stopping grin my way. “And last but not least is Maria Delgado, our most recent recruit from two months back. Maria, you can give Jade the short version of how much you regret joining our team.”
The room erupted with laughter. I knew I would fit in perfectly.
Spelling checked the time. “Okay, people, you have thirty minutes to get acquainted, and then I’ll be back. I have to assign the person that would be the best fit as a partner for Jade. Go ahead and get to know each other.”
Agent Spelling walked out and closed the door at his back. I was on my own, and I knew I was quickly being sized up. Now was my time to be aggressive, witty, and charming. I’d put my best foot forward and win these four people over as amicable coworkers and future great friends.
“Come on over. Let’s sit at the table.” J.T. led the way, and we all followed. “Okay, you have the floor, Jade.”
I felt my face flush and hoped it wasn’t obvious. Each of these people had been in my shoes at some point in their life. I quietly took a long breath and began. I reintroduced myself and gave a brief history of my law enforcement involvement in Washburn County. Cam asked why I had originally decided to become a law enforcement officer, and I told the group how my dad instilled those public servant qualities in me at an early age. He had worked in the sheriff’s department for thirty-five years.
“And is your dad still an active officer?” Val asked.
I didn’t want to tell the horrific story and certainly didn’t need a pity party. I only mentioned that he’d passed away four months ago, but until that time, he was active as the captain at the San Bernardino County Sheriff’s Department. J.T. raised his brows as if he were ready to ask a question, but I quickly continued on to say that my sister had just started as a deputy at the North Bend Sheriff’s Department and eventually wanted to become an FBI profiler.
“That’s a very ambitious career choice,” Cam said. “Sounds like law enforcement runs in your family.”
“It does, and I loved working at the sheriff’s department. I had a great group of colleagues that will remain close friends forever. Being locked within county borders does create a lot of challenges, though. I want to get the worst of the worst, no matter where they are, and serial criminals fit that description. That’s why I wanted to be a part of this team.”
“We’re glad you’re on board, Jade, and I think you’ll fit in great with us,” Maria said. “I started at this location two months ago but originally came from the Detroit area. I’m thirty-three, my last name is Delgado, and I live downtown with my grandma. Being the newest member of the group, I can tell you they’re all great people to work with. I’ve never regretted joining this team, no matter what the boss said. He was just giving you a line of bull.”
The rest chuckled.
“I’m Cameron Jenkins, but everyone calls me Cam.” He gave me a nod. “I’m the senior team member, other than Spelling, and have been with the FBI for nine years. I’m married to a great woman named Liza, we have an eight-year-old son, Kaden, and I live in Mequon.” Cam tipped his head to Val.
“I’m Valerie Moore, but Val is what I go by. I’m divorced, have a five-year-old son, Miles, live in a condo a mile away, and have been with the FBI for four years.”
“I guess I’ll take up the rear as usual,” J.T. said with a smirk. “I’m happily single.”
Cam booed him, and they all laughed.
“Hey, dude, you’re the minority here, other than Spelling. We’re all too smart to be married. Anyway, my christened name is John Thomas Harper, I’ve been with the FBI for six years, and I’m thirty-seven years old.”
Maria piped in. “You forgot to mention that you live in Whitefish Bay with your sister, Julie.”
He chuckled. “Yeah, yeah, and don’t forget her bulldog, Ralph.”
The door opened, and Agent Spelling walked through. “How’s it going? Has everyone introduced themselves?”
“Yes, and you all sound like a great group. My question is, do I address everyone by their first names, or do—”
J.T. spoke up. “I think I can speak for everyone in saying that here, at the office, we all go by our first names, other than Spelling. He goes by boss.”
Agent Spelling grinned and gave J.T. a nod to continue.
“Outside of this building, introductions are by Special Agent, or SA, and the person’s last name. Of course, Spelling would be SSA Spelling, as in Supervisory Special Agent Spelling.”
“Thanks, I think I’ve got a handle on it now,” I said.
“Okay, grab some coffee and take your seats again. Let’s get started. Jade, I’m going to have you shadow the team locally this week so you can see how we operate. First things first, though. I need to assign you a partner.”
I waited until everyone was seated. Earlier, we were casually scattered around the table, but now it was for business. I didn’t want to grab a place at the table that somebody had claimed long ago.
J.T. noticed and jerked his chin toward an open seat. “Smart lady we have here. Yeah, we’re set in our ways. Everyone has a seat, kind of like at the dinner table.”
“I assumed so, and I didn’t want to step on any toes my first day here.”
Spelling’s glance went from left to right. “Ready?”
I looked at each person and thought of who I would consider the best fit for me. I knew the decision wasn’t mine, and everyone seemed nice, but I was accustomed to having a male partner.
Spelling continued. “Okay, Val and Maria, you’re actively working the Adams homicide case from Lake Geneva, right?”
“That’s correct, boss, and it should be wrapped up in a few days,” Val said.
“No problem. So that leaves Cam and J.T., and I’m leaning toward J.T. simply because he doesn’t have any encumbrances.”
They all laughed, but I didn’t get the joke.
J.T. stood and leaned over the table with his hand outstretched toward me. I shook it because it was there. “Welcome to the team, partner.”
“We’re partners?”
He grinned. “Looks that way, since neither of us have encumbrances.”
Chapter 5
Jordan sat in the van, keeping her eyes peeled for any activity at the building’s front door. She had a perfect view of the 9-1-1 call center from across the parking lot. Beverly Grant’s shift was scheduled to end soon, and she would walk outside to her last evening on earth.
The plan was set, Jordan was prepared, and she had a few minutes to kill. Jerry Fosco popped into her mind as she waited. The box next to Jerry’s name on that yellow sheet of legal paper was already checked off. He was number two, and his death had been slow and agonizing, as they all would be, if time permitted.
Jordan began her seduction of Jerry Monday night at TaTas, a seedy strip club and bar on the worst side of town. She had a job to complete, no matter how disgusting it was, and had followed him there numerous times. She was well aware of his routine. Inside the darkened building, she sauntered to the bar and pulled up the stool next to him. She ordered a shot of Jim Beam for herself and one for him then laid it on thick and flirted shamelessly. Any egocentric man such as Jerry Fosco would feel flattered by a beautiful woman like Jordan. She fawned over him and gave him her full attention.
Eight shots, two beers, and a lot of innuendos got Jerry out into the evening chill, where the cold weather hit him quickly. His intoxication wasn’t only from the liquor but also from her whispered promises of things to come. He was ready and willing to leave and clearly had no idea what was about to happen. Jordan dug deep into his front pants pocket and
pulled out his car keys. With a double click of the key fob, she followed the sound of the short beep and saw the flashing lights across the bar’s parking lot. With the shorter Jerry slumped over her shoulder while the toes of his shoes scraped across the asphalt, she dragged him to the car and dropped him into the passenger seat. The hard zap of the stun gun on his neck silenced him for the time being.
She chuckled at those memories, but when the evening employees at the 9-1-1 call center caught her eye, she knew the time was close. Jordan needed to return her focus to Bev Grant. The workers entered the building, and the door closed behind them. Soon enough, the daytime operators would exit. Fond memories of Jerry would be shelved for the moment.
She had memorized Beverly Grant’s daily habits down to the last detail. After following her to and from work since Monday, back and forth to the kids’ soccer games, and the usual trips to the grocery store, Jordan was chomping at the bit. She had more names to check off her to-do list, and that incompetent 9-1-1 operator was number three. Beverly had approximately twenty-two minutes to live.
Jordan stared, her eyes unblinking and fixed on the green digital clock in the van as it counted out the minutes—5:58, 5:59. She held her breath—6:00. The time had come, and there was no turning back. She looked forward to it and welcomed it, just as she had with the other two before Beverly.
With the sleeve of her fleece jacket pulled down and balled up over her fist, she wiped away for the second time the fog that clung to the inside of the windshield. She took a long drag off her third cigarette and lowered the window a few inches more. Her focus returned to the front door, where the daytime emergency dispatch operators exited the call center. Jordan’s forehead creased with hatred when she saw her.
There you are, you murdering pig.
Beverly Grant stepped out of the building with her five coworkers and crossed the parking lot. They chatted up a storm, just as they had the previous days when Jordan followed that dispatch operator from work to her house. The predictable minute-by-minute schedule of her prey was something Jordan counted on, and so far, it had worked perfectly. Under the baseball cap and sunglasses she used as cover, she watched as Beverly reached her car and climbed in. The woman apparently had no idea what was coming.
Jordan lifted her glasses and brushed away the blur of tears as she sucked in a deep breath. She checked the time again and turned the key in the ignition. With her thumb and index finger, she flicked the cigarette butt out the window—the job at hand needed her full attention. A shiver of cold went up her spine that late October afternoon and circled her neck. With the button on the armrest pressed and the window closed, she pushed the shifter into Drive and lightly touched the gas pedal as the van coasted along the edge of the parking lot. Jordan pulled out onto the street, three car lengths behind Beverly’s Buick. They would drive four blocks through town, a half mile on the county highway, and then three final miles on country roads before Beverly would reach the safety of her home. Neither she nor her car would make it that far. What were now loose lug nuts on the back passenger wheel would turn far worse in about twelve minutes—Jordan had made sure of that.
The back tire began to wobble once Beverly picked up speed on that first country road. Jordan remained four car lengths back in case she had to swerve. Nobody else ever passed by at that time of evening, and they didn’t that evening, either. Dusk had settled in, and normal people—ones that weren’t murderers—had already taken their seats at the dinner table.
The wheel wobbled again, this time severely, throwing the car off kilter. Brake lights flashed, and Beverly pulled to the gravel shoulder.
Perfect. Here we go.
Jordan dropped the stun gun into her coat pocket, slipped on her gloves, and slid the van in behind Beverly’s car. Crunching gravel sounded when she slowed to a stop. She pressed the orange hazard button above the radio and killed the engine. She stepped out, slammed the door behind her, and looked both ways.
Nice and quiet.
Jordan called out to the stranded woman as she approached. “Hey, what seems to be the problem? Do you need help?”
Beverly stood at the back of her car and stared at the tilted rear wheel. Her hands firmly planted on her hips gave away her impatience and disgust. She turned toward Jordan in the dimming light and groaned.
“I was hoping you’d be a man. This damn tire is falling off my car, and I have to get home.” She headed to the passenger’s side door. “I need to call a tow truck right now.”
Jordan smirked—her mind had already gone to that dark place. “Hold on a minute. I’m not quite as incapable as you might think. My husband owns a garage and can fix anything. I’m sure he wouldn’t mind stopping out here on his way home. He’ll get you back on the road in no time.”
The woman stopped and turned around. “Really? Can you give him a call?”
“Sure, but first show me the problem so I can explain it to him.”
Jordan neared the irritated woman and glanced at the deep ditch only four feet to their backs. It would definitely come in handy.
“Can you point at the problem?”
“Well for God’s sake, can’t you see it?”
“Sorry, but it is getting close to dark.”
It took only a second when Beverly bent down with her finger extended and pointed at the lug nuts. Jordan already had a grip on the stun gun as she pulled it out of her pocket. She ground the electrodes into the back of Beverly’s neck and held it firmly against her skin. Sparks sizzled as the current ticked back and forth between the posts. Jordan turned her head and gritted her teeth with satisfaction.
“You stupid bitch, you deserve this pain and a lot more.” She kicked Beverly down into the ditch and watched her hit rocks and brush as she rolled. As much as Jordan wanted to enjoy the moment, there wasn’t time to spare, being on a public road. She rounded the Buick, opened the driver’s side door, and reached in. She clicked off the hazard lights Beverly had turned on, killed the engine, and locked the doors. With all her might, she launched the keys into the bushes on the opposite side of the road. Seconds later, she slid down the ditch where Beverly lay motionless—her adrenaline had already kicked in.
With each of Beverly’s wrists grasped tightly in her hands, Jordan heaved and grunted as she dragged the dead weight of the woman deeper into the cover of the brush. She ran back up the hill to the van. Moaning sounded behind her—she had only a few seconds before the woman would be fully awake and fighting back. With the back doors open, Jordan reached in and grabbed a thirty-pound cinder block then rolled it down the hill. She reached Beverly right as the woman regained consciousness.
Beverly groaned in pain and grabbed at the back of her neck as she tried to right herself. “What happened? Why am I lying on the ground in the weeds?”
“It’s where you belong, in the dirt. It’s called ‘getting what you deserve,’ and today is your turn. I’d love to prolong your suffering, but since it’s nearly dark and we’re in a public place, I don’t have the luxury of time. Brace yourself.”
Jordan’s large frame made lifting the block above her head a doable task—she stood over six feet tall and was as strong as most men. The cinder block crashed down on Beverly Grant’s skull with a sickening thud, and the deed was done. Jordan pressed the thumb release on her folding knife and, with a quick swipe, removed the woman’s tongue and stomped it into the dirt. With a satisfying glance back, she scampered up the hill, pulled off the bloody gloves, and turned them inside out. She shoved them into her coat pocket, climbed into the van, and sped away. A final check of the time told her the task was completed quickly and efficiently. Her wheels hit the blacktop at 6:20 p.m.
The drive to the storage facility didn’t take long, and once Jordan arrived she slid the card into the slot to raise the gate. She drove slowly through to her unit and swapped out the van for her car then continued home. She pulled into the driveway and safely tucked the car into the garage, killed the engine, and climbed out. She sucked
in a deep breath for composure and slapped at the wall switch. The overhead door lowered. Stale cigarette odors filled her nose as she passed through the laundry room and into the kitchen. Kent wouldn’t be too happy about that. With a twist of her wrist, she cranked open the window above the sink, turned the gas stovetop burner to a low setting, and glanced at the clock. The text she had received from Kent earlier said to expect him home around seven fifteen.
With the plastic container from the refrigerator and a wooden spoon in hand, Jordan quickly scraped the spaghetti and meatballs she had prepared in advance into a stainless steel saucepan and placed it on the burner. Kent would be walking through the door any second. She set the wooden cutting board on the island and began chopping head lettuce for a tossed salad. The front door opened minutes later.
Kent Taylor entered the kitchen and planted an absentminded kiss on his wife’s cheek.
“I’m beat. That was ten days from hell. I can’t even count the number of doctors that made me wait more than an hour for an appointment that was already set up in advance.”
“You make big money being a drug rep and have to expect tough weeks once in a while. I’m beat too, you know.”
The look of pity and disgust filled his eyes. Jordan wanted to slap the expression right off his face.
“Why would you be tired? You don’t do anything except mope around. That medication is supposed to improve your disposition and depression.”
Jordan’s skin warmed with red-hot anger. She felt it climb up her chest and neck. Pieces of lettuce fell to the floor as she chopped harder and faster. The knife was a flurry of movement and dangerously close to her fingertips as her face contorted with anger.
“Jordan! Put the damn knife down before you cut yourself.” He rubbed his forehead and stared. “Take your damn meds, for crissakes.”
“You’d be happy if I was a stoned zombie all the time, wouldn’t you? Then you could ignore me more than you already do.” She spat the hateful words at him. “The pills don’t help, anyway!”
Snapped: An Agent Jade Monroe FBI Thriller Book 1 Page 3