Snapped: An Agent Jade Monroe FBI Thriller Book 1

by Sutter, C. M.

  His cell phone sat only a foot away on the nightstand, and she grabbed it to check the time—five o’clock. He’d be waking up soon. With everything in place, Jordan made a cup of instant coffee for herself, returned to the bedroom, and waited.

  Ten minutes later, he began to stir and gradually woke up. His heavy lids finally opened fully. She could tell by his initial expression of confusion, which quickly turned to terror, that the reality of his predicament was sinking in. His eyes darted across the room until they stopped on her.

  “Who the hell are you and why are you in my bedroom?” Fear elevated and tightened his voice.

  Mark Fellenz woke to find his arms tied to the headboard and his legs weighed down with cinder blocks. He looked from side to side then down at his legs. His panicked expression amused Jordan. He couldn’t move, let alone get to his phone to call for help.

  She sat on a chair two feet from Mark’s face. A single unused cinder block remained on the floor beside her.

  “You don’t know me, do you, Mark? I don’t look the least bit familiar to you, do I?”

  “No, you psycho bitch, so get out of my house.” He wrenched at the ropes and tried to loosen them. The headboard rattled against the wall. “How did—” He grimaced in pain. “What the hell is going on? Why do I hurt?”

  “We’ll get to that in a bit. How did I know where you live, or how did I tie you up? Use your words, Mark.”

  “Both.” He sucked in a deep breath as his panic increased.

  Jordan leaned back in the chair and picked up the cup of coffee that sat on the night table. The man did a double take.

  “Yes, I’ve gotten comfortable since I’ve been here. That drug takes a while to wear off.” She pushed up her sleeve and looked at her watch. “I’ve been here nearly two hours.”

  “You drugged me? With what? Why are you wearing gloves?”

  “Don’t worry about it. That’s the least of your problems. What’s your job title, Mark?”

  “What? My job title?”

  “Did I stutter?” Jordan stood and slapped him across the face, bloodying his lip.

  He licked the droplet of blood. “You stupid bitch”—he writhed harder but to no avail—“wait until I get out of these restraints.”

  “Therein lies the problem, Mark. You’ll be dead before you ever get those ropes loose enough to do anything to me. I’ll make sure of that.” She cocked her head and smiled. “Look at me. Granted, we’re about the same size, but don’t forget you were drugged. I’d clearly have the advantage. Now, back to my question, and I’m only asking one more time. What’s your job title?”

  “I mix cement, so I guess that makes me a cement mixer.”

  “Correct answer, and that also makes you responsible.” She yanked the blankets back to reveal the work she had done while he was unconscious.

  The sheet under the blanket stuck to him and pulled at his chest hair. He yelled in pain. She pulled it back farther, revealing the dried blood. Mark tipped his head down and looked at his chest. Horror took over his face.

  “What did you do? Why is my chest bloody?”

  “I thought it made a good palette, but the carving is actually on your stomach. Blood transfer, I guess.”

  “Carving?” He grimaced again and began to hyperventilate.

  “Here, take a look. I found a hand mirror in your bathroom.” Jordan held the mirror above Mark’s midsection. “I know the words are backward from your view, but it says murderer.”

  “I’ve never killed anyone in my life!”

  “Yes you have, maybe indirectly, but your hands are as bloody as the rest of them. It’s time to pay the piper, and that would be me. Nobody is coming to look for you, either, just so you know. I’ve already texted your employer that you’ve come down with the flu. You’ll be spending the day in bed”—she chuckled—“which actually is true. My question for you is, would you rather die quickly or slowly?”

  He stared at her, his eyes clouded with fear. Either answer would ensure his demise. “Slowly?”

  “Nah, that’s too boring. I like fast and violent. It’s time to live in the same hell I do every day.”

  Jordan reached down and picked up the final cinder block. With a hard and violent thrust, she caved in Mark’s forehead. Blood gushed, and his eyes rolled back. She watched him twitch a few times, then his body went limp. Jordan prodded and poked at him, but he didn’t move. As a final measure, she removed the hatchet from her backpack, and with a thrust back, then forward, she hacked through both wrists that were tied to the bedposts. Mark’s dismembered hands fell to the bed on either side of him.

  “There, now your hands truly are bloody.”

  Jordan crossed the room and entered the master bath. Inside, she took off her socks, rolled up her pant legs, and stepped into the shower. She slipped off the vinyl apron, washed it thoroughly with the shower hose, and wrapped that, along with the washed hatchet and gloves, in a plastic bag. She stepped out onto the bath rug, put her socks on, and slipped on a clean pair of gloves. With her shoes back on, she closed the spare bedroom window and left through the garage. She had just enough time to get in the van and make a quiet exit before the neighborhood began buzzing with people leaving for work.

  Once home, Jordan put away her supplies and crawled back into bed.

  Her ringing cell phone woke her at seven o’clock. Jordan checked the screen—Jeanie was calling.

  “Hello.”

  “Did I wake you? You sound sleepy. I’ve texted you twice already, but you didn’t respond.”

  “I couldn’t sleep last night, so I stayed up and worked on my to-do list. I guess I dozed off again.”

  “Do you want to go to the mall with me later? I have the shopping bug, then we can stop for lunch afterward.”

  “I have too much to do today. I need to whittle away at my list. I’m making progress, though. I’ve crossed the halfway point.”

  “Do you need help with anything?”

  “Hardly. I’ll talk to you later.”

  “It’s been a while, Jordan. I miss you. Are you all right?”

  “I’m fine. Bye.” Jordan hung up and propped the pillows against the headboard. She enjoyed going back to that dark place where she relived each ambush and kill. It made her eager to complete the next job.

  Chapter 14

  I read the comments and funny anecdotes from Jack and Amber as I rode the elevator down to the banquet room where I was meeting J.T. for a continental breakfast. I chuckled at their early morning humor and tapped off several quick responses. Those two meant the world to me. I had just enough time to check the FBI’s Ten Most Wanted list when the elevator stopped at the second floor. With my thumb and index finger, I expanded the screen. The photo of Max Sims’s face stared at me. His hollow eyes were filled with hatred. Someday, the words CAPTURED or DECEASED in bright red text would cover his photo. I hoped for the latter, and I wanted to be the person standing over him when he drew his last breath. I pocketed my phone and exited the elevator when the doors parted on the first floor.

  “Hey, partner,” J.T. said when he saw me enter the banquet room. “How’d you sleep?”

  He was so much like Jack that I had to watch myself so I wouldn’t accidentally call him by the wrong name.

  “I must have slept pretty good considering I don’t remember my head hitting the pillow. Now I’m raring to go.” I checked the breakfast menu on the chalkboard behind the counter. “I’m having scrambled eggs and bacon. How about you?” I stood and grabbed a tray.

  “I’m not much of a breakfast guy. A bagel and coffee is all I need.”

  “Suit yourself. My sister is the cook at home, and she spoils me rotten. Who does the cooking at your house?”

  “Julie, of course, but she has it relatively easy since I’m gone a lot.”

  “Want a refill?” I held up a coffee mug.

  “Yeah, thanks.”

  I set down my tray and took a seat. “How long do out-of-state cases usually take?�
�

  “There’s no normal. Sometimes I’m gone a week, but usually it’s a bit less.”

  “Good to know.” I picked up a strip of bacon and popped it into my mouth. “How can you pass this up? Bacon is like manna from heaven.”

  J.T. laughed.

  We were in the conference room by seven fifty, each with a cup of coffee in hand. Dave Miller and Bruce Starks walked in right behind us. We found the same seats we had yesterday, took out our folders and notepads, and waited for Michelle Tam. The sound of heels clacking against the tile hallway told us she was likely the person getting closer to the conference room. Agent Tam entered, gave us a short, to-the-point greeting, and began.

  “We have another victim found less than an hour ago. Strangely enough, the MO has changed slightly. This man, Mark Fellenz, was viciously attacked in his home while he was still in bed. According to the county ME, he’s been dead for less than two hours. A neighbor leaving for work noticed his car parked in the driveway and the overhead garage door open. According to the neighbor, Mark was naturally cautious and would never forget to close the garage door. After getting no response through phone calls and knocking, the neighbor contacted the police. They opened up the house and discovered his mutilated body.”

  Dave Miller spoke up. “So it seems the killer is available any time of day or night.”

  We nodded and jotted down that tidbit.

  J.T. asked if there was evidence of stun gun burns on the body or any form of cement at the scene.

  Agent Tam sighed. “Yes to both questions. Multiple cinder blocks were found. The victim had stun gun burns on his neck, his hands were dismembered, and the word ‘murderer’ was etched into his midsection.”

  “So this was a revenge killing. Maybe they all were, but revenge for whom?” I asked.

  “That’s something we need to work on. The ME and forensic team are on-site, so I want all of you there right now. Leave no stone unturned, people. I want this killer found yesterday. Take a van from the lot and be back here for a follow-up meeting after lunch. The address has been sent to your phones.”

  We left together, and Dave Miller got behind the wheel for the twenty-minute drive. Bruce grabbed the passenger seat. J.T. and I sat in the center row and made bullet point notes for the afternoon meeting.

  Dave slowed near the police car that blocked Montbark Street. He lowered the window and flashed his badge. The officer peeked in the window, saw all of us wearing FBI-issued windbreakers, and then waved us through. The Houston metro forensic van and coroner’s van sat at the curb. Police squad cars blocked through traffic and diverted neighborhood cars onto a different street, and yellow police tape wrapped the perimeter of the yard. Dave parked across the street, and we exited the van. Several officers milled about and checked the shrubbery and detached shed for anything that seemed out of place. I approached one of the officers and extended my hand. He introduced himself as Lee.

  “Have your guys found anything outside yet, Lee?”

  “No, ma’am, everything appears normal.”

  “No signs of forced entry?”

  “It doesn’t appear so.”

  I raised my brow with concern. “You’ll let me know if something seems unusual to you, right?”

  “I certainly will, ma’am.”

  “Thanks.” I walked away and jotted that information down in my notepad. I returned to the front of the house, where J.T. waited.

  “Where’d you disappear to?” he asked.

  “I was making nice with the local boys. It’s the easiest way to get information without stepping on toes.”

  “Good work. Are you ready to go inside?”

  “As ready as I’ll ever be.”

  Quarters were cramped inside the two-bedroom, one-bath bungalow. Two officers, the forensic team, and the ME filled the bedroom. There was no chance of getting up close and personal with the victim yet. We turned in the hallway and spread out to other rooms. Nothing in the house appeared disturbed or missing. I peered into the bathroom and noticed an obvious set of footprint indentations in the bath rug. I knelt down and felt the rug with the back of my gloved hand. It was damp. Droplets of water still coated the inside of the tub. I walked out and closed the door behind me.

  “Has anyone gone into the bathroom?”

  Several officers answered that they had peeked in but hadn’t entered. They explained that the forensic team would have to be the ones to go over any potential evidence. Nobody was allowed to disturb the scene.

  I smirked. “Yeah, I took Police Protocol 101 too, thanks.”

  J.T. whispered, “No need to get testy.”

  I cocked my head. “Come on, seriously? I need to take a picture of that bath rug, though. There are imprints of bare feet. If the ME inks a footprint of the vic for us, we could at least compare the footprint size. The rug is still damp, J.T. We need to keep everyone out of there until forensics is finished in the bedroom. If someone other than the deceased was in the shower, there could be forensic evidence in the tub or sink trap too.”

  “I’ll get someone to keep an eye on the door.” J.T. walked away to get an officer while I continued through the house.

  I opened the second bedroom door. The stark space held two mismatched chairs and a row of boxes that lined the right wall. The absence of a bed told me that room wasn’t used as a guest room but more of a catchall for unused junk. I pulled out my cell phone. The forensic team was preoccupied, anyway. As long as I looked without touching anything, I was certain I would find something useful waiting to be discovered.

  I flipped on the light switch and did an initial left-to-right once-over of the room before I stepped in. I took a picture from the doorway then entered. Nothing lay on the hardwood floor to block my path. My shoes were covered with blue booties, and I walked the room slowly and deliberately. A layer of dust covered the boxes that were propped against the wall. By the way things looked, nobody had touched them for some time. I snapped several pictures and moved on. A singular window across the room caught my eye. The window, devoid of a shade or curtain, was another reminder that the room hadn’t been used for anything other than storage. I went to the window and looked out. Beyond the small backyard stood several large boulders standing side by side, leading into the woods.

  With a few taps on my phone, I pulled up a satellite view of the address. A park filled several hundred acres of land behind the row of homes on that street. Trails crisscrossed throughout the park and led in dozens of directions. One interesting trail ran parallel to all of the backyards and emptied onto the street a few blocks away. I wrote that in my notepad. I glanced down and thought about this room possibly being the intruder’s point of entry. I stared at the sill and realized it was dust free. That fact made no sense unless the window had been recently opened. The distance from the window’s base to the ground below was a mere four feet—most anyone could manage that. The missing window screen would have made climbing in a piece of cake. I took a picture of the sill and another through the glass out to the woods. I left the room and closed the door.

  I found J.T. checking out the kitchen. “Hey, partner, I’m going to walk the outside perimeter.”

  “Smell something?”

  “Maybe. Want to join me?”

  “Sure. The house has been gone over, anyway.”

  I whispered as we exited the front door, “I hate to say it, but the patrol cops are only here to keep the looky-loos at bay. They aren’t thinking like a perp and have no idea what to search for. Come around to the back of the house. I want to check something out.”

  J.T. followed me around the corner. Several officers searched the shed as we passed by.

  “Okay, I want to check near that window.” I pointed at the only window other than the patio door that faced the backyard. “Make sure you don’t step on anything.”

  “Meaning?”

  “Meaning the perp’s footprints. The room beyond the window is a spare bedroom that doesn’t get used. Boxes stacked against t
he wall were covered in dust, yet the windowsill didn’t have one speck of dust on it. There isn’t a screen covering the window, either. I don’t want to touch anything yet, but I bet anybody can push that window up and down with their fingertips.”

  “So, that could be the point of entry. Something ought to look disturbed if that’s the case.”

  I grinned. “Now you’ve got the idea. Look at that woods back there.” I pointed and scanned left to right. “I pulled up a satellite view earlier. There’s a couple-hundred-acre park behind these houses with plenty of trails.”

  J.T. nodded. “Easy access and nobody would have noticed a thing in the dark.”

  “You got it, partner.”

  A low row of bushes was situated beneath the window, making it more difficult for evidence to be noticed—unless one knew what to look for. J.T. and I carefully pushed the shrubbery away from the wall and saw scuff marks under the window.

  “I need to take a picture of that,” I said to J.T. as he held the shrubs to the side. I clicked off three pictures.

  “Those are definitely from shoes. You can faintly make out the tread pattern even though they’re just from the instep up to the toes.”

  I raised my brows in agreement then leaned in closer and clicked off a few more shots. “That’s definitely toe pressure from climbing in. That means they grasped the inside of the sill with their fingers to pull themselves through. What do you think the chances are of finding prints?”

  J.T. smirked. “I’d say close to zero. The perp was likely smart enough to be gloved. Check the ground for shoe prints.”