Intruders (A Jordan Quest FBI Thriller Book 1)
Page 1
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 55
CHAPTER 56
CHAPTER 57
CHAPTER 58
CHAPTER 59
CHAPTER 60
CHAPTER 61
CHAPTER 62
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ABOUT GARY WINSTON BROWN
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
COPYRIGHT & AUTHOR’S NOTE
INTRUDERS
JORDAN QUEST SERIES, BOOK 1
_________________
Gary Winston Brown
“Out of suffering have emerged the strongest souls;
the most massive characters are seared with scars.”
Khalil Gibran
CHAPTER 1
JORDAN QUEST wasn’t concerned. Skeptics came with the territory.
A renowned psychic medium and missing person’s consultant to police agencies around the world, Jordan looked out at the group of attendees, all members of the American Association of Police Chiefs. She considered her response to the question posed by the man in the white Stetson. It was one she had been asked dozens of times before, yet it never failed to elicit a small degree of anger within her: “With all due respect Ms. Quest, how can you expect us to take you seriously when what you do has absolutely no basis in science?”
The question brought with it an uncomfortable silence that fell hard over the auditorium. Jordan gripped the microphone. Fifteen hundred faces stared back and awaited her response. Why the hell did it always have to be so hard?
“I appreciate your question, Chief?”
“Ballantyne, ma’am. Wayne Ballantyne. Lubbock, Texas.”
“Thank you, Chief Ballantyne. I understand your skepticism. I do. If I were sitting in the audience right now I might be skeptical too. You’re correct. What I do has no basis in science. I don’t expect you or anyone else here tonight to believe in me or what I do. That would be an unrealistic expectation. All I can ask of any police agency that reaches out to me for help with their investigation is to agree to suspend their disbelief. If they’re not willing to do that, then I’m not interested in working with them. If that sounds harsh, I don’t care. I’m not concerned about bruising someone’s ego, nor do I see a need to prove myself to anyone. My interest is to bring closure to the family of the victim and help you solve your case. That’s it. My track record speaks for itself. I’ve been involved in over a thousand cases, both missing persons and unsolved homicides, since I was twelve years old. I’ve solved one-hundred percent of them. So, if that’s not good enough for you or anyone else here there’s only one recommendation I can make.”
“What’s that?” Ballantyne asked.
“Find yourself another girl.”
Jordan’s straightforward response to Chief Ballantyne’s challenging question met with a round of applause from the conventioneers. Jordan raised her hand, called for quiet. Ballantyne glared at her from behind the audience microphone stand. Jordan could tell he wasn’t done with her. It had not been her intention to embarrass him in front of his peers, nor had she. But the senior law enforcement officer’s body language told her he was not about to let his challenge to her abilities go without a rebuttal. She had to deal with Ballantyne quickly.
Before the Chief could speak Jordan directed her closing comments to the crowd.
“Ladies and gentlemen, Chief Ballantyne is right. There is no hard science to support or validate my abilities. Some of you may have seen me on television. Others may have read my books and know my story. But for the benefit of those who don’t let me explain. When I was twelve-years-old, I struck my head on the diving board of my family’s swimming pool. I was knocked unconscious and drowned. My parents were away on business at the time and I was under the care of our housekeeper, Marissa. I’d been underwater for about thirty minutes when Marissa discovered I was missing. She saw me on the bottom, dove in, pulled me out and called Emergency Services. They began CPR right away and rushed me to the hospital. I died twice while en route. To my knowledge, I’m the only person in history to have survived death-by-drowning for that length of time. The emergency room staff worked on me for thirty minutes. I remember the nurses wrapping me in warm blankets and being surrounded by strange visions and voices. That’s when I received brief glimpses into the lives of those entities. When I woke up on the gurney, I had been stabilized. My abilities became much stronger after that. There’s not a day that goes by that I don’t receive some sort of message or…”
Jordan paused, looked down at the stage, and abruptly disconnected from her conversation with the Chief.
“Ms. Quest…” Ballantyne asked, “are you all right?”
Murmurs rose from the audience.
Jordan didn’t reply. Onstage, the striking brunette appeared to be lost in thought.
The Chief took advantage of the moment. “I’m sure all of us can appreciate the horrific tragedy you endured as a child,” he said. “But as far as your claim of possessing supernatural gifts is concerned…”
Jordan looked up, cut him off mid-sentence. “Chief Ballantyne, who is Becky Landry? And what is the significance of the Orono Station Granary?”
Ballantyne felt as though he had just been punched in the gut.
CHAPTER 2
LUBBOCK P.D. launched their investigation into the disappearance of the missing teenager reluctantly and only after much debate. For most of the towns other young residents, the department would have taken immediate action, issued an Amber Alert and pulled out all the stops. But Becky Landry had proven herself to be the exception to the rule. With her birth mother resting in Peaceful Gardens Cemetery and her father on death row awaiting execution for her murder, Becky became a ward of the state. Three fa
milies tried to foster her, none successfully. But Becky’s fourth guardians, Joe and Elizabeth Landry, staunchly refused to quit on her. Despite her reputation for being damaged goods, the Landry’s adopted the girl, provided her with a loving home, and tried to raise her to their high standards of morality integrity, self-respect and citizenship. Unfortunately for Becky, her formative years were spent huddled in life’s darkest corners, seeking shelter from the constant threat of danger. Hiding in the safety of its shadow made her untrusting, anger worn, and as tough as nails. By the tender age of fifteen she’d proven herself too hard to handle. Beck had become so well known to Lubbock Police that even the patient and understanding Landry’s were forced to wash their hands of her. As Joe Landry, a retired apple farmer, once put it after receiving his adopted daughter at their front door from the police officers who drove her home, it had become painfully obvious to him and his wife that in creating the girl her birth father planted a bad seed in his wife that over the years had destroyed not just the tree but the whole damn orchard that was Becky.
An hour ago, after breaking for lunch, Chief Ballantyne received a call from his office. His officers had found the body of the girl inside a derelict grain processing silo in the neighboring county of Orono Station.
Becky Landry had been brutally raped and murdered.
News of the discovery of Becky’s body had not been shared outside the department. Not even the Landry’s had been informed.
“How the hell could you have possibly known that?” Ballantyne said.
Audience reaction to Chief Ballantyne’s shocked response was swift. Hushed conversation filled the convention hall.
From center stage, in front of the country’s most respected men and women in American law enforcement, Jordan had proven her gift.
“I’m sorry for your loss, Chief,” Jordan said. Ballantyne left the microphone stand. He returned to his table and sat down. “There’s more I can tell you, Chief,” Jordan said. “May I?”
Ballantyne nodded and poured himself a glass of water. He’d have preferred it was scotch.
Jordan walked across the stage. She spoke of the crime scene as it unfolded in her mind.
“There’s no connection between your victim and her killer,” she said. “They don’t know one another.” Jordan placed her hand against her throat and swallowed hard. “He was behind her when he killed her.” She turned, animating her words. “She was garroted.”
Dozens of faces flashed through her mind. Keys jangled, secured to a ring by a retractable chain, bits of skin and dried blood embedded in its links: the murder weapon.
“There was a promise of sex,” Jordan said.
The crowd quieted as she continued her reading.
Ballantyne replied. “Becky was an attractive girl with little else going for her. We’d heard rumors.”
“Of her exchanging sex for money?”
“Yes.”
“I believe that’s the case here, Chief. Becky solicited her killer, accompanied him to the silo, changed her mind, tried to leave, and paid for that decision with her life. He strangled her using a metal cord from a pull-type key holder.”
Now convinced of the legitimacy of her mysterious gift, Ballantyne asked, “Can you see him? Can you tell me what he looks like?”
Jordan closed her eyes. She saw Becky and the stranger in the silo. “She’s on her knees, looking up at him, playing with his zipper. He’s tracing her cheek with the back of his hand, smoothing the hair away from her face. Three stars.”
“Three stars?” Ballantyne asked.
“In a row. Tattoos. Small. A star between each of the knuckles on his right hand. He’s angry, impatient. His hands are around the back of her head, trying to pull her closer. He wants her to get on with the act for which she’s been paid.” Jordan sensed a change in Becky’s emotional state. “She’s scared. She knows the situation has escalated beyond her control. She’s clawing at his hands, trying to pull them away from her head. Which she does. She’s standing now, trying to push him away. But he’s too strong.” Jordan moved within the vision, circling the girl, attempting to get a better look at her killer. “She’s turned her back to him,” Jordan reported. “She’s bending over, picking up the barrettes he pulled out of her hair.” Jordan observed him yank the round silver key holder from his belt and heard the ratcheting sound as the retraction mechanism inside the device released–zzzzzzzzip. In one deft motion he cinched the metal cord tightly around the girl’s neck. “He has her,” Jordan said. “He’s choking her, lifting her off the ground by her neck.” Jordan stood in front of Becky. “She’s trying to kick free.” She watched Becky attempt to drive her fingers beneath the steel lanyard but to no avail. Her arms fell to her side. Her head dropped to her chest.
Becky Landry was dead.
“She’s gone,” Jordan said. “He’s killed her.” The stranger pulled Becky up to his face by her neck, near to the point of decapitation. He inhaled deeply. Her hair smelled of coconuts and almond oil, with light floral undertones. Jordan watched him shudder with anticipation at the thought of the act to follow.
“White,” Jordan said, in answer to the Chief’s question. “Six feet tall, mid-thirties, athletic build, handsome. Tattoos on his right hand. He’ll have abrasions on the back of both hands. If he’s still carrying the key chain when you find him, run it. Something tells me Becky Landry’s won’t be the only DNA you’ll find on it. She’s not his only victim, and probably won’t be his last.”
Chief Ballantyne’s cell phone chimed. He read the text: LANDRY GIRL GARROTTED.
He stood. “If it’s possible, Mrs. Quest, I’d appreciate it if we could stay in touch.”
Jordan nodded. “It would be my pleasure.”
CHAPTER 3
CHIEF BALLANTYNE walked to the front of the conference room and shook Jordan’s hand as she left the stage. “Thank you for your help,” he said. “I’ll be in touch.”
Jordan smiled. “Anytime, Chief. I’m glad I could help.” She pointed to the back of the room. “My publisher has asked me to stick around for a while, meet the attendees, and sign a few books. I’ll be here for the next half hour or so. Stop by.”
Ballantyne joked. “After that reading you might want to push that out to at least an hour.” A small group had gathered behind him. They appeared eager to speak with Jordan. “Something tells me you’re going to be inundated with requests for help.”
“That’s why I do what I do, Chief.”
“And I, for one, will be grateful for it.”
Chief Ballantyne stepped aside. Jordan invited the guests to join her at the back of the room as the next speaker, April Searle, a fingerprint identification expert, greeted the audience from the stage.
“Pardon me, Ms. Quest?” A good-looking man stood next to her book signing table. He wore a dark blue suit, his shoes polished to an impeccable shine. Jordan was impressed by the manner with which he carried himself.
“Yes?”
The man removed his identification from his jacket pocket and presented his badge and credentials. “My name is Special Agent Chris Hanover. I’m with the Federal Bureau of Investigation. May I have a moment of your time?”
Jordan nodded. “Is everything all right?”
“Yes, ma’am. Nothing to worry about,” the agent replied.
A member of Jordan’s support team organized the book signing table. Officers took their place in line, anxious to meet the recognized attorney and psychic-medium turned police consultant in person, get their book signed, and snap a picture with the author.
The surrounding area was getting busier and louder.
“Would you mind if we stepped outside for just a moment?” Hanover asked. “It might be a little quieter. The matter is quite sensitive.”
“Lead the way,” Jordan said. “I’m afraid I can only give you a few minutes, Agent Hanover. I’m needed here.”
“No problem,” Hanover said. “This won’t take long.”
The hallway wa
s quiet compared to the boisterous activity taking place at the back of the convention room. Two wingback chairs at the end of the corridor offered the perfect place to sit and talk.
Special Agent Hanover removed a manila envelope from a leather portfolio and passed it to Jordan. It contained graduation photographs of two beautiful young woman; the first a blonde, with piercing blue eyes; the second a hazel-eyed brunette. Both women conveyed an air of sophistication and intelligence. Jordan recognized the purple academic regalia.
“Harvard Law. My alma mater,” Jordan said. “Although it’s been quite a few years since I graduated.”
“This is Shannon Dunn,” Hanover said, pointing to the blond. “And her sister, Zoe. They graduated a week ago. I’ve been asked to speak with you at the behest of her father, Andrew Dunn.”
Jordan recognized the name. “As in FBI Director Andrew Dunn?”
Hanover nodded. “Shannon and Zoe are his daughters. The Director hasn’t heard from them for a week. They left Cambridge for Los Angeles right after graduation. Said they wanted to enjoy one last big blowout before entering the ‘real world.’ They wanted to check out Hollywood, Beverly Hills... maybe run into a movie star or two. Communication from both women came to a dead stop a week ago. No calls, texts, emails, social media posts… nothing. For all intents and purposes, they’ve vanished.”
“I assume you pinged their phones?”
“Both stopped transmitting five days ago.”
“You said they were headed to Los Angeles. Did you confirm that they arrived?”
“They did. Airport security cams show Shannon’s Audi entering the parking garage at Logan Airport in Boston. Four hours later they picked up their rental car at Los Angeles International. We tracked them to the condominium the Director had rented for them. Shannon and Zoe called their father to let him know they had arrived. No one has heard from them since. Agents in Los Angeles searched the condo. The girls had unpacked. There was an open bottle of wine sitting on the dining room table along with two empty glasses and a card from the Director congratulating them on their graduation and wishing them a good stay.”