The Killing Ground: A Foxx Files Thriller Read Online Free Page B

Bull Pen, the large area where the majority of the detectives sat, questioned witnesses, discussed case details and worked leads. It was still early, and aside from a few stragglers here and there, the place was eerily empty. Wooden desks arranged in some forgotten fashion filled the room. The uncomfortable rolling chairs that squeaked when a person moved, sat haphazardly behind each grizzled old desk. In the air, the smell of sweat and determination mingled with something else, something sweeter hung in the air.
    Jordan saw several orange and pink donut boxes stacked on a desk near the back. Her eyes flicked around the room, searching for the owner. Her stomach grumbled of its own accord, and she remembered there hadn’t been time to eat.
    Rebecca stood still for a moment, a frown marring her features. “Rick?”
    A few seconds later, a short, stocky man Jordan put in his early forties, came from around the corner carrying two coffee mugs. He shot Rebecca a sheepish grin. “Hey, boss.”
    Rebecca looked as if she may address the offense, but thought better of it. “Jesus, Jonesy. You keep eating this shit and I’m going to have to roll your fucking fat ass everywhere we go.”
    “Sorry, boss.” Rick Jones, or Jonesy, to everyone in Grand, smiled and made an attempt to wipe errant flecks of glaze of his face. His eyes shifted to Jordan and Matt, and he threw Rebecca a questioning glance.
    She shook her head imperceptibly then introduced them. A silent message had passed between them, and Jordan knew without a doubt, there would be more conversation about them when they left.
    “Agents Gray and Riley, this fat ass stuffing his damn face, is my partner, Rick Jones.” She nodded towards the agents.  “It would seem the overly generous FBI has offered some assistance in tracking down our serial killer.”
    Rick nodded swiftly with none of the censures that Rebecca had given them. Jordan nodded, and as Matt stepped forward to offer a quick, conciliatory handshake, she took a moment to study him. His suit was dated, and she could see telltale signs of forgotten grease stains on his shirt. His tie hung haphazardly. His hair, a few weeks past a haircut, hung over his collar. His face was lined with the deep crevasses of someone who had seen a great deal, and been through a lot more, and she couldn’t swear to it, but would almost bet there was a flash of welcome relief in his eyes at help from the outside. Obviously not married or dating, she thought he fit the stereotype for a hardened old cop.
    He smiled warmly, and Jordan was forced to amend her take on him. He pumped Matt’s hand up and down as though they were lifelong friends, and Jordan half expected to see him pull Matt into a bear hug. Where Detective Foxx was cold and unapproachable, Detective Jones was the polar opposite. She saw the lines around his eyes crinkle when he smiled, and she was forced to admit that this was a man who smiled a lot.
    He held up a box. “You guys want breakfast?”
    Rebecca’s jaw tightened. It was one thing to be civil. It was an entirely different thing to offer her squad’s breakfast to the enemy. He reddened at the apparent faux pas, but couldn’t take back the offer. Jordan and Matt saved him from further embarrassment when they politely declined. Jordan figured the poor guy probably already had it bad enough without them making it worse.
    Jordan’s gaze met Rebecca’s inquisitive one, and she faltered, wondering what Rebecca saw in her eyes. The corner of her mouth turned up as if to say I can see inside you.
    Rebecca answered with another roll of her eyes. “Let’s get to it. Jonesy?”
    They had obviously been together long enough that he needed no explanation. He pulled a large whiteboard towards them and flipped it around.
    It was covered with the autopsy pictures of the six previous victims, all marked with a date. The only difference was that Julie’s picture was one of her still alive, and yet, despite the fact