Tag: Leeward

Hello readers and fellow writers, I’m working on a scene for my sequel “White Gold.” I’d appreciate your feedback. Agent Jake Monroe is looking for evidence that links the present to crimes of the past. Is this section too long, too much telling? It’s about four pages long. 

 

 

The man ran from the brick canopy of the hospital entrance. The collar of his khaki all-weather coat up, his head down, scant protection from the pelting rain. The blur from the fog and rain distorted his vision, but Agent Jake Monroe was sure of his quarry. The man fobbed the keychain and the silver Lexus beeped, the headlights flashing. It was Malcolm Bryant’s car. Jake tapped his fist on the dash of his SUV. “Gotcha.”

Suspicious of the man since he’d failed to give the SBI access to his wife’s business information, Jake was determined to discover if Malcolm Bryant was indeed a victim of his ex-wife nefarious dealings, or her rival.

Jake had learned through contacts Malcolm was moving Todd from Duke Medical Center to Coastal. That seemed a risky move. Todd was still recovering from brain trauma after being shot in the head.  Was bringing him closer home to renew their relationship or did Malcolm just want to keep an eye on his out-of-control son? His cynicism was in full bitch mode. He sighed. What if Malcolm really is just a father trying to reconnect with his son? Yeah, and what if I’m really Santa Claus?  Jake waited, engine running, for Bryant to pull out of the parking lot. Visiting hours were just ending and cars were lined up at both exits.

His supervisor’s words flitted through his thoughts to the rhythm of the wiper blades as they streaked watery yellow pine pollen across the tinted surface. “Malcolm Bryant was your source in this case; without his cooperation, you have nothing” No. Jake’s vision cleared as the rain sluiced the pollen from his windshield like the gray mist from his memories. Marisol Grimes was my original source. She’d first come to the field office without Malcolm. Jake tapped his fingers on the steering wheel. He’d been the new guy. They’d assigned him the case because no one else took her seriously. They’d taken her statement but hadn’t done much more than make a few phone calls. “Young Mexican girls run off all the time,” one of the older agents had proclaimed. He was ten years too late to look for evidence of the murder Marisol claimed to have witnessed. Though he’d tried. A search for unclaimed bodies, gunshot victims, anything that might collaborate her story had turned up nothing. Ready to give up, Jake had stumbled across an article in a local paper of a drowning victim. The man’s picture matched Marisol’s description of the murdered man.  Another lucky break came when he happened to be in Florida and saw a crime reporter talking about woman, found dead of a drug overdose, who bore an unusual tattoo of a barcode. DNA proved she was Marisol’s relative.

It was after he’d asked Marisol to come in to view the pictures of the dead woman and give him a DNA swab that Malcolm had first joined her. Frowning at the memory, he’d thought Marisol’s anxiety was over the death of her cousin, but what if it wasn’t? He stared out the window willing the traffic to move.

Elva’s tax records resulted in a few inconsistencies, nothing that shouted “crime boss” but coupled with the other things he’d uncovered, suspicious. He’d worked the case for almost ten years, following the money, rumors and anything that might be considered illegal. Nearly twenty years since the crime that had started the initial investigation, but someone had finally gotten sloppy and left him a trail to follow. Jake knew in his gut, he was close to uncovering the truth. His boss called this case his “Moby Dick,” but he was determined not to let this whale destroy him, or anyone else. He stayed a few cars behind Malcolm.

Malcolm had seemed so willing to help. He’d come to the office with Marisol whenever he’d uncovered a new piece of evidence, and later, he’d come in without her. Jake tried to remember the last time he’d spoken to Marisol Grimes. Shit. He’d been so wrapped up in the case, put so much faith in Malcolm’s statements, he’d not thought about Marisol. A sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach increased his indigestion. He popped an antacid.

Lee Creek Mines held government contracts, Elva, as CEO of Barton-Bryant INC would have had to have had a background check. After ten years as an agent, Jake had come to know the many ways people hid their transgressions. The family had connections both pollical and social…The light turned green. Malcolm managed to get out, but it turned red before Jake’s car was at the front of the line. He growled in frustration, his thoughts puddling together.

This investigation wasn’t over, no matter what his supervisor said, he couldn’t just let it go. If Marisol Grimes was correct, Elva Bryant had been doing more than trafficking drugs, she’d been trafficking people. He needed to make sure there was no one to take over where she left off.

A movement near the side entrance of the hospital caught his attention. Phil Archer? He debated turning around and confronting the man but other than him shooting Polly and saving Rae Lynne, he really had no proof Phil was involved in this case. He’d have been a child when Marisol’s cousin went missing. Rae believes he’s the third rapist. Jake sighed, another case he had no way of solving. He returned his attention the stop light.

Malcolm was way ahead of him, but as he pulled onto the highway his computer flashed, showing him exactly where to find Malcolm’s silver Lexus. He glanced at the screen of his lap top, the signal was strong.

Thankful the rain offered a layer of invisibility to his unsanctioned mission, Jake followed at a distance. He was surprised when Malcolm parked at the old gym where Dana had set up her dating club. “What is he doing at Cupid’s Zone?” He wanted to go inside and demand information, but he couldn’t. He was on vacation, and if he wanted to remain an agent, he’d have to be careful of his next move. Jake parked his SUV in a vacant lot, the tall grass and spattering of shrubs afforded him additional cover. He turned off the motor and waited. This was the part of the job he dispised…waiting.