Janie Crouch - Primal Instinct

“All right, Chief. We’ll go see her tomorrow morning.”

* * *

A FEW HOURS later, long after the office began emptying and most of the other agents were gone, Conner and Seth sat at their desks. Conner reached into his bottom drawer and pulled out a toy baseball made of a foamy material. He leaned back in his chair and put his feet on the desk, tossing the ball up in the air and catching it on its way back down. Seth saw him and leaned back in his own chair.

They had spent every moment since leaving Chief Kelly’s office going back over the details of the Simon Says case. They had read through the testimony of local law enforcement again, pored over the lives of the victims to see if they could find any commonalities once more, reviewed crime scene video footage and photos additionally, as well.

It had led to nothing.

Conner had hoped to find something—anything—that would keep them from having to bring in Adrienne Jeffries tomorrow. He wasn’t interested in her help, and he wasn’t comfortable with the means they were using to get it.

Conner tossed the ball over to Seth. “This whole Adrienne Jeffries thing just doesn’t feel right, if you ask me.”

Seth caught the ball easily. “Chief Kelly seems legitimately convinced that she can help us.”

“Yeah.”

“But you don’t think so.”

“I think this is a waste of time. I think this lady was probably hot back in the day, and maybe she and Kelly had a relationship or something.”

“You think she snowed him.” Seth tossed the ball back.

“Look, I’m really not trying to talk bad about anybody, but I don’t believe in mind reading or telepathy or superheroes to solve cases.”

And dragging some middle-aged woman from her horse farm in the middle of Nowhere, California, into a case of this magnitude was not Conner’s idea of good situational management. Conner threw the ball to Seth.

“You know, there have been documented cases of nontraditional methods actually working.”

Conner dragged a hand through his black hair making it even more scruffy-looking than usual. “I don’t even want to hear it, Harrington. I’m pissed. I’m pissed that we’re wasting time going all the way out there.”

“As opposed to doing what?” Seth interjected. “Sitting around the office waiting for the perp to drop off another package?”

Conner leaned his head back and closed his eyes, sighing. Seth had a point. If this lady could help them break open the case in some way, Conner would take it. But he planned to be very careful about what info she was given. He wasn’t sure if she had tricked Chief Kelly and the other agents in some way before, but she damn well wouldn’t fool Conner.

“Fine,” Conner said. “But I would just like it stated, for the record, that I am going there under direct orders. I do not believe this to be the most effective use of our time.”

Seth nodded. “Duly noted, counselor.” He tossed the ball back to Conner.

Conner laid the ball on his desk and picked up Adrienne Jeffries’s ridiculously short and useless file. When he had tried to run her info in the Bureau’s computer system, the same thing happened. Somebody pretty high up in the FBI—maybe even higher than Chief Kelly—was protecting her or hiding something. There was no picture, no physical description of the woman, no mention of her ability and definitely no use of the word bloodhound.

By looking at her file, she could’ve been one of thousands of contractors who had worked as support staff for the FBI. Everything from janitorial to catering, clerking to photographing, were hired out each year. Every single one of those people had a file at the Bureau.

The fact that so much was blacked out in Adrienne Jeffries’s file was an immediate giveaway that she was no clerk or anything so benign. Basically her name and the years she’d worked for the Bureau were the only info the file provided.

It was what wasn’t provided that concerned Conner. If she was such a gifted profiler, why wasn’t Jeffries helping the FBI anymore? What type of person would turn their back on an ability like that, if it would save lives? A cold and uncaring one, to be sure.

And why the heck had she been under “not surveillance, exactly”? Contract workers quit the FBI all the time. Most were not being watched by the Bureau, as far as Conner knew. But this woman was, at least partially.

There was something not right about this situation and this woman. The one thing of which Conner was confident was that he did not have all the data. He loosened the top button of his shirt under his tie and grabbed the ball again, tossing it to Seth.

Conner did not like going into any situation blind. But it seemed like he didn’t have much choice in this case. They would bring the woman in, as he had been ordered, glean any useful info, if any, and then would get back to real work.

This was a waste of his time.

Chapter Two

The next morning, as they arrived at Adrienne Jeffries’s ranch, Conner was even more certain this trip was a waste of time. He could admit to himself that the ranch was picturesque among the rolling hills in Lodi but still resented having to come here. A modest-sized house sat in the middle of multiple corralled areas. A barn—at least the same size as the house, maybe even a bit bigger—sat a few hundred yards back from the house.

“Let’s get this over with,” Conner muttered.

They parked and walked up the three worn steps to the wraparound porch. Although the porch and its furniture was well kept, everything was obviously old and secondhand. Conner knocked on a door that could use another coat of paint. No one answered.

“Let’s try the barn,” Seth suggested, heading back down the steps.

That the barn was in a much better state than the house seemed to be immediately evident. Well maintained, organized, all repairs up-to-date. Evidently any money the horse ranch made went back into the barn first.

Conner could hear a man talking inside the barn, although couldn’t make sense of what he was saying. Both Conner and Seth were immediately on alert.

“Hello in the barn! This is FBI Special Agents Conner Perigo and Seth Harrington,” Conner called.

The talking immediately stopped, but there was no response.

“Sir? We’re looking for a Ms. Adrienne Jeffries. We would like to come in the barn.”

A muttered curse, then what sounded like chewing tobacco being spit. “Fine. Come on in,” the man in the barn finally replied.

“Sir, is it just you in the barn?” Seth asked as he and Conner entered slowly.

“Yes.”

“Are you sure? We heard you talking to someone.”

“Yeah, I was talking to Willie Nelson, but I’m pretty sure he’s not going to be talking back anytime soon.”

Willie Nelson? Conner and Seth glanced at each other again as they walked farther in, both with hands near their weapons. As their eyes adjusted to the dimness of the barn, Conner saw the man was referring to a horse he was brushing inside a stall.

The man was in his mid-sixties, short and wiry. As he walked around the horse, Conner noticed he moved with a limp in his left leg. This had to be Rick Vincent.

“I’m Agent Perigo. This is Agent Harrington. We’re from the FBI.”

“Yeah, I heard you the first time.” The older man was obviously not a big fan of law enforcement. “I’m busy.”

“We’re looking for Ms. Jeffries, sir. She owns this ranch, correct?” Seth asked, moving a couple steps to the left, subtly blocking the exit, should the older man try to run.

“Yeah, she owns it. She’s not here right now.”

“Not here on the ranch or not here in the barn?” Conner asked when the man didn’t offer any more info.

“She’s off riding one of the horses.”