He hadn't had a chance to look at the files yet, but Adam now handed him a month-old New Orleans newspaper bearing the headline Wife of Senator David Hol-loway Dies from Fall into Courtyard. Jackson wasn't sure how he felt numb, perhaps. A new team.'Ī cushy job somewhere behind a desk that didn't involve serial killers, kidnapping or bodies discovered beneath concrete. 'The assignments will come from me, but you'll be heading up the team. You will still be working for Uncle Sam,' Adam told him. 'First, let me assure you, you are not being let go. Rather, it might be considered that he went in because of extreme weirdness. He'd worked solo over the years-and for the government where the government could not act officially. Maybe the empathy of his superiors had caused them to give him a new assignment, in a different place-behind a desk. Local police had not responded to the call sent out, and there was no way to blame himself. Yet if it hadn't been for his intuition, two other fellow agents might have died as well. His last assignment, despite the excellent work done by him and his colleagues, had ended with three of them being dead. His leave of absence, it seemed, was somehow permanent. to discover that he was being given a new assignment. He'd returned to his old Behavioral Science Unit in D.C. 'Jackson, do you have any idea of why you're here?' Blake, Criminal Investigation.Īdam had just handed him the folders. Plate-glass windows looked over row houses in Alexandria, Virginia, and other companies with shared space in the building had names such as Brickell and Sons, Attorneys-at-Law, Chase Real Estate and B. The office was modest, nicely appointed, but far from opulent.

This was his first meeting with the man on the other side of the desk: Adam Harrison, white haired, dignified, slim and a taste for designer suits. Jackson Crow sat staring at the pile of dossiers before him.

Phantom Evil by Heather Graham