A Killer's Night: FBI Mystery Thriller (Jo Pullinger Book 11) by Thomas Fincham

Author:Thomas Fincham [Fincham, Thomas]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2024-11-18T00:00:00+00:00

SIXTY

In Seattle, someone else was sleeping in.

McKinley woke with the immediate feeling something was wrong. Too much light in the room. He felt wiped out, like he probably needed eight cups of coffee instead of his usual six.

He sat up in his sparsely furnished bedroom. Throwing the blanket off, he stood and grabbed his phone from the nightstand.

It was 8:17. He must have forgotten to turn his alarm on.

“Crap,” he said.

He ran to the closet to grab a change of clothes. No time to shower. He pulled on a fresh set of underwear and socks. A neatly folded pair of slacks. As he was looking for a dress shirt, he finally remembered.

Jo and Ford.

Late last night, they had raided Nelson’s secret property. He had stayed up, waiting to hear from them. Time passed, and he was getting nervous, when finally, a single text arrived from Jo’s burner phone.

All clear. Nothing to see.

After that, McKinley had allowed himself to fall asleep. It was frustrating that they’d found nothing. It meant their mission to save Grantham’s career had hit a standstill.

He hurried back to his bed. The burner phone was tucked under the corner of the mattress. He pulled it out, meaning to send a quick good-morning text. Ask where they were and what the plan was.

Instead, he saw that Jo had sent him a new text. New to him, anyway. It was quite old. It had been sent a few hours ago, sometime after McKinley had fallen asleep. He read through it, his heart pounding and filling his veins with ice.

Sorry I had to send that fake text. Your friends are okay. The keys are on one of the tires. Car is safe to drive.

The message wasn’t from Jo at all. It was from someone else.

McKinley started to type a reply. He got three words in before he stopped. Whoever this person was, it wasn’t anyone he knew. Texting them wouldn’t do any good. They had Jo’s burner phone. And it was safe to assume they had Ford’s as well.

His colleagues… his friends… were missing.

He read the message again, focusing on one part: Your friends are okay.

McKinley hoped it was the truth.

He grabbed both his phones and hurried out of the apartment. In a rare move, he did not brew a cup of coffee to go.

There’d be plenty in the break room at work.

***

McKinley found himself driving erratically through the city. Going too fast. Jerking the steering wheel too hard as he changed lanes. He took a deep breath and made himself calm down. It was better to get to the office alive rather than fast.

Besides, he had no idea what to even do when he got there.

Except for the obvious, which was to grab a cup of coffee. With enough cream and sugar that it would double as breakfast.

When he reached the office, he headed to the break room near his desk. It was more of a break area, an open square cordoned off by half walls. A few other agents were there.

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