Blind: Killer Instincts by Sidney Bristol Page B

Interstate-35, south of Norman. This far out, there wasn’t much except pastures and hills. The small brick building must have been around since the sixties, if not earlier. At one time it had probably been a crucial fueling stop, but now it was rundown, and the only patrons were either locals or long-haul truckers.
    There were a couple of patrol cars, two black SUVs, and the forensics van blocking off most of the lot designated for eighteen-wheelers. Only one big-rig occupied the space. Yellow tape roped off a large portion of space, including the rig. Most conspicuously, there was a cluster of suits that had to be the FBI.
    “Detective Payton?” A tall man with close-cropped blond hair and a hard stare walked toward him.
    “I am. Are you Special Agent Brooks?” He offered the agent his hand.
    “Ryan Brooks. Brooks is fine. We were waiting on you to begin.” He tipped his head back. “Some weather you have here.”
    Jacob chuckled. “Yeah, you might want to do without the jackets. Has the CSI team started?”
    “Yes, we cleared them to begin photographing the scene.” Brooks gestured toward the other agents. “Let me introduce you to my team.”
    The introductions were made in brief—names and specializations only. There were two dedicated profilers, a PR guy, a young woman who had so many letters behind her name he wasn’t sure what she really did, and Brooks.
    “I’d like my guys to talk to the attendant on duty,” Brooks said and gestured to two men in slacks and sports coats. There was a deadly air around the two that made Jacob glad they were on the same side.
    “Sure. You don’t have to ask my permission for anything. Chief asked you to come in and chose me to work with you as liaison because of my connection.”
    “And you’re cool with that, mate?” Connor Mullins, one of the profilers, asked. He was a tall, lean man, with the body of a swimmer. His accent wasn’t exactly American made.
    Jacob opened his mouth and closed it. He couldn’t say that his LT was an incompetent asshole with a grudge against him and this case, so he shrugged.
    “Politics,” he answered. “I want this guy caught and put behind bars. Bringing your team in seems to be the fastest, most economical way to make that happen, and I will do whatever it takes to catch him.”
    “Well we’ll do that.” Connor glanced at the other man and nodded toward the gas station. “Shall we?”
    The duo strode off to begin their part of the investigation as a news truck rolled in.
    “That’s my cue.” The black agent buttoned his jacket. “Police haven’t confirmed they are working on a copycat, correct Detective?”
    “That is correct, but the news is spinning it that way,” Jacob replied.
    “I can work with that. Should I know anything about the current racial climate?”
    “What?” Jacob blinked at the man.
    “I’m a black man about to go on TV. Is that a good idea?”
    “Yeah. Sorry, I’m a little one-track minded right now.”
    “It’s all good. Just want to know if I should put him on the camera instead.” Benjamin thumbed at Ryan and grinned.
    “Take care of it, Ben.” Ryan nodded at the camera crews.
    “I’ll keep them busy.” Benjamin strode toward the camera crews.
    Jacob turned to the remaining two. “All right, where would you like to start, Agent Brooks?”
    “Patrol said the eighteen-wheeler belongs to a Laura Winthrop.” The red-headed woman gestured to the truck. “She was a long-haul trucker who made regular stops at this station for the last ten months, but only on her return trip.”
    “How do you know that?” Jacob blinked at the woman’s near-emotionless face.
    “I read her driving log.”
    “And she only stopped at this station on her return trip. Why?” Brooks asked.
    “There was a note from nine months ago. She couldn’t navigate into the station at night due to a lack of visibility. She likes the homemade pies the owner’s grandmother sells here. There were six of them in