Jill Jackson - 02 - Voodoo Doll Read Online Free PDF

volume, Superintendent Last carried power into the room.
    'Not like we had a choice, is it, boss?'
    The words were for Last, but the speaker's eyes were on Jill. Leaning against a wall, arms folded over a bulging chest, he stood straight at the last minute, in offhanded respect to his superior officer.
    'Quite,' said Last. 'It's a minute to eight. I expect Delahunt will be here shortly. We'll wait. Maybe if we all take a seat?'
    Jill walked around the table to take the seat diagonally facing the door. The dragon seat. According to the rules of feng shui, it afforded its occupant power through placement. Jill didn't know if she believed that stuff, but she did prefer that position, with her back to the wall – and she needed all the help she could get today. She reached the chair at the same time as the fourth occupant of the room. A flicker of a smile, and then he dropped his eyes, held out a hand, his other holding onto the back of the chair. Assuming possession of it.
    'Hello. I am David Tran.'
    She took his hand, feeling slightly put out until she noticed a walking stick leaning against the table; he was using the chair for balance while he greeted her.
    'Hi. Jill Jackson.' She smiled.
    They stood there.
    'You take the seat,' she offered, at the same moment as he waved her towards it. They laughed, awkward.
    'No, please take this seat. I will sit next to you,' said David.
    'Thanks.' Jill dropped into the chair, looking up to see Muscles watching the exchange with an open smirk.
    She looked around the table. The men all wore suits. What had she been thinking with her outfit? First day – taskforce – suit! It seemed obvious now. She adjusted her shirt a little. Muscles still wore the smirk.
    Just in time to save her from doing something ridiculous, like initiating a stare-down match with this idiot, another man entered the room. He must be another taskforce member. What had Superintendent Last said his name was? Delahunt?
    Cargo pants. Phew. It was the first thing she noticed. Blue tee-shirt. Yee hah. She straightened a little in her seat.
    Dark-haired and unshaven, he walked into the room on an angle, kind of like he was trying to sneak up on something. An A4 notepad, rolled like a trumpet, stuck out of the side pocket of his navy cargos. She figured him for around six foot. Making eye contact with no one, he sat down.
    With his entry, Superintendent Last looked up from a bulky folder and rummaged through a box on the table. He pulled out four more folders of the same size, and handed them around the room. Jill left hers closed in front of her, focused her attention on the team leader, eager now to begin.
    'Gabriel. Glad you're here,' he said to Delahunt. 'This thing's gone from bad to worse.' A pause. 'I'd like to begin with introductions. I've met all of you previously, so I'll begin with . . . '
    A forceful sneeze made Jill jump in her seat. Embarrassed by her exaggerated startle-response, she shifted a little to hide her movement. The new guy sneezed again. An explosion. And again. And again. Each sneeze a shout. The others waited, staring at him. Jill forgot her own discomfort in her mortification for the man. The sound must have been echoing through the hallways.
    'Haven't you got a tissue?' the sneezer demanded, looking around at the others. She'd expected 'sorry', 'excuse me', even 'oh dear', but he seemed completely unperturbed.
    She grabbed her bag, more to give her something to do other than stare, and reached into it to find her tissue pack. Too late, she overturned the bulging bag of vegetables, and they sprayed across the table, two landing in the superintendent's open folder.
    'Bumya,' said the new guy, Gabriel.
    'Sorry?' She meant it as a question; as an apology for covering the table in okra; and as an apology to herself, for having to come to this bloody place this morning when she'd so badly wanted a few days off.
    'Bumya,' he repeated.
    She wondered what was wrong with him.
    'It's um . . . ah . . .'