Krewe of Hunters 3 Sacred Evil Read Online Free PDF Page B

voice.
    “They’re a special team, all right. They’ve barely been around a year, but they’ve already solved a number of really bizarre cases. Jude—they’re a paranormal team. They don’t just investigate, they appear to talk to ghosts. They’re highly respected for what they’ve done, but they’re also a bit on the outside, even of the FBI itself. Only the head guy, that Jackson Crow, has been a special agent for a long time. But he’s supposed to be one of the best behavioral guys out there. They sound good, really good. But weird, too. You must have heard something about this group. They solved a creepy murder in New Orleans that had to do with all kinds of political corruption.”
    “I might have heard something,” he said. He winced. Leave it him to wind up with the “special” team. Which reminded him…
    “Thanks, Hannah. I have to meet one of the agents now, and it’s good to be forewarned.”
    He hung up. On to meet his spiritualist or medium or whatever. He’d been told he had to work with the team; he would. He’d be polite. He’d spend the days and nights reminding himself that all help was needed at the moment.
    The days and nights ahead suddenly seemed extremely long.
    Be polite. Collect the “special” agent. And then on to autopsy.

2
     
    B lair House.
    It stood behind a wall and next to an area where a massive construction project seemed to be under way—except that the construction crews didn’t appear to be out. The house was barely a block away from Wall Street, and another block from Broadway, within easy distance of St. Paul’s, Trinity and the World Trade Center site.
    Blair House itself was as out of sync with the current pulse of the city as the churches with their early American graveyards.
    As far as the financial concerns of humanity went, it only made sense to tear down the old to make way for the new.
    But, Whitney Tremont had been glad to hear, Blair House was not going to be torn down. It was slated for a great deal of renovation; federal money was coming in to tend to a federal project—it was said that among the many places George Washington slept, Blair House was one of his favorites.
    A low brick wall obscured much of the facade, while wrought-iron detail, tangled with ivy, rose from the wall. She could see the house from the sidewalk only because the driver who had picked her up from the airport had provided her with keys, and she had opened the gate while awaiting her NYPD liaison, Detective Jude Crosby.
    The brick path to the house was overgrown, as was the house’s yard area. To the left, there was a charming pagoda overrun with ivy and flowering plants and to the right, a fountain that no longer trickled water was in a similar state.
    The house itself was Greek Revival—several steps led up to a porch with fine Ionic columns. The front door was double-wide with etched-glass porticoes.
    The off-white paint was peeling. The columns obviously needed help as well.
    “It’s not as bad as it looks.”
    She turned, startled. She had been giving the house so much attention that she hadn’t noticed the tall man who had walked up to her on the sidewalk.
    He was actually hard not to notice; he was a good six foot three and built like a linebacker.
    “I wasn’t thinking that it was bad,” she told him. “I was just thinking that it’s beautiful, and I’m glad they’re not tearing it down.” She offered him a hand. “Special Agent Whitney Tremont, Detective Crosby. Thank you for being here.”
    He shrugged his broad shoulders. “Sure. The situation is bad. Whatever it takes. Need a hand with your bag?”
    She shook her head. “I’m fine. We can just head on in.”
    He hadn’t exactly been warm and cuddly, but he wasn’t being rude, and he seemed to be sincere. Other agencies sometimes resented FBI involvement in a case—they weren’t always fond of the fact that someone over them had invited the feds in.
    She’d never exactly intended to work for