Murder at the FBI Read Online Free PDF Page A

the next morning, he was staring intently at her. She blinked, propped herself up on her elbows, and said, “Something wrong?”
    He grinned. “Of course not. You’re so beautiful, that’s all. I’m admiring.”
    “You embarrass me.”
    “I don’t mean to.” He flopped his head back on the pillow and put his hands beneath his head. Now, it was her turn to scrutinize him. Handsome—no doubt about that, more handsome than most men. His Slavic-looking face was composed of chiseledplanes, a strong chin, perfect teeth, a hairline that promised to remain in place throughout his life. His hair was brown and fine, closely cropped; his eyes pale blue.
    She laid her hand on his chest and absently played with the hair there. He kept in superb shape, not an ounce of fat, muscular upper arms and shoulders, a flat, hard belly and long, tapered legs. Even his feet were nice to look at.
    “Are you happy?” he asked.
    “Yes, of course.”
    “Last night? Did I make you happy?”
    “Oh, Ross, of course you did. Why do you ask?”
    He smiled. “Because I want you to be happy.”
    “I am. I must say, though, that you were—well, you were almost savage.”
    He laughed. “That’s a strange term for
you
to use.”
    “Oh, stop it. You know what I mean.”
    “You weren’t exactly comatose yourself.”
    “Ross?”
    “What?”
    “We’d better be up and out of here in an hour. I have a feeling this day isn’t about to be run-of-the-mill for either of us.”

5
    The unit assembled to investigate George L. Pritchard’s murder was designated “Ranger.” An empty suite of offices in a corner of the second floor was given over to it, and the team—Ross Lizenby; Christine Saksis; a Japanese-American pathology expert from Forensics named Raymond Okawa; a short, chunky blond computer whiz named Barbara Twain; Dr. Perry Prince, a psychologist borrowed from a statistical profile unit; two young special agents, Joe Perone and Jacob Stein; two secretaries; two clerks; and a tour guide named Melissa Edwards, who was working toward her master’s degree in decision science and had applied for acceptance as a special agent—gathered together for the first time at ten o’clock that morning. The suite wasn’t large enough to comfortably accommodate all of them, but Lizenby assuredthem it wouldn’t be for long. “I just left Assistant Director Gormley,” he said once everyone had dragged chairs in from adjoining offices. “He wants this investigation wrapped up as quickly as possible. I’m sure no one here would argue with that.”
    They started to ask questions, but he cut them off. “Look, this investigation obviously is unique. We have the entire FBI to draw upon, but we also have to keep in mind that this
is
the FBI. There are going to be certain restrictions that we’ll all have to live with. Here’s the first: Agent Pritchard’s death will continue to be referred to as an accident. I’m sure you’ve all heard through the grapevine that he might have been murdered, but until I tell you otherwise, we stick with the accident story. There’s to be no talk about this with anyone outside this special unit, and that means
anybody
, family, friends, other agents, bureau employees. A total blackout on information. Understood?”
    There were nods and affirmations.
    “Administration promises furniture and equipment by this afternoon. Tech Services will have us on-line with the computers by noon. We’ll have two terminals up here.” He glanced at Chris Saksis before saying, “I’ve been put in charge of Ranger. Special Agent Saksis will be my assistant.” He checked her reaction. She started to respond, but cut herself off, looked down, said nothing. Her only thought was that they seemed to be settling in for a longer investigation than Shelton had called for.
    Lizenby gave out assignments that could be pursued elsewhere in the building. “We’ll all meet uphere again at four,” he said, smiling as he added, “when we have