Blood Equity: FBI Agent Jade Monroe Live or Die Series, #5

By C.M. Sutter

FBI Agent Jade Monroe has fond memories of Savannah. She loves the Southern charm, the history, and the South's slower pace, but arriving there as a serial crimes investigator, she finds a different side of the city.

A request for help has come in from the PD because people in the Hostess City of the South are literally falling over dead in broad daylight after consuming a dangerous drug cocktail.

When Jade disappears during a victim's funeral, the puzzle pieces begin to fall into place, and the only way Renz will find his partner is by learning the reason for the murders. Will Jade escape the killer's terrifying grip, or will she be forced to drink that same drug cocktail and end up on public display as the killer's final victim?

 

 

FBI Agent Jade Monroe Live or Die Series books are listed in chronological order below

#1 Blood in the Bayou
#2 Blood Trail
#3 Blood Reckoning
#4 Blood Legacy
#5 Blood Equity

 

Editorial Review

"FBI Agent Jade Monroe has always loved visiting Savannah, but when she's sent there on FBI business, tourism takes a back seat to the investigation. Some zombielike citizens are showing up in tourism hot spots and acting in a bizarre fashion just moments before they die of a drug overdose. When Jade vanishes into thin air following the first victim's funeral, the FBI and local law enforcement race to find her in this pulse-pounding tale with the perfect city as a backdrop." Angela M., Line Editor, Red Adept Editing

• Language: English
• Publisher: C.M. Sutter
• Release date: Sep 27, 2021
• ISBN: 9781393913191

Book preview

Chapter 1

Saturday noon

North Bend, Wisconsin

Up to her elbows in fresh black dirt, Amber washed her hands at the spigot on the side of the condo. She had been bugging me to help get the flower beds cleaned up and replanted, and with precious time at home, we dug in—literally. We had a number of outdoor and indoor projects to address while I was working the Milwaukee area instead of being on the road. After Amber decided it was time for lunch and washed up, Kate took over her planting duties. With years of being roommates under our belts, we found that pitching in with household and yard chores worked out well for all of us.

We’d wrapped up a case in Montana six weeks ago, and the head honcho and ranch hands were charged and indicted for murder, attempted murder, and conspiracy to commit murder. They were behind bars, and the main players would never see freedom again. Justice had prevailed but at the cost of many innocent lives.

SSA Taft had recently decided that the out-of-state cases needed to be divided more evenly between our team’s eight agents—four groups of two—and had sent Charlotte and Kyle to central Florida to help local authorities track down and apprehend a spree killer who was terrorizing the Orlando area. Tommy, Fay, Mike, and Carl had been dispatched to New York to help the FBI team there work on recent murderers targeting religious groups.

I loved going to new cities and states and meeting people from all branches of law enforcement, but it was about apprehending the serial criminal and getting that person off the street no matter where they were located. Each of us needed our turn doing just that, and I was fine with Taft’s decision. Having time to catch up with my old coworkers at the sheriff’s office was a treat all its own, and I took full advantage of that whenever I could.

Hey, you two, lunch is ready! Amber yelled.

Yeah, what are we having? I eased the last petunia out of the pot, sank it into the hole I’d dug, then filled the space around it with soil from the bag. After pushing off my knee, I headed to the spigot with Kate right behind me.

We’re having grilled cheese sandwiches, pasta salad, and sangria.

Oh, yum. You better have made extra sandwiches, I said, and a tall pitcher of sangria.

Don’t worry. We’ve got plenty.

I couldn’t wait to eat. A relaxing weekend at home was just what I needed.

Chapter 2

Saturday night

Savannah, Georgia

The late-night ghost tour was well underway with a crowd of fearful but fun-loving adventure seekers. The chimes from distant church bells rang out twelve times. It was midnight, and the group had just entered the Colonial Park Cemetery. Considered by some to be the most haunted place in Savannah, the cemetery was always the highlight of the tour.

Tour guide Kenny Dupree led the group of twenty in through the large iron gates that groaned in protest and provided great sound effects as he pushed them forward. As he told the story of the ancient cemetery and the ghosts who roamed its grounds, he noticed that his words were hitting their mark. People huddled, held hands, and stayed close to one another. They giggled but were scared nonetheless and rightfully so. Colonial Park was also known as Paranormal Central, where shadowy figures were often seen floating by during the tours.

Kenny pulled the crowd deeper into the darkened place as he led them from notable grave to notable grave and described the violent and twisted acts some of the cemetery’s residents had committed before and after they died.

Evil people don’t often rest in peace, Kenny said, and many late-night sightings of spirits wandering the grounds have been reported.

As if on cue, a woman from the group let out a blood-curdling scream, then so did another and another. Several men laughed and pointed at a woman who came out from behind a large gravestone and stumbled forward. Wearing a blood-smeared shirt and jeans, she seemed extremely agitated, yet her gait was zombielike.

Nice addition to the tour, dude, one man said. That makes it even better than I thought it would be.

Kenny retreated as the woman got closer. Um, folks, let’s head back toward the entrance.

Men elbowed one another as their wives, still frightened, pleaded to leave. Come on. It’s all part of the tour, one man said to his wife.

Actually, it’s not, Kenny said, and I have no idea who she is.

The woman—whose face, neck, and hands were covered in blood—was only feet from the crowd. She yelled out in a raspy voice before falling face-first to the ground, Help me!

Out of the way. A man from the back rushed up and knelt at the woman’s side. I’m a doctor. He waved his hand at Kenny. Shine the light down here so I can see what I’m doing. The doctor rolled the woman over as Kenny pointed the flashlight’s beam at her face.

When the light hit the young woman’s face, the ladies in the group gasped. Her neck was scratched and bloody, and her lips were a startling shade of blue. Her unblinking eyes stared up at them.

Holy shit, Kenny said.

The doctor looked up and shook his head. There’s one thing I know for sure. Nothing holy just happened here. Somebody call 911.

Chapter 3

Mitch swatted at the slobbery bulldog named Gus who was licking his ear, but the only thing he hit was air. Leave me alone and let me sleep. The dog persisted, and Mitch’s only recourse was to cover his head with the pillow. Using his fat paws, Gus dug and scratched to get his owner’s attention. The dog was relentless, and after uttering a few choice curse words, Mitch was forced to sit up. He flicked on the light and frowned at his pup. What do you want, boy? Do you have to pee? Mitch grabbed his phone to check the time and realized it was vibrating in his hand. He’d forgotten to set the ringer to music after switching it to vibrate during the interrogation he’d conducted earlier that evening. But it was nearly one a.m., and somebody wanted to speak with him. He groaned. Is that why you were trying to wake me up, buddy? Good boy. Gus snorted, spun three times on the bed, and resumed his earlier position of lying with his head and drooling tongue taking up half the pillow.

Mitch yawned, took a swallow of water from the glass on the nightstand, and answered. Mitch Cannon speaking. Uh-huh, where? The Colonial Park Cemetery? That’s a new one. Yep, I’m on my way. After raking his disheveled black hair and giving both eyes a good fist rub, Mitch tossed back the blankets and stumbled to the bathroom. He splashed cold water on his face, ran the toothbrush across his teeth, finger combed his hair, and gave his reflection a quick look in the mirror. Good enough. Come on, Gus. Get outside and take a leak. I have no idea how long I’ll be gone. After giving the dog a push to coax him out of bed, Mitch dressed then walked downstairs and put a cup of water in the microwave. He set the timer for two minutes and, from the bottom of the stairs, yelled back up. Gus, let’s go!

Making his appearance a minute later, Gus waddled down the stairs and to the back door, grunting. Mitch shook his head, let his beloved buddy outside, and finished getting a thermos of coffee to go. After pouring a bowlful of kibble and topping off the water dish, Mitch brought Gus back in and gave him a thorough scratch behind the ears and a kiss on his flat nose.

Someday, we’ll see what we can do about a doggy door, but as fat as you are, a person could probably get in through it too. See you later, pal, and don’t sleep all day.

Mitch set the house alarm and exited the beautiful historic home he’d inherited from his mother, who’d recently moved to an all-inclusive independent living retirement home. Mitch’s house wasn’t a two-hundred-fifty-year-old historic brick mansion that all the tourists oohed and aahed over, but it was still worth a small fortune due to its location and charm. The highly desirable Thomas Square area was just a few blocks south of the famous Forsyth Park, and Mitch had grown up in that house with his parents and two sisters. As the youngest sibling and unmarried, he lived there and took care of all the home maintenance and yardwork. Except for the dorm he’d lived in during college, the Thomas Square house was the only place he’d ever called home.

The Habersham police precinct where Mitch worked butted up against the well-known Colonial Park Cemetery, and that night, it sounded like it was about to become even more infamous. He climbed into his three-year-old Corvette, lowered the windows, and drove the six-minute distance to the station. It was late Saturday night, and even at one in the morning, the mid-June temperature was a humid eighty-two degrees. Mitch parked at the precinct and walked to the northeast entrance of the cemetery, where his partner, Devon Rue, was waiting.

What the hell is going on? Mitch asked as soon as he saw Devon. Do we have a murder on our hands?

Devon shrugged. Don’t know about a murder just yet, but I assume because our precinct is right next door and we’re on call, we were notified. Anyway, the group thought the woman was part of the tour, looking the way she did.

Mitch tipped his chin as they walked. Like how?

Disheveled, and her face and hands were raw and bloody.

No shit?

No shit. I could see how they’d think she was there to scare the crap out of them since the cemetery is known for its ghost sightings, but then the guide said he had no idea who she was. According to statements the first responders got, including one from a doctor who was also a ticketed guest of—Devon air quoted the next few words—‘The Haunted Cemetery Night Tour,’ what they’d thought was a patterned shirt was actually just smeared with blood. She zombie walked toward them, fell face-first to the ground, and was dead within seconds.

Mitch pulled back. Zombie walked? You mean outstretched arms and stiff-legged style?

Who knows. It’s how the tour guests described her as she stumbled toward them. They also said she seemed agitated and yelled out ‘Help me!’ before she died.

Mitch rubbed his forehead. Sounds like a made-for-TV movie. He looked around as they approached the scene.

The tour group had been ushered away by the police except for the doctor who had rendered aid, and Kenny, the guide. Crime scene tape had been stretched around the Spanish moss–draped live oaks, making the scene look even eerier, and Tapper Lowe, the county medical examiner, knelt at the body.

Mitch and Devon walked to his side, where the portable lights had been set up.

Any guesses? Devon asked.

Nope, not yet. Still waiting on Billy and Martin to show up before I touch her. By a quick visual, I’d say she’s in her mid-twenties. The obvious blood looks to be from scratches, and I see some kind of secretion coming from her mouth. That’ll have to be tested, of course.

Mitch backed away, scanned the area, and nodded at the nearest officer. He recognized the man as Jared Petrie, a longtime beat cop who—fittingly—worked the graveyard shift in the historic district.

What do you know, Jared?

Terry and I were the first on scene when the call came in. Kind of a mess when we got here. Women crying, men cursing, more walking around like they couldn’t believe what they’d just witnessed.

I’m sure they got their money’s worth tonight. What time did the call come in?

Jared checked his notes. Twelve thirty-one so actually Sunday morning. Terry and I were on scene four minutes later. We had to do a little crowd control to preserve the area, told everyone to back away, and called in another unit to lend a hand with taping off the grounds. We spoke with a few tourists who were front and center when the woman appeared. We spoke to the doctor who administered aid, and then the tour guide, Kenny Dupree. We have statements from all of them. After that, the crowd was asked to leave, and the gates were closed.

Good enough. When are we expecting Billy and Martin to show?

Any second, I’d expect. Pretty sure both of them were at home sleeping.

Yeah, same here. How about you get Tony and Brian over there to watch for Forensics to arrive. They can let them through the gates when they get here. We really don’t want too many officers inside trampling the area if you know what I mean.

Sure thing, Detective Cannon.

Mitch gave Jared a thank-you nod and walked to Kenny. You’re the tour guide?

I am, and I’ll tell you one thing for sure.

Yeah, what’s that?

I’ve been guiding these nighttime tours for six years, and I’ve never had anything like that happen before, and of course on a busy Saturday night of all times.

Right. So who noticed the woman first?

Kenny shrugged. Just some lady in the tour. The group was facing me, and I was facing them as I ran through the script.

So the deceased woman came from behind you?

Yep.

And where were you standing at that time?

Kenny pointed at a notable gravestone. Right next to Button Gwinnett.

Ah, Button. Okay. Did anyone see where the woman actually came from, as in before she approached the group?

Nope. They were listening to my speech about Button when that first woman screamed, then two more joined in. I spun and saw the bloody lady zombie walking toward us.

Mitch nodded. Hmm… seems like that’s everyone’s description of how she approached the group. How about showing me how she zombie walked? Mitch pointed outside the crime scene tape. Maybe over here so we aren’t in the immediate area.

Well, I guess, but I’m sure I’ll look the fool doing it.

They ducked under the tape and moved out another thirty feet.

No worries. Go ahead. Mitch watched as Kenny did his best to imitate the woman.

Kenny came out from behind a large gravestone, walked stiff legged, flailed his arms, and stumbled toward Mitch. I’m sure it wasn’t exactly right, but I’d describe her movements as being disoriented, yet she was stiff and twitchy, almost like she was angry.

Okay, that helps. Mitch gave Kenny his card and said he would need a list of names of that night’s tour attendees. I’ll need that list sent to my email address by morning.

Kenny promised to take care of it through his company’s main office.

Mitch cupped his hand, held it to his mouth, and yelled to Jared. Can you show Mr. Dupree out?

Sure thing, Detective Cannon.

Mitch returned to the scene, and Billy and Martin had arrived. As they busied themselves snapping pictures, the ME waited his turn at Mitch’s side.

If I had to guess, I’d say she ingested poison or overdosed on something, Tapper said.

Hmm… yet the group said she cried out for help. So maybe not a deliberate overdose, if that was the case? Mitch asked.

Maybe not.

How soon can you get the complete tox screen back?

Couple of days at the earliest given it’s a weekend.

Okay, thanks, Tapper. I’m going to have a word with that doctor who was part of the tour.

Mitch and Devon dipped under the tape and walked to the man, who had taken a seat on a bench alongside a woman who was likely his wife. Are you the doctor who rendered aid to the woman?

I am, but it was too late. He stood and extended his hand. Dr. Steven Bellamy.

Sure, and I’m Detective Cannon, and this is my partner—Mitch pointed to his right—Devon Rue.

Nice to meet you, Detectives.

So what did you notice about the woman when you rushed in to help her? Devon asked.

When she got closer, she appeared catatonic, yet she was sweating profusely and agitated. Her arms were flailing. That’s about all I saw other than her unusual way of walking before she collapsed face-first on the ground. I rolled her over and knew she was already gone. Her lips were taking on a blue tinge, and her eyes already had the death stare.

How did she sound when she asked for help?

The doctor shook his head. My wife, Jeanette, described it best—frantic and paranoid.

Okay, I guess that’s it. Mitch passed a card to the doctor and thanked him then planted himself right behind Martin and Billy. Print her yet?

Coming right up. You’ll know in under a minute unless she’s an unknown.

Mitch huffed. And that would be just my luck. Mitch and Devon watched as Martin lifted the deceased woman’s hand, pressed her thumb against the portable fingerprint scanner, and waited for the results to come in.

Uh-oh. Martin now had Mitch’s full attention.

What does that mean?

"She’s a reporter for the Daily Sentinel."

The Savannah newspaper?

Martin pushed off his knee and stood. Yep, the very same.

Mitch paced the path between graves. What’s her name?

According to the ID on file, she’s Sunny Montag, age twenty-five, and lives on East Thirty-Second Street just off Cabell. Typical middle-class neighborhood.

Mitch scratched his forehead. Do reporters always have prints on file?

Billy interjected with a sarcastic huff. In this day and age? Newspaper boys delivering the weekly coupon flyers on their bicycles probably have to be printed.

Mitch let out a long groan. Okay, either she was following a hot story and got jammed up, or she has her own off-the-clock issues. Make sure her hands are bagged and call me when you’re done. Mitch swirled his finger above his head. Check out the area as best as you can. We’ll have officers comb it again in the daylight hours. For now, we’re heading to the precinct.

Copy that, Detective Cannon.

Chapter 4

Sharing an office space made working cases easier. Mitch and Devon had been partners for six years and routinely bounced ideas, questions, and concerns off each other.

With steaming vending machine coffee on their desks, they dug in.

So who the hell is Sunny Montag, what was she up to, and how did she end up in the cemetery a half block from the police station without being seen walking the street in that condition?

Devon shook his head. All good questions, but my question is, do we notify her family tonight or wait until morning?

"Depends on what Sarge says, and that means we’re going to have to wake his ass up. If Sunny Montag committed suicide, then there isn’t an investigation to pursue, but if she was murdered, then it’s our case. Regardless, we’ll have to

Reviews for Blood Equity

[Sandra Smit · Rating: 2 out of 5 stars]

This was realy boring.I liked your other books better, sorry!!