Adrienne's Ghost

By Leah St. James

FBI Agent Jackson Yates has never believed in ghosts...until now. Called to the deepest, darkest basement at FBI Headquarters to investigate the discovery of the body of agent recruit Adrienne Garza, Jack is forced to look beyond the earthly to the spirit world for answers. Shaken by what he finds, he turns to beautiful paranormal psychologist Rachael Sullivan for help. As he draws her into the investigation, finding himself drawn closer to her with each step, can he protect her from the killer’s wrath?

Rachael has spent her adult years seeking knowledge of life after death. She has focused those years on helping those stricken with grief, but when she receives messages from beyond the grave, messages that seem to have come from Adrienne herself, she is compelled to follow the trail. As the slain woman’s spirit reveals more and more of her killer, and of her past with investigating agent Jackson Yates, Rachael wonders if the clues are leading her to love, or death.

Brought together by forces beyond their control, beyond their understanding, together Jack and Rachael seek the killer. Together they encounter Adrienne’s Ghost.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Leah St. James
• Release date: Oct 29, 2011
• ISBN: 9781465982803

Leah St. James

Leah writes stories of good and evil, the mysteries of life, and (most of all) the enduring power of love. Although romance is her favorite genre to read, as a writer, she enjoys tackling subjects that make people think, and her stories have covered topics from murder to the question of life after death, from infidelity to infertility.She married her college sweetheart, and together they have two amazing sons, two beautiful, smart and accomplished daughters-in-law, three grand-cats—Hercules, Beep, and Jack—and a grand-dog, Gus, all rescues. They treasure their time with family and friends, traveling when they can, and analyzing the plots of movies and TV shows.She loves chatting with and getting to know readers! Please visit her on her social media pages or send email to [e-mail]. To stay up to date on future releases, you can sign up for her (soon to be launched) quarterly newsletter.

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Adrienne's Ghost

by

Leah St. James

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events or locales, is entirely coincidental

Adrienne's Ghost

COPYRIGHT © 2011 by Leah St. James

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

For information, write to Leah at: [e-mail]

Cover Design 2023 by Creative Author Services

Published in the United States of America

Table of Contents

Dedication

Acknowledgements

Praise for Adrienne’s Ghost

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

About the Author

Also by Leah St. James

Dedication

I dedicate this book (with profound thanks and love) to my wonderful sister, Nadine, who has for years been urging, Write Adrienne's Ghost…. Please write Adrienne's Ghost…. I want you to write Adrienne's Ghost… I really think you should write Adrienne's Ghost, and things like that. Nadine, this one's for you!

Acknowledgements

First and foremost, many thanks to Ally Robertson for answering my plea for editing assistance and agreeing to work with me on this project and fit me into your busy schedule. You're wonderful, Ally! What would I do without you?!

Thanks also to all my sisters with Virginia Romance Writers for their support and guidance during this process.

Finally, thanks to all my family and friends for their constant support and encouragement, and especially to my husband, whose wary treks down to 3B at FBIHQ many years ago formed the genus and spirit of this story

.

Praise for Adrienne’s Ghost

A fun read, Ms. St. James turns out a real page turner! This author paints a very realistic and gritty scene while not losing sight of the emotion of the characters. More than a fast-paced murder mystery, the story combines emotional complication, excellent geographic research, and well plotted mystery.

Author Sofie Couch

I LOVED this book. Couldn't stop reading and it kept me up most of the night. This was first time reading Leah St. James, but it certainly won't be the last. I've added her to my Must Read author list. Adrienne's Ghost is a fast-paced, well written novel with an intriguing plot and excellent character development. You won't be disappointed.

Author L.J. Charles

Chapter One

Jackson Yates wasn't easily spooked, but even he succumbed to a shiver of apprehension when he stepped onto Floor 3B of the FBI's J. Edgar Hoover Building. The air smelled of rotted paper and dust, and simmered with a cold clamminess that plastered an instant sheen of sweat to his neck. Overhead, a light flickered and buzzed, its life forces waning into oblivion. Somewhere in the dim depths, voices echoed, hushed and eerie.

The deepest of the building's basements was darker, gloomier than he'd expected, and if John Larkin hadn't summoned him personally an hour earlier, Jack might have retreated to the warm safety of his bed. But the Assistant Director in Charge of the agency's Criminal Investigative Division had jarred him awake with a phone call, then ordered him to Headquarters in the blackest hours of the night. Larkin wasn't a man prone to excitability, or jumping to conclusions, so Jack had rolled from his bed to travel to the bowels of the building where, for years, the agency's secrets, memorialized on paper and magnetic disk, had been stashed for posterity. Still, it was harder than he'd expected to push one foot in front of the other toward the voices that seemed to come from nowhere and everywhere at once.

After several twists and turns, past ancient file cabinets and rows of pallets and boxes stacked four feet high, he found Larkin at the end of a remote corridor, standing with several men under the glare of a four-foot fluorescent light fixture. There, a single, pale green cabinet spanned the twenty-foot wall, its massive drawers reminding him of slabs in a morgue. As Jack neared, he calculated the piece had been there since the building's construction. Probably surplus World War I. Three floor fans aimed their forces along the length of the cabinet, rattling and humming as if excited to be in on the mystery.

He shifted his speculation to the men with Larkin—a uniformed security guard, a maintenance worker slumped against the wall with a couple EMTs crouched next to him, the chief of the Forensics unit at headquarters, and Richard K. Carter, a supervisory agent Jack knew only by his hot-shot reputation for successes in several mission-impossible types of cases.

They looked up at the sound of his footsteps, and Larkin stepped forward, meeting Jack’s gaze. In the five years they'd known each other, Jack had seen a lot of emotion in those eyes. That his expression now bordered on sympathy had the hair on the back of Jack's neck prickling to attention and his heart kicking into high gear.

I got here as quickly as I could, sir. What's going on?

Dropping his attention to the open file drawer, Jack reined in the impulse to step around Larkin and see for himself what had compelled three of the agency's top executives to venture to Headquarters in the middle of the night.

You've heard the stories, haven't you, Jack, about the basement?

Who hasn't?

Floor 3B, the third basement, was legendary among personnel for its strange sounds and so called ghost sightings, mostly by harried file clerks who had to be coerced into its depths. The stories, as wild as staffers' imaginations would allow, ranged from visions of Al Capone to old J. Edgar Hoover himself, who, back in the day, had been known to prowl the hallways of the original headquarters building and chastise employees for a breach in dress code.

Security was called to investigate suspicious noises earlier this evening. Not the usual moans and cries that get reported. This time it was a metallic clanging, like someone trying to break in. Or out. They sent Maintenance down, figuring it was mechanical.

He nodded toward the open drawer. Poor guy found this cabinet open, like this. He shot his hand out when Jack moved forward, holding him back by the arm. We need to preserve the scene.

His heart starting a slow, heavy thud against his ribs, Jack pulled a pair of latex gloves from the box Larkin offered and stuffed his hands into the casings. He leaned in, peered into the drawer, and stumbled back, gagging on the shock that steamrolled up his chest. Larkin's arm steadied him enough so he could take a breath. Even so, the pressure burned and swelled his lungs to near bursting.

Adrienne. There were no responses from the others, no denials, no sounds of shock to dispute what he saw.

Only a skeleton remained, clothed in the standard-issue FBI blue polo worn by recruits in the New Agents' Training Unit. Even if the last name hadn't been stitched across the pocket, he would have known it was her by the gold locket she'd worn daily, now circling the fragile column of bones that used to be a neck. The dark hair that hadn't yet succumbed to decomposition was pulled back in a simple roll. She'd styled it that way, unfussily, to keep it out of her eyes.

Below the collar bone, a dirty brown blanket covered the torso, its surface littered with the carcasses of dozens, maybe hundreds, of insects. A horrific image flashed through his mind, swarms feasting on Adrienne's dead flesh, and he sucked a shuddering breath between his teeth, then frowned, confused, as his eyes traveled down.

He shot a glance to Larkin. Where's the rest of her? His voice scratched his throat, hurt to come out.

Next drawer down.

He jammed the upper drawer into place, and while metal grated against metal, his mind screamed against the reality of what he'd seen. Adrienne, murdered, chopped in half, and dumped in this cabinet like a damned piece of trash.

The lower drawer held more of the same, hips and legs encased in the expected khakis. As bile surged, and tears burned the backs of his eyes, he turned from the sight. Tipping his head toward one of the security cameras positioned in the far corner, he asked, Get anything from them?

Nothing on there until the maintenance worker showed up. Poor S.O.B. suffered the shock of his life, Larkin murmured. Jack followed his gaze, watching while the EMTs helped the man to his feet, then led him out. Thinks the ghost of Adrienne herself was trying to break free.

You're kidding.

It's the only thing that makes sense to him.

Yeah, well, no ghost did that, he said, pointing to the drawer. Still, how the hell did she end up here, without anyone knowing?

Larkin shook his head, his eyes, normally clear and decisive, clouding with doubt. You know what I know. She left Quantico for a weekend in early January five years ago, never came back. At the time, some thought she panicked and quit the program.

Adrienne wasn't a quitter.

I never believed it. We looked for her. You know we did.

Just not hard enough?

Jack knew he should have stifled those words before they left his mouth, but he knew, too, that Larkin valued truth. And the truth in this case was that the Federal Bureau of Investigation, premier law enforcement agency in the country, had dropped the ball on finding one of its own.

Apparently recognizing that truth, Larkin grimaced. Without a body... His words choked off, and he shook his head once more.

She'd been one of Larkin’s favorites since the day he recruited her from the ranks of administrative obscurity to join the expanding team of special agents. It was the same class of recruits that Jack himself, a fresh faced, foul mouthed graduate of one of the country's top law schools, had joined. Back then, at the advanced age of twenty five, he'd thought he knew it all.

Adrienne had seen through him, though, right from the beginning. She didn't have the fancy schooling he had, but she had street smarts and an unyielding work ethic. She had a strong sense of justice, too, that demanded protection for the innocent. To learn now that she'd been victimized herself, killed and mutilated, probably terrorized, and stripped of her dignity, sickened him. Made him want to spurt out the angry words that tumbled through his mind.

But he forced them down his throat and met Larkin's gaze.

Well, we've got a body now. He waited a heartbeat, trying to decide how to pose the next question, but finally asked. Whose case is it? Anyone with a brain?

Larkin almost smiled at the impudence of the question, but apparently it was too much of an effort, and once more a bleakness settled over his face. I don't know. You tell me. It's yours.

Mine? How? In less than a week's time, he was scheduled for transfer, finally heading home to Boston, where the frigid