Eleven (Brandon Fisher FBI Series Book 1)
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Eleven Rooms. Ten Bodies. One Empty Grave.
Brandon Fisher never expected this when he signed up as a Special Agent for the FBI. Working in the shadow of Supervisory Special Agent Jack Harper of the Behavioral Analysis Unit his career seemed set. But when the team is called to a small rural town where the remains of ten victims are found in an underground bunker, buried in an unusual way, Brandon knows he'll never return to his normal life.
With one empty grave, and the case touching close to home, he fears he's become the target of a psychotic serial killer who wants to make him number eleven. Only thing is, everything Brandon thinks he knows is far from the truth.
Length: 103,000 words
assume no recorded history due to Bingham’s privacy rights.” A smile spread on Moore’s lips. “That we are allowed to do. When inmates sign up for computer time, they have to sign a waiver. Included with this is authorization for us to monitor, track, and record their browsing history.” “We’ll need a list of that,” Jack said. “Of course.” “What about Twitter, Facebook, and other social networking sites?” I asked. “He did have a regular habit of logging onto Twitter.” “Do you know what his
number eleven and the circle, it makes me think of the coinherence symbol. Even the way the victims are laid out.” “Elaborate,” Jack directed. “It’s a circle which combines a total of eleven inner points to complete it. As eleven means purity so the coinherence symbol is related to religious traditions—at minimum thirteen. But some people can discern more, and each symbol is understood in different ways. The circle itself stands for completion and can symbolize eternity.” I cocked my head to
care? “What did the person look like who dropped it off?” Her lips pressed downward. “Just an average guy, nothing too noteworthy about him.” I brought up a photo of Earl Royster on my cell phone and turned it toward her. “Was this him?” Ellen reached for the phone and accidently brushed my hand. She pulled back. “That’s Earl.” “So you know him?” “Yeah. I just said his name.” She passed a glance to Jack. “Why didn’t you say that to start with instead of describing him as an average guy?”
it had me wondering how much money she had. Logan was a historic district in Washington, and condos there would have ranged up from half a million. “It’s only going to be temporary until we find the guy.” I parked the car, and Deb looked through the window at the building. “How does she afford this place?” “Good question.” “I’m sure I’ll be fine here. For a little while.” She straightened up and undid her seat belt. “I wouldn’t ask you to do this unless it was for your safety.” “I know.”
distinguishing mole on his chin. “We need to speak with you. In private.” The Sergeant’s eyes skipped over all of us, settled back on Jack. “This way.” He led us through the building to a conference room where he took a seat at the end of the table and gestured for us to sit around it. “So you have your unsub?” “We have evidence that someone at The Pawnshop tampered with evidence.” “You come in here and accuse the Sarasota PD of a cover-up?” “That’s exactly what we’re doing. We know