Agent Ren Bryce Thriller Series Books 1-3: Blood Runs Cold, Time of Death, Blood Loss

‘You love it,’ said Colin.

Gary walked in. They all stopped when they saw his expression.

‘I’ve got some bad news. An agent from the Glenwood Springs RA – Jean Transom – has been found dead.’

‘Oh my God,’ said Ren.

Gary nodded. ‘I just got a call from the Sheriff’s Office in Breckenridge.’

‘What happened?’ said Robbie.

‘Her body was found in the mountains. Up on Quandary Peak. GSW.’

‘Holy moly,’ said Robbie. ‘When?’

‘Just this afternoon,’ said Gary.

‘What the –?’ said Ren.

‘That’s all we know,’ said Gary. ‘SAR responded to an anonymous tip – probably someone somewhere they weren’t supposed to be. The Summit County Sheriff, Undersheriff, County Coroner were at the scene with one of the volunteers when some idiot triggered an avalanche, swept everything away. Including the body.’

‘What?’ said Ren.

Gary nodded. ‘No body.’

‘Jesus Christ,’ said Cliff. ‘Is that it? Are they still searching?’

‘It’s not safe up there, apparently,’ said Gary.

‘Wow,’ said Robbie. ‘Jean was so … I liked Jean. I only met her once. She was, I mean … intense. But she was a good person.’

‘Ren, we need to head up there now,’ said Gary. ‘The rest of you – stay with the bank surveillance tonight. Follow us to Breckenridge first thing tomorrow. Robbie, can you let the others know?’ Four of the other task force members were on a job, two were on a training exercise.

‘My car’s in the shop,’ said Ren.

‘You can ride with me,’ said Gary. He turned to the others. ‘Ren’s going to be the case agent on this one.’

Colin, Cliff and Robbie exchanged glances. Gary turned and left. Ren frowned and gave the others a not-my-fault look. She grabbed her purse. ‘See you in Breck.’

Their faces all questioned her.

Two years earlier, Ren Bryce had transferred to Denver from the high-intensity of Washington DC. On her first day at Safe Streets she had almost changed from her suit to plaid shirt, jeans and boots by the time she made it from her car to the front door. She felt she was where she should have been from the moment she graduated.

She walked down the steps with Gary to a little blonde girl sitting on a Longhorn bull with a pink cowboy hat falling over her eyes. The child wore a wide tight smile for her parents’ camera. The National Western Stock Show was in town. For two weeks in January, over seven hundred and fifty thousand visitors would come through the grounds where the Livestock Exchange Building stood.

‘Shit,’ said Ren. ‘We’re going to miss the rodeo tomorrow.’ The Safe Streets office had seats for the matinee.

Gary looked at her. ‘You were seen at the calf-roping earlier, so I don’t feel all that bad for you.’

‘I hate that – “you were seen”. It’s creepy. People who pass on information like that are creepy.’

‘OK – I saw you. Does that make you feel any better?’

‘Why didn’t you just say that?’

He kept walking.

‘And our seats were right by the bucking chutes,’ said Ren.

‘Yeah. I know.’

The cold air was spiked with barbecued pork. Ren glanced at Gary, but his head was down and his car keys were already swinging from his hand. A woman walked by with a deep-fried Twinkie on a stick.

‘I’m starving,’ said Ren.

‘You’re always starving,’ said Gary without slowing. ‘I’ve got an apple in the car.’

‘An apple. I hate apples.’

He rolled his eyes.

‘I’m not sure I can last until Breck,’ said Ren.

‘Yeah, yeah, you lose concentration if you don’t eat,’ said Gary.

‘I do, though. You’ve seen me.’

‘I’ve seen you trying to bullshit me about that.’

‘It’s true, though.’

‘Jesus. Grab something from there.’ He pointed at the closest stand – the last one on the way out of the grounds. ‘Oh,’ he said, ‘that’s just jars of caramel.’

Ren walked over with five dollars in her hand.

‘You have cutlery, right?’ she said, catching up with Gary.

‘Christ, Ren.’

He opened the door of his Jeep and threw her a plastic fork. She turned it upside down. He put the keys in the ignition and drove up to the gate in the chain-link fence. He looked at Ren with her caramel fork, rolled his eyes and got out to be gate man.

As they drove west on I-70 for the eighty-mile trip to Breckenridge, he finally spoke. ‘Do you want to tell me why I got a call from Paul Louderback asking me to make sure you head up this investigation?’ Paul Louderback was Chief of the Violent Crime Section at Headquarters in DC.

‘That’s what happened?’ said Ren. ‘Are you for real?’

But Gary was almost always for real and he shot her a look to remind her. ‘You sleeping with the guy?’ he said.

‘Jesus – straight to missiles. No,’ said Ren and, more annoyed, ‘No.’