PART 1
FIRST IMPRESSIONS
Chapter 1
JJ
O'Brien; 35. JJ; 23.
Still wet behind the ears and fresh from Quantico, my stomach’s tight with nerves.
You were the best in your class.
You’ll prove yourself to the team.
You can do this.
With a bulletproof vest strapped to my chest and my loaded Glock at my hip, I glance at Briggs and Chief Archer. Unfortunately, I got thrown into the deep end and hardly had time to shake their hands.
Special Agent Jennifer Briggs, aka Briggs, is a brunette in her early thirties. I’m taking over from her as the team’s behavioral analyst. My eyes stop on Senior Supervisory Special Agent Carl Archer, who’s behind the steering wheel of our SUV. Our unit chief is in his early fifties, his features hardened by a life in the FBI. He’s also my boss and the person I need to impress if I want to make a name for myself.
The SUV swerves around a corner, and my muscles tighten so I don’t slide to the other side of the backseat.
From over her shoulder, Briggs grins at me. “Not how you imagined your first day on the job?”
I let out a chuckle. “It beats having nothing to do.”
Chief Archer’s black eyes settle on me through the rearview mirror, not looking impressed by my reply, then he addresses us. “O’Brien says he’s with a group of three men. We don’t know how many men Kelmendi will bring. The moment the arms deal goes down, I’ll give the signal to engage.”
I’ve heard Agent O’Brien’s an expert in organized crime, and he’s damn good at going undercover. He’s one of the agents I want to learn from, along with Agent Rossi, who’s an expert in sexual offense crimes and already at the scene with Agent Finch, our communications liaison.
The SUV comes to a screeching stop, and we hustle out of the vehicle. The bright morning light has me squinting at the SWAT teams off-loading from their respective vans.
Chief Archer shouts out orders for the snipers to get into position and the SWAT teams to stand ready to breach from the back and front.
We walk into a container that’s been rigged with high-tech equipment. I stick to Briggs’ side while Chief Archer scopes the warehouse through the security cameras that have been set up. I take a look, seeing a black sedan and four men.
An agent, who I assume is Rossi, comes into the container. “Still only the four, Chief.”
“Any sign of Kelmendi?” Chief Archer asks.
Ismail Kelmendi is the head of an Albanian Syndicate that’s taken over half of New York. From what I understand, my unit’s been working on the Kelmendi case for over three years, and this will be their first bust.
“Not yet.” Rossi checks the time on her wristwatch. “Another fifteen minutes before the agreed time.”
“Jefferson,” Chief Archer says, his eyes still on the warehouse.
“Yes, sir?” I step closer.
“You stay with Briggs at all times. Don’t try to be a hero on your first day.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Rossi, you and Finch head around the back and breach from there,” Chief Archer gives further instructions. They run off to get into position.
A man, who seems to be in his late twenties, smiles at me. “Eric Brewster. Technical analyst.”
I hold out my hand to him, and as we shake, I introduce myself, “Julie Jefferson. My friends call me JJ.”
The sun grows hotter while we wait, turning the container into an oven. My stomach growls, making the burning knot of nerves ache, and I wish I’d had that second cup of coffee before I left home.
I adjust the earpiece in my ear and check my weapon for the hundredth time.
“Your father was DEA?” Briggs suddenly asks.
I nod, taking a deep breath of the warm air.
“Why join the bureau?” I feel our unit chief’s eyes turn my way as Briggs fires another question at me.
“I don’t want to be favored because of who my dad was,” I answer honestly.
Briggs nods, then a moment later, a sniper’s voice comes over the earpiece, “We’ve got movement.”
Chief Archer pins me with a severe look. “Stay with Briggs.” He checks the screens showing one sedan and two SUVs driving toward the warehouse. The moment they stop and men pile out of the vehicles, Eric starts to do facial recognition on all the men.
My eyes jump from one man to the next, trying to figure out which one’s Agent O’Brien. I’ve seen a photo of him, but it was taken when he joined the bureau almost thirteen years ago. Two men have hoodies pulled over their heads, and I can’t make out much of their features.
“We have confirmation, sir,” Eric says, gesturing to an Albanian. “Ismail Kelmendi.”
“Time to wrap this up,” Chief Archer orders, and as he steps out of the container, I fall in behind Briggs, my heartbeat kicking up a gear. Everything’s quiet, and I search for the SWAT teams, but there’s no sight of them.
The warehouse is in a run-down part of town, the walls sprayed with graffiti and water stained. As we approach the main entrance, we’re joined by a SWAT team, and Chief Archer gives orders to apprehend Kelmendi.
I take two deep breaths, my gun drawn and ready in my grip as they roll the steel door up.
God. Don’t let me kill anyone on my first day.
We move forward, and then Chief Archer shouts, “FBI.”
No amount of training could’ve prepared me for the hell breaking loose. Half of the Albanians open fire on us while the other half scatter deeper into the warehouse.
My pulse races and sweat breaks out over my skin as I stay behind Briggs, following her into a maze of crates to take cover. The popping of gunfire mixes with the sound of my erratic breaths.
Holy shit. This is really happening.
Two men open fire on us, and I attempt to become one with a stack of crates. My skin prickles and I’m highly aware that any of the bullets can hit me at any time.
Briggs fires a shot, hitting an Albanian in the leg, and then she’s on top of him, kicking his weapon out of his hand while pulling a pair of cuffs out. “JJ, get the other one!” she orders, and my body shoots forward.
You can do this. Deep breaths.
Gun raised at shoulder level, my heart’s pounding against my ribs, my lips quickly growing dry from the rapid breaths bursting from my lungs. My eyes dart all over the place, every one of my senses on high alert.
God.
You trained for this.
Where the hell did the Albanian go?
Reaching the end of a line of crates, I quickly look around the side before pulling back. My thumb feels for the safety on my gun, making sure it’s off, and then I move around the crates.
Stairs leading to a second level. More crates. An office. Two doors.
I catalog my surroundings, and as I glance up at the second level, it’s just in time to see a man jump toward me. I point my weapon at him, but my finger freezes on the trigger. A second later, his body hits mine and gunfire erupts around us.
My back slams into the concrete floor, forcing all the air from my lungs as pain shudders through me. Bullets tear through the crates around us, splinters of wood exploding in the air.
My heart’s a second away from jumping right out of my chest. My mouth dries out completely, and adrenaline thunders like a second heartbeat through me.