Page 7 of Blood and Sand

“Renee, please take messages for all my calls, and let everyone know I’ll be sure to return them before I leave for vacation since no one will be able to reach me. Thank you.”

“No problem, Dr. LaCroix,” she said, breaking off and heading in the opposite direction of Mr. Steele’s office.

Walking down the long corridor the agents dubbed the “Hall of Fame.” Plaques lined the walls, all commemorating federal agents’ accomplishments going all the way back to the establishment of the Atlanta FBI field office. I thought about everything I had gone through to get to where I was today, including the loss of the one man I believed would be by my side through all this.

While I had applied for a position in the Louisiana field office, I’d been offered the position in Atlanta instead. It had been a difficult decision to make, but this was where I was needed. No matter if it were in Atlanta or Louisiana, I was determined to give a voice to those who could no longer speak, and my abilities were best served here, despite the cost.

It could be intimidating briefing Mr. Steele, but I was always confident in my abilities to give agents the best information possible to catch whoever they were looking for. In this case, the suspect was a child murderer, although the team didn’t know that yet. While the agents believed Whitney Harry was the kidnapper’s only victim, from my assessment, I believed there were more.

“Dr. LaCroix, it’s nice to see you again,” Stacy, Mr. Steele’s secretary, said when I reached her desk.

“You too, Stacy. I have a briefing with Mr. Steele this morning.”

She nodded. “Yes, ma’am. He and the others are waiting in the conference room.”

Others?

From my understanding, this was supposed to be a briefing with only him, but he must’ve wanted the entire team updated due to my vacation and with it being a high-profile case. When I reached the conference room, I entered without knocking. Of course, when I crossed the threshold, all heads turned in my direction, and all the chatter ceased.

This was the usual reaction from men whenever I entered a room, especially when I was the only woman present. It was something I had to get used to. It was a man’s world, and they didn’t view women in the best light, especially a woman who could walk circles around them when it came to the job.

I made my way to the front of the room, my heels clicking against the tile floor. Each man rose from their seat as I passed. Some looked on with respect, others with lust, some with disgust. The judgmental glares and lust-filled stares came along with the job, but I ignored them the best I could. I focused on the respect I had gained not only within the Bureau but also outside of it.

I met the Agent-in-Charge at the head of the conference table and shook his outstretched hand. “Mr. Steele.”

“Dr. LaCroix, it’s nice to see you again. I hope you don’t mind. I thought it best to brief the entire team since you’ll be out of town for a while.”

“Not a problem, sir. Are you ready to get started?”

He nodded, pulled out the seat next to him, and I sat while the men returned to their seats.

“Gentlemen, as you know, Atlanta PD has requested our help on this important case. Not that all cases aren’t important, but the missing child is the granddaughter of Senator Thom Owens. So, you do realize there are special circumstances in this case. Everyone hopes we can find the child before the kidnapper does the unthinkable. That’s why I’ve asked Dr. LaCroix to give us some insight into this kidnapper. Dr. LaCroix, you have the floor.”

“Thank you, sir.” I rose from my chair and removed my files and notes on the case from my bag, then turned my attention to the eight men seated on either side of the long conference room table. “Gentlemen, your kidnapper is more than likely a white male in his late twenties to early thirties. This man is not a novice. He’s too organized for this to be his first kidnapping, and although the child has been missing for less than forty-eight hours, she is more than likely not alive.”

Chatter and grumbles filled the room. I ignored the responses to my assessment. Although it was sad a child was missing, one I feared was dead, I couldn’t let emotion play into my assessment. I always hoped for the best in all cases, especially those involving children. In this instance, the best-case scenario would be to find the child alive, but I always prepared for the worst. In this case, the worst was the most likely outcome.

“None of us want this to be the outcome, gentlemen, but with kidnappings of children in this age range, by kidnappers of this particular demographic, they rarely keep their victims alive after the first few hours.”

“And why is that, Dr. LaCroix?” Mr. Steele asked, his hands steepled and his leg crossed at the knee.

“Well, sir, a number of factors could play into a kidnapper’s decision to kill the victim, including the gender of the unsub, the initial reason for the kidnapping, or whether he just feels like he wants to do it today or the next. In this case, the perpetrator is a younger male who took a young child. Her death will be deliberate and, more than likely, due to asphyxiation. He wouldn’t be able to pass up the chance to exert control over her.”

“And why do you think he’s White?” one agent asked, disdain marring his face. “There’s nothing on the scene indicating the race of the suspect.”

The older White man, in his mid-to-late fifties, looked at me like I couldn’t dare tell him something he couldn’t figure out for himself with his many years in law enforcement. His reaction almost caused me to roll my eyes.

Men.

This was the typical reaction working at a male-dominated agency. Men were intimidated by a strong, educated Black woman, especially in the law enforcement field. My ability to accurately profile a suspect was always questioned, despite my accuracy rate since I’d joined the agency and became one of the most accomplished behavioral analysts in the country. No matter how well I did my job, none of it mattered to most of these men.

“Agent?”

“Hoffman,” he responded snidely as if I should already know his name.

Ignoring his tone and readying myself to show this ignorant ass how good I was at my job, I squared my shoulders and made sure to look him directly in the eye. This was another thing I’d learned while working with these agents over these past three years. They assumed because I was a woman, they could intimidate or bully me. My mother taught me that when you make assumptions about someone or something, you make an ass of yourself, like this agent was doing now. My father’s words always infiltrated my thoughts when I was in situations like this—you are a strong, intelligent Black woman. Do not ever let anyone think they are above you. Look them in the eye and show them why you are who you are, and why you are here.

“Agent Hoffman, what do you remember about the crime scene?” I moved from behind the table, my arms crossed in front of me and my head tilted, never breaking eye contact with him while I waited for his response.

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