By Kyle Mills
Vibrant, younger, and impressive, Quinn Barry desperately desires to be an FBI agent, at the same time she courses databases within the basement of the J. Edgar Hoover construction. yet Quinn's profession -- and her existence -- are approximately to alter wildly. checking out a brand new application, Quinn's computing device savvy turns up a mysterious DNA hyperlink between 5 ugly murders. A hyperlink that the previous FBI process were rigorously programmed to overlook. A hyperlink that almost expenditures Quinn her task, and shortly, her life...Pitted opposed to a conspiracy of incredible proportions, Quinn will fit wits opposed to robust govt forces that would use any capability essential to retain their soiled secrets and techniques hidden -- secrets and techniques that would land her within the clutches of a sadistic, tremendous madman who holds the main to all of it.
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Extra resources for Burn Factor
Lowell used his sleeve to wipe away the sweat bleeding from his hairline and went back into the living room, where two of his men were using pliers to detach the corpse from the furniture. ” A woman’s voice. Lowell turned to face Susan Prescott as she entered the room. She was wearing a wig of long dark hair and had changed into a pair of slacks and a casual blouse from the victim’s closet. The fit wasn’t perfect, but it wasn’t bad either. Lowell had chosen Prescott for this detail on the basis of her height and build as much as for her ruthless efficiency.
And neither had the man it was built for. “You can go right in,” the secretary prompted. Lowell glanced at her and she gave him a sympathetic smile. While she would have no way of knowing what he was there for, it was obvious that he was not the only person who had ever hovered reluctantly outside her boss’s office. Lowell straightened his shoulders and buttoned his jacket, then pushed through the door, immediately closing it behind him. The air inside seemed different—denser somehow. He knew it was his imagination, but he still couldn’t shake the sudden oppressiveness of it.
The results of the first run—the search engine that had originally been programmed into CODIS—were already lying in the tray. As expected, it had performed in its customarily efficient but unremarkable fashion, connecting each of the fifty imaginary DNA signatures she’d planted in the states’ databases and outputting the location of the crime lab and case numbers. When the results of her search engine were spit from the printer, she snatched them up and quickly scanned through the output. The two reports looked identical.