Jill is more business than frill. She can joke and carry on with the best of them, but she usually chooses not to, unless she is trying to get information from someone or she's trying to get someone to do something for her. She was raised with four brothers and learned quickly that sugar worked better than vinegar.
I have three possible starts on Jill's story. Which one do you like the best?
I'm not a big fan of task forces. Grimes, my SAC, should have left me at headquarters, but instead I'm sharing a break room with the uniforms. He promised we wouldn't be here long, just until we got this case solved. Cops from every department want these murders to stop. I probably want the murderer caught more than anyone, but still I long to work from my own office.
A petite, dark haired uniform interrupted my train of thought with her clamorous giggle. With a poignant look at her, I held my head high, turned the corner and exited the room. My heart clutched when I hit a wet spot and skidded. I recovered and looked around, no one in sight. The door had slammed behind me.
I turned, twisted and tucked my thick, unruly hair under the blond wig. The band snapped when I pulled the fake hair forward. I growled under my breath. It's a bad habit to stick your tongue out when performing a difficult task, but I always have. Mom would say, "Jill McKeel, someday you're going to bite that tongue off." Ignoring my inner mother, I stuck my tongue out the side of my mouth and with one last pull, whammo, the wig slid into place, almost.
The plane landed at O'Hara and the beautiful Maria Gonzales looked in awe at the collection of people rushing from one place to another. Zuzak, New Mexico seemed far away. She spotted a woman who looked like her mother, short and round, straight dark hair, rich cocoa colored skin and an eternal smile. Maria smiled at her and she nodded.
Maria said, "Buenos Diaz."
The smile broadened and she replied, "Buenos Diaz, Senorita."
At first glance the tall, slim, light-complexioned Maria didn't look like a Spanish-American, and even though she was born and raised in America she still had a faint Spanish accent. She looked for the shuttle that would be taking her to her hotel. She had never been this far from home, she bit her lip as she tried to decide which way to go.
She thought she heard her name being called and turned toward the person. A flash went off in her face and people were running towards her with microphones, cam-corders and cameras. She raised her arm over her eyes to ward off the bright bursts of light. She had become popular in New Mexico and had done several interviews, but she hadn't dreamed that people would know who she was in Chicago.
"Maria, my beauty, look my way. If it is possible to will someone to look in a certain direction I will you to look at me. Please, just give me some kind of acknowledgement. Surely you remember me."
No one hears me. They probably think I'm talking into one of those tiny Bluetooth cell phone headsets. "Do you hear me, my lovely?"
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