Criminal Minds Jones Novels & Stories

"You need to hear this." For the next twenty minutes, I listened to the recordings. His rage at discovering the missing files. And then, the phone call that made my blood run cold. Richard Jones really didn't have any principles. Human life meant nothing to him if it got in the way of him doing business. I was now pleased we were bringing him to his knees. "Jesus Christ," I muttered, sinking into the chair beside Lizzy. "We've got him." "We do," Nathan confirmed. "Between the confession, the murder-for-hire, the fraud evidence Gemma grabbed, and her testimony—Richard Jones is done. Orange will look good on him."

The one person who might have had answers, who could have helped him understand what was happening to Damian, was gone. He didn’t register the sound of approaching sirens at first. The flash of red and blue lights through the windows barely registered in his shocked mind. It wasn’t until the police burst through the open door, weapons drawn, that reality came crashing back. “Don’t move! Hands where we can see them!” Jackson slowly raised his trembling hands. “I just got here,” he said, his voice cracking. “I found him like this – I swear.” “Yeah, that’s what they all say,” one officer replied, roughly pulling Jackson’s arms behind his back. The cold metal of handcuffs snapped around his wris

He writes it all down, nodding his head to show he's listening. As I tell my story, Kingston paces back and forward, his hands clenching and unclenching. I think if Officer Jones wasn't here, he would've punched something by now. When I'm finished, he snaps his notepad shut and stuffs it back in his pocket. "I hope you understand that you're accusing the son of a fellow police officer." Mr. Jones says, eyebrows raising. My eyes narrow, heart squeezing, "I'm not accusing him. It actually happened." But is Luca really the son of a policeman? Will that change things? I know there are crooked cops out in the world, is Jones suggesting that Luca's dad is one of them?

Realization flashing in her bright brown eyes. "You knew?" She asked slowly but menacingly. Her anger radiated off her in waves and it felt like the room would melt from the amount of toxicity it was emitting. I pressed my lips together tightly. "Oh my God! Char you knew! You knew he killed someone and you were still with him? What the heck were you thinking? What the in the world happened to you since you got here? Did you hit your head on something? You are a reporter who writes about crimes and talks shit about bringing criminals to justice and yet you had yourself wrapped around a fucking murderer and you knew!!!!!!"

When she was about to go in, she was stopped at the door by the person who was standing guard. “Ryan Jones is a felon, so no one can visit him.” Mrs. Jones’ face fell. “My son is not a felon. He’s being framed by Jeremy Whitman! The Whitmans have harmed us so many times, so why don’t you arrest them? Is it because they’re the number one wealthy family in Glendale and that’s why you don’t have the guts to do so?” After she said that, Jeremy appeared behind her with an imposing aura. Mrs. Jones shut her mouth in terror. Jeremy was not interested in wasting his time arguing with Mrs. Jones, so he went into the room immediately.

she asked. "You don't give a fuck about what I want, your getting a paycheck anyway." I said, rolling my eyes. I knew what she wanted me to say, it was what they all wanted me to say. Indirectly at least. That I was a loose canon ready to explode. A sadistic, psychotic bitch with no feelings of remorse. A cold-blooded killer... Mrs Jones frowned, adjusting her glasses, "you're right, I'm getting paid for this. I have no problem failing you immediately because you're a murderer, a mons-"

He slapped my knee a little harder than he needs to, making the chains around my ankles jiggle. I want to smack him for touching me, but I wring my shackled hands in my lap and stare at my shoes instead. “Jones? Jones? Why is that name so familiar?” the guard asks. “You’re thinking of Daniel Jones,” Marlon says. “The man witch who helped to build this place.” “Oh right, right…yes. Haven’t seen him in a while.” “That’s because he’s dead. Fucking wolves killed him.” “Hm,” the guard grunts. “Can’t say I’m surprised. Animals, that’s all they are. Them lil babies, pups or whatevers they calls them, will eat raw meat if we lets them. Better of dead, I says.”

Her emotions were crumbling and I couldn't help her. The officers shared a look. "Miss Jones, a high amount of hallucinogen was detected in your system. It's possible that it was a.. A thief or something." I narrowed my eyes at him. "Are you trying to say I'm crazy? That I imagined someone breaking into my home? I'm sure as hell not imagining this conversation!!" Detective Allen fell silent. "Adams Ripley did.. Did horrors! Now he's after me again because you damn well couldn't catch him! He did all this!"

“Major projects? Curtis Jones was investigating a crooked cop and a criminal empire run by a self-proclaimed Voodoo priest. Are you with the Criminal Investigative Division? I thought they were only interested in Eurasian organized crime?” “You know a lot about us, Ms. LaRue. Perhaps you’d like to join the FBI?” he asked with a wry smile. “But, no, I’m not with CID. The late Mr. Jones was not just watching and reporting on the corruption of one of your local parish sheriff’s offices. He was also reporting on strange phenomena in the New Orleans region. My office assigned him the armored car heist as part of ongoing investigations . . . ” “The way you said “phenomena” makes me think of The X-

Matthew, taking a deep breath, finally stands up. "I request the floor, your honor." "The floor will be given once the announcement of the new suspect is made." And it is Crimson who stands up, straightening the tie of his suit, "Your Honor, after fierce analysis and investigation into this case, all evidence points to Sarah Camila Jones as the culprit in the murder of Margaret Parker." Everyone immediately begins to speak at once, horrified. Joshua faces Emanuele, who still can't focus her own vision or even the shouts of protest that echo throughout the room.