How many cuts had the victim suffered? And all of them sustained on the move since there was no pooling? Did that mean there was only one actor, chasing the victim around? No, that made no sense; the victim would have fled out one of the many doors. At least two subjects, perhaps one dragging the victim while the other slashed. Weapon of opportunity, possibly some kind of warped spree-type of home invasion where the valuables taken were secondary to the thrill of the chaos and violence?
She reached the front door and saw Megan waiting outside. Typical. She swore that girl only heard every other word out of Lucy’s mouth—and she cherry picked the words she wanted to hear, ignoring the rest. Lucy glanced back for one last look at the scene. Bloody mess. She was glad it was none of her business.
***
Megan didn’t have to wait long. Lucy emerged, one hand holding her phone to her ear, the other gripping her pistol. She shooed Megan back down the drive, returned her pistol to her bag, and joined Megan at the gate, hanging up when a police cruiser appeared.
“Thought I told you to wait,” she said to Megan as a patrol officer stared at them through his windshield, assessing the threat.
“Did you find Mateo? Is he okay?”
Her mom frowned and shook her head. “He wasn’t in there.”
The officer’s lips moved—talking to his dispatcher, no doubt. Finally, he left the patrol car. He was black with short-cropped hair, taller than her dad, which placed him at 6’2” at least, wearing a short-sleeved uniform shirt that revealed his muscular arms, and no hat. His sunglasses were the kind the SWAT guys Lucy trained with wore, with the same special anti-glare tint. Megan knew they cost a lot; she’d been saving to buy Lucy a pair for her birthday.
He eyed them both for a long moment, his fingers caressing the woven leather of his holster. “You the woman called in a disturbance?”
“Yes. I’m Lucy Guardino, a Supervisory Special Agent with the FBI’s Pittsburgh field office. There appears to be—”
“FBI. Dispatch said you’re armed?”
“My off-duty weapon is in my bag.” Lucy slowly lowered the bag to the ground and stepped back. “Along with my credentials.”
The officer remained beside the car, one hand on the butt of his weapon. He jerked his chin at Megan. “And this is?”
Megan opened her mouth to answer but Lucy shook her head. “My daughter. She found the scene. There’s a significant amount of blood and signs of a struggle, but no one is inside.”
“You went through the house?”
“To make sure there was no one needing medical attention.”
He made a noise that clearly did not approve. “And you,” he nodded to Megan again, “you were inside as well?”
“Yes sir. I was waiting for Mateo. He works here, but he didn’t show up or answer his texts and that’s his bike,” she pointed to the garage, “so I went up to the door and it was open. I only stepped inside a few feet, left as soon as I saw the—”
Another car pulled up behind the patrol car, this one an unmarked gray sedan with emergency lights behind the front grill. The officer raised a hand to silence Megan as a woman in her fifties wearing a pink sundress and wide-brimmed hat like the one Megan’s grams used to wear on Easter approached. She conferred with the patrol officer. His shoulders slumped and his hand came off his weapon; he even turned his back on Lucy and Megan to face the older woman. Obvious who was in charge. And it wasn’t Pretty Boy.
Megan caught her mom’s eye and knew she was thinking the same thing. Lucy stood with her feet planted, hands palms up, posing no threat, but Megan could tell she was getting a bit irritated by how slowly the locals were moving. Not only was it hot standing out here on the asphalt driveway, her mom was bare footed and her bad ankle was probably aching. More than that, as Lucy shifted her weight and narrowed her gaze at the man and woman, Megan had the feeling the locals were treating Lucy like this on purpose, making certain she realized her FBI rank had no standing here in Harbinger Cove.
To her surprise, Lucy glanced at Megan and gave a one-shouldered shrug. As if to say, this was all part of the game, just play along.
Stupid adults with their stupid power trips. She wasn’t about to play along. Not with Mateo missing. “Excuse me, but don’t you want a description or photo or anything?”
“Of who, little lady?” Pretty Boy said without looking at her. Instead he glared at Lucy as if it was her job to keep Megan quiet.
“Mateo Romero. He’s missing. It could be his blood in there—if it is, then he’s injured.” Megan emphasized the last word. “He needs your help. Now.”
Pretty Boy bristled at that but the older woman simply smiled indulgently, as if Megan were a child. She turned to Lucy. “Officer Gant informs me you’re an FBI agent?”
“On vacation.”