Bad Break (4 page)

She hated how her voice trembled, tried her best to emulate Lucy’s calm.

“Did you see or hear anyone?” Lucy asked, her posture already shifting away from caring mother to can-do cop.

Megan frowned. She hated when Lucy did that—she understood why, but sometimes she needed her mom to be a mom.

“No. But I stopped just inside the door.” She whirled, pulling away from Lucy. Mateo, where was he? “I shouldn’t have left. What if he’s lying there, bleeding, hurt?”

“You did the right thing.” Lucy glanced around the hotel entrance. Not assessing the pretty purple flowers or nicely shaped shrubs. She was in red alert mode and wanted someplace safe to park Megan. As if Megan were a child. When would her mom start treating her like an adult?

“Wait here,” her mom ordered. “I’m going to call the local police. While I’m on the line, I’ll do a quick sweep, make sure no one needs help.”

She strode away, leaving Megan behind. Even with her limp and bare feet—leave it to her mom to run to help and forget her shoes—Lucy appeared imposing. Hard to do when you were only 5’5”, but when her mom was on the job, no one messed with her.

Megan watched, shifting her weight as the desk clerk helped the arriving couple with their luggage. She debated for a moment. What if Lucy did find Mateo, hurt, and needed someone to do first aid? And who knew how long the police would take in a small town like this on a Sunday afternoon? Did a tiny island like Harbinger Cove even have its own police force? The closest real town was almost twenty miles and four bridges away, back on the mainland.

Or—the thought she was trying to deny punched through to the surface—what if whoever did this was still inside the house?

It made no sense—she hadn’t been quiet when she’d entered earlier. Actually, she’d screamed like a silly girl in a horror film, the one too stupid to live. There was no way if someone was still inside that they hadn’t heard her. They had plenty of time to flee the scene while she went to get Lucy.

That was the logic of the situation. But every horror story turned stupid-criminal joke she’d ever heard from her mom’s cop friends crashed over her. Crooks weren’t just stupid—that’s why they were caught, after all—they could be maddeningly blind to the obvious and do what they damned well pleased despite any consequences.

Including not fleeing a crime scene before someone’s mother walked in on them.

Megan followed Lucy, hesitating at the open gate at the end of the drive, then going through, waiting a few feet away from the front door, clutching her phone as if it were a lifeline.

Chapter 5

LUCY CALLED 911
and explained the situation as she entered the Fleming house. She kept her phone on speaker and slid it into her shorts’ pocket to free both hands to hold her Glock.

The house was silent. She paused in the foyer, the slate floor cold against her bare feet, and surveyed the bloody scene in the living room. The room faced the ocean and had high ceilings, three walls filled with windows, slate floors, large white leather couches, a TV bigger than a school chalkboard, and a rainbow of orchids flowing from shelves, hanging from wall sconces, and draped along the few tables that were still upright. Most of the furniture had been knocked out of place or turned over along with books and knickknacks that had been scattered throughout the room.

No sign of a body. No sign that any injured party had been stationary long enough to allow blood to puddle. Instead, blood streamed like confetti across the otherwise pristine white surfaces.

As she stood, allowing the house settle around her, random sounds cut through her adrenaline. The clack of an icemaker coming from down the hall. The whish of the overhead ceiling fans with their large, palmetto-shaped blades. The stir of air slipping cold from the vents. Nothing human.

She cleared the first floor; the blood appeared to be confined to the living area, culminating in a chef’s knife lying in a pool of smeared blood as if dropped, a clear thumbprint visible on its stainless steel handle.

There was no blood in the hall or on the steps, the family photos arranged on the stairwell wall were undisturbed and revealed a couple in their late forties or early fifties, both trim and smiling. Several photos of them on a cabin cruiser, him wearing a captain’s cap and looking bashful about it. Wedding photos, photos of the wife when she was young with an older girl blowing out birthday candles, shots of the husband and wife with friends and family at celebrations on the beach and around the pool in their backyard, and photos of the husband preaching and hugging grateful parishioners. Two lifetimes collected for display. With no clues as to what they might have done to invite bloodshed and violence into their home.

On the second floor, she found three bedrooms, none with any signs of disturbance, and a fourth that was a home office. Here there were more signs of a struggle but the only blood was a palm print on a piece of paper lying below an empty wall safe. On the paper was a set of scrawled numbers. The combination?

Okay, then. Quite a story to tell, it seemed. She reassured the dispatcher that there were no victims on scene, and slowly retraced her steps. In the kitchen she noted that the bloody knife was part of a set. She double-checked the pantry and utility closets, making certain no one was hiding or had collapsed inside. Still nothing.

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.”

The woman nodded. “I’m Chief Hayden. We’re a small force, but I assure you we’ll get to the bottom of this. In the meantime, I’m happy to secure your bag in the trunk of my car. And if you two can have a seat while we take a look inside?” As she spoke, Officer Gant stepped forward and scooped Lucy’s bag from the ground. Megan glanced at her mom but then realized the two officers didn’t want to leave an unsecured weapon at their backs while they went inside.

The chief opened the rear door of the patrol car in a clear invitation. Lucy simply smiled. Ignoring the chief, she took Megan’s hand and led her away from the cars to a small tiled table on the other side of the drive beside the wall separating the mansion from the hotel. Lucy took the seat where her back was to the wall, allowing her an excellent view of both the drive and the front door of the house.

The corners of Chief Hayden’s mouth rose as she raised an eyebrow at Lucy. Megan had done a science project last year analyzing political commercials and she recognized the same fake smile politicians specialized in. Lucy stretched her legs out as if she was settling in and getting comfy, waiting for happy hour.

“Mom,” Megan said once the two police officers disappeared into the house, Officer Gant with his gun drawn, the chief following him. “No one seems to care about Mateo.”

“It’s not that,” Lucy said. “It’s a small town with a small force—they aren’t used to this kind of crime. I’m guessing this Pastor Fleming probably carries some clout as well. They’ll be calling him next, I’m sure.”

“What about Mateo?” Megan insisted.

Lucy pursed her lips, considering. “Town this size, tourist season not officially begun, Hayden probably only has six or seven full-time officers. I doubt if she has a detective, definitely no forensic unit. Which means sheriff’s department for investigation support and the state lab for crime scene processing.”

“We don’t have time for all that,” Megan pleaded. She really didn’t care about local politics. She only cared about Mateo. “Shouldn’t they be calling for a search party, dogs, a helicopter?”

“Honey, I know you’re worried. But these guys are doing all the right things—even if they’re moving slower than you and I would like. Look around—no bloodstains outside the house, so he didn’t leave on foot. Nothing between the front door and the drive, so if he went in a car, he wasn’t bleeding so badly that he left a trail. And I didn’t see any footprints in the blood inside the house.”

Megan tried to put the pieces together. “You don’t think that’s Mateo’s blood, do you?”

“No. But if Mateo came and saw it—”

“Then where is he?” Her voice tightened with fear. “What if he interrupted a killer? Maybe he’s been kidnapped.” She turned her face away, pretended to be admiring the delicate jasmine growing along the wall. Mateo’s work. Could he be hurt? Or worse?

How the hell did her mom keep her personal feelings out of a case? Because Megan had to fight her tears and even more, the panic that threatened to swamp her at the thought of Mateo lying somewhere, injured, maybe dying, while she was stuck here, powerless to help him.

Lucy wordlessly gathered Megan into her arms. She didn’t make any empty promises like telling Megan that everything would be all right—her mom never made promises she couldn’t keep, which sometimes was irritating as hell. But right now what Megan needed wasn’t promises, but something more. Something she trusted only her mother to give her.

“Find him,” she told Lucy as she choked back tears. “Please, Mom. You’ve got to help Mateo.”

Before Lucy could answer, a silver Jaguar pulled up behind the two police cars. A blonde got out, her dress the same color as the sky. She jogged up the drive, her heels slowing her down, a frown creasing her forehead and one hand pressed against her mouth. She pushed through the gate and spotted Lucy and Megan.

“Who are you? Why are the police here? Where’s my husband?” The rushed questions came in a thick Southern accent that had Megan struggling to translate.