been a punishment, a lesson to do better next time, and that the owner was out there somewhere, alive and well, but minus the forefinger of his right hand.
Others were speculating about where the rest of the pieces of the body might be.
And everyone was wondering who had lost his finger and maybe his life.
Somewhere along the line, Lara had realized that she was angry. Whoever had done this deserved to be incarcerated and maybe boiled in oil. She had survived being kidnapped by an insane killer; she wasn’t going to be terrified into leaving the new job she loved because of another criminal.
It just wasn’t happening, and she had told Meg as much.
“Lara, are you okay?” Meg asked over the phone. She was at her office in Virginia. It had only been a few months back that she had graduated from the FBI academy at Quantico and become an agent—a very special agent, going right from the academy to be part of Adam Harrison’s Krewe of Hunters, special units dealing with crimes that crossed the boundary between everyday reality and what could only be called the paranormal. And if it hadn’t been for the Krewe Lara wasn’t sure that even Meg could have found her where she’d been imprisoned in the old gristmill.
“I’m okay. I’m furious that someone killed someone or mutilated him or whatever, and then dumped the remains in our dolphin lagoons. I just called you because...because you’re my best friend and an FBI agent.” She hesitated. “I’m just venting. Really.”
As she spoke, looking out the window from the second-floor lounge in the small house where the Sea Life staff had their offices, Lara saw that still more law enforcement officials were arriving.
“This place is crawling with cops, and I think more have just arrived,” Lara said. “I think these guys must be FBI. They’re in suits,” she joked.
She realized that if the two men who had just arrived looked up, they would see her. She wasn’t sure why, but she felt her face grow flushed.
“They really might be FBI,” Meg told her. “Miami has a large field office. And what with the immigration situation and the drug smuggling, they might be looking for a missing informant or a low-level criminal who’s disappeared from their radar.”
Lara saw Rick standing by the newcomers and beckoning to her. “I’ve got to go. Whoever they are, I’m guessing the Men in Black want to talk to me.”
“Hang on a second,” Meg said. “Matt wants to talk to you.” Matt Bosworth was both her partner and her fiancé.
“Hey, Matt,” Lara said when he took the phone.
“Who’s there? Can you describe them?”
“Tall, fit guy who looks Hispanic and another tall, fit dark-haired guy who may or may not be Hispanic.”
“Most of our guys are fit,” Matt said. “The Bureau kind of insists on it. And down there, about half the people we work with have dark hair and tons of our agents are Hispanic,” Matt said. “Whoever they are, I’m sure they’ll take good care of you.” His voice grew more somber. “Meg and I can be down by tonight if you want us.”
“I know, and thank you.” She hesitated. The Krewe units came in when something about a situation was unexplainable, otherworldly. Lara had known all her life, throughout their long friendship, that her friend spoke with the dead. At times when she’d been with Meg, she’d believed she saw ghosts, too. Lara had never known if she really did, or if she somehow saw what Meg saw because she was with her friend. The friend whose talents had been crucial in saving her life.
Sometimes she forgot what it had been like—kidnapped and cast into a dark, watery pit. After just a few days she’d been on the edge of death; she’d been barely able to move when Meg had found her.
But that had been life or death.
While this...
This was no threat to her.
“Really, guys. No need for you to get on a plane. I’m surrounded by cops with guns. I just called because it was so bizarre and I wanted to talk to my best friend. Trust me, Rick Laramie, the trainer who was with me at the time, was as freaked out as I was at first. But I’m fine, honestly. Don’t go crazy and turn your lives upside down.”
“We never go crazy,” Matt told her calmly.
She smiled, because she believed that. She’d seen Matt Bosworth under pressure. He was a good man to have around at a critical moment.
“I know that,” Lara assured him. “I’ll keep you up with what’s going on,” she said. “But really, I’m good. Besides, I’m sure Grady Miller, who founded this place, will wind up talking to Adam Harrison, because they’re friends. Anyway, the locals have it covered. And now I’d better go. Your fellow suits are on their way up. Tell Meg I’ll talk to her soon. And thank you both for listening.”
She hung up quickly and stood, waiting, as she heard footsteps coming up the stairs. Rick had been joined by Grady and the two FBI agents.
“Lara,” Grady said the minute he walked in, “I’m so sorry this happened to you.”
Grady Miller was the perfect grandfather. He had thick silver hair and a lined face, but he was very fit for his seventy years. He could still swim like a dolphin himself and was often in the water with the trainers, entertaining visitors with antics only he could manage with the creatures that behaved like beloved puppy dogs around him.
“I’m fine, really, but thank you for being so concerned.”
“Lara,” Rick said, “these are Agents McCullough and Cody.”
She wondered which man was which.
One was quick to smile and very good-looking. He reminded her of Mandy Patinkin in The Princess Bride, though with shorter, but still curly, hair. The other had even darker hair and equally dark eyes, and he didn’t smile. He had a ruggedly sculpted face and looked as if he should have been commanding a Roman legion.
“Hello,” she said, accepting a powerful handshake from each man.
“They want to know exactly what happened today,” Rick said.
She glanced at Rick, frowning. He had been there, too. “You didn’t tell them?”
“We’d like to hear about it from both of you,” the friendlier man said. “I’m McCullough, by the way. Diego McCullough. Strange name, I know, but this is Miami. Lots of mixes, you know?”
“Looks like a great mix to me,” Lara assured him.
The other man didn’t speak. He watched her—waiting. He seemed grim—or maybe even suspicious of her. He had a face with features so perfect and classic—and stern—they belonged on a marble bust.
She glanced at Rick, who shrugged, and then she said, “Rick was teaching me some of his training techniques. Part of training is play. Cocoa was fetching different-size boxes for me, and then she came up with the finger. She had it on the tip of her nose and nudged it toward me, so I picked it up. I didn’t know what it was at first. I think Rick and I realized at the same time. We both screamed, and without thinking I tossed the finger back into the water,
