“This is the home of the Mitchell family,” Hill said. “They have a seventeen-year-old son named Brody, who was a friend of Hugo Springer’s. We believe he’s the one we’re looking for.”

“Who’s got the lead?” Sam asked.

“You all do,” Hill said. “Your jurisdiction.”

She looked at Gonzo. “What’s the plan, Sergeant?”

“We’ll go in flashing badges and firepower. The goal is to locate Brody, get him to take down the video and photos while we watch and then take him into custody so we can get more information about what he saw at the Springer house and who else was at the party.”

“Sounds good,” Sam said. “Let’s do it.”

They approached the Mitchells’ front door as a group. The other two agents circled around the house to cover the back door while Sam, Gonzo, Freddie and Hill took the front.

Gonzo made a fist and pounded on the front door. “Metro PD. Open up.”

Inside, a dog howled with outrage.

The door swung open and a woman stared at them with big eyes. “What’s this about?”

“Detective Sergeant Gonzales, Metro PD. We’re looking for Brody Mitchell. Does he live here?”

“Y-yes. Why?”

“Is he home?”

“He’s sleeping. What do you want with him?”

“We’re going to need you to step aside, ma’am,” Gonzo said.

Mrs. Mitchell did as directed, and they moved swiftly into the house. Sam and Freddie took the stairs to the second floor, opening doors until they found a teenage boy asleep in a messy room.

“Wake up, Brody,” Sam said. The lump on the bed barely stirred, so she got down close to his ear. “Wake up!”

He came to abruptly, recoiling when he saw cops with guns drawn standing over his bed. “What the hell?” His dark brown hair stood on end, and he hadn’t shaved in days. Sam decided he was probably popular with the girls, and she wondered if he, too, had taken a turn with Brooke.

“Are you the douchebag that runs the WilsonSeniors account online?”

“Uhh, I’m not at liberty to discuss that.”

Freddie went to the door to call down to the others. “He’s up here.”

Hoping to get his attention, Sam slipped the safety off her gun, which made an ominous-sounding clicking noise. “Get up. Now.”

He zeroed in on the gun that was pointed at him. “I, uh, I don’t have any clothes on.”

“Too bad. On your feet. Hands on your head.”

Moving slowly, he got out of bed and did as directed. He was tall and lean with muscles in all the right places and sported a hard-on that stuck straight out in front of him.

He flashed a grin that probably made the teenage girls swoon. “Morning wood.”

Sam shuddered at the thought of his wood touching her niece. “Shut up and put some pants on.”

Brody pulled on a pair of basketball shorts.