Harvey appeared from behind a hedge separating Nathan’s property with its neighbor to the east. He hustled up to her position. “I think you should have your FBI badge out when the cavalry gets here. We’ve got less than thirty seconds. No sudden movements. We’ll let the first officer on scene take control. Let’s put our weapons on the deck and step back from them.”

The police cruiser arrived in a big hurry with its siren howling and light bar flashing. The officer killed the siren, parked in the middle of the street and climbed out, his weapon already drawn.

“You’re on,” Harvey whispered.

Holding her badge at arm’s length, she spoke loudly and forcefully. “FBI. Special Agent in Charge, Holly Simpson, Sacramento field office.”

The officer’s response was predictable. He trained his service piece on them and closed to within twenty feet. “Keep your hands where I can see them.”

She and Harvey complied.

“We need a bus,” she added. “Blunt force head trauma. Semiconscious. Possibly a glancing bullet wound.”

“Copy that,” the officer replied, “medical is already on the way.” He spoke into his lapel mike. A second cruiser arrived from the opposite direction. Two more sirens closed in.

Holly pointed toward the house. “We’ve got three dead inside, a fourth escaped on foot. He’s armed with an assault pistol and dressed in tactical SWAT gear with a gunshot wound to his hand.”

Keeping his weapon aimed at them, he again said, “Copy,” and relayed the info.

Holly heard a second officer move in behind her.

“I’d like to search you for weapons and verify your identity.”

“No problem, Officer. My service piece is on the ground in front of me.”

He looked at Harvey, then back to her. “He with you?”

“Yes.”

The cop addressed Harvey. “Your identity, please?”

“Harvey Fontana. I own First Security, Incorporated.”

“The company with the radio ads?”

Harv nodded toward Nathan. “My business partner, Nathan McBride. The break-in set off an alarm that relayed to my cell phone. I wasn’t far away. That’s why I’m here. We’ve got a sensitive crime scene in there. This is an FBI-involved shooting. ”

“Understood. First things first. Let’s get your identities verified. Then we’ll secure and protect the crime scene. I want both of you to lay facedown on the ground with your arms out to your sides. We’ll clear this up quickly.”

She saw the officer focus on the bloody washcloth tied to her arm.

“We’ll get you medical treatment and contact your San Diego field office and let them know what happened. Just let me confirm your identities and we’ll get this straightened out double quick.”

“Thank you, Officer.”

***