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"Clear!" Derik shouted over the music, his voice strained. But there were no people, only a sea of empty beer bottles littering the floor, glinting in the dim light like so many discarded dreams. Each shattered bottle seemed to mock Morgan's hope that they'd find Heather alive and well; instead, it was as if they had been led into a tomb.
"Where the hell are they?" Morgan hissed under her breath, her eyes darting around the room. She could feel her anger bubbling up, threatening to explode. "Felix, come out now! This is the FBI!"
The deafening music pulsed through the air, making it difficult for Morgan to hear anything else or even think clearly. She clenched her jaw and tried to focus, following the reverberating sound waves until she found the source – a massive stereo system in the living room. A display of neon lights blinked and flashed to the beat, casting eerie shadows on the walls. With a swift motion, Morgan flicked the power button off, silencing the chaotic noise.
"Hey, where'd the music go?" a man's voice called from upstairs, his tone irritated and confused.
Morgan looked up toward the ceiling, her face tense as she listened for any other sounds. Derik, still sweeping through the lower level of the house, glanced at her with a nod, signaling that he was ready for whatever came next.
"Show yourself!" Morgan shouted, trying to maintain authority despite the uncertainty gnawing at her insides. "We're armed and we're not afraid to use force if necessary!"
"Who are you people?" the voice replied, sounding more alarmed than angry now. The floorboards above them creaked as the man began to move, likely seeking the safety of a locked door or hiding place.
"Damn it," Morgan thought, her frustration mounting. He had the advantage of being on higher ground, and they had no idea what weapons he might have access to. She knew she couldn't afford to let her guard down for a second. "Please, just come out peacefully," she called, her voice betraying her desperation. "I don't want to hurt you, but I will if you force my hand."
A door creaked open, and Morgan held her breath, waiting for whatever was about to unfold.
The air grew tense as they waited, the silence almost deafening after the cacophony of music moments before.
Finally, footsteps shuffled above them, and a disheveled figure appeared at the top of the stairs. It was Felix, wearing nothing but his boxers, his hands raised in the air as he trembled uncontrollably.
"Who are you really?" he stammered, his eyes darting between Morgan and Derik. "Are you here for money? Look, I can pay you."
"Enough games," Morgan snapped, feeling her patience wearing thin. She pulled out her badge, allowing it to catch the light just enough to emphasize its authenticity. Beside her, Derik did the same, the pair presenting a unified front. "We told you who we are. FBI. You're not getting out of this by throwing cash around."
"Please, I have more than enough money," Felix persisted, sweat beading on his forehead as his voice cracked. His desperation was palpable, and Morgan couldn't help but feel a pang of pity for the man, despite her suspicions about him.
"Money isn't going to save you this time," she thought, trying to maintain her steely exterior. "But maybe the truth will."
"Then prove it," Felix challenged, his bravado returning momentarily. "Prove that you're really agents and not… not some kidnappers or something."
Morgan's clenched jaw began to ache, her fingers gripping the handle of her gun with white-knuckled tension. She didn't have time for Felix's pathetic attempts at bribery; lives were on the line, and every wasted second felt like an eternity.
Just then, a woman appeared at the top of the stairs, wearing a housecoat and looking bewildered. Her disheveled hair framed her face in a way that was somehow both wild and endearing. Morgan's heart leaped into her throat – this had to be Heather.
"Are you Heather?" she asked, her voice strained with urgency.
The woman blinked down at them, eyes wide in surprise. "Yes," she replied, her tone laced with confusion. "What's going on? Who are you people?"
"Finally," Morgan thought, relief washing over her like a cool wave. "We might be getting somewhere." She allowed herself a moment to collect her thoughts before diving into the explanation Heather so clearly needed.
"We're with the FBI," she said, gesturing to Derik beside her. "We're investigating two murders. One of the victims was found by the marina where Felix keeps his boat. Security footage shows you two fighting there. We need to know what happened."
Heather's face went pale, her breath hitching as she processed the information. Though she seemed genuinely shocked, Morgan couldn't help but scrutinize her every movement, searching for anything that might indicate deception.
"Two murders?" Heather whispered, her fingers curling around the railing as she steadied herself. "I... I don't understand. We weren't fighting, exactly. It was just a disagreement."
"Disagreement?" Derik repeated, his brow furrowing. "We saw you struggle. It looked violent."
Heather's face flushed with indignation as she stepped closer, her hands balled into fists at her sides. "Look, I was really drunk that night, and Felix was just trying to help me into the boat. It wasn't what it looked like on the security footage."
Morgan studied her for a moment, searching for any hint of deceit in her eyes. But Heather's gaze remained steady, filled with an earnestness that Morgan found difficult to dismiss.
"Alright," Morgan conceded, though not entirely convinced. "So you've been here all night, partying?"
"Yes," Heather replied, nodding vigorously. "This is my friend's place. She let us use it for the weekend."
The pounding bass from the stereo had ceased, leaving only an eerie silence hanging in the air. Morgan could hear the faint sound of water lapping against the shore, the distant hum of police boats patrolling the lake. She knew they couldn't afford to waste more time on dead ends, not when a killer was still at large.
