Page 79 of Protector Unmatched

Before he could finish his sentence, a woman called out to them. “Can I help you?”

Pearce turned and noticed a woman in her fifties standing at the other side of the fence that separated Harcott’s property from his neighbor’s to the left.

“Uh, yes, ma’am.” Pearce pulled his FBI ID from his pocket while approaching the fence. “Maybe you can.”

Daphne walked with him, fumbling for her ID in her jacket pocket.

“We’re looking for Mr. James Harcott.” He flashed his ID in front of the woman’s face. “I’m Special Agent Glaser from the FBI. My colleague—”

“Special Agent Soul,” Daphne interrupted, and flashed her badge and ID.

“Yes, we’d like to talk to Mr. Harcott.”

The woman’s forehead furrowed. “Is he in trouble? Well, doesn’t surprise me. All the dressing up and fighting, the weapons, and that role playing.” She leaned farther over the fence. “I always knew there’s something wrong with him. Spoiled rich kid. Thinks he’s some kind of superhero or something. Always doing something weird. It’s just not right.”

“Excuse me?” What was this woman talking about? Could it be that James Harcott was a demon? Pearce exchanged a look with Daphne, who looked as baffled as he was. “Is there something we should know about Mr. Harcott?”

The neighbor drew back a little. “You’re not here about that? About his fantasy stuff?”

“I’m afraid I can’t tell you what we need to talk to Mr. Harcott about,” Pearce said. “But it’s urgent. Do you know where we can find him?”

“Well, where do you think? At one of those conventions he goes to, of course.”

“Convention?” Pearce echoed.

“Yeah, where they dress up like characters from movies and graphic novels and do God knows what.”

“Are you talking about a cosplay event?” Daphne interrupted.

The woman made an excited motion with her hand. “Yes, yes, that’s what he called it. It’s just not right. I mean, he’s a grown man, for God’s sake.”

Pearce ignored the comment. “Do you by any chance know where this event is taking place?”

“Los Angeles,” she replied. “He left early this morning. The taxi driver honked when he picked him up. Woke me up before six a.m. I was in my right mind to give him hell, but—”

“Thank you so much for your help, ma’am,” Pearce said. “We’ll catch up with him when he gets back.”

“I thought you said it was urgent.”

Pearce forced a smile onto his lips. “Thank you, ma’am. I’ll just go ahead and slip my card underneath his door so he can call me.”

He turned away and made sure Daphne joined him as they walked back to the entrance door of Harcott’s house.

“What now?” Daphne asked.

“As soon as that nosy neighbor isn’t watching us anymore, we’re going around the side of the house and sneak inside from the back.”

Pearce casually turned, pretending to write something on a card, while he lifted his eyes just enough to look into the neighbor’s yard. The woman was now collecting her mail from a box at the sidewalk, her back to them.

“Now,” Pearce said, and grabbed Daphne’s arm.

Swiftly, they walked to the side of the house and turned a corner. There, lush vegetation formed a visual barrier to the street and the neighbor on the other side, but a high wooden gate prevented access to the backyard.

“Give me a sec,” Pearce said, then walked through the gate, pivoted on the other side, and unlocked it for Daphne to enter. He closed the gate behind her, then looked around.

The house sat at the beach, with a direct view of Miami. But they weren’t here to admire the view. Enya was already waiting for them inside the house and opened the French doors for them.

“What did the old biddy say?” Enya asked.