Breakwater (20 page)

Huck picked up the pace as they walked back out to the kitchen. “Hey,” Quinn said, “I’m in high heels.”

“You’re keeping up just fine.”

He took her through the side door that she’d used to get in, skirting the edge of the party. But Gerard Lattimore waved from the shade of an oak. “Quinn! There you are. I’ve been looking for you.” He walked over to her, but glanced at Huck, saw his tension and frowned. “What’s going on?”

“I’m getting the boot,” Quinn said.

“Why?”

“Poking my nose where I shouldn’t.”

Huck loosened his grip on her arm. “I’m escorting Miss Harlowe back to her cottage.”

“I got caught talking to Oliver Crawford in the library,” Quinn explained, not exactly mortified over getting tossed from Breakwater. “Big sin.”

Gerard’s mouth twitched with humor. “Well, perhaps I can redeem you.”

“It’s okay. Really. I just wanted to see the place.”

“You’re sure?”

“Quinn’s leaving,” Huck said.

Gerard frowned at him. “I was hoping she and I would have a chance to talk.”

Quinn knew he would only grill her about what he hadn’t told her, and she’d lost any desire to stay. “I promised my grandfather I’d visit him on my way back to Washington,” she said. “I should get going.”

“Honestly,” Gerard said, “I can intervene and explain to Ollie that you’re like a wandering two-year-old-”

Quinn grinned at him. “Oh, that’s a big help.”

Huck straightened, everything about him on edge. “I need to get a move on.”

When they reached her car, he stood by the passenger door until she was inside, then shut it. If he’d had a dead bolt, he’d probably have used it to lock her in. He went around to the driver’s side and climbed in.

Quinn sat back in her seat. “You Breakwater guys need more to do if you’re getting all excited about me sneaking in through Crawford’s kitchen.”

“Crawford was exposed,” Huck said. “The Riccardis will regard your little escapade as a major security breach.”

“I should have knocked him on the head with a vase, just to give you all a rush.” She snapped her seat belt into place. “Relax. It all worked out.”

“Not by their standards.”

“Look, go on, go back to work. I’ll drive myself to my cottage. Kowalski’s probably sitting on my front porch waiting for me.”

Huck ignored her and started the engine.

“I did tell him about the rumor of an affair and the SSRIs first.”

“How good of you.”

“I’d have told you, but you were parking cars.”

He shot her a look. “Quinn, this isn’t a damn game.”

“I know that.” She spoke softly, just managing to maintain her composure. “At night-I wake up seeing the gulls at Alicia’s body.”

He gripped the wheel of her Saab. “I’m sorry.”

“No, you have a right to be angry, and concerned. I came out here on impulse.” She looked out the window at the beautiful setting. “This place is a viper pit.”

“That’s where guys like me get sent.”

“Steve Eisenhardt stole notes out of one of my research notebooks. Nothing that would compromise your work.” She continued to stare out the window as Huck backed out of her parking space. “My neighbors think Alicia and Oliver Crawford were having an affair, but he says they weren’t. Their relationship was platonic. He could talk to her. Then there’s the possible SSRI reaction-”

“That’s why you need to step back.”

“I didn’t mean to cause any trouble.”

He didn’t respond. They drove to her cottage in silence, and when he pulled into her driveway, he turned off the ignition. “I don’t want to leave you alone.”

“If one of your guys is coming for you, I don’t see that you have much of a choice.”

“You’ve pissed off too many people this afternoon.”

“I’ve never been thrown out of a party. I’ve never been thrown out of anything.” She opened up her door and smiled over at him. “It’s not as humiliating as I thought it’d be.”

But he didn’t smile back. Instead, he got out of the car and walked behind her to her side door.

“You know, it’s occurred to me-how do I know for sure you’re who you say you are?” She gave him a cool look that was entirely fabricated. “What if this is a case of the wolf guarding the henhouse?”

He stepped in close to her. “If something goes wrong, sweet pea, you’d better hope I’m a wolf.”

Her mouth went dry. As she unlocked the door, Quinn noticed her hands were trembling. And not from fear, she realized, or even embarrassment over her removal from the Crawford party. From awareness. Pure, physical, sexual awareness.

Huck slipped his arms around her middle and turned her to him, gently, any irritation with her gone now. “You and I have unfinished business.” He kissed her deeply, romantically, and whispered with a hint of a smile, “Get your butt back to D.C., Harlowe.”

“Or I’ll have a marshal on my tail?”

“You’re on Diego’s radar screen as it is. Showing up at Breakwater today and getting tossed out just caused you to be a brighter blip.”

“What does kissing you do?”

He gave her a sudden grin. “Let’s hope Diego didn’t see that part.”

“Kowalski-”

“The FBI’s on your case too. Lucky you.”

A black SUV pulled alongside her cottage, Vern Glover in the driver’s seat. Huck winked at her. “See you, sweet pea. Be good.”

But Quinn noticed the seriousness that had returned to his eyes, and by the time the SUV was out of sight, she was still on her doorstep, shivering, and, for the first time, afraid for him.

Gerard paced along the stone patio agitated beyond all reason in the forty-five minutes since Quinn had left. The party was winding down quickly. People seemed reassured, even excited, about Breakwater Security, as if somehow having it in Yorkville made them safer. Perhaps, he thought, it did, but he had always been skeptical about Ollie’s new venture.

A sudden surge of loneliness caught him by surprise. He didn’t like attending social functions alone, but he’d never considered bringing a date to Yorkville. He didn’t know why. Quinn? He shook off the thought, as if temptation’s long reach had struck out and knocked him for a loop. He needed to resist. Quinn Harlowe had nothing to offer him or his career, except a fascinating pedigree and the most beautiful hazel eyes.

He swore under his breath at his own calculated thinking, but he had to do something to cut through his fears.

He finished another glass of champagne. He hadn’t seen Ollie at all, perhaps just as well. In his current mood, Gerard didn’t trust himself not to go over the line and say more than he should, accuse his longtime friend of playing him for a fool, accuse him of going overboard since his kidnapping.

Best to get the hell out of here.

He would let the FBI find Eisenhardt and talk to him.

Getting rid of his champagne glass, Gerard looked around for someone to drive him back to his boat. He’d collapse and sleep late, cleanse his thoughts, then hire himself an attorney, on the slim chance that Steve hadn’t exaggerated or lied altogether. His warning had shaken Gerard more than he’d realized at first. It brushed too close to his life, his ambitions. As callous as that sounded, what else did he have? He would be irresponsible not to protect his interests.

“You look as if you’re about to run screaming back to D.C.”

Gerard turned, smiling, in spite of his mood, at his longtime friend. “Ollie. I was beginning to wonder if you’d given up on your own party and gone for a walk on the beach.”

“What passes for a beach out here.” He gave a short, awkward laugh, then turned to face the bay, glistening in the afternoon sun. “I never should have had this open house. It was a bad idea.”

“Your guests all seemed to enjoy themselves. I got the impression that being able to actually see what you’re doing here won most of them over.”

“That’s good,” Crawford replied, but he didn’t sound pleased. He sighed, keeping his gaze on the water. “There was a scene earlier with Quinn Harlowe.”

“I heard,” Gerard said, surprised that Ollie didn’t seem irritated with her. “I didn’t get any details. What did she do?”

“She slipped into the house and found me in the library. No one noticed. Then she…” Pausing, Oliver turned to his old friend. “She’s suspicious, Gerry. She’s spinning conspiracies and fantasies where there are none. I’m afraid she’s going to get burned.”

“She’s still upset over her friend’s death.”

“Gerry, perhaps you should remember that Quinn Harlowe isn’t just a pretty face. She’s a well respected, very sharp expert in transnational criminal networks.”

Gerard tried to smile. “Yes, but unless you’re operating a criminal network out of your dining room, you have nothing to worry about.”

“ Sharon was very angry with her. One of the new guys, Huck Boone, escorted Quinn out of there. Joe Riccardi went pale. I think he was worried about what his wife would do, actually.”

“From what I’ve seen of her, she’s one tough cookie.” Gerard frowned at his friend, who suddenly looked as if he wanted to cry. “Ollie? Are you okay?”

“Alicia’s death has affected me more than I realized.” He cleared his throat, rallying. “I don’t mind saying so.”

“But you hardly knew her…”

“I got to know her over the last month. We became close-not romantically. I’ve never met anyone I could talk to the way I could her.”

Gerard felt his spine straighten. “Oliver, you might not want to divulge more.”

“You’re right. I’m just-” He clapped a hand on Gerard’s shoulder. “I’m just contemplating what might have been. Come in for a drink before you leave.”

“I shouldn’t. I’ve had too much to drink as it is.”

“Gerry…I had nothing to do with Alicia Miller’s death.”

“If I thought you did, I wouldn’t have come near this place today.”

“Stay, Gerry. Let’s talk.”

But a stiff-backed Travis Lubec was waiting just off the patio to take him back to his boat. Gerard wanted to go back to Washington, but wondered what would happen if he said no. He told himself he was being ridiculous, he was getting paranoid-thanks to Steve Eisenhardt.

“Of course, Ollie. We’ve known each other a long time.” He met his friend’s gaze. “I’d be happy to stay and talk.”

Quinn ducked into the bedroom and changed into jeans, a sweatshirt and water shoes, wondering what had possessed her to fall so hard for Huck, because that was what she’d done. If Vern Glover hadn’t shown up, she had no doubt she and her undercover marshal would be in bed right now.

She hoped she wasn’t responding to some need to remind herself that she was alive and had done her best by Alicia-that kissing Huck Boone/McCabe on her doorstep wasn’t just about the risk, the adrenaline rush of being around him. He was sexy, confident, irreverent. She liked him.

On the other hand, he was pretending to be a bodyguard. She’d never seen his badge. She’d never seen him off duty. She couldn’t picture where he lived, didn’t know who his friends were, what he liked to do when he wasn’t working undercover.

Basically, she didn’t know much about the man at all, she thought, tying back her hair. But as she finished up and shut the bureau drawer, she caught the reflection of her bed in the mirror and saw that the bed linens were askew. She’d been too preoccupied to notice sooner.

She felt a crawling sensation and, grabbing an antique wooden canoe paddle she’d meant to stick on a wall, returned to the kitchen.

Her silverware drawer was partially open, but she was positive she hadn’t left it that way.

Quinn walked into the bathroom and found an entire drawer dumped into the sink. Bottles of aspirin, antihistamine, antacid tablets. Her first-aid kit.

She checked the guest room. It was torn apart-bureau drawers, bed linens, closet.

Heart pounding, Quinn grabbed her cell phone and dialed Kowalski’s number. She didn’t reach him and left a message, then called his pager number.

While she waited for him to call her back, she headed outside, half hoping to find Huck or Diego Clemente on her doorstep.

An osprey circled over the salt marsh.

Alicia had tried to tell her something.

“The osprey will kill me.”

Quinn unlocked the shed and dragged her green kayak down to the water. She figured she was just as safe-safer, actually-on the water.

Although she had mastered a quick entry into her kayak, she nonetheless always managed to get wet, especially since her cove wasn’t the best spot for launching. At least she was more appropriately dressed for the conditions than the last time she’d paddled, when the initial shock of Alicia’s death still had her in its grip.

But as she paddled out to the mouth of the cove, Quinn felt a range of emotions, none of them simple.

There were babies in the osprey nest. It was high up-no way could Alicia have left some kind of message in the nest itself.

Quinn placed her paddle across the cockpit and let her kayak bob in the water. Maybe there was no meaning to any of Alicia’s ramblings at the coffee shop, and she’d been focused on ospreys just because she had them in her head.

A coincidence, not a message.

Sitting quietly in the kayak, Quinn looked at the shore and saw more osprey nests. She counted five without even trying.

And Alicia, she remembered, had launched down the shore-where there were more nests.

So many.

The kayak bumped against the buoy pole, hitting a dark blue line tied just under the water. Quinn couldn’t recall ever having seen it before. Careful not to tip too far in one direction and capsize, she dipped her hand into the cold water and pulled on the line, feeling a weight on the other end.

“What on earth?” she said aloud, splashing water from the line onto her boat, her sweater and jeans, but ignoring the cold, the discomfort as she continued to reel up the line.

In another few seconds, she heaved a small, black waterproof bag, hooked securely to the line, onto her lap in the cockpit.

Her fingers cold and wet, she managed to open the bag.

Inside were a clear plastic bag and a prescription bottle.

Quinn dried off one hand as best she could and pulled out the bottle, gasping when she saw that it was leftover prescription-strength ibuprofen from an old knee injury. She thought she’d left it in her bedroom nightstand.

Ten to one, she thought, it didn’t contain ibuprofen.

She held the bottle up to the light and saw blue pills…different pills.

Whatever they were, Alicia had taken them, thinking they were ibuprofen.

But who’d switched the pills?

Steve. He knew about Alicia’s reaction to antidepressants. Brian had said Steve was there when she’d talked about it.

Quinn didn’t dare open the bottle and risk accidentally spilling the contents into the bay. She carefully returned the bottle to the bag and checked the clear bag, just peeking inside at the contents.

Pictures, printed off a digital camera.

Two color photos were clearly visible on the top sheet. Rocking in her kayak, she focused on them.

The top photo was of two crates of weapons. Grenades, mortars. Very illegal.

Beneath it was a photo of a small, rustic hut.

On its roof was an osprey nest.

Quinn quickly closed up the clear plastic bag and tucked it back into the waterproof bag. She hadn’t taken her cell phone out onto the water with her. She hoped Diego Clemente had seen her and was on his way-that Kowalski was just around the corner.

Where had Alicia gotten such pictures?

When?

Quinn made sure the black bag was secured and dropped it back into the water.

Alicia had tried to tell her. Agitated, frightened, out of her head-she’d done what she could to tell everyone.

Including the wrong people.

The mama osprey dive-bombed toward her nest and Quinn, the intruder.

Moving fast, out of the angry bird’s path, she paddled straight for shore, using the wind to her favor. The closest, easiest spot to reach was the stretch of marsh where she’d found Alicia.

No wonder she ended up here, Quinn thought, leaping out of the kayak into the water and dragging it ashore.

“Quinn…help me.”

She thought she’d imagined the voice. Alicia?

“Quinn!”

Quinn picked up her kayak paddle. “Who is it?”

“It’s me, Steve.” He was on his hands and knees in a snarl of brush and small trees, blood dripping down his left arm. “Please-Quinn, I need your help.”

Paddle in hand, Quinn shook her head. “FBI’s on the way. You need to tell them everything, Steve-you hear me? Everything.”

“I know, I know.” He staggered to his feet, half sobbing. “Just help me…”

Quinn couldn’t work up any pity for him. “You’re a son of a bitch, Steve. You switched my prescription ibuprofen for some kind of antidepressant. You knew Alicia would react-”

“I didn’t make the switch. I just told them about her reaction. If it’d been me-I never would have left any pills behind after she died.”

“It was you in my cottage-”

“They wanted to know what she was up to-how much she knew about them.” His voice croaked, more blood dripping down his arm, the shirt sleeve red with blood. He seemed to be in genuine agony. “I told them nothing, only that she wasn’t spying on them. They wouldn’t believe me. I had to tell them about her reaction to antidepressants. I hoped it’d just give them room to maneuver. I thought the pills would make her weird, not suicidal.”

“She didn’t kill herself. You killed her.”

“Her shoulders hurt from kayaking.” He stopped, bending over as if he had a stomach cramp and couldn’t take another step. “She told me she found your old prescription.”

“And you told-who?”

“The Nazi. The SS guard. That’s what I call him. Travis Lubec.”

Lubec, Quinn remembered, had engineered his boss’s rescue in the Dominican Republic and was instrumental in converting Crawford’s Chesapeake Bay compound into Breakwater Security.

She thought of Huck, wondered how much he knew, how she could get this information to him. “Damn it, Steve. Why?”

“Quinn, I’m not like you. I’m weak.” He stood up straight, leveling a pistol at her. He must have had it tucked in his pants-Quinn hadn’t seen it. “I’m sorry, but Crawford’s guys have me by the short hairs.”

“Damn, Steve. Look what you’ve done…”

“Lattimore didn’t listen. I tried to warn him. They’ll either convert him or kill him as an example of their power and purity.”

“They’re true believers in their cause.”

“Oh, yeah. Big time. They’re going to save us from ourselves.”

Quinn nodded to the gun. “You don’t need to keep that pointed at me. I’ll do what you want me to do.”

He motioned halfheartedly for her to go ahead of him, onto a narrow footpath. “Just walk.”

The path wound through the buggy, marshy wetland, and Quinn hoped they’d startle a snake, and Steve would drop his gun. She thought of the ospreys and the gulls, soaring above the coastline, seeing everything.

She came to an abandoned hut.

The hut in Alicia’s pictures.

Quinn felt her throat catch. “Steve-what’s going on?”

He pushed open the door, but there was no sign of any crates. Any illegal weapons and explosives stored there when Alicia was alive had been moved out.

Travis Lubec stepped out of the hut with a sniper rifle, tapping Steve in the chest with it. “Nice work. Always can count on you to be a weasel.”

White-faced, bleeding, Steve turned to Quinn. “My gun’s empty. Lubec caught me searching your cottage. He’d have shot both of us if I didn’t cooperate.” He began to sob. “If it’d been just me, I’d have let him put a bullet in my head. I’m so sorry. I had no choice.”

Quinn reined in her fear and tilted her chin up, eyeing Steve coldly. She had one chance to get out of this-convince Lubec she was on his side, at least long enough to buy herself time. “Lubec’s right. You are a weasel. Even now, you’re hoping the feds saw us and will come to your rescue.” She shook her head. “But I took steps to prevent them from following me.” Nonsense, of course, but she hoped Lubec would be confused or thrown off enough by her act to give herself a chance to alert Huck or Diego. Diego and Kowalski were hopefully en route-Diego must have seen her in her kayak, at the buoy, and realized she’d found something.