Breakwater

by Carla Neggers

  “Travis,” Sharon said coldly, “take Miss Harlowe—”

  Oliver held up a hand. “Not just yet.”

  Quinn, her heart racing, faked a yawn. “You all are such amateurs. I thought you were real players. You have to get with the program here.”

  But the boss wasn’t listening. He was staring at the woman he’d trusted with his life. “Sharon?”

  She smashed her glass down onto a side table. “Oh, stop. Stop! I’ve been at this a lot longer than you have, Oliver. I know what’s at stake. We were cash-strapped after that mess last fall. We had every law enforcement officer in the country looking for us. We needed you to get off the fence. I knew once you got a taste of what we were up against, you’d come through for us.”

  Oliver Crawford jumped to his feet and turned to the window, apparently trusting someone, Quinn thought, to keep Sharon Riccardi from shooting him in the back. At the hall door, Joe Riccardi was stiff and silent. Quinn suspected he was armed—and on her side.

  Gerard Lattimore looked as if he was about to have a heart attack.

  Sharon was near tears. “You give the orders, Oliver. You always have. Things are out of control. Call off the hits you ordered. We have to be patient. We have to pick our battles or we lose the war—”

  “My God,” Crawford whispered, “my kidnapping—it was your doing.”

  She spun to Lubec. “Travis?”

  “Mr. Crawford gives the orders.”

  “Joe?” With a quivering lower lip, Sharon Riccardi turned to her husband. “You’ll stand by me, won’t you? I know you’re not a part of our movement, not officially. In your heart—”

  “No, Sharon.” He shook his head. “I came here to do a legitimate job. I’m not some psycho making up the rules as I go along.”

  “Bastard.”

  He ducked into the hall. Travis started to follow him, but Quinn stepped in front of him, aware of Lattimore on the sofa, frozen, staring at her. She had no idea if he’d help keep everyone off balance, talking, instead of shooting—but she couldn’t wait for him to make up his mind. “Travis, you didn’t switch the meds, did you? My prescription-strength ibuprofen for an SSRI—”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Travis replied.

  “No, that was Sharon, wasn’t it?” Quinn pressed on. “She wanted Alicia agitated and upset. Her husband—” Quinn turned, trying to keep both Lubec and Sharon in sight. “Sharon, you said he used to run through the marsh. You followed his same route last night. You’d had too much to drink—”

  “I didn’t follow his route. I followed a path through the marsh.” She raised her chin, defiant. “Yes, I was a little drunk. I had a lot on my mind. Oliver—”

  “You let Alicia take a medication to which she was allergic, thinking it was ibuprofen?” Oliver shouted. “Why? What was the point? She was so agitated, so out of control—” Crawford staggered toward Sharon, fighting a sob. “She wasn’t a real danger to us until then. I couldn’t risk—” He raked both hands through his hair. “Having her in that state was too great a risk. She knew too much.”

  “Not because of me,” Sharon said, hoarse now. “Because of Joe.”

  “Oh, I get it.” Quinn acted as if the realization had just hit her. “Alicia wasn’t having an affair with your boss. She was sleeping with your husband.”

  Sharon took two steps forward and slapped Quinn across the face, a crisp smack that stung, then flew around to face Oliver. “You killed her?”

  “We let her die,” he confessed. “It had to be done.”

  “Oliver—” Gerard’s voice was strangled. “You’ve gone off the edge.”

  His eyes shining with conviction, Crawford pleaded with him. “Help us, Gerry. Join us.”

  Lattimore looked away, as if he couldn’t stand the sight of his longtime friend another second. “I have no intention of helping you or joining you.”

  “All right. Have it your way.” Crawford stood up straight, deflated. “Travis, take Mr. Lattimore back to his yacht. I’ll trust in our friendship and his own self-interest that he’ll keep what we said here today private.”

  Quinn moved in front of her former boss. If he went off with Travis Lubec, Lattimore was dead. “Wait, let me try talking to him.” She saw Huck enter the room from the same hall she had used earlier, his gun drawn. “Huck, why don’t you and I take Gerard out of here and have a talk with him?”

  His eyes connected with hers for half a second, just enough for her to know he understood the situation. “Vern and Rochester are on the way,” he said, moving toward her. “Is everything okay in here?”

  Sharon slumped with relief. “We’ve had something of a miscommunication here.”

  “I’ll say.” Quinn touched her cheek where Sharon had smacked her. “It seems Sharon and Oliver aren’t on the same page. She had him kidnapped and tried to undermine her husband’s affair with Alicia by making her crazy, but Oliver also went behind Sharon’s back—”

  “Sounds complicated,” Huck said, easing toward Travis Lubec.

  “Don’t listen to her,” Sharon said. “Oliver and I are a team. Oliver, call off the hits you ordered. The feds are fumbling in the dark, wondering who we are. Don’t give them a reason to pursue us until we drop dead of old age.”

  Quinn could see Oliver losing patience. “How close do you think the feds are to figuring you out?”

  Sharon scowled in disdain. “Not as close as they think.”

  Huck leveled his weapon on Lubec. “How about this close, princess? Lubec—hands where I can see them. I’m a federal agent. Another federal agent is behind Joe Riccardi, armed with an MP5. You do not want to make a move for your weapon.”

  “Fuck you both,” Lubec said.

  Sharon Riccardi turned white. “You son of a bitch, Boone. You liar.”

  Huck disarmed Lubec of a gun in a shoulder holster and an assault knife in a sheath on his ankle. On the sofa, Lattimore sat frozen, but Quinn could see he had a good grasp of the situation and didn’t believe she’d turned into a vigilante.

  From the hall door, Joe Riccardi said calmly, “Sharon wears a twenty-two on her ankle. Crawford isn’t armed. He believes only his subordinates should have weapons.”

  Diego Clemente stepped past the retired army colonel and lifted the hem of Sharon Riccardi’s long, rose-colored skirt. “I have the proper permits,” she said coldly. “I’ve done nothing wrong.”

  Lattimore cleared his throat, staring at Huck. “Who are you?”

  “Deputy U.S. Marshal Huck McCabe, sir.” He nodded to his partner, who had moved to pat down Oliver Crawford as a precaution. “That’s Deputy Clemente.”

  “What about Kowalski?”

  “He’ll be here shortly.”

  Lattimore, who obviously had used up any reserves, collapsed against the back of the sofa, his face blank as he stared at his former college roommate.

  “Thank God.” Oliver Crawford’s hands shook as he held them above his head. “Boone—whatever your name is. I knew you couldn’t be on the same side as these crazy bastards. I had a vague idea what Sharon was up to, but no details. She had me kidnapped. I had to draw her out into the open. Quinn and I played along with her vigilante line—”

  Before Crawford went any further, Diego arrested him and read him his rights.

  “Quinn?” Huck kept his eyes on Lubec. “You okay?”

  “Still smarting from Sharon’s slap. I haven’t been hit that hard, ever.”

  “You’ve been in the bay again?”

  “Kayaking.” She thought a moment, then continued, steadier. “Alicia sealed evidence in a waterproof bag and hid it in the water under the osprey nest out by my cottage. The medication she was taking. And pictures—pictures of illegal weapons and explosives.” Quinn glanced at Joe Riccardi. “You gave them to her.”

  Riccardi’s nostrils flared slightly. “Alicia said she’d get them to the right people. I didn’t know—” His eyes filled with tears. “I never should have used her that way. I did
n’t want to tip off Sharon and Crawford I was onto them—I wanted to get as much evidence against them as I could. I only knew about the illegal weapons and their extreme views—not the rest of it. The kidnapping, the torture and murder.”

  “You thought you could help,” Quinn said.

  “We wanted to nail them, Alicia and I. They suspended shipments of illegal weapons. They knew someone was getting close. I thought if I bided my time…” He sighed heavily, drained. “I never thought they’d kill Alicia.”

  Kowalski arrived. In minutes the place was flooded with federal agents. Joe Riccardi sank onto a chair, buried his face in his hands and cried.

  Sharon Riccardi spit on her husband as Huck placed handcuffs on her.

  After he turned Sharon over to another federal agent, Huck stood next to Quinn and smiled. “You’re still red where you got smacked.”

  “She’s lucky I can’t shoot. If I could—”

  “You can’t shoot, sweet pea, but you sure can talk.” He winked at her. “You did great. You kept them off balance, and you kept yourself and Lattimore here. You isolated the situation as best you could.”

  Quinn nodded. “What about Nate Winter, Juliet Longstreet—the people Crawford sent his killers after—”

  T.J. Kowalski answered. “They’re fine.” He smiled. “You okay, Special Agent Harlowe?”

  She managed a smile. “What happened to Steve?”

  “On his way to the hospital,” Kowalski said. “He wants to cut a deal, but he doesn’t know half of what you’ve figured out. Lubec has pictures of him and a congressman’s fifteen-year-old daughter.” The FBI agent made a face, disgusted. “Yeah. Can’t wait to see those.”

  He pulled Huck away, and Quinn shivered, suddenly aware of how cold she was. Diego Clemente appeared at her side and put a blanket over her shoulders. “Cashmere,” he said. “Ollie’s going to have quite a comedown when he gets to prison.”

  “He and Gerard—”

  “Not such good friends after all.” Diego tilted his head back, eyeing her. “You and McCabe, huh?”

  “I might just be a fling,” Quinn said. “A stress reliever.”

  “Stress reliever? You, Harlowe?” He grinned. “I don’t think so. Wait until you meet Huck’s family. You two need to spend a few days at the McCabe family hotel. The towels are something.”

  Quinn tucked her hands under the blanket, trying to get warm. “I want my office and normalcy.”

  Huck joined them and gave her a skeptical look. “Sure you do.”

  39

  T wo weeks after he’d watched one of his longest friendships implode in front of him, Gerard Lattimore talked Thelma Worthington into letting him into the headquarters of the American Society for the Study of Plants and Animals. Thelma no longer trusted him, with good cause. Oliver Crawford, Alicia Miller, Steve Eisenhardt—Gerard was bad luck. If he hadn’t had on blinders, he would have seen what was going on sooner, and Quinn wouldn’t have almost been killed herself. For certain, she’d have been spared the trauma of the past month.

  Quinn wasn’t one to wear blinders.

  Thelma sniffed at him. “Quinn’s on her way down. She’s just back from Quantico.”

  “How’s she look?” He hadn’t seen her since Breakwater.

  “You can judge for yourself.”

  Ten seconds later, Quinn glided down the stairs, wearing a suit, her hair shining. Gone were the strain and the intensity, the sheer determination he’d seen in her as she’d kept Oliver Crawford and Sharon Riccardi focused on each other, exposed the lies they’d been telling each other and everyone else. And kept him alive. If he’d gone back to his boat, Huck McCabe and his crew would have been scooping him out of the bay in pieces.

  “Quinn,” he whispered, kissing her on the cheek. “How are you?”

  “Doing well.” She smiled, standing back. “Almost back to normal.”

  “I’m not sure I know what normal is anymore.”

  “It’s a word that has to be redefined from time to time. You? How are you doing?”

  “All right. It’s still a day at a time.” He glanced at Thelma, who didn’t pretend she wasn’t listening in, then turned back to Quinn. “I’ve resigned from Justice. I’m taking a job at a law firm in Los Angeles. A fresh start.”

  “I hope it’s a good one for you,” Quinn said.

  “My wife and daughters—” He broke off, collecting himself before he lost it completely. “They’re coming with me.”

  “Gerard, that’s wonderful!”

  “I don’t know if it’ll work, but what happened in Yorkville woke me up. I wish I’d had an easier awakening, but at least I’m trying to make some positive changes in my life.”

  She took his hand and squeezed it. “Good luck.”

  “It was so easy to have a schoolboy crush on you, Quinn. I tried to deny it, even to myself, and I never wanted to pressure you….” He left it at that. “Be happy, okay?”

  “I will—I am.”

  “Huck McCabe.” Gerard smiled. “You’ll have to keep him. Thelma likes him.”

  Quinn laughed, and Thelma scowled at him, and when he left, the Society’s door shutting softly behind him, he felt as if he’d just crossed the threshold from one life to another, and truly did have a chance for a fresh start.

  Quinn took a glass of iced tea down to the water’s edge and gazed out at her quiet cove, her first day back in Yorkville since she’d ended up making international headlines.

  The reporters were gone, the law enforcement officers were gone, Oliver Crawford and his people were locked up on a variety of charges and, for now, the wildlife of Virginia’s Northern Neck once again had the run of Breakwater.

  Diego Clemente had returned to California. “I’ll never have to wear a Yankees shirt again,” he’d told Quinn. “This is good.”

  But Diego had also wanted to give her and his partner space.

  “Huck doesn’t want to settle down.” She’d had to fight for the right words.

  “He wants to settle down with you. There’s a difference.”

  Since the end of his undercover operation in Yorkville, Huck had stayed in Washington, tying up loose ends, helping Nate Winter and his wife get settled into their new home, arguing with Juliet Longstreet—and listening to Diego and Ethan Brooker swap stories about their days together in the Special Forces. Quinn had joined him as much as she could, given his responsibilities and hers. Every minute she was with Huck, she found herself liking him more and more, enjoying his company, unable to imagine having him back in California and her in Washington.

  But except for the occasional kiss, their encounters over the past two weeks were very chaste, and Quinn was going nuts.

  She was, she mused, incredibly attracted to him.

  “I pissed him off in Yorkville,” she’d told Diego.

  He’d grinned. “There’s that.”

  “Hey, Quinn.”

  She spun around, spilling her tea, discovering Huck so close to her that some of the ice landed on his feet. “Do they teach you how to sneak up on people in fugitive-catching class?”

  “Yeah, actually, they do.”

  “I didn’t hear you. The wind, the tide coming in—” She looked around her. “It’s such a beautiful spot.”

  “It is.”

  “Huck—”

  He seemed to know what she was going to say. “It’s okay. It can wait—”

  “It can’t wait. It’s waited too long. I did what I did, took the risks I took that day because I had to. I’d failed Alicia. I didn’t want to fail anyone else.”

  He smiled. “I should have locked you in the trunk from the start.”

  “Your Rover doesn’t have a trunk. Neither does Diego’s truck. You guys are just a lot of hot air.”

  “It was a figure of speech.” He took the tea glass out of her hand and set it in the sand, returning to her, his eyes squinted against the wind and sun. “We took a risk in leaving you alone.”

  “I’m not an easy person,
Huck. I never have been.”

  “That’s why you’re an expert in transnational crime at thirty-two. You push hard.” He caught a few strands of hair that had escaped her ponytail and tucked them behind her ear. “You’re also more of an adrenaline junkie than you want to admit.”

  “Kayak into the wind. That’s my idea of an adrenaline rush. But you—”

  “No more undercover work for me. That part of my life is over. I’m not doing it again.”

  “How much of the man I fell for in those weeks was Huck Boone, bodyguard, and how much was Huck McCabe, undercover federal agent?”

  “I never lied to you.” He thought a moment and shrugged. “Well, almost never.”

  “Are you going back to California?” she asked.

  “After meeting your grandfather, I don’t see you in California.”

  “You met my grandfather? When?”

  He ignored her. “I want to be where you are, Quinn. I’ve got options. Nate Winter wants me in Washington. Hell, Thelma’s working on a grant for me from the Society for Plants and Animals.”

  “The American Society for the Study of—”

  “Right. She thinks I’m a born adventurer.”

  “You’ll do what the USMS asks you to do,” Quinn said. “Another task force, another assignment. You love your work.”

  “You? Have you done your workshop at Quantico? All those FBI guys.”

  “All very buff, I might add. They listened to my every word.”

  “That’s because they knew I’d kick their butts if they didn’t. And because you’re good at what you do and everyone knows it. You’re not a phony.”

  “I just work hard, and I have an insatiable curiosity.”

  “See? We’re two peas in a pod. If you hadn’t managed the situation, Lubec would have killed Steve Eisenhardt. Now, he’s talking. You’re independent, Quinn. You’re courageous. You make things happen.”

  “But I’m not patient. You’re patient.”

  “Only when I have to be. Right now, Quinn, I can’t last another second without making love to you.”