Breakwater

14

Steve Eisenhardt bought a tall coffee-to-go at a Starbucks between his apartment and the Department of Justice and hoped the caffeine jolt would help clear his head.

Alicia was dead. He might as well have killed her himself.

After he’d heard the news, he tried to rationalize his behavior and absolve himself of any guilt. But he knew what he’d done.

The devil’s come for you…

Rain-soaked fallen cherry blossoms rotted on the sidewalk. He drank his coffee through the plastic lid and noticed his hands were trembling, a mix of fear and self-loathing, he thought, eating away at him. He would never be the same. There was no going back now. All he could do was hope these scumbags who had him by the short hairs had finished with him.

But as if he’d conjured them up himself, the two Nazis from Monday eased in next to him, the older one on his left, the younger one on his right. The three of them walked down the street together, like tourists who’d met by accident.

“Quinn Harlowe,” the older goon asked. “Tell us about her.”

“Quinn?” Steve snorted. “She’s a pain in the ass. If you stupid assholes left a bread-crumb trail, she’ll find it and follow it right back to your hidey-hole.”

The goon didn’t react at all. “What’s her relationship with Lattimore?”

“He worships her. Thinks she’s brilliant. Thinks she can help him shine. He’d do damn near anything to get her back at Justice.”

“Any romantic interest?”

“Have you had a good look at her? Who wouldn’t have a romantic interest in her?”

The kid to Steve’s right sneered. “Not everyone wants to screw every woman he sees, Eisenhardt. You’re a piece of work, aren’t you?”

A squeaky-clean type. Steve ignored him. He looked up at the superfit goon on his left. “Quinn doesn’t like to sit on the sidelines.”

“That doesn’t surprise me. Keep an eye on her. If she meets with Gerard Lattimore, we want to know.” The SS guard took another few steps. He spoke mildly, never raising his voice or giving his words any emphasis. Just stating the conditions under which Steve got to live. “We don’t want the Justice Department to use Alicia Miller’s death as an excuse to start nosing around in our affairs.”

Steve felt sweat breaking out on his brow, the back of his neck, his lower back. “I don’t know her that well. What if I can’t find out what she’s up to?”

“You’re a well-connected, intelligent, successful attorney. You’ll find out.”

They walked a few more steps in what would look to anyone on the street like companionable silence. Finally, Steve licked his lips. “This wasn’t part of the deal.”

“There was no deal.”

“We had a verbal agreement-”

“Lawyer talk,” the kid said.

The older guy-the SS guard-seemed to like that one. “One more thing. We want you to find out if anyone at Justice is investigating what they would call a vigilante network.”

“What?”

“Names. We want names.”

“What vigilante network?”

The SS guard didn’t react. “Last fall. You remember. Deputy U.S. Marshal Juliet Longstreet and Special Forces Army Major Ethan Brooker uncovered a vigilante plot to expose traitors. One of the vigilantes was killed. Another-a low-level thug, really-was taken into custody.”

Steve remembered. They’d nearly killed a White House advisor and Juliet Longstreet’s family in Vermont. “You guys?”

Cold, steel-blue eyes leveled on him.

Steve felt his stomach drop to his knees. He had a sudden urge to go to the bathroom. He tugged at his shirt collar, his fingers coming away wet with sweat. “If you’re involved with those kooks from last fall, you can bet your ass they’re investigating you. I wouldn’t have access to that kind of information.”

The older goon reached into his pants pocket and withdrew a pack of gum, tapping out a piece as if they were discussing the spring weather forecast. “Get access.”

Sipping more of his coffee, as if somehow it made him feel normal, Steve decided these guys needed to know he wasn’t afraid of them, that his life depended on it-never mind that his intestines were telling him in no uncertain terms that he was scared shitless. “So, is Oliver Crawford in on your new world order, or are you all just using him for his money and connections? He is who you work for, isn’t he? Makes sense, given what happened to Alicia down in Yorkville.”

Steve wasn’t into their crazy thinking. Justice, breaking the law to save freedom. Throwing out two hundred years of jurisprudence and starting from scratch, rewriting the law their way. If they were involved with those screwballs from last fall, they were into vigilante violence and their own idea of the new world order.

Thumbscrews. These bastards are into torturing people.

The steel-eyed Nazi responded to his remark in the same mild tone. “We want the names of anyone involved in the investigation into last fall’s events. The lawyers, the FBI, the ATF, the marshals. Any White House liaisons.”

“Liaison. That’s a big word for you, isn’t it?” Instead of shooting him, the Nazi offered Steve a piece of gum. He shook his head. “No, thanks.” For some reason, the gesture made him sweat even more. “Doesn’t anything get to you?”

A quirk of a smile. “Justice Department lawyers entrusted with the people’s business having kinky sex with underage girls.”

Steve forced himself not to react. The bastards had pictures. They’d sent him a link to a Web site with an entire photo album of him and the congressman’s daughter. They didn’t just have a couple of grainy pictures he could explain away. With a few clicks of the keyboard, they could post their little montage to the world.

“No one was hurt.”

“Tell that to her father,” the Nazi Youth said. “She was fifteen.”

“If Daddy sees a picture of his daughter with your dick in her mouth, you won’t just not work in Washington again.” The SS guard chewed his gum, obviously relishing this part of his job. “You won’t work anywhere.”

“The daughter was rebelling against her parents. That’s not my fault.”

True enough, but the ropes and the rough sex were his idea. She’d gone along at first, just itching to get back at her father for ignoring her, at her mother for putting image above anything else-at both of them for not understanding her. Steve had used her disenchantment with her life to his advantage.

He’d done it all before, and she hadn’t; his speed, his expertise, his excitement at her moans had frightened her. He’d gotten off on the risk of what he was doing and couldn’t make himself stop.

Several of the pictures showed her trying to get away from him.

She didn’t want anyone to know what she’d done. If nothing else, Steve figured he’d taught her a lesson about not getting ahead of herself in doing payback. She wanted to punish her parents by misbehaving, but the gain needed to be in balance with the pain.

He’d also promised himself he’d stay away from the troubled teenage daughters of powerful Washington types.

Two weeks ago, just when he thought he’d dodged this latest speeding bullet he’d fired at himself and his fun with the congressman’s daughter would stay their dirty little secret, the goons turned up. The pictures would embarrass the girl, too-not to mention her family-but they didn’t care. Steve didn’t know how they had managed to get the pictures. They must have followed him. Did he look like a pervert? Had one of his previous consensual partners talked?

Since seeing himself on a computer screen, he’d been celibate.

No wonder he couldn’t stand still, couldn’t think straight. Sex, especially kinky sex, relieved his stress.

They came to Pennsylvania Avenue, busy on the warm spring morning. Normal people, Steve thought, going to normal jobs.

The two Nazis flagged a cab and climbed in, ignoring Steve. The cab pulled away. He melted into a crowd crossing the street, his hand shaking wildly, his bowels clamping down. He didn’t know if he’d make it to the DOJ in time.

What would the atmosphere be like, with Alicia’s death? Word of the discovery of her body hadn’t reached the office until late in the day.

I didn’t mean for any of this to happen.

But it had, hadn’t it? And it was never going to end. Never, unless he did something, walked into Lattimore’s office and told him everything, or called this Brooker or Longstreet. At least maybe they could stop these guys from hurting anyone else.

Steve could hear his jail-cell door locking shut even now. If he talked, he faced a prison sentence as well as public humiliation.

He wasn’t going to do anything except what the two Nazis had asked him to. It was his only chance to save his own neck.