Breakwater

17

Quinn decided she couldn’t go back to Washington without making herself get out on the water. She didn’t want Alicia’s death to keep her from kayaking. She had to get back out there. She dragged her second kayak, a dark green, down to the cove and shoved off smoothly. The water was colder than she’d anticipated, but the sky was bright and clear and the light chop just enough to be exhilarating.

With the osprey pair circling overhead, she gave their sprawling nest wide berth and headed north along the marsh, up toward the Crawford compound. As she dipped her paddle into the soft water, she quieted her mind and listened to the gentle breeze in the marsh grasses and trees and the light lap of bay against kayak. A two-hundred-mile estuary, where saltwater met fresh water, Chesapeake Bay played host to more than three thousand species of plants and animals and, with its inlets and islands, had more than eleven thousand miles of shoreline. Sixteen million people lived within the bay region. Pollution, erosion, competition for resources and space were fierce, the delicate ecological balance constantly threatened and yet-always there was hope for a better future.

Feeling more positive, Quinn continued along to the southern edge of the Crawford compound, her muscles tight after the tension of the past two days. Cold bay water splashed into her boat. She was wet up to her thighs. She’d put on water shoes and a bright yellow life vest, with a whistle secured to a zippered pocket, but she was wearing jeans. Although she should have worn a wetsuit, she didn’t expect to be out long. She’d be back at her cottage before she got really cold.

Peering past the barbed-wire fence, she saw the graceful old house that was now headquarters for Breakwater Security and noticed a new building-classrooms, she recalled from local gossip. The tactical facilities-shooting ranges, simulation environments and defensive-driving courses-were farther inland, not right where Oliver Crawford could see them from his front porch.

A large swell seemed to serve as a challenge-a dare. Quinn turned her kayak into the wave and let it take her to shore, onto the grass and sand in front of the barbed wire. She climbed out, splashing into the cold water.

Unfastening and unzipping her vest, she laid her paddle across the kayak and caught her breath, hands on hips, as she surveyed the narrow strip of sand and wild grasses. The wash of waves behind her soothed her taut nerves.

Why had Alicia come to Breakwater at dawn? As out of her head as she’d been, she still had reasons for what she’d done. She’d come to the coffee shop for Quinn’s help. Why here?

Huck Boone and Vern Glover appeared on the other side of the fence. Neither man looked pleased to see her. Quinn shrugged off her life vest, dumping it into the cockpit of her kayak as she squinted at them. “You both look quite spruced up. Having lunch with the boss?” She pointed at the sky. “I saw his helicopter arrive.”

“Lunch is over,” Glover said.

Huck pushed down the barbed wire and stepped over it onto her side of the beach. “I thought you were going back to Washington.”

“I am. Just not yet.” She nodded to the fence. “Worried about lost kayakers and wanderlust bird-watchers?”

He just narrowed his eyes on her, as if he could see through her bravado to all her messy motives and emotions and knew exactly why she was there.

She kept on. “Not much protection, is it?”

Glover grunted. “There’s what you see and what you don’t see.”

“You mean, like land mines?”

Not liking her answer, he took a step forward, but Huck grinned, glancing back at his colleague. “She’s got her sense of humor back, anyway.”

“It’s a sick sense of humor,” Glover said, his eyes darkening. “I know people who’ve lost limbs to land mines. They’re a serious business.”

Quinn started to say something back to him, but Huck held up a hand and gave her a sharp, warning look, silencing her. “What do you want?” he asked.

She realized she had no idea. She’d acted impulsively, getting out her second kayak, dragging it down to the water, paddling up the bay. A wonder she hadn’t ended up in Maryland. She squared her shoulders, feeling the cold bay water dripping down her legs inside her jeans. “Oliver Crawford’s here, right?” She didn’t wait for an answer. “I’d like to see him.”

Without waiting for any by-your-leave from the two men, Quinn pushed down the barbed wire with one foot, then climbed over to Glover’s side of the fence. The ends of her hair had gotten wet from paddling up to the compound. She shivered, suddenly feeling cold.

Vern snorted in disgust. “You handle this, Boone,” he said, about-facing and stalking up across the yard.

Quinn frowned at the departing bodyguard. “Mr. Warm and Fuzzy must make nervous clients feel safe and secure.”

“You want a Mr. Rogers protecting you or a Vern Glover?”

“I don’t want anyone protecting me.”

“Why doesn’t that surprise me?” Huck stepped back over the fence. “Your lips are purple.”

“It was colder on the water than I expected.” She shifted just enough to get out of his shadow. As she stood in the sunlight, his eyes seemed to have darkened. “If you take me to see Ollie, I can warm up at the house.”

“Ollie, huh?”

“That’s what my former boss calls him. To each other, they’re Gerry and Ollie. To the rest of us, they’re Gerard and Oliver.” She tried to smile, but it felt strained. “In case you’re wondering, I’m never Quinny.”

Huck settled back on his heels, studying her a moment. “Quinn, go home. I can take you back to your cottage-”

“Okay, I’ll find Ollie on my own.” Feeling light-headed, a little out of control, she pointed toward the white house with its black shutters and gracious landscaping. “He’s up there, right? All you have to do is let your guys know I’m friendly, so no one shoots me.”

“No one’s going to shoot you.”

“What about you? Are you armed?”

He didn’t answer her.

Taking a few steps in the soft, cool grass, she could feel her heart racing and knew the shock of Alicia’s death was having an effect on her. She hadn’t slept or eaten enough in the last two days. She was half-frozen. Normally, she was self-disciplined, thinking before acting. “My great-grandfather died in an avalanche because he was impulsive.”

“What?”

She paid no attention to him, barely paused for a breath. “But my great-great-grandfather lived to almost a hundred, and he took more risks than any of us. When is a risk calculated and when is a risk reckless?” She glanced back at her companion, then answered her own question. “Depends on whether you live or die.”

“Sometimes, there’s no choice-”

“Not with my family. They all could stay home and read books, but they don’t. My parents-” She stepped onto a brick walk that curved around dogwoods, lilacs and azaleas that soon would be in bloom. “I used to worry myself sick about them when I was a kid. They’re marine archaeologists. It sounds like a safe profession, doesn’t it? But they’ve had so many close calls, diving into sunken ships, exploring remote places. They’d leave me with my grandfather.”

Huck eased in next to her. “He’s not a risk-taker?”

“He’s a historian, too. His area of study is the Civil War. These days he’s a volunteer guide at Fredericksburg and Chancellorsville.”

“Old guy?”

“Eighty-two.” Feeling the sun warm on the back of her neck, Quinn took a breath, some of her tension letting up. “My point is, Alicia could have done everything right the other day, and still could have drowned.”

“Quinn.” Huck’s tone had lost some of its edge. “You did what you could. It sounds as if she had problems-”

“She didn’t kill herself.”

“Maybe not on purpose.”

Quinn swung around at him. “Where are you in the Breakwater hierarchy?”

“I’m the new guy. I’m at rock bottom.”

“That’s not good. I was hoping you could pull strings for me. I guess I’ll manage on my own, especially since no one’s going to shoot me-”

“I could just throw you over my shoulder and dump your butt back in your kayak.”

“Then you could kiss your new job goodbye, couldn’t you?”

He didn’t answer, but she thought he gritted his teeth.

The brick walk led to the front of the house. If she was going in the wrong direction to find Oliver Crawford, Huck wasn’t going to tell her. He didn’t want her there at all. She could hardly blame him.

“Why was Alicia here on Monday?”

“I have no idea-”

“She and Gerard Lattimore, her boss, my former boss, get along well. He thought she was burned out at work and needed some time off, understood the appeal of Yorkville in springtime.” Quinn cast Huck a look. “He wasn’t here, was he?”

“No.”

“Oliver Crawford-”

“Him, either.”

The Riccardis intercepted them in front of the porch steps. She’d met them, briefly, at Lattimore’s party in March. In retrospect, she suspected the party was his way of showing his approval of his friend Oliver’s private security firm-of legitimizing it without having to go on record.

Sharon Riccardi, in a Breakwater sweatshirt a size too big for her, stepped forward, ahead of her husband. “Miss Harlowe?” There was a decided sharpness to her tone. “Is there something we can do for you?”

Before she could respond, Huck answered. “She was out kayaking and stopped just outside the fence-”

“I’d like to say hi to Oliver,” Quinn interrupted. “I saw his helicopter arrive.”

Joe Riccardi gave Huck an irritated glance, then turned to her, smiling pleasantly. “Miss Harlowe, Mr. Crawford’s on a very tight schedule.”

“You look half-frozen,” Sharon said. “My God, you’re shivering.”

“I underestimated how cold the water is this time of year.”

Joe straightened. “Huck can drive you and your kayak back to your cottage. We’re very sorry for your loss yesterday. We’d met Alicia…” He hesitated, as if he didn’t know what more to say. “We’re sorry.”

“She was lovely,” his wife interjected. “Absolutely lovely.”

Quinn decided to push harder, although she wasn’t sure why. “Can you tell Oliver that I’m here and-”

“Quinn!” Crawford himself trotted down the porch steps. He had gray-flecked dark hair and was about six feet tall, paunchy, dressed in baggy jeans and a navy cotton sweater with the elbows blown out. He took both Quinn’s hands into his. “It’s good to see you, although I wish the circumstances were better. I heard about Alicia, of course. I’ve already called Gerry to express my condolences.”

“Thank you.”

“What can I do for you?” He squeezed her hands. “You’re freezing.”

Now that she was here, seeing how distraught everyone was over Alicia’s death, Quinn didn’t know what to say, and she was so cold, she just wanted to crawl back into her quilt at her cottage and stay there. “Nothing, really. I just wanted to say hello.”

“You’ve never been out here, have you?” When she shook her head, he let her hands go and gestured broadly, taking in his entire hundred-acre estate. “We’re transforming the place into a state-of-the-art security company. We want to keep it small, elite.”

“Looks as if you have your own mini-Quantico here.” She thought of Donna at the diner, the talk in town surrounding Breakwater. “There’s a rumor going around town that you’ve got snipers on the roof and everything.”

Huck didn’t react at all, but the Riccardis seemed appalled at such a suggestion, Sharon in particular, wincing, taking a sharp breath. Oliver Crawford, more accustomed to controversy, chuckled. “Well, not quite.”

“Corporate security isn’t what it used to be, is it?” Quinn could feel her teeth starting to chatter and knew it was the cold. But she couldn’t seem to stop herself. “Gone are the days when you just needed a couple of scary-looking guys in black suits.”

Sharon stepped forward. “Miss Harlowe-”

“Quinn’s fine.”

Crawford held up a hand, apparently guessing that his Breakwater CEO was losing patience. He smiled. “Scary-looking guys never hurt.”

Quinn refused to look at Huck, who was tight-jawed, not moving from his spot. She kept her attention on the boss, the owner of the hundred-acre compound. “You heard that Alicia came out here to Breakwater early Monday morning, didn’t you?”

Crawford’s smile faded, and he sighed heavily, his eyes shining with regret and sympathy. “I heard, yes. Quinn-Gerry told me your friend had been on the verge of a breakdown for several weeks.”

“A couple of your guys took her back to my cottage-”

“Travis Lubec and Nick Rochester, Oliver,” Sharon said, her voice steady but laced with impatience. “They were trying to help.”

“Did they follow her to make sure she got back to Washington?” Quinn asked, noticing that purple splotches had appeared on her hand-she needed to get on dry clothes. But she didn’t stop. “A black Lincoln Town Car with tinted back windows picked her up at a coffee shop down the street from my office.”

Huck quietly fell in next to her. “I can take Miss Harlowe back to her cottage now. If you’ll all excuse us-”

“No, wait,” Crawford said. “Boone, right? Thank you, but I want to know what she’s getting at. Quinn, if you’re suggesting my men had anything to do with your friend’s death, that they have anything to hide, then you’re quite mistaken.”

“I have no idea who was in the car that picked Alicia up in Washington.”

He softened. “Perhaps this mysterious black car belonged to another of Alicia’s Washington friends, someone who also tried to help her. With a sudden death-especially of a vibrant young woman-we all want to find answers where sometimes there simply are none.”

Quinn suddenly felt tears hot in her eyes, high on her cheeks. She looked away.

Crawford draped an arm over her shoulders. “It’s okay, it’s okay,” he whispered. “Cry all you want. It’s a terrible loss. Please, if there’s anything I can do, personally-anything at all-you’ll call, won’t you?”

“Thank you. I should get back. It’s a long drive to Washington.” Stepping out of his embrace, Quinn managed a quick, fake smile. “And I don’t have a helicopter.”

He seemed to relax at her attempt at humor.

Joe Riccardi, who’d maintained a tight-lipped silence, glanced at Huck. “Boone?”

“I’ll see her out of here.”