Breakwater. Carla Neggers

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СКАЧАТЬ out for her what he knew about the tragic events in Yorkville. Juliet had made it clear she wanted to be in the field, tracking the vigilantes herself. She was directly responsible for disrupting one of their plots after a run-in with them last fall. Ethan Brooker, a former Special Forces officer, had helped. Now at the White House and romantically involved with Juliet, he was also on the task force. Both of them understood that this time, their unique expertise was best put to use at a distance. Let the guys from California do their thing.

      “Ethan knows about McCabe?” Juliet asked.

      Nate nodded, knowing his answer wouldn’t go over well with her. “Ethan did a mission a few years ago with Diego Clemente, McCabe’s backup.” Hesitating a moment, Nate added, “I asked Ethan to keep the information to himself.”

      “Well, he did.” Juliet scowled. “I hate being kept out of the loop.”

      “McCabe’s in a precarious situation. He doesn’t know us. He came into this investigation through the back door. He’s doing us a favor—”

      “I get it, Nate. This guy feels safer with as few people as possible knowing he’s an undercover federal agent. If we’re right and these psycho vigilantes have infiltrated Breakwater Security, he’s a dead man if his cover gets blown.”

      Leave it to Juliet not to mince words. Nate glanced again at the picture of his house. It had dove-gray shingles and white shutters, all of which needed replacing.

      “Where’s McCabe now?”

      “Back at Breakwater.”

      “The local police are in the dark about who he is?”

      “That’s right.” If they ever found out the truth, the locals wouldn’t appreciate getting sidelined, but Nate thought that, given the stakes, they would understand. “We have several problems.”

      Juliet sighed. “Alicia Miller worked for the Justice Department. Is someone from the FBI looking into her death?”

      That was one of the problems. “Special Agent T. J. Kowalski.”

      “I take it he doesn’t know about McCabe, either.”

      “Correct. At the moment, there’s no indication her death was anything but a terrible accident.”

      Nate looked out his window a moment and thought of his wife happily digging in the dirt at her newest archaeological site, an old family dump. A treasure trove to Sarah Dunnemore Winter. On a day like today, he would like nothing better than to join her in her search for artifacts.

      He glanced back at Juliet. Huck McCabe had stumbled onto a lead that could be the thread they needed to pull to unravel a violent, paranoid criminal network. He was a topnotch federal agent, but Nate didn’t know him. McCabe hadn’t been handpicked picked for the job.

      “Did McCabe talk to the police?” Juliet asked.

      “He told them he was out for a run. Quinn Harlowe was drinking tea on her porch and said hello to him. He resumed his run, heard her scream and returned—”

      “She’d found her friend’s body.”

      “She spotted a kayak—hers, as it turns out—and went to investigate.” Nate pictured the scene, although he’d never been to Yorkville. “McCabe says he didn’t see the kayak or the body on his run.”

      “You believe him?”

      Nate shrugged. “No reason not to.”

      “Quinn Harlowe. What do we know about her?”

      “Not enough, obviously.”

      “Her friend—the dead woman. She said ospreys were out to kill her?”

      “Something like that. That’s what she told Harlowe.”

      Juliet sat back in her chair. “Ospreys. That’s a new one. Harlowe didn’t get a plate number of the Lincoln that picked up Alicia Miller?”

      “No. She only caught a glimpse of the car. She did what she could to find her friend. Checked the woman’s apartment and her office, made a few calls to friends and colleagues. Then she drove down to her cottage.”

      “McCabe give you all this?” Juliet asked skeptically.

      “He managed to get to Diego Clemente. Then Diego called me.”

      She shifted in her chair, her concern plain on her face. “McCabe knows his safety is paramount, doesn’t he? He’s not to take unnecessary risks.”

      “Clemente says he reminded him.”

      “And?”

      Nate let his gaze settle on Juliet for a moment. “McCabe told him all risks are unnecessary. Otherwise they wouldn’t be risks.” He grimaced. A dangerous, delicate undercover investigation depended on a man Nate didn’t know. “I have a feeling that’s a typical Huck McCabe answer.”

      “What about Gerard Lattimore?” Juliet asked. “Alicia Miller worked for him. Until January, so did Harlowe. He and Oliver Crawford are longtime friends—”

      “I’ll speak with Eliza Abrams,” Nate interrupted, well aware of the facts, none of which he liked. Abrams was the U.S. attorney overseeing the vigilante investigation on behalf of the Department of Justice. “I expect she’ll want to give this thing some time. If Alicia Miller was in the middle of a mental breakdown, it’s possible her death had nothing to do with our investigation. We don’t need to jump the gun.”

      “Meaning…”

      “Meaning we continue to tell Gerard Lattimore nothing.”

      10

      Joe Riccardi intercepted Huck outside the converted barn before he could get back to his room and change his shoes, not yet dry after he’d charged into the marsh. Quinn Harlowe’s screams of horror had stopped him dead in his tracks on his run. Diego had said he’d heard her, too, out on his boat.

      A hell of a shock, finding her friend’s body.

      One DOJ lawyer dead. A former DOJ analyst talking to the feds and the local police. Huck thought he could understand his new boss’s tight look.

      “Where have you been, Boone?”

      “I was out for a run. There was a problem in town.”

      Riccardi’s face didn’t register any obvious emotion. “Alicia Miller. We heard the news about her death.” He paused, his eyes unchanged. “Police suspect she drowned.”

      “I’d say so.”

      “What was your involvement?”

      “I was on my run. I’d just gone past Quinn Harlowe’s cottage when I heard her scream. I went to see what I could do.”

      “She could have screamed for a dozen different reasons—”

      “Didn’t matter.”

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