Breakwater (13 page)

On the warmest morning since he’d arrived on the East Coast two weeks ago with Vern Glover, Huck was in the back seat of a black SUV one block up from the American Society for the Study of Plants and Animals. Vern was in back with him. Nick Rochester was up front in the passenger seat. Humorless Travis Lubec was driving.

They all wore regular clothes, not a Breakwater Security logo to be seen.

“Quinn Harlowe’s office is on the second floor.” Lubec looked back at Huck and gave a half smile that didn’t reach his flat eyes. “Octagon Room.”

“What do you want me to do?”

“Take her for a walk. Talk to her.”

“About what?”

“Ask her how she’s doing since her friend drowned. What she’s been up to.” Travis paused and added, indifferent, “Tell her we’re all worried about her after what happened to her friend last week.”

Nick Rochester also turned around. “The receptionist is Thelma Worthington. Older than dirt, but a nice lady.”

“What are you doing while I’m talking to Harlowe?”

Travis, obviously not liking the question, turned and faced front. “We’re taking Vern to the White House. You’ve never seen the White House, have you, Vern?”

“No, just on TV.”

For all Huck knew, they were taking Vern to see the White House. Lubec had presented them with their orders first thing that morning. “Hop in the helicopter. We’re going for a ride.”

Huck didn’t have a chance to let Diego know what was going on. He had no backup. His butt was in the breeze.

Vern didn’t like helicopters. Five minutes after they were in the air, he went green and threw up, just missing Huck’s shoes. Travis and Nick both had a good laugh.

The helicopter landed on a private airstrip at Oliver Crawford’s main estate in suburban Washington. The SUV was waiting for them. Without any explanation of what they would be doing, Travis got behind the wheel and drove them straight into the city.

Huck had the feeling he was being tested. If he didn’t go along now, he’d never get any deeper into Breakwater Security and its layers.

He opened his door but didn’t move. “Is Harlowe sticking her nose where it doesn’t belong?”

Travis looked up into his rearview mirror. “Find out.”

“See you in an hour, then. TGIF, huh?”

“Just do your job.”

Huck got out and walked down the shaded sidewalk to Quinn’s building. He had to shout his name into the intercom system and explain why he was there before the starchy receptionist would buzz him in. Even then, she didn’t seem thrilled by his presence. Rising from her desk, she kept her hand near the telephone, which probably had 911 on speed dial. “Quinn’s not expecting you, is she?”

“No, ma’am. It’s a spur-of-the-moment visit.”

“You’re the bodyguard from Yorkville, aren’t you?”

Huck gave her his most charming smile. “That’s me. Mind if I go on up to see her?”

“Yes. As a matter of fact, I do.” Thelma reached for her phone, then glanced back at him, a slight catch in her voice. “How do you know her office is upstairs?”

“I figure it wouldn’t be down here with you and the stuffed birds.”

“Ha-ha,” she said, rallying as she lifted the old-fashioned phone, pressing two buttons. “Quinn? Huck Boone is here to see you. Shall I send him up?” She frowned into the receiver. “Quinn?”

“Just shocked the hell out of her, I’ll bet,” Huck said.

Cradling the phone, Thelma turned her frown on him. “Quinn will be right with you.”

“Mind if I look around?” He showed her the bottom of his shoes. “I haven’t stepped in dog poop or anything.”

“Just take a seat, Mr. Boone.”

She pointed at an ornate wooden chair against the wall across from her desk. “I feel like I need a crown to sit in that thing. Mind if I use your phone to make a call? It’s local.”

“Please, make yourself welcome.” Her gracious words didn’t match her frosty tone. “Dial 9 for an outside line.”

Huck ignored her hostility and stepped over to the front of her desk, turning the heavy old phone to him. At least it was Touch-Tone. He dialed 9, then one of a handful of Washington numbers he’d committed to memory. He didn’t want any of them showing up on his cell phone, in case Vern and the guys got hold of it.

Nate Winter answered. Huck quickly interrupted. “I’m in D.C. at the American Society for Plants and Animals. I can’t talk right now. Something’s up. Everything okay there?”

“Everything’s fine.” Winter sounded tight and impatient, but he always did.

“Here, too. I’ll talk to you soon.”

When Huck hung up and turned around, Quinn Harlowe was there, apparently having slipped down the thickly carpeted stairs without him noticing. In her slim skirt and stretchy top, she looked smart and professional and even prettier than she had in Yorkville. Her black hair was pulled back, so that all the angles of her face stood out, and her eyes shone brighter, more intense.

“It’s the American Society for the Study of Plants and Animals,” Quinn said, cool, obviously suspicious.

“Isn’t that what I said?”

“You left off ‘the study of.’”

“Oh.”

“It changes the meaning entirely. Who were you talking to?”

“Dry cleaners.”

Thelma returned to her oak swivel chair behind her desk. “I can hit redial and find out.”

Nate would know what to do. Huck shrugged. “Go ahead.”

“It’s okay, Thelma,” Quinn said, giving the older woman an affectionate smile. “Thank you. I’ll take Huck upstairs-”

He remembered his orders from Lubec. Take her for a walk. He could think of worse tasks. “It’s Friday. It’s beautiful outside. Let’s get out of here for a little while.” To drive home his point, he touched a fingertip to her pale cheek. “You’ve been sitting up in your garret all morning, haven’t you?”

“I naturally don’t have a lot of color in my face. But you’re right, it is a beautiful day, and I’d love to take a walk. Thelma, I have my cell phone if you need to reach me.”

This was another way of telling Thelma to stick close to her phone, in case Quinn needed her. Considering how they’d met and the dubious circumstances under which he was in Washington, Huck thought she was being smart.

She’d have been even smarter, though, to have shown him the door.

Thelma clearly didn’t like the idea of Quinn going off with him, but she kept quiet. Huck decided not to worry about her. They weren’t leaving Thelma alone-the building was full of Society staff. As he headed for the front door, however, he couldn’t dispel his sense of uneasiness. He would have preferred knowing where Travis and Company had gone.

Quinn trotted down the steps ahead of him. “Where do you want to go?”

“We could have coffee somewhere.”

“Sure. I can show you where I was when Alicia found me. That’s why you want to go for coffee, isn’t it?” Without waiting for him to answer, she breezed down the shaded sidewalk. She looked back at him. “Coming?”

Something about her was off, Huck thought. Or not off so much as ramped up. As if, on some level, she’d been expecting him and had her own agenda for when he showed up on her doorstep.

He fell in beside her. “We don’t have to do coffee. We can take a walk.”

“Coffee’s fine.” She glanced over at him, her eyes still cool. “Who sent you here?”

“Ah. I can see you distrust my motives.”

“I don’t know what your motives are. I can speculate, but I’m not sure that would do any good. In my work, I try to avoid speculation.”

“There’s a difference between speculation and analysis?”

“Big difference.”

“Travis Lubec sent me. He’s a senior security-”

“He’s Oliver Crawford’s chief bodyguard. He might have a fancier title, but that’s what he is. Yes, I know his name.” She picked up her pace. “He was a key player in the rescue of his boss.”

“You’ve been doing your homework.”

“It was in the papers.”

“Not Lubec’s name,” Huck said.

“No?” She didn’t act as if he’d caught her in a deception. “Someone must have told me.”

“When?”

“Recently.”

Now she was being openly deceptive, making him wonder what all she’d been up to in the days since she’d found her friend and her red kayak in the marsh. Lubec could have had good reason to send Huck in to talk to her. He kept up with her quick pace. “Ever think Crawford and his people are a little jumpy these days and might not want someone asking questions about them?”

“You mean me, because of Alicia, because she wasn’t herself and she showed up at their front gate early one morning when they all were in bed.” Quinn shifted to him, still moving at a fast clip, her eyes bright, shining with energy, a touch of indignation. “What, do they think Alicia and I conspired to make Oliver Crawford and his people uncomfortable?”

“Quinn-”

“The Kayak Caper.”

Huck sighed. “Having fun?”

“Not really. If I worried every time I asked a question someone didn’t want me to ask, I couldn’t do my job. I have to put that kind of resistance aside and focus on what I’m supposed to do. I try to keep an open mind and not let outside forces influence my conclusions.”

“That’s why you’re good, but it’s not your job to investigate what happened to your friend last week-”

“How would you know I’m good? Have you been researching me? Why is that okay but it’s not okay for me to research you all?” She was on a roll now. “Maybe I should be taking you for a walk and picking your brain.”

Huck decided to keep silent.

“That’s what you’re doing, isn’t it? Picking my brain-finding out what I’ve been up to since I left Yorkville?”

“It was a good excuse to get to see you.”

She obviously didn’t believe him.

“Quinn-”

“I’ve only reached a few conclusions about Oliver Crawford and you Breakwater Security guys.” She eased her pace slightly and gave him a sideways glance, the coolness suddenly back. “For instance, I don’t believe Huck Boone is your real name.”

“No, huh?”

“I told Special Agent Kowalski. And this Venezuela rescue of yours-” She shook her head. “I did a little investigating. Something doesn’t pass the smell test there, either.”

Huck was thinking about shoving her into a cab, taking her to Nate Winter and having him put Quinn Harlowe under lock and key. “Vern and I did a good deed. We worked under the radar, and the U.S. government might not approve-”

“I checked with a law enforcement source I have in Venezuela. Very reliable. She says that the kidnap victim you rescued wasn’t a particularly good guy. He was involved in Colombian emerald smuggling. He disappeared after you freed him.”

Because, Huck thought, unbeknownst to Vern, he’d managed to tip off fellow U.S. federal agents who subsequently took his rescued emerald smuggler into custody. Turned out he was an American citizen wanted for a long list of wrongdoing.

“Wouldn’t you disappear if you were a smuggler?” he asked Quinn mildly.

“I don’t think rescuing a smuggler is such a good deed.” Quinn stopped in front of a small coffee shop with flowerpots and four round tables out front. “If you want, you can get us a table and I’ll buy coffee-”

“That’s okay.” In her mood, she could be out the back door in a flash, and he’d have to explain why he went for coffee by himself. “I want to see what’s on the menu.”

“Every kind of coffee you can think of.”

“I’m hungry.”

“Biscotti, croissants, muffins, cookies…”

He smiled at her. “I want to see what looks good. Let’s go.”

He followed her into the coffee shop, and she said a cheerful hello to a big guy she called Ivan, who looked at Huck as if he were a criminal. Huck tried to take Ivan’s suspicion as a positive signal that his deception was working. In any event, he figured it was good that Quinn had people looking out for her. She ordered an espresso. He ordered coffee, black, and a chocolate croissant.

“Make that two chocolate croissants,” Quinn said, giving him a quick smile. “I can’t resist.”

She put everything on a tray and carried it outside, all four tables vacant. She set the tray on the middle one and unloaded it. “I’m right-Boone isn’t your real name, is it?”

He wanted to tell her. McCabe. It’s Huck McCabe. He wanted to tell her about his family in San Francisco and how his parents had adopted him, then four more kids, all of them of different racial and ethnic backgrounds. How they ran a boutique hotel and had never understood his interest in law enforcement but always supported him, wished him well, worried about him, believed in him.

How they thought he was training police officers in Eastern Europe.

So much deception, and here he was, supposed to figure out what lies Quinn was telling.

“It’s all right,” she said quickly. “You don’t have to tell me.”

He picked up his coffee. “I suppose you have various scenarios to explain why I’m not using my real name. Assuming I’m not.”

“Six scenarios, at least for starters. One, you’re an ex-con. Two, you’re dramatic and just like the idea of using an alias. Three, you’re protecting your family, for whatever reason. Four, you’re wanted by authorities under your real name. Five, you’re making a clean break from a troubled past. Six, you’re a cop.”

“You met Joe Riccardi, right? Well, does he look like someone who’d hire a guy like me without having done a thorough background check?”

“Then either he knows you’re using an alias,” she said, picking up her tiny espresso cup, “or you’ve covered your tracks very, very well. Which these days would take money and help.”

Why couldn’t Alicia Miller have been best friends with a dental assistant? Nope. An expert in transnational criminal networks. “Going to take my coffee cup back to your fed friends and have them run my prints?”

“That’s an idea.”

“Of the six scenarios, do you have a favorite?”

She lifted her espresso to her lips. “Undercover cop. Federal. FBI, ATF, DEA, U.S. Marshals. Vern Glover associated with a California fugitive…” Her hazel eyes leveled on him. “Didn’t you say you were from California?”

“ San Francisco.” He leaned over the table. “How long have you known?”

Color rushed to her face. She had to set her cup down. “Damn.”

“Yeah. Damn.”