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.”