“Work faster. What about Harlowe? Is she part of the task force investigating the vigilantes?”

“What?”

A hiss of impatience, like he was stupid. “Harlowe. What’s her role in any vigilante investigation?”

Hell. Steve wiped sweat off his brow. These guys were vigilantes. Had to be. “She doesn’t have one. No. She’s just nosy.”

Another couple seconds of silence.

“We’re not the bad guys here,” the goon said quietly, a hint of humor-and sarcasm-in his tone.

Steve glanced around him, but no one was eavesdropping. Still, he lowered his voice. “You’re never going to leave me alone, are you? You’ve got me by the balls, and you’re going to twist until I shrivel up and die.”

“We’re seizing an opportunity that you yourself presented to us. We’re careful people. We have a great responsibility. There’s much at stake.” He sounded so persuasive, so reasonable. “I don’t ask you to understand, just to do as you’re told.”

“What about Quinn? I’m guessing not everyone thinks you’re the good guys you say you are. She’ll find out. She’s like that. I’ve heard how she works. She throws out one little question in a meeting and turns it around, upside down and inside out. That’s why she’s in demand. Don’t underestimate her.”

Because if they did underestimate her, she’d be onto him as well.

“We’ll do our job. You do yours. Keep us informed.”

Steve clicked off and lifted his arms, trying to let some air in between his wet shirt and his skin, with little success.

He had no doubts now. He knew where he’d made his bed.

For better or worse, he was in the sack with fascist sociopaths.

23

Seeing his wife cry never failed to make Nate Winter think of his two younger sisters. He, Antonia and Carine were orphaned as children when their parents died in the White Mountains of New Hampshire, and he remembered his helplessness when he’d hear them sobbing into their pillows at night. He’d never admitted to his own tears.

Sarah wasn’t crying so much as trying to keep herself from crying. She’d worked all day on a dig in back of the historic northern Virginia house where they lived and then had started packing for their move that weekend.

Honey-haired and blue-eyed, she was the most beautiful woman Nate had ever known, but right now, her cheeks had red splotches, and her eyes were bloodshot. She grabbed a tissue and blew her nose. “I don’t know what’s the matter with me.”

“You’ve been working nonstop. Take the night off-”

“I need to finish packing these books.” With a desperate gesture, she took in the floor-to-ceiling shelves she was unloading. “I’ve hardly even started.”

“My family’s coming tomorrow. They’ll help. I can help-”

“No, no. You have a meeting tonight.” She smiled. “I’m fine. Really.”

“You’ve never been one to pace yourself.”

This time, her smile reached her eyes. “You’re one to talk. Go on. You don’t want to be late. If I applied the right kind of pressure, would you tell me what your meeting’s about?”

He laughed, kissing her, tasting her tears. “It’s boring. Save your pressure tactics for something more worthwhile.”

“I will,” she whispered, exaggerating her southern accent.

When he got to his car, Nate couldn’t dispel a nagging uneasiness. It’d been eating at him for days, ever since Alicia Miller’s death in Yorkville. He looked back at the idyllic house and thought of his wife packing for their upcoming move while he was in a meeting about high-level killers. Sarah was a fighter, a survivor-one of the smartest people he knew. But she was also married to a senior federal agent in the middle of a troubling investigation.

Nate dialed his brother-in-law in New Hampshire. He and Tyler North, an air force pararescueman, had been friends since childhood, a relationship that became somewhat more complicated when Ty married the younger of Nate’s two sisters. Ty and Carine had a four-month-old baby boy, Harry, named after his paternal grandfather.

Ty was at home in New Hampshire on leave, planning to help Nate and Sarah move. He picked up on the second ring.

“Can you get down here sooner than tomorrow night?” Nate asked.

There wasn’t even a flicker of hesitation on Ty’s part. “I can leave for Manchester airport in an hour.”

Nate didn’t bother to hide his relief. “Thanks.”

“It’s Sarah?”

“I’d just feel better with someone else here with her.”

“Should I leave Carine and the little guy up here?”

Nate thought a moment. His sister was a nature photographer and an independent soul-she and Ty had known each other since they were tots. “No. Bring them. I’m just on edge. There’s nothing to worry about.”

“You were born on edge,” North said. “I’ll see you later on tonight.”

After he hung up, Nate continued to Washington and FBI headquarters, where the vigilante task force was meeting. He had virtually nothing to report from Huck McCabe or Diego Clemente. After two weeks in Yorkville, McCabe was no closer to finding out what was going on there than when he’d unpacked his bags. He had to be frustrated. Even if he was building trust day by day, establishing his credentials as a no-holds-barred vigilante, he didn’t strike Nate as someone who would be satisfied with the status quo for too long. He’d seize his opportunity, and he’d make things happen.

Nate just hoped they all were ready when McCabe hit the switch.

24

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?”