“Hello, Quinn.” He nodded to Huck. “Who’s your friend?”

Before she could answer, Huck said, “Huck Boone, sir. I work at Breakwater Security.”

“Huck was on a run when I found Alicia,” Quinn said, then introduced him. “Huck, this is Gerard Lattimore, my former boss at the Justice Department.”

“Good to meet you,” Lattimore said, shaking hands with Huck. “I’m sorry you and Quinn met under such difficult circumstances. We’re all still grappling with the tragedy. Alicia was a wonderful person, a very talented attorney.”

“I’m sorry for your loss,” Huck said.

He nodded his thanks, but said nothing.

Quinn deftly changed the subject. “Was that a Breakwater SUV? Were you out there?”

“Only for a few minutes. Ollie offered me a lift from Washington aboard one of his helicopters. He’d gone on ahead of me, but a few of his people were still in town. I just got here-a couple of Ollie’s meats dropped me off.” He sputtered into embarrassed laughter. “Boone, sorry. I didn’t mean to impugn the work you do. I’ve been in situations where I’ve required a private protective detail, and it’s very comforting to know how well trained you people are.”

“No offense taken,” Huck said.

“I’m afraid I shouldn’t have had that one drink with Ollie. It went right to my head.”

“How will you get back to Washington?” Quinn asked her former boss.

“Same way. Helicopter.” He recovered himself somewhat. “I didn’t use to like helicopters, but when you sail above snarled Beltway traffic-suddenly you don’t think it’s such a bad way to travel. Not that I’m in Ollie’s league when it comes to private helicopters ferrying me around. I’m just a government employee.”

“Huck and I are on our way to dinner. Would you care to join us?”

“Oh, thanks, but no-please, don’t let me keep you.” Lattimore made a broad gesture toward his boat. “I’m going to settle in for the rest of the evening. Enjoy yourselves. Boone-I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“Yes, sir, I’m sure you will.”

“Ollie’s first social event since he was kidnapped, you know.”

Huck nodded. “So I’ve been told.”

But Lattimore turned his attention back to Quinn, started to say something, then abandoned the effort and, without another word, headed for his boat. He wasn’t staggering, but he was obviously not entirely sober, either.

“Guess he’s had a long day,” Huck said. “I’ll say it again-I think he has a crush on you. Threw him to see you out here with me.”

Quinn scowled at him. “That’s ridiculous. Gerard’s only recently divorced-”

“Gerard, huh?”

“Oh, stop.” But she smiled. “You’re not even that funny, you know.”

“I’m very funny.”

“Well, Gerard is obviously under a lot of stress. I’m sure he’s hardly even thought about dating again, never mind striking up any kind of relationship with me. I have an interesting family background, but the Harlowes have always been more eccentric than well connected.”

“Seeing you wouldn’t do him any good.”

“I don’t mean to make him sound crass-”

“A guy in his position, with his ambitions, needs to be strategic about who he lets himself fall for.” Huck winked at her. “Unlike those of us who exercise no sense whatsoever.”

“And which describes you? Are you the strategic type or the no-sense type?”

“Me? I’m not supposed to be falling for anyone, for any reason, strategic or stupid.” He started back along the dock with her, the cool night air or the lights-he couldn’t tell which-turning Quinn’s lips blue. “And you?”

“None of the above.”

“Meaning?”

“I don’t want to be strategic or stupid. I just want to fall in love.” She looked at him, her directness, her bright smile, catching him off guard. “I do try to stay away from heartbreakers.”

“I can’t see anyone wanting to break your heart, Quinn.”

Although she must have heard him, she pretended not to, shooting out ahead of him. “The restaurant will be closing soon,” she said, glancing over her shoulder. “We should get a table.”

Once they were inside the small restaurant, a middle-aged man Quinn knew by name showed them to a table overlooking the water, with blue cloth napkins, fresh daisies in a flowered vase and a white votive candle flickering in a clear-glass holder.

Quinn ordered wine with her crab cakes, but Huck stayed away from alcohol. Gun or no gun, he wasn’t drinking tonight.

Across the room, Joe Riccardi was drinking alone at the bar, no sign of his wife or their mutual boss, or any of his Breakwater crew. He carried his drink over to their table. “I thought I saw you head out earlier, Boone.” He nodded politely at Quinn. “Nice to see you, Ms. Harlowe.”

“You, too, Colonel Riccardi,” she said smoothly. “Huck’s keeping me from getting stuck having dinner alone.”

“I understand Mr. Crawford invited you to the open house tomorrow.” Riccardi spoke in his usual neutral tone. “I’d be glad to give you a personal tour of our training facility.”

In other words, Huck thought, no sneaking around. Quinn didn’t seem to take offense. “Thanks.”

“We want to be as open as possible about what we’re doing.” Riccardi sipped his drink, an amber-colored liquid. “We don’t want people creating fantasies about what we do.”

“Not even good fantasies?”

Riccardi smiled at her, but not warmly. “We play by the rules.”

“Whose rules?” She gave him a sharp look. “Oliver Crawford isn’t known for his patience. He’s known for pushing himself and everyone else. I’ll bet he wants a state-of-the-art, high-quality security firm up and running with the snap of his fingers.”

“He understands the importance of laying the proper foundation. We’re dealing with people’s safety. Their lives. Integrity and competence matter in this business more than all the bells and whistles.” Riccardi’s gaze bore into Quinn, but she didn’t flinch. “I didn’t realize you knew Mr. Crawford that well.”

“We’re neighbors, more or less.” She raised her water glass. “I’ve been doing a little research on my own, talking to my contacts, checking the public record. Makes sense, doesn’t it? I just found a friend dead under unusual, if not criminal, circumstances. If you were in my position, wouldn’t you look into the people who’d seen her last?”

And she says she doesn’t like playing with fire. Huck debated hauling her out of there and dumping her with Diego.

Riccardi polished off the last of his drink. “From what I understand, Ms. Harlowe, that would be you.”

She didn’t give up. “Whoever picked her up in the black sedan saw her after I did. I wouldn’t be surprised if we all traipsed out to Ollie’s place in the suburbs, we’d find shiny black Lincoln Town Cars-”

Huck broke in. “Drink’s on me, Joe. I’ll see you back at Breakwater.”

Riccardi set his empty glass on the table, muttered a good-night and stalked out of the restaurant.

“He seems lonely,” Quinn said, unrepentant.

Huck shook his head at her. “You’re a pain in the ass, Harlowe. If he’d decided to throttle you, I’d have helped him.”

She shrugged. “I’m sure that would have enhanced your reputation with your Breakwater buddies.”

“You had to let him know you’ve been doing your homework on them, didn’t you?”

Her wine arrived. When she picked up her glass, Huck saw the spots of pink in her cheeks, the sparkle in her eyes. She’d stayed cool, but she wasn’t unaffected by her encounter with his retired army colonel boss.

She sipped her wine. “Think Joe Riccardi’s the one who put Steve up to searching my office?”

“Uh-uh, Quinn. I’m not going there.” Huck kept his voice low and calm, not because she’d care if he shook his finger in her face and yelled, but because he didn’t want the few stragglers around them to notice he was on his last nerve. “You’re done. You have a nice dinner. Then I take you back to your cottage, and you lock all your doors and windows, and I get my friend Diego to watch you. And in the morning, you get a coffee-to-go at the local gas station and you drive back to Washington.”