She drank more of her wine. “Now that I think about it, I have no idea what you did after you left me at my office.”

“Quinn-”

“Did your guys put Steve up to sneaking into my office?” She didn’t wait for an answer. “I told Special Agent Kowalski about him. Do you suppose he’d tell me if Steve turned up?”

“I wouldn’t,” Huck said.

She smiled. “Relax. Quit worrying about me. I promise-” She leaned over the table, her eyes shining. “I’ll do up my hair and wear makeup and underwear and everything tomorrow. I’ll blend in. I’ll behave. I’ll dazzle. I’ll do whatever one does at an Oliver Crawford party, but I’ll definitely stay out of your way.”

Their meals arrived, and she dug into her crab cakes as if she hadn’t eaten in days-or just needed something to do besides argue with him. “Do you think Riccardi is in over his head at Breakwater?” she asked.

“No. I think you’re in over your head.”

She waved her fork. “By Harlowe standards, I’m not even close.”

“Keep it up, Quinn. Diego’s out there.” He nodded toward the water out their window. “He’s not as patient as I am. He doesn’t have a sense of humor.”

“He’s also very protective of you.”

“That’s his job.”

“I’m glad.” She sat back in her chair. “It must be good to know someone you trust is out there.”

“You can trust him, too, Quinn. And you can trust me. Stop, okay? Take a step back. Let us do our jobs.”

She didn’t respond. Her mood had darkened. Huck studied her, realized that she wasn’t easily pegged. He remembered the feel of her mouth, her soft skin, her hand on him, exploring, tempting. He wondered how far they’d have gotten if she hadn’t brought up that bit about nerves. Would he have made love to her?

In a heartbeat, he thought, not feeling any better.

Suddenly, everything about his assignment seemed crazy and so unorthodox that he was tempted to drive back to Nate Winter’s house and give it up. Help the Winters move. Talk to the ghosts.

But he was hungry, and he wasn’t about to walk out and leave her to Gerard Lattimore.

31

Quinn figured she had two choices. Either she had to get back into the Rover with Huck, in the dark, and let him drive her back to her cottage, or she had to walk the two miles by herself-also in the dark.

“I can call you a cab,” he said, as if he’d been reading her thoughts.

“All the cabs in this town smell like dead fish.”

He didn’t answer right away. “Hell, Quinn.” He spoke almost in a growl, slipping both arms around her waist, kissing her softly, gently. “I keep thinking I’ll come to my senses, but I’m not even close. Must be this East Coast climate. It’s not nerves. That’s for damn sure.”

“That’s why you can do the work you do.” She smiled. “Nerves of steel.”

He pulled back, ripping open the passenger door. “Nothing about kissing you makes me nervous.”

Quinn stepped past him and climbed into the Rover, and when Huck sat next to her in the driver’s seat, he kept his eyes forward. He drove out the loop road, along the waterfront. Quinn rolled down her window and let in the night air, the smells of low tide.

By the time they reached her cottage, she was in a pensive mood. “There’s a difference between strong emotions and recklessness,” she said, almost to herself.

He leaned toward her, touched her hair, her mouth. “You lost a friend. You don’t know what’s happening on the other side of the marsh. You don’t like sitting on the sidelines.” His gentle tone took her by surprise, but with an abrupt sigh, he sat back. “And you know you’re out of your mind to have spent so much time with me today.”

“Who’s the one who keeps popping up? Are you keeping an eye on me for the Breakwater guys-or for the marshals?”

“Does it matter? Maybe a certain amount of recklessness goes with strong emotions.”

“All the more reason to beware.”

His eyes seemed almost black. “Yes. All the more reason. Stop asking questions. Stop sticking your thumb in people’s eyes.” He didn’t smile. “Quinn, you didn’t fail Alicia. She’s not dead because of you.”

Feeling the sudden sting of tears, Quinn fumbled for the door latch. “She came to me for help.”

“Help her by standing back. No more calling up sources in Venezuela, okay?”

“I suppose I could go to Fredericksburg in the morning and do battlefield tours with my grandfather.”

“Quinn, if I could, I’d go with you. I’d like nothing better.”

She gave him a sceptical smile. “Except finding your bad guys. If I hear from Steve I’m going to ask him what he was doing in my office.”

“If you hear from him, call Kowalski. If you’re still here, there’s always Clemente.”

“Don’t worry about me, okay?” She turned to him, made herself smile. “Go do your thing. Track down your bad guys.”

“What if my bad guys are fixated on you?”

“I’ll lock my doors.”

Huck tensed, looking past her out the passenger window. He put his hand at the base of her neck. “Get down.” Almost as a reflex, Quinn spun around, but he shoved her head down, reaching for his weapon. “Stay put.”

“Boone?” The voice outside, toward the road, was more of a croak.

He swore under his breath. “It’s Sharon Riccardi,” he said to Quinn. “Don’t move until I say so.”

She nodded, staying low. There was no car on the dead-end road-how had Sharon Riccardi gotten out there?

Huck climbed out of the Rover, leaving his door open. “Mrs. Riccardi-”

“Sharon, Sharon, Sharon.” She laughed awkwardly, sounding half-drunk. “How many times do I have to tell you?”

“Are you alone?”

“Yes, I walked through the marsh. There’s a path. It winds all over the place. I’m afraid I stepped in water and mud. My God, I’m covered in mosquito bites.”

Quinn edged up toward the window, staying out of sight as she peered in the side-view mirror. She could see Sharon Riccardi, unsteady on her feet, wobbling behind the Land Rover, waving her arms as if swatting at mosquitoes. She wore an ankle-length skirt and sandals that were totally inappropriate for a night walk through a salt marsh.

“My husband used to run this way before he got too busy with you all. Before that girl was found dead.” Her tone was angry, accusatory, but then she gave a sudden, harsh laugh. “That takes the bloom off, doesn’t it? Finding a dead woman out here, in such a beautiful spot.”

“It’s dark,” Huck said. “Must have been a rough hike-”

“Your eyes adjust. And the moon-did you notice there’s a half-moon? You’d be surprised what a difference it makes.” She thrust her hands onto her hips. “Where’s your Quinn Harlowe?”

“She’s here. I had her duck in case-”

Sharon snorted. “What, did you think I was some kind of wild animal or worse?”

He didn’t answer. Quinn pushed open her door and stepped out onto the driveway, noticing now that Sharon Riccardi was shivering from the chilly evening air. “Hello, Mrs. Riccardi. Huck kept me from having to eat dinner alone.”

“Now, wasn’t that nice?” She spoke with a sardonic edge, crossing her arms on her chest, as if to ward off the cool wind. “Boone’s got quite the soft spot for you. You two must have bonded when you found your friend drowned…”

Huck moved in next to her, everything about him on alert. “I’ll take you back to Breakwater, Sharon. The mosquitoes are eating you alive.”

Her teeth chattering now, Sharon stayed focused on Quinn. “You’re coming to the open house tomorrow, aren’t you? Oliver’s expecting you.” She slapped a hand in Huck’s direction, missing him. “I’m having Boone here park cars.”

He didn’t react. “I’ll do whatever you need me to do. Come on. Let’s go.”

“Parking cars-” Sharon Riccardi staggered back a couple of steps. “It’ll give you the chance to meet the kind of people who Oliver socializes with. His equals.”

“Fine. I’ll park cars. Guess you wouldn’t want me pouring champagne or teaching the guests how to shoot.”