Lattimore lowered his voice. “Steve, the FBI wants to talk to you-”

“I know.” He glanced around. “You’re not under surveillance, are you?”

“What? No, of course not. I’d know-”

“Don’t be so sure.”

Some of Lattimore’s legendary self-control slipped. “What do you mean?”

“You really don’t know, do you? Shit.” Steve didn’t remember ever having sworn in front of his boss. “Your pal Ollie Crawford is under investigation.”

“That’s ridiculous. Start making sense or get out.”

“The feds think Breakwater Security might be a front for vigilante mercenaries. Real psychos.”

Lattimore was white now. He said nothing.

“Either your pal Ollie is involved with them or he’s being used by them.”

“That’s absurd.”

“No, it’s not. You know it isn’t, or you’d be screaming for the cops right now. Has Ollie talked vigilante crap to you?”

“No.”

“But you suspect something’s off about him, don’t you?” Steve didn’t relent, just stuck to what he’d come there to say. “You’ve been kept in the dark. Deliberately. In case you’re involved-voluntarily or involuntarily.”

“I won’t be manipulated by you, Steve. You’re obviously upset and desperate.” Lattimore was so tight, he hissed when he spoke. “What’s your role in this so-called investigation?”

“Weasel. That’s my role.”

Lattimore made a small choking sound. “Get off my boat.”

“If I were you, Gerry, I’d hide my money and make sure my family’s safe.” Steve paused a moment, watching his boss’s nostrils flare. “You’ve got daughters, right?”

“You bastard. Don’t you even mention my daughters.”

“I am a bastard. I have no illusions. Everything about me confirms Crawford’s Nazis worst prejudices about lawyers and federal law enforcement.”

“What the hell-”

“I’m trying to help you. I have my own selfish reasons, but most people do. Alicia’s dead because I couldn’t help her-she wouldn’t let me. The lunatics who work with Ollie-protect him, use him-thought she might be part of a federal investigation into their activities. Kind of an undercover agent.”

“Steve, for the love of God-” Lattimore’s voice held a note of panic. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. Did you kill Alicia? Is that what you’re trying to tell me?”

“I might as well have.” Steve could feel the regret well up in him. His compulsions, his desire to protect himself-he felt his throat constrict with fear and self-loathing and half wished he’d just have a stroke and drop dead on the spot. “I was in the car. The black sedan Quinn’s been going on about. Alicia saw me-she was supposed to see me. I was someone she trusted.”

“Dear God.”

“A couple of Ollie’s Nazis were up front. I didn’t know at the time who they were. They slipped up yesterday and told their names, except-except I don’t think it was a mistake. They wanted me to know. I haven’t figured out why.”

“Steve, you’re not making any sense-”

“Quinn’s been researching them. You know what she’s like-she’s got the mind for this sort of thing. They sent me to collect what I could from her office. Now they want me to get names.”

“What names?” Lattimore twisted his hands together in controlled frustration. “Slow down. Start making sense.”

“I told you-you’ve been kept in the dark. There’s a task force investigating these wing nuts. Your pal Ollie.”

“Good God.”

“Gerry, my friend, you’re screwed. You’re out here on your boat, expecting to go to a nice party-and the shit’s hitting the fan all around you.”

“What do these people have on you?” Gerard asked abruptly.

Steve felt his head spin, but he couldn’t turn back now. “Don’t think about me right now. Think about yourself. Think about whether you’ve done anything-told Ollie anything-that you’ll live to regret. Decide whose side you’re on.”

“Steve, are you wired?” Lattimore dropped his hands to his sides in a kind of sad resignation. “Are you waiting for me to betray myself somehow?”

“I only wish I were working for the feds.”

“If what you say is true, you took a hell of a risk to come here. Why?”

“Because you’re innocent.”

“Bullshit, Eisenhardt.” Lattimore’s voice croaked now. “You’re trying to save your own skin. You need to talk to the FBI. Tell them everything.”

“Not without a deal.”

“So that’s it.” Lattimore seemed almost relieved that Steve had finally said something he could understand. “You want my help to cut a deal.”

Steve gulped, hating himself-hating the position he was in. “My only chance is to disappear or turn state’s evidence. The more I have to offer, the better. I’m not as big a creep as these guys think.”

“My God, Steve. You think I am involved with these vigilantes. You want me to give you something you can use to save yourself.” He inhaled sharply, maintaining his self-control now. “I’m calling the FBI.”

But Steve was already onto the dock, running. He knew Gerard Lattimore wouldn’t follow him-and if he was smart, he wouldn’t call the feds. Instead, Gerry Lattimore would find his own way of running.

Quinn shoved her hands into the pockets of her oversize sweatshirt, the hood protecting her head against a stiff, cold wind as she walked up her narrow dead-end road. The wind had whipped up whitecaps on the water, even in her quiet cove, but it was supposed to calm down by midday and turn warm.

If the undercover marshals in town had their way, she’d be up on Lee’s Hill by then, talking Civil War history with her grandfather. But it wasn’t going to be that way.

Over her morning tea, she’d opened up the small spiral pad in which she’d jotted notes and found the top three pages missing.

The shock of her discovery was still fresh. “Steve,” she whispered, shoving her hands even deeper into her sweatshirt pockets. “The bastard.”

He had searched her office. She had confirmation now. She spotted Maura Scanlon on her hands and knees in her side yard, pulling weeds in her vegetable garden, obviously absorbed in her work. But she sat back on her heels, wiping her brow with the back of her wrist. “I saw you coming up the road.” She peeled off bright orange garden gloves that matched her bright orange overshirt, then got up stiffly.

“I’m trying to give everything a good weeding before we leave for North Carolina. Don’s packing. We’re off to visit our daughter for a few days.”

“Is this a spur-of-the-moment trip?”

She averted her eyes. “We’re not having an easy time putting Alicia’s death behind us.”

“It’s been difficult, I know.” Quinn gestured at the small, tidy garden. “Your peas look great.”

“Don’t they?” Maura concurred, but there seemed to be no pleasure in her response. “They’ll be ready by the time we get back. I’ve been working in the garden day in and day out since last week. There’s nothing quite like gardening to soothe the soul.”

“I haven’t touched my garden at all this spring.”

“Well, that’s understandable. Alicia was a beautiful young woman taken from us too soon.” A gust of wind whipped her gray hair. “How are you managing?”

“Better.”

“I don’t mean to bring up a difficult subject…”

“No, it’s okay. Actually, I’m here because I wanted to talk to you about Alicia. I’ve had the impression that you and Don know something that you didn’t want to talk about. Maybe you thought it was inappropriate under the circumstances.”

Maura looked away. “Sometimes neighbors see and hear things. It happens. Don and I don’t pry-”

“Nosy neighbors you are not,” Quinn said with a quick smile.

“Alicia was sweet. She tried to pretend she loved it here, but we never thought she did. At first, she seemed just to want to keep to herself. She was obviously unhappy…depressed.”

“A lot of people thought she was burned out at work.”

“I think it was more than that.” Maura clearly was reluctant to say too much. “She became more animated in the past couple weekends here. I’m not sure I’d say she was any happier. Oh, Quinn. I hate to gossip about someone who’s passed on.”