Breakwater (Cold Ridge/U.S. Marshals #5)

“Did he know Alicia Miller?”


“Not really. They’d met.” Riccardi shifted his gaze to Huck, but his expression was difficult to read. “The FBI agent looking into her death was here. T.J. Kowalski. He’d heard Miss Miller was out here on Monday morning. I hate to see that story come to law enforcement’s attention. The scrutiny-” He looked back out at the water. “I don’t know what’s to be gained by that kind of scrutiny.”

Find out if she was murdered. During the night, Huck had brainstormed all the different ways Alicia Miller could have ended up in the marsh, drowned, with her kayak, that didn’t involve an accident or suicide. The thunderstorms could have provided a killer with cover, a reason for the authorities not to think murder.

But if he had a list of possibilities, speculative though they were, so did T.J. Kowalski and the local cops and probably half the village of Yorkville.

“Do you ever wonder how you got into this kind of work in the first place?” Riccardi asked quietly.

“Sometimes.”

“If I’d stayed home in Michigan, I don’t know.” He puffed on his cigar. “There was no work in town. I wasn’t that excited about college. I went, anyway, and got a useless degree. Then I joined the army.”

“How long did you stay in?”

“Twenty.”

“Miss it?”

Riccardi shook his head. “Not anymore. I lost a wife because of the demands. She just wasn’t suited to having a husband at war. Then I met Sharon. We’ve been married less than a year. I thought Breakwater would be a path to a more normal life. I’d have a chance to get ahead.” He stubbed out his cigar on a fence post and tucked it into his jacket pocket. “It’s beautiful out here. We sure as hell could do worse.”

“I guess so.”

“Alicia Miller’s death is a tragedy. Monday morning, when she came out here, Lubec and Rochester did what they could for her. She was ranting. They took her back to the cottage. They tried to get her to go to the emergency room or call a friend, but she sent them away. What more could they have done?” Riccardi didn’t wait for an answer. “She went back to Washington, then came back here. For whatever reason.”

“Tough break to get mixed up in her problems.”

“What about Harlowe? Is she going to stir the pot?”

She already has. Huck shrugged. “Once she gets back to Washington and resumes her normal routine, she should be fine.”

“She doesn’t want to believe her friend killed herself yesterday or died in a tragic accident, does she?”

“She’s operating under a lot of guilt.”

Joe Riccardi’s dark gaze fell on Huck. “Be careful of her.”

It wasn’t a statement that required a response.

Riccardi changed the subject. “Oliver Crawford is meeting with Sharon right now. I’m joining them in a few minutes. We’re updating him on where we are with the company. He wants to see you, Vern Glover and Cully O’Dell at the house in an hour.”

“Any reason?”

“He takes a personal interest in all of his employees.”

Huck couldn’t tell if Joe Riccardi was dead-on serious or indulging in a little sarcasm about his employer. He left, and Huck stayed by the barbed-wire fence, looking out across the marsh. He hoped Quinn had packed up her Saab and was on her way back to Washington. From what he’d seen of Special Agent Kowalski, he wouldn’t take to having her sticking her nose in his investigation, even one into a likely death-by-accidental-drowning. She’d already given Diego fits. Huck had managed to check in with him by phone before breakfast, and Clemente was spitting fire about her bumping into him last night.

Huck had made the mistake of reminding him that because of Quinn, they’d found Alicia Miller’s car. Diego had growled. “I’d have figured out it was Miller’s car without Harlowe’s help.”

Unable to resist, Huck had prodded his partner. “When?”

“You’re a prick, Huck. If you weren’t a prick, you couldn’t do what you do.”

Diego was just giving as good as he got, but Huck thought his partner and backup-his friend-had a point. The past months of deep undercover work had changed him. When Huck looked in the mirror in the morning, he didn’t know who he was.

A jackass.

If he had to be a jackass to get the job done, fine. If being nice would do it-he’d be nice. But he had no clear idea of how to win the trust of the vigilantes among his new colleagues at Breakwater enough to get them to let him in on their plans. What did the Riccardis know? What did Oliver Crawford know? Who were the key players? Or had Vern Glover landed in Yorkville just because he needed a job, and Huck was barking up the wrong damn tree?

Alicia Miller’s death had set everyone on edge.