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

Huck remained on the other side of the fence. “You’re already a candidate for hypothermia.”


She dropped the kayak and put her hands on her hips, then, heaving a sigh, let them drop to her sides. “All right. You win. If I get into trouble out there, I don’t know if I’d have the energy to blow my whistle. And Buddy Jones would tack my picture up on the bulletin board behind his front desk as a warning to others. He thinks most of us kayakers are idiots.”

“Buddy Jones is-”

“The owner of the shabby little motel on the loop road.” She raised her eyes. “I’m sure you’ve seen him on your runs.”

Diego’s motel. Huck didn’t react. “I’ve only been in town a few days.”

“You stopped there on Monday before the bad storms hit. You chatted for a couple of minutes with a fisherman named Diego Clemente. He was having a cigarette.”

For two cents, Huck thought, he’d shove Quinn Harlowe’s butt into the back of his Land Rover and drive her to Nate Winter and have him put her in protective custody. Or some kind of custody.

Better yet, he’d leave her with Diego and let him deal with her.

Since he didn’t know what role, if any, she had with Breakwater-since he didn’t know if she’d been on the straight and narrow about her friend’s death and had nothing to hide-Huck put one foot on the barbed wire and pressed it down. “Coming?”

“I’m almost certain this Clemente character is the one who phoned in the anonymous tip about Alicia’s car.”

Sweet pea, Huck thought, you’re lucky I’m not wired, because if Diego were listening in, he’d be on his way.

He kept his foot steady on the barbed wire. “I’m not surprised. These fishermen can see things from their boats that other people might miss.” Especially with high-powered binoculars and night-vision equipment. “Why don’t you leave your kayak. I’ll bring it by your cottage later.”

“I think our Special Agent Kowalski should talk to this Clemente character, don’t you?”

“I don’t tell the feds what to do.”

She shrugged. “They don’t intimidate me.”

Huck wished to hell they did. But he found himself almost smiling. Traumatized and half-frozen, Quinn still was paying attention to details, processing, analyzing, thinking. The woman had guts.

She glanced down at her kayak, then let her shoulders slump as she muttered something under her breath. Leaving her boat behind, she walked back to the fence. “If you all can hold on to my kayak, I’ll stop by and get it when I come back down here.”

“Don’t want to give me the key to your shed?”

“No, I really don’t.” She smiled. “No offense.”

As far as Huck was concerned, her reluctance to give him the key demonstrated that some of the shock of her friend’s death was easing and she was thinking more clearly.

It was a big step for Quinn to get over the barbed-wire fence, but instead of putting a hand on his shoulder to balance herself, she reached to her right and held on to a fence post that was about eight inches too far away.

Huck could see she was tilted too far to the right but said nothing.

She got her left leg over the barbed-wire fine, then lost it with her right leg and plunged directly into him. He caught her around the waist, breaking her fall, and set her on the wet grass. She didn’t weigh anything, but she was fit.

He grinned at her. “Your stubbornness just cost you, didn’t it? If you’d just hung on to my shoulder-”

“I wasn’t being stubborn. I’m tired. That’s all.”

“Uh-huh.”

She changed the subject. “What did you do before you became a bodyguard? Were you in the military? Law enforcement?”

“I played a lot of video games.”

With a skeptical look, she started back across the lawn. She didn’t seem quite as distracted. He got a step ahead of her, leading her to the gravel parking area near the converted barn. When he pointed at his Rover, she opened the passenger door and took a step backward, as if she’d been bit.

Looking over her shoulder, Huck noted his locked gun box in back, his bulletproof vest, various holsters and other gear a well-equipped law enforcement officer or private security expert would need.

Blue-lipped and pale, Quinn gestured at the stuff. “Your personal equipment?”

“Yes, ma’am.” He reached past her and grabbed a fleece pullover, handing it to her. “Put it on before you freeze.”

She nodded and mumbled a thank-you. The fleece made her look even smaller, but Huck reminded himself not to underestimate this woman. He walked around to the driver’s side, wondering what he’d do if he were Quinn Harlowe. Get in the Rover or make a break for it?

She got in. “The fleece’ll help,” she said. “I’ll be fine.”

“You really are in the early stages of hypothermia, you know.”

“I’ll warm up fast.” She seemed to shrink into the fleece. “I apologize if I’ve seemed curt or ungrateful. You’ve been very decent.”