“We’re not risking this woman-”
“It’s safer for her if we don’t interfere with her.” Huck picked up a couple more pimiento-cheese triangles; nobody else seemed interested. “She’s not on the government payroll anymore. She answers to herself. What she does is up to her.”
“I don’t like it,” Nate said.
“I’m not worried about me-or Diego. And we’re not going to do anything to endanger Harlowe. Last thing we need is to have to put on the brakes to rescue her.”
Juliet stirred. “I’ll bet having you rescue her is right there with having her fingernails plucked out with pliers. My take? Quinn Harlowe’s asking questions because she’s trying to get used to her friend’s tragic death. She’ll settle down.”
Ethan Brooker and Nate Winter didn’t look as optimistic.
Finally, Winter sighed. “I’ll pull you out in a heartbeat, McCabe, if I think you’re taking unnecessary risks.”
Huck finished off his pimiento-cheese triangles. Winter, Longstreet, Brooker. He had to trust them.
And they had to trust him.
“Relax. I can do my job.”
27
Quinn splashed more champagne into Thelma’s glass, an antique crystal flute that, according to legend, the first Quinn Harlowe had used to drink a toast in celebration of the discovery of a triceratops fossil in South Dakota.
After her close call in keeping herself out of Huck Boone/McCabe’s trunk, Quinn decided she was in the mood to think about dinosaurs. The fiercer the better.
It was early afternoon, but the Society, in keeping with long-standing tradition, shut down at 2:00 p.m. on Fridays from mid-April through Labor Day weekend. A little early in the day for an end-of-the-week drink, but Thelma didn’t seem to mind. She tipped her champagne glass to Quinn. “May your sanity return. Cheers.”
“I’m going to the Breakwater open house, Thelma.” Quinn had taken Gerard’s call with Thelma next to her, opening the champagne, not bothering to disguise the fact that she was eavesdropping. As a result, Quinn now had no plausible deniability. “I’m a neighbor.”
“Lattimore’s going to think you’re his date.”
“No, he’s not. I’m meeting him there. You’re being very old-fashioned, you know. He and I are colleagues. There’s nothing romantic between us. Zip. Zero.”
“You’re both attractive and available.”
“Available.” Quinn wrinkled up her face, trying to keep the conversation lighthearted, which was not even close to how she felt. “I’m not sure I like that word. Think about the layers of different meaning.”
Thelma settled deeper into the slouchy modern chair that Quinn had insisted on adding to her office, although it went with none of the stiff, late-nineteenth-century antiques. “Are you sure you don’t want any of the champagne?”
“Positive. I’m my own designated driver, and a Friday afternoon in Washington in springtime-what are the odds I get to Yorkville in under four hours?”
“Slim to none.” Thelma narrowed her eyes. “You’ll need a champagne-free brain. Do you suppose Oliver Crawford knows Lattimore’s invited you?”
“He says it was Crawford’s idea.”
“That doesn’t make me feel better, Quinn. Why would he invite you to a party after he caught you trespassing?”
“Maybe he understands the emotional state I was in at the time.”
And still am, Quinn thought. Her grief wasn’t as raw and volatile as in the first hours after finding Alicia, and the shock had eased. Digging into Oliver Crawford and Breakwater Security had helped occupy her mind as she’d processed what had happened.
Of course, now she was in hot water with the marshals. Were they discussing, even now, what to do about her?
“You’ll notice Lattimore keeps inviting you to parties,” Thelma went on. “The marina party in March, and now this one. And you keep going.”
Quinn changed the subject. “What are you doing this weekend?”
“Several friends and I are going birding in the mountains.”
“That sounds like fun. You’ve never married, have you, Thelma?”
“No, I haven’t.” Her eyes sparkled. “Although I came close a few times. Why do you ask?”
“I have no idea. I suppose-” She thought of Huck, but didn’t go there. She smiled at Thelma, who seemed not to have changed since Quinn’s first memories of her as a child. “I suppose I’m just trying to distract you. Any regrets about not marrying?”
Thelma sipped her champagne. “Why, I wonder, do we never ask married women if they have any regrets?”
Quinn shrugged. “I’m not sure we don’t. Isn’t divorce a way of saying they regret having married?”
She sat back, eyeing Quinn. “I have a full life. I realize I have more days behind me than ahead, but that just makes me even more determined to live each one I have to its fullest.”