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

“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.”