Carla Neggers - Breakwater

“If Lattimore doesn’t cooperate, he’s dead. Lubec wired his boat with explosives. He’ll take Lattimore back to the marina and-that’ll be it.” Rochester ’s tone stayed flat. “I saw Lubec take Harlowe up to the house. I don’t know Eisenhardt’s status.”

“He’s alive,” Huck said.

Visibly relieved, Rochester ’s knees buckled under him, but he kept his hands up, didn’t push his luck. “I didn’t know what was going on with Alicia Miller. I thought she was sick. Lubec made sure she took the kayak up the loop road. He knew it was going to storm. I had nothing to do with it. I wasn’t there. I’d have stopped it-” He broke off, swallowed. “I told you. I’m not a murderer.”

“You guys have been funneling illegal weapons through here,” Huck said. “Where are they now?”

“I don’t know. That’s the truth.”

“The teams going after Nate Winter, Juliet Longstreet-”

“They’re not going to waste a shoulder-fired missile on a fed,” Rochester said. “We haven’t had anything come through here since you and Glover arrived and Miller drowned. Too hot.”

“Inside with Vern.”

Rochester was reluctant. “He’ll kill me-”

“He won’t get that chance. I won’t let him.”

“That’s supposed to make me feel better, a fed covering my ass? I hope you have backup, Boone.”

“It’s McCabe, actually.”

“Lubec will kill you. Sharon ’s one bloodthirsty bitch, too. She approved all of us herself. Lubec, Glover, O’Dell. You.” Rochester looked as if he’d smelled something awful. “She was distracted or she’d have sniffed you out sooner.”

“She’s been focused on stopping Crawford from going overboard.”

“She blames herself.”

Keeping his gun on Rochester, Huck found another pair of cuffs in Vern’s gun box. Vern had lapsed into silence, but his eyes had taken on a piercing glow, as if he wanted to turn them into laser beams that could cut Huck in two or just set him on fire. Then, he’d start on Nick Rochester.

“Blames herself for what?” But even as he asked the question, Huck knew the answer. “Damn. She had Crawford kidnapped. Then she arranged his rescue. The torture and execution of the men she hired was her doing, wasn’t it?” He shook his head. “Real nice.”

“She wanted Crawford fully committed to the cause,” Rochester said with no hint of irony.

“Sounds as if she got more than she bargained for.”

Talk time was over, Huck thought. Diego Clemente, T.J. Kowalski and a haggard, bloody, barfencrusted Steve Eisenhardt had arrived.

Driving at breakneck speed, Nate Winter tried once more to get through by cell phone to his wife-nothing.

He told himself it could mean anything.

But Huck McCabe’s words rang in his head, and although he’d called for backup, he knew he’d get to their house first.

As he pulled into his driveway, he saw the big moving van-then, Juliet Longstreet’s truck. His relief was palpable. If anyone could handle a team of hired killers it was Longstreet. He got out of his car, ignoring the wobble in his knees as she ran onto the driveway waving to him.

“Sarah-” His voice cracked.

“She’s safe. It’s okay, Nate. We’ve got them-”

“How many?”

“A half-dozen. They were supposed to kill Brooker, you, me and-”

Sarah, his wife. Juliet didn’t need to finish. Oliver Crawford had sent killers out for Sarah, too. Nate had to push back a surge of anger.

“I don’t think these Special Ops types even needed me here. Brooker and your brother-in-law. Crawford’s goons thought they were moving guys. Big mistake.” The tension of the past hour brought out Juliet’s natural irreverence. “I like your sister’s husband. He can think in a crisis, that’s for sure. Of course, Sarah threw up all over the damn place.”

“Sarah threw up?”

“Yeah. Who could blame her, all these assholes coming to kill us. For a tough guy, PJ North doesn’t like vomit.”

Nate’s mind was turning to fuzz, which wasn’t like him. “Why did Sarah throw up? The fear-”

“I don’t think it was fear.” Juliet looked uncomfortable. “Talk to her about it. FBI and God knows who else will be here any sec.”

She returned to the house, and Tyler North, compact, superfit, joined his brother-in-law on the driveway. He’d performed Special Ops missions as an air force search-and-rescue specialist under the most grueling, dangerous conditions imaginable. But, right now, he was grimacing. “Man, Nate. I hate barf.”

“What about the guys who came to kill you all?”

“Piece of cake. Brooker’s watching them until all you law enforcement types relieve him.”

Sarah, pale but okay, appeared behind her brother-in-law. “It wasn’t the bad guys trying to kill us that made me sick to my stomach.”

Nate tried to smile through his own tension. Since the call from Huck, he’d been on autopilot, doing what he needed to do, relying on his training, his experience. “Some new casserole recipe?”

“I only have my grandmother’s casserole recipes.”

“Come on, Nate,” North said. “You have two sisters.”

He felt his knees going out from under him.

A baby.

He looked at his beautiful wife, at the moving van-his younger sister, Carine, coming off the porch with her and North’s little boy in her arms. His sister Antonia and her husband were joining them later, with their baby girl. Nate’s head spun. Orphaned at seven with two little sisters, he’d never seen himself settling down this way. He’d never allowed himself to believe he could have this kind of happiness. The thought of a wife, children, a house used to scare the hell out of him.

Police cars streamed into the driveway. Local, state, FBI, marshals.

Ethan Brooker joined Juliet, car keys in hand. Juliet, who had a big family of her own, some of whom were endangered last fall because of her work, touched Nate’s shoulder. “Shit’s hitting the fan in Yorkville,” she said. “Sarah and your sister and brother-in-law can answer questions here for the time being. We’re on our way. What’re you doing?”

Nate hesitated, but his wife shoved him. “Go, Nate. Do your job.”

“It’s a beautiful afternoon.” Quinn gestured out the window of Oliver Crawford’s cheery, restful living room, the decor a total contrast to the moods of the people around her. “I don’t think you all will be sending me out kayaking and hoping I capsize and drown.”

Gerard Lattimore had sunk onto the sofa facing the view. “Quinn, don’t even say such a thing as a joke. No one’s going to harm you. Ollie? What’s going on here?”

Quinn didn’t let him answer. She was standing near the end of the sofa Gerard was sitting on, with Crawford opposite her. Her only plan was to keep them talking for as long as she could. “Ollie’s trying to figure out if I’m for real, or if I get to be made an example of,” she said. “He knows, Gerard. So do you, if you’ll just admit it. Traitors inside and outside the government will make our lives impossible in short order.”

Even Lubec, whom she’d almost convinced on the way from the marsh, didn’t look as if he believed her. He stayed near Crawford. Mosquito-bitten Sharon Riccardi was sipping champagne, not speaking. Her husband stood in the door to the front hall. Whether he was blocking an exit or making sure he was near one, she couldn’t tell.

Unfortunately, Quinn had no idea where Huck was. Until he showed up, or she had no choice but to act, she’d keep spewing the vigilante line and see how far she got with it.

“Alicia didn’t understand what you all are doing. What we’re doing.” Quinn let her voice harden, as if she had nothing to fear. “Killing her put you under the kind of scrutiny you don’t want. I’m not sure it was one of your smarter moves.”