Carla Neggers - Breakwater

The fifth book in the U.S. Marshall series, 2006

Quinn Harlowe gave up trying to concentrate and tapped a few keys on her iBook, saving the file shed been working on.

Defeated by an alphabet book, she thought, smiling at the little boy whod crawled, book in hand, onto his mothers lap at the next table. He made a face and turned his head away from her. His mother, flaxen-haired and smartly dressed, didnt seem to notice and kept reading.

She was only on B. There was a lot of the alphabet to go.

Quinn took a sip of her espresso. The draft of the workshop she was giving at the FBI Academy next month would have to wait. She didnt mind. It was just one oclock on a perfect early-April Monday afternoon, and she was her own boss. She could work tonight, if necessary. Why not blow off an hour?

Thinking it would be cooler today, shed worn a lightweight black cashmere sweater that now was too warm. At least shed pinned up her hair, almost as black as her sweater, and had worn minimal makeup.

Four tiny, rickety tables, each with two chairs, and a row of big flowerpots filled with pansies passed for a patio at the small coffee shop just down the street from her office. Despite the gorgeous weather, she and the mother and son were the only ones outside, and the other two tables were empty.

Washington, Quinn thought, was never more appealing than in early spring.

She suppressed an urge to head off to Potomac Park and see the cherry trees-that would take the entire afternoon. Even native Beltway types like herself couldnt resist the brief, incredible display of delicate pink blossoms on the more than three thousand Japanese cherry trees that lined the Tidal Basin in Potomac Park. The annual National Cherry Blossom Festival, which attracted tourists from all over the world, was winding down. In a matter of even just a day or two, the blossoms would be gone.

The mother was on the letter D. What would D be for? Quinn smiled-duck. Had to be.

Dinosaur.

She took a bite of her croissant, the bittersweet chocolate center soft but not melted. An indulgence. Shed have a salad for dinner.

Quinn-Quinn!

Startled, she looked up, crumbs falling onto her iBook as she tried to see whod called her.

Quinn!

Alicia Miller ran across the street, heading for the small patio. Instead of going around to the opening by the coffee shops entrance, she pushed her way between two of the oversize flowerpots, banging her knees.

I need your help-please.

Quinn immediately got to her feet. Of course, Alicia. She kept her voice calm. Come on, sit down. Tell me whats going on.

Gulping in a breath, Alicia stumbled over an empty chair and made her way to Quinns table. I cant-you have to help me. She seemed to have trouble getting out the words. I dont know what else to do.

Alicia-my God. Whats wrong?

Tears had pasted strands of her fine dark blond hair to her cheeks. Her face was unnaturally flushed. Her eyes-almond-shaped, a pretty, deep turquoise-were red-rimmed and glassy, darting anxiously around her.

The young woman at the next table shut the alphabet book and grabbed her son around his middle, poised to run.

Quinn tried to reassure her. Its okay-Alicias a friend.

But the woman, obviously not reassured, dropped the book on the table and lifted her son, his bottom planted on her hip as she swept up her slouchy, expensive tote bag and kicked the brake release on his stroller, pushing it in front of her toward the opening at the end of the flowerpots.

The little boy pointed at the table. My book!

Ill get you another.

He screeched with displeasure, but his mother didnt break her stride until she reached the sidewalk. She dumped the boy in the stroller, hoisted the tote bag higher onto her shoulder and was off.

Alicia didnt seem to notice the impact shed had on the mother and son. She couldnt have gone to work today. Not in this shape, Quinn thought, concerned about her friend. Theyd known each other since their days together at the University of Virginia, keeping loosely in touch after Alicia returned home to Chicago to work. A year ago, Alicia had headed back East, taking a job at the U.S. Department of Justice, where Quinn was an analyst. Not a great move for their friendship. Quinns departure from DOJ in January hadnt helped as much as shed hoped it might. Shed let Alicia borrow her cottage on the Chesapeake Bay for the last five weekends in a row, but not once had her friend invited her to join her, even for an afternoon.

Quinn suspected Alicia must have come straight from the cottage. She smelled like saltwater and sweat and wore a blue cotton sweater, jeans and sport sandals that looked as if theyd been wet recently.

Of Quinns friends and former colleagues, Alicia Miller was least likely to make a scene.

Please. I need to She grabbed Quinns lower arm, her fingers stiff and clawlike as she struggled to stay focused on what she was saying. I need to talk to you.

Quinn touched her friends cold hand. Okay, we can talk. Lets sit down-

She squinted, shutting her eyes. I cant think.

What can I do to help?

Her eyes flew open. Nothing! No one can do anything now. The osprey She screwed up her face, fresh tears leaking out of the corners of her eyes. I saw an osprey tear apart a duckling. I think it was last weekend. It was horrible. The poor little baby.

Im sorry. Theyre birds of prey, so that sort of thing happens, but its not pleasant to witness. Quinn kept her voice calm. Can I get you a cup of coffee, anything?

Youre working

Quinn reached over to her table and flipped her iBook shut. Not really. Its a beautiful day. Ive been resisting heading over to the Tidal Basin to see the cherry blossoms. They wont last much longer.

Alicia mumbled something unintelligible. She couldnt seem to stand still or stop fidgeting. This was beyond a touch of burnout and the stress of her job getting to her-today she appeared to be on the verge of a total meltdown. She jerked her hand back from Quinns forearm. I cantI dont know what to do.

About what? The osprey? Alicia Quinn hesitated, not wanting to say the wrong thing. Why dont we go back to my office? We can talk there.

Her friend didnt seem to hear her. The osprey, the osprey. Quinn, the osprey. Stabbing stiff fingers into her hair, Alicia gulped in three rapid breaths, fresh tears spilling down her raw cheeks. The osprey will kill me.

She stiffened her arms as if she was trying to keep herself from shattering into little pieces. Her movements were uncoordinated, jerky. In recent months shed been openly restless, looking, she said, for more to life than her work, her next promotion, success-she just didnt know what. Weekends on the bay were supposed to help her figure that out.

Alicia, at least let me take you to your office. Someone there can help-

No! She backed up a step, hitting Quinns table, startling herself. I cant-I cant think.

Alicia pushed at the air, as if she was trying to bat away something flying at her. Had the osprey preying on a duckling so traumatized her? Quinn reached for her briefcase, her cell phone zipped inside. If necessary, shed call 911.

No one knows Im here, seeing you. I didnt tell anyone. Alicia lowered her voice to a conspiratorial whisper, but she couldnt seem to stop herself from moving. Not a soul.

Quinn felt a surge of helplessness. Alicia, whats wrong. Just relax-

Dont tell anyone about me. Her eyes seemed to clear, and her entire body stiffened. She took in a sharp breath. Please dont tell anyone.

Okay.