Steve’s eyes widened. “What?”
Brazenly standing between the men, Quinn knew she couldn’t stand there and let Travis Lubec shoot even a coward like Steve Eisenhardt in cold blood.
“How do you think Sharon Riccardi found the thugs to snatch Crawford off his boat in December?” Quinn asked.
Lubec stared at her. “What are you talking about?”
“I know-you must be confused. You weren’t in the loop. I helped Sharon. I have contacts all over the world. She needed expendable mercenaries-thugs-and I found them for her.” Quinn sighed, glancing at Steve, who was applying pressure to his injured upper arm with the palm of the opposite hand. Blood oozed between his fingers. She turned back to Lubec. “I’m not your enemy. I’m on your side. I’ve been working quietly, anonymously, on your behalf for months. Why do you think I left Justice? I needed the autonomy. I’m the one who told Steve about Alicia’s reaction to antidepressants.”
“Pills for the weak.”
“I agree.”
Lubec clearly wasn’t entirely convinced by her performance. “Who knows about you?”
“No one. I’ve been more subtle than that. I’ve covered my tracks. You want to know what I know, don’t you?” She narrowed her eyes on him and went still deep inside herself. “Then take me to Oliver Crawford. I tried to get to him at the party this afternoon, but I was interrupted. I’ve spent a lot of time and exerted a great deal of effort to lay the proper groundwork.”
“You’re one of us, huh?” Lubec pointed his rifle at her. “I don’t believe it.”
“I don’t care what you believe or don’t believe. You’re not going to kill me when you don’t know for certain whose side I’m on and whether or not I have information you need. And you’re not going to complicate our situation by killing Steve right now.”
Lubec rifle-butted him in the head and the gut, sending him down in a heap, and turned to Quinn, even as she pushed back her revulsion. “Let’s go.”
Vern Glover couldn’t stop moving. Huck kept up with him on the walkway to the converted barn. Glover had rattled the steering wheel all the way back from Quinn’s cottage, and now he was moving fast, agitated, on some kind of adrenaline rush. The party-goers and caterers had left Breakwater, an almost strange silence overtaking the sprawling property.
“Something’s going down, Vern,” Huck said. “I’m not stupid. I can tell. I want in.”
Vern shook his head, not slackening his pace. “It’s crazy. It’s too much, too soon.”
“What is, Vern?”
“Lubec licks Crawford’s boots. The guy’s rich, but he’s reckless-half-crazy.” Breaking his stride slightly, Glover glared at Huck. “Quote me, and I’ll kill you.”
“I don’t like recklessness. That’s what gets people killed.” Huck kept his tone calm, focused, knowing Vern would respond to self-control. “What about the Riccardis?”
“ Sharon ’s trying to run damage control. Joe, he’s in the dark. Like you.”
“I don’t want to stay in the dark. Can you get me in?”
Vern took a sharp breath. “I don’t know, Boone. I don’t trust anyone. The feds grabbed my best buddy right from under my nose. Some undercover fed fuck.”
At your service, Huck thought. “The feds don’t play by the rules. Any of them.”
“That girl who drowned was one of them.”
“A federal agent? I thought she was a lawyer-”
“I wasn’t here for a lot of what went on. Lubec says she played on Crawford’s insecurities after the kidnapping. He trusted her, and she betrayed him.” Vern hissed through his teeth. “She had pictures.”
Vern obviously wanted to talk, maybe just to keep his mind off whatever was bothering him. At the same time, his instincts would tell him to shut up if Huck pushed too hard. He stayed casual. “Pictures of what?”
“Some weapons we brought through here. Stuff the government doesn’t want us to have.”
“Such as?”
“Things that go boom.”
Huck could see himself reporting that one to the task force. “Where did the stuff end up?”
He’d gone too far. Glover gave him a sharp look. “I don’t know. I don’t ask questions. Neither should you.” They came to the back door of the converted barn. Vern opened it, pausing a half beat. “You’ve been spending a lot of time with Harlowe. She get you fired up to ask all these questions?”
“She’s just upset about her friend.”
“She fancies herself an expert in international crime-”
Huck shrugged. “Not much of an expert, if you ask me. At least she’s pretty.” He followed Vern inside. “Come on, Glover. What gives? You’re like a worm in hot ashes.”
Vern relaxed marginally. “The feds are still investigating Crawford’s kidnapping and rescue. In my opinion, we should have bided our time a few more months. Let things cool off before we launched a big operation.”
“You used the past tense, Vern. Something’s going down. I want to know what.”
“Yeah, well, too bad. Not my call.” He got out the keys to his room. “I don’t make the decisions around here. I just do what I’m told. I saw what happened last fall when some of our guys got ahead of themselves.”
“Juliet Longstreet’s and Ethan Brooker’s vigilantes. They had a set of principles they believed in and were willing to die for. They took risks.”
Vern shook his head. “They were good guys, but they were reckless. They went too far. They exposed the movement to even more federal scrutiny.” He walked down the hall to his room, sticking his key in the door. “I’m afraid Crawford’s doing the same thing.”
Huck followed him into the neat, dorm-style room. “Vern, talk to me, okay? I can help.”
“Crawford was on the periphery of the movement until he was kidnapped. It goosed him into serious action.” Vern opened his closet door and pulled out a gun box, setting it on his bed. “I don’t know the whole story behind the kidnapping. I wasn’t a part of that deal. Sharon Riccardi and Lubec were.”
“Nick Rochester?”
“No.”
“The guys who turned up tortured and executed-”
Vern grunted. “They got what they deserved.”
“Yeah, but who was responsible?”
“CYA time. Cover Your Ass.” Using a small key, he opened up the metal box. “Crawford wants to make a big splash. Let’s just hope we don’t get drowned in the process.”
“Vern-”
“The less you know, Boone, the happier you’ll be.”
Every instinct Huck had told him that Vern Glover was on the verge of snapping. “Vern, something’s happening today, isn’t it?”
“Crawford thinks the feds are investigating us all right now.” He lifted a loaded clip out of his gun box. “He’s going after them. Making a statement. It’s crazy.”
“He’s going after federal agents?”
“Nate Winter, Juliet Longstreet-they’re marshals. Ethan Brooker. He’s a former Special Forces officer. He and Longstreet killed one of our guys last fall.” Vern sighed, his misgivings obvious. “It won’t be easy to take them out. They’re pros.”
“Simultaneous attacks by multiple teams?” Huck asked. “Or sequential attacks, one team?”
“Two teams. One team for Longstreet and Brooker. One for Winter-and his wife.”
“His wife?”
“She and President Poe are close personal friends. She’s like a daughter to him.” Vern stood up straight, his nostrils flared, nothing about this mission going down well with him. “It’d be a feather in Crawford’s cap to get her.”
Hell. Huck stayed focused. “What about Gerard Lattimore? Is he on his way back to D.C.?”
“That creep’s not going anywhere today. He cooperates or he’s dead.”
“You’re the one who’d have to take him out?”
Vern didn’t answer.
Huck couldn’t leave Glover to kill Gerard Lattimore or anyone else, and he had to warn Winter, Longstreet and Brooker.
He drew his Glock and pointed it at Vern. “You’re done, Vern.”
“You, Boone? Fuck.”
“It’s Deputy U.S. Marshal Huck McCabe.”
Vern’s shoulders slumped. “I should have known.”
“Well, you didn’t. Do you want to die for the cause?”
Glover didn’t answer.
“Vern?”
“No.”
“Then do exactly as I say.”
Steve vomited onto a sandy, rough wooden floor. He had no idea where he was. He was light-headed, his stomach cramping. He rose up onto his hands and knees, dry-heaving, moaning. Hot needles seemed to stab into his chest and head, down his left arm. Blood dripped out of his mouth.
His hands were covered in blood.
I’m dying.
A sudden bright light pierced his eyes, and he fell back onto his side, his bowels loosening. What the hell?
A creaking sound-a door opening.
The hut.
He remembered now and sobbed. “Quinn…”
“Uh-uh, pal.” A tall, dark man squatted next to him, patting him down. “Diego Clemente.”
Big, firm hands picked him up by the waist and set him down against the hut wall, away from his puddle of barf. Steve squinted, focusing on the handsome man in front of him. A Yankees sweatshirt. “I love the Yankees,” Steve said.
“I don’t. I’m from California. Where’s Quinn?”
“Lubec…” Unable to continue, Steve dry-heaved, as if his stomach muscles couldn’t stand the idea of what he’d done-couldn’t stand him-and were trying to spit him out, get rid of him. Kill him.
Clemente stayed on task. “What about Lubec?”
“He has her. He was going to kill me. I had no choice.” He remembered now, and started to cry. “I’m so sorry. I’m so damn sorry.”
“Where did he take her?”
Steve held back another heave. “Up-up to the Crawford house. At gunpoint.” He lifted his head. “She’s pretending she’s one of them. One of the vigilantes.”
“Lubec believe her?”
“These fucking Nazis don’t believe anyone. They’re paranoid.”
Another man arrived. Steve squinted at him in the bright afternoon light, recognized the spit-and-polished FBI agent.
Special Agent Kowalski.
“Steve Eisenhardt,” Kowalski said coldly. “We found the car you borrowed at the marina.”
Steve tried to stand up. “I want to cut a deal.”
The FBI agent and Clemente both laughed, without humor. “You’re a lawyer, Eisenhardt,” Clemente said. “What do you think your odds are?”
Shit. This Clemente’s another fed.
Steve wished Quinn had just let Travis Lubec shoot him.
Using Vern’s cell phone, Huck called Nate. “Unless Glover’s lying through his teeth or has bad information, you’re in danger. You, your wife, Longstreet, Brooker. Oliver Crawford has two teams coming for you.”
Winter wasn’t one to waste words. “You?”
“Don’t worry about me right now. I’m good.”
Huck disconnected and dialed Diego’s number. “Where are you?”
“About to climb over a barbed-wire fence. O’Dell’s with Kowalski’s partner. We’ve got Eisenhardt. We’re on our way.”
“Quinn?”
A half beat’s hesitation. “She’s with Lubec. I hit the alarm, Huck. We’ve got guys on the way. We’re moving in.”
Huck looked down at Vern, cuffed, glowering-yet refusing to incriminate himself further. He wasn’t stupid. “It’s not that simple,” Huck told his partner.
He heard the familiar creak of the outer door and stuck his head out into the hall. Nick Rochester nodded to him.
“ Rochester!” Vern yelled. “Boone’s a fed!”
Huck tossed down the phone and eased into the hall, putting his Glock to the kid’s temple. “Hands where I can see them, Nick.” Huck patted him down, taking a nine-millimeter out of the kid’s belt holster and a thirty-eight off his ankle. “Quinn Harlowe. Gerard Lattimore. Where are they?”
“Crawford’s living room.”
“Who’s with them?”
“Crawford, Lubec, the Riccardis.”
“You’re caught between a rock and a hard place, Nick. What’s it going to be? You want to cooperate?”
The kid inhaled sharply through his nose. “The creep from Justice. Eisenhardt. I was supposed to kill him.” Hands up, he glanced at Huck. “I’m not a murderer.”
“You chickenshit asshole,” Vern said.
Rochester paid no attention to him. “Lubec would have killed me if I wasn’t armed. I thought-” He choked up, the enormity of his situation obviously hitting him. “Too much of what’s going down is personal. It’s not smart. It’s not going to help us win people over.”
“Nick.” Huck kept his tone even. “What’s happening in Crawford’s living room?”
“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.