Breakwater

When he reached the end of her stone walk, Qui

She didn’t seem to have startled him. He stopped, not even remotely out of breath as he squinted at her on the porch. “That it is. I’m new in town. You live here?”

“It’s my weekend place.”

“Today’s Tuesday.”

She set her mug on a small table to one side of her rocker. “I was speaking in broad terms. My name’s Qui

“Huck Boone.”

“Are you one of the new guys at Breakwater Security?”

Just a flicker of hesitation. “That’s right.” He nodded toward the dead-end road and the barbed wire. “I guess we’re neighbors.”

“No one but a seagull or an osprey would try to get to Breakwater through the marsh. It’s rough going. When did you get here?”

“Over the weekend.”

“This your first time jogging out this way?”

“No, why?”

He was calm and very direct, but obviously wondering why she was asking such questions. But she had dreamed about Alicia last night, not good dreams. “I got here late yesterday thinking a friend of mine who borrowed my cottage for the weekend might still be here. I guess I’m wondering if you’ve run into her.”

“Was she supposed to be here?”

“I don’t know where she’s supposed to be. It’s a long story.”

“Hope you find her.”

“Does that mean you haven’t seen her?”

He paused a moment. “What’s her name?”

“Alicia Miller. Her car’s not here, and none of her stuff’s here.”

And no suicide note, Qui

Huck Boone, she noticed, hadn’t moved a muscle.

“I’m sure she’s fine,” she said quickly.

“You don’t sound sure.”

Qui

Boone shrugged. “Okay.”

She ran inside and grabbed a notepad and pen off the coffee table, where she’d spread out files and papers and had tried to work last night. She quickly scrawled down her number, folding the small sheet in half as she returned to the porch.

She walked along the stone path in her stocking feet, Boone meeting her halfway. His eyes, she saw, were a dark green, at least in the cool morning light of early April. Qui

“Why do you think anything’s happened to her?”

“I don’t-”

“Yes, you do.”

She felt sudden tears in her eyes and hoped he would blame them on the cold air.

“Does she know Oliver Crawford?”

“Not well. They met briefly at a party last month.” Qui

Interest rose in Boone’s expression. Little, she suspected, escaped this man’s attention, a skill that had to be a plus in private security work.

But she brought her mind back to the subject at hand, adding, “Oliver Crawford and my former boss-Alicia’s current boss-are friends. They went to college together.”

“And your boss would be-”

“Gerard Lattimore.” She didn’t know how she’d ended up giving him this information about herself. “He’s a deputy assistant attorney general at the Justice Department.”

“What are you, a lawyer?”

“Historian.”

Boone took a second to digest that information but had no visible reaction. “You don’t work for this Lattimore anymore?”

“No. I left Justice in January.”

“He knows your friend’s missing?”

Qui

Boone didn’t relent. “But Lattimore knows?”

“Yes.”

“And Mr. Crawford?”

“I have no idea. I haven’t talked with him.”

“You don’t socialize with him in Washington?”

“I told you, I don’t know him that well. And these days, Mr. Boone, any socializing I do is work related.”

He gri

She felt a twitch of a smile. “Huck Boone. That’s quite a name, isn’t it? Makes me think of Huckleberry Fi

“My folks have a strange sense of humor. I should get rolling. You okay? Anything I can do for you?”

His concern took her aback, and she wondered just how tight and preoccupied she appeared. She glanced out at the osprey nest at the mouth of the cove and almost told him about Alicia’s pleas, but she’d told Boone, a man she didn’t know at all, more than she’d meant to as it was. “I’m okay. Thanks for asking,” she said. “Don’t let me keep you from your run.”

“Just getting loose. We’re getting put through our paces today at Breakwater.”

“Good luck.”

He winked at her. “Thanks.”

He jogged off toward the loop road at a moderate pace.

Qui

She started across the road, then remembered she was in her socks. But they were damp now, anyway, and she continued on her way, taking the narrow, sandy path through the tall marsh grass down to the water. The tide was out, leaving behind wet sand, slippery grass and swirling shallow pools. Using one hand to block the sun, she squinted out at the enormous osprey nest, but it was empty, the female, presumably, still out hunting.

As she turned to head back to the cottage for her cell phone, a fishing boat out in the water beyond her cove caught her eye. Something bright drew her gaze downward, out past her waterfront to the edge of the protected marsh.

Red.

What would be red on the shore?

“I have a red kayak,” she said aloud.

Had Alicia left it in the marsh?

Why? Dropping her hand from her eyes, Qui

She kept ru

Gulls…

Why so many? Qui

The path curved, and she saw the red kayak lying parallel to the beach, partly submerged in the receding tide. The gulls seemed to be picking at something in the tall marsh grass.

Qui

More gulls arrived.

“Shoo!” She waved her arms at the birds, but they stayed with their find, whatever it was.

She looked up toward the road, hoping to see someone-anyone-she could call to walk with her down to the kayak and the gulls and see what was there. But there was no one.

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