Her Private Treasure

Duffy continued to glare silently at her, as if sure he’d never seen a self-possessed woman in his life.

“Al,” Hamilton said quietly, “let her do this.”

Duffy sighed. “Yeah, okay.”

“I’d like to record the interview, if that’s okay with you.” She cast Hamilton a glance. “And your attorney, of course.” With their verbal agreements secured, she asked Duffy, “Do you know Jack Rafton?”

Duffy looked wary. “Yeah. Slip number nine.”

“Owner of a twenty-six-foot cabin cruiser called American Dream?”

“Yeah.”

“How would you characterize your relationship?”

“We ain’t got a relationship, lady. We’re men.”

And not homophobic at all. Malina resisted the urge to roll her eyes. She liked her job, she really did. Or, rather, she used to. “Are you friends?” she asked.

Duffy shrugged. “We have a drink together sometimes.”

“Have you ever been to his house?”

“No.”

“Do you have his cell phone number?”

“No.”

“What do you talk about when you’re together?”

“Fishing. What does that have to do with anything?”

“She’s trying to determine if you’re close friends with Jack,” Hamilton put in.

“Are you?” Malina pressed the harbormaster.

“I guess not.”

The man could give clams pointers. “But you see Mr. Rafton frequently.”

“He has a boat. I run the harbor.”

“Does Mr. Rafton seem under an unusual amount of stress lately?”

“How the hell do I know?”

“Have you seen him at the docks at unusual times over the last few weeks?”

Duffy’s gaze darted to Hamilton. “What does she mean unusual?”

Hamilton’s lips twitched. “Out of the ordinary.”

“I know that. I don’t know what that has to do with—”

“You run the harbor,” Malina interrupted. “You know when people come and go. When does Rafton usually come and go?”

“Early morning, sometimes after dinner.”

“When has he been taking his boat out lately?”

Duffy sipped his whiskey before answering. “Later.”

“How much later?”

“Eleven, maybe twelve at night.”

“So would you characterize that as unusual?”

Annoyance lined Duffy’s face. “I guess so.”

His statement fell in line with what others had said with less reluctance and certainly more grace. Was Albert Duffy simply ornery, or did he have some connection with Rafton that he didn’t want known? With this man, directness seemed to be the only course. “Are you engaging in or helping to cover up illegal activity perpetrated by Jack Rafton?”

Duffy sputtered so heavily he couldn’t speak.

“Agent Blair,” Hamilton said, his gaze locking on hers, “that’s inappropriate.”

But it confirmed her instincts—Duffy was an insulting curmudgeon and likely not a would-be felon.

“I thought we might get to our goal more quickly with more specific questions,” she said to the men across from her. “And I’m sure Mr. Duffy doesn’t think the FBI engages in random questioning. I wanted to let him know that he’s being watched and any attempt by him to warn Mr. Rafton of the questions I’ve asked would be perceived by me as the act of an accomplice.” She smiled. “Everybody clear now?”

“What a man does on his own time isn’t any of my bother,” Duffy mumbled.

Her smile broadened. “Exactly. That’s my job. Thank you for your assistance, Mr. Duffy,” she added, rising and turning off the microrecorder. “I’ll forward copies of the interview transcript to your office, Mr. Hamilton. Good night to you both.”

“You’d do better to learn to cook, honey,” Duffy said as she turned away.

Facing him, her fingers twitched as she skimmed her hand across the butt of her gun. “Would I?”

“Yeah.” His gaze defiant, Duffy leaned back in the booth. “Carr here needs a girlfriend. He’s rich, so he could probably even get you lessons.”

“If only I’d known those options were open to me, I’d have skipped training in Quantico and raced right over to the Julia Child Institute.” Her temper finally breaking, she braced her palm on the table and leaned toward Duffy, meeting his startled gaze with her own furious, narrowed one. “As it happens, I’m a pretty good ass-kicker, so I think I’ll stick with what I know.” She paused briefly, renewing her smile, even though it was significantly cooler. “As long as that’s okay with you.”

Stalking away, she didn’t dare look at Hamilton, who’d no doubt find a way to warm her icy demeanor.

Chauvinistic, patronizing men who were threatened by women in general, not just the ones carrying firearms, didn’t warrant any room in her thoughts. And yet, here she was, striding to her car and dwelling on the interview as if she cared whether or not she could boil water.

If Duffy owned a gun, it was doubtful he’d be able to hit the broad side of a barn with it, even with a sniper’s scope and a GPS. And yet nobody was questioning his ability to be harbormaster. Though what his job had to do with weapons, she couldn’t say. She just—