The Secret of Cherokee Cove. Paula Graves

That’s how we got the tip that someone may have seen him just north of here, near the old marble quarry.”

      “How valid a tip?”

      “Remains to be seen. But we haven’t come across any proof that Cortland is dead, either. So we have to proceed on the assumption that he could still be alive and kicking. And if so, he’s probably working overtime to solidify his control of his father’s criminal enterprise.”

      “Why are you telling me this?” Nix asked.

      “Seemed like something you’d want to know.”

      “It’s something a lot of people would like to know. The FBI, the U.S. Marshals Service—”

      “I hear someone tried to kill your chief of police.” Quinn leaned back, crossing his ankle on top of his knee. The soles of his hiking boots were muddy and well-worn, Nix noticed. When the man donned a disguise, he didn’t miss a beat.

      “That’s still under investigation,” Nix said carefully.

      Quinn laid his head back, as if enjoying the morning sun that angled through the trees overhead to bathe his face with warm light. “Check with your office. I believe you’ll find the mechanic’s assessment is in.”

      Nix stared at Quinn. “I thought you were out of the spy business.”

      He shrugged. “I don’t spy for the government anymore.”

      “Just for yourself?”

      “Let’s just say I haven’t lost the ability to uncover sensitive information when necessary.”

      “Do the people you employ know you’re still playing head games?”

      “They know me,” Quinn said simply.

      Nix supposed that response answered the question about as well as anything would. “So, you’ve told me there may or may not have been a Cortland sighting in the area. A phone call would have sufficed.”