Page 8 of Code Name: Harbor

She’s not so cold and disoriented that she mistakes my dig at her. I get a well-deserved eye roll and then some truth. “It’s Josie. Josie McAdams.”

“They’ll have your home address then—”

She shakes her head. “No… my employer. The SUV was registered to my boss’s company.”

“And that is?”

Josie exhales loudly. “Jameson Force Seattle.”

I cock my head. “Never heard of them.”

“Private security company.”

Now that’s interesting.

And dangerous, seeing as how I’ve got a stolen painting I smuggled over international lines tonight in the cargo hold.

“What exactly do you do for Jameson? And once again, why were you out there tonight?”

She narrows her eyes at me. “That’s top secret,” she declares primly. “What were you doing lurking with your running lights off? Why do you have a gun? Maybe you were up to nefarious deeds tonight.”

“Not nefarious enough to shoot at a woman in the water,” I point out. I throw my hands wide. “Seriously… do I look like someone who would cause trouble?”

“Well, I don’t know. I’m not sure what smugglers look like. Tonight was my first experience with those Russians.”

I bark out a laugh. “Smugglers? That’s a tall tale.”

“Not so tall,” she replies, eyeing me up and down. “The Salish Sea and all the islands, straits and channels have been a smuggling mecca for over a hundred and fifty years.”

“You don’t say,” I drawl.

She nods. “This is the most trafficked smuggling corridor in North America. It started out in the 1850s with wool, opium and Chinese laborers. Prohibition saw liquor running through here. Now it’s women and antiquities. Take your pick, but I suspect with your smug smile that you know exactly what I’m talking about.”

Yeah, she’s too smart for her own good. Had she said that to Voronin, he’d have slit her throat.

But me? I’m still quite amused by her bold proclamation, especially since she’s nailed my occupation with only a few observations.

“So, were you investigating Voronin? Happen to stumble upon one of his off-loads?”

Josie’s expression remains aloof. “It’s none of your business what I was doing.”

“What exactly do you do for Jameson?” I ask, trying a different tack.

She stares at me for a long time, and I can see the wheels turning. Trying to figure out whether to trust me, and she really shouldn’t.

“I’m the lead intelligence specialist,” she says.

“And you gather intelligence by crawling through bushes with a camera?”

“Yes, exactly,” she snaps. “Now, how about telling me what you were doing out there with your lights off and a gun on your leg, Mr. Marlowe?”

“I was minding my own business. Until I heard gunshots.”

She raises a well-arched eyebrow even higher.

I offer my most charming smile. “Again, I ask, do I look like a man who causes trouble?”

She gives me a slow up-and-down. “Honestly? Yeah.”