Maggie ate a Sausage McMuffin in her Avalanche near the harbor on the Point. It was barely past dawn, but the July day promised to be hot and bright. As usual, she’d only slept for about four hours, and then she’d gone to the drive-through for breakfast. If there was one part of American culture to which Maggie was addicted, it was McDonald’s. She couldn’t get enough French fries and quarter-pounders, and somehow, none of it ever padded her girly frame.

Through her binoculars, Maggie spied Troy Grange on a Zodiac heading back to the harbor.

Everyone in Duluth law enforcement knew Troy. He was solid. Good values. Hard worker. People liked him. He could have been a cop, but he liked working on and near the water, so he signed on as a health and safety inspector with the company that handled security for the Duluth Port. Sooner or later, Maggie figured, he’d be running the whole department.

Thanks to his reputation, Troy also had an annual part-time job coordinating safety issues during Grandma’s Marathon. As a result, he knew everyone who worked security along the twenty-six--mile course.

She crumpled her paper wrappers into a ball and climbed down from her truck. Troy, docking the Zodiac, saw her and waved, and she waved back. He was a couple years older than she was and only a few inches taller. He was a weightlifter in his spare time, with a beefy, muscular frame. His skull was shaved smooth, and he had a face that wouldn’t win him a cover spread in GQ: an oversized, lumpy nose; a couple of broad chins; and florid cheekbones that pushed out from his face like a pair of red jawbreakers.

Troy wasn’t anyone’s idea of cute, but Maggie had a little bit of a thing for him. She liked nice guys. Stride. Troy. Apparently, she also liked married guys, because Troy and his wife Trisha had been married for five years and had recently had their first child, Emma. He was off-limits. Maggie didn’t spend a lot of time on self-reflection, but sometimes she wondered if she was doomed to have crushes on men she couldn’t have.

‘Sergeant,’ Troy announced as he bounded onto dry land. ‘I don’t usually get a welcoming committee.’

‘Hey, Troy.’

Troy, like Maggie, was an early riser, and he toured the dock areas from the water several mornings a week. His philosophy of security was that the best way to stop trouble was to make sure it never happened. He also liked seeing things with his own eyes, which was why he didn’t delegate basic tasks like reviewing the port facilities.

‘So what’s the McPoison this morning?’ he asked with a grin. ‘Hotcakes? One of those new McGriddle things?’

Maggie shook her head. People in Duluth knew way too much about her daily routines. ‘Sausage McMuffin with Egg, thank you very much.’