Operation Notorious

by Justine Davis

  By the time Gavin’s phone warned him he’d reached his destination even he had to admit his brain had eased up a bit, as if responding to the more peaceful surroundings. Just as Quinn said it did for him. Here on the other side of Puget Sound seemed a world away from the bustling city in feeling if not distance. He never would have thought he’d say it, but maybe Quinn was on to something here.

  A light rain had begun just as he stepped under cover of the porch, and his hosts congratulated him on his timing. He was welcomed, his bags stowed in the guest room, and a drink poured and waiting for him by the fire crackling in the hearth before he recognized the luscious smell wafting from the kitchen was Quinn’s famous spicy chicken.

  “I’m honored.” He tilted the glass of wine in a salute. “You cooked for me?”

  “Don’t get used to it,” Quinn said.

  Gavin managed a creditable grin before asking, “Where’s that rascal dog of yours?”

  “On his nightly rounds,” Quinn said.

  Gavin found himself laughing, to his own surprise. “Patrolling the neighborhood?”

  “Morning and evening, every day we’re not on a case,” Hayley said.

  “Strong sense of duty, that one,” Gavin said, not really kidding.

  Quinn nodded. “Like most good operatives.”

  Gavin had heard enough stories of the uncannily clever canine to know Quinn was dead serious. “Even Charlie has finally accepted that he’s an integral part of your team.”

  “Speaking of Charlie,” Hayley began, then stopped.

  Gavin studied her for a moment, then let out a long breath as he lowered his gaze. Quietly, he voiced what he’d been suspecting since his plane had cleared the Rockies. “You don’t have a case, do you?”

  Hayley exchanged a glance with her husband. Quinn grimaced.

  Quinn had never lied to him—one reason he trusted him—and Gavin knew he wouldn’t now. But before he could answer there was a sound at the rear door that drew their attention. Gavin turned just as a hinged section at the bottom of the door swung open. A second later Cutter was there, looking a bit damp from the rain, which had picked up now. He had something in his mouth, some toy Gavin guessed.

  “He has his own door now?” he asked as Hayley grabbed a towel clearly kept by the door for that reason and turned to the dog.

  “It’s easier,” Quinn said. “He’s got a mind of his own and—”

  He stopped as the animal walked past Hayley and the towel, toward Gavin. He guessed that figured, given he hadn’t been here when the dog had left the house. Cutter sat at his feet, looking up at him intently. Did he even remember him? Gavin wondered. He hadn’t spent much time here last time, and—

  His speculation broke off when he saw what the dog had in his mouth. It was not a toy. A cell phone? What was the dog doing with a phone? Whose phone? Where had he found it? And why the hell was he bringing it to him?

  By the time he got through the string of mental questions Quinn and Hayley were at his side. Cutter allowed Hayley to take the phone from him, but the dog’s steady gaze never left Gavin. He found it strangely unsettling.

  “It doesn’t look like it’s been lying around and he just found it,” Quinn said.

  “No,” she agreed. “It’s not damaged at all. And it’s on, so it’s working.”

  “Is he given to stealing things?” Gavin asked neutrally.

  Quinn gave him a sideways glance. “In the interest of a good cause, it’s not unheard of.”

  Gavin didn’t know what to say to that, so he said nothing as Hayley pressed a button on the side of the phone.

  “Locked,” she said. “Charge is at 65 per cent.”

  “Good. The owner will probably call it once they realize it’s gone,” Quinn said.

  “Assuming they have another phone, and don’t already know because Cutter snatched it right out of their hand,” Hayley said, sounding a bit glum.

  “Well, there’s that,” Quinn said, glancing at the dog. Hayley handed him the phone and went to work on the dog with the towel.

  She had just finished when the doorbell rang. She put down the towel and looked at Quinn. “And maybe,” she said, “whoever it was—”

  “—followed him here,” Quinn finished for her.

  “I’ll get it, shall I?” Gavin said lightly, telling himself a buffer between a possibly irate phone owner and the owners of the dog who’d grabbed it might be a good idea. Quinn didn’t immediately answer him, but moved across the living room to where he could get a glimpse out the window to the porch, where a motion-sensor light had come on. Only then did he nod.

  “Sometimes I forget,” Gavin muttered under his breath as he reached for the door handle. Coming in as he did, usually after everything had happened and there was nothing left but cleanup, he did sometimes forget that Foxworth occasionally irritated people with minimal impulse control. People who could be dangerous.

  He pulled the door open, revealing a woman who looked a bit damper than the dog had. Rain glistened on hair pulled back in a wavy ponytail, and a couple of drops clung to long, soft-looking eyelashes. Lashes that surrounded eyes that seemed vividly blue even in the artificial glow of the porch light. Her face, with a slightly upturned nose and a nicely shaped mouth, was turned up to him since she was probably about five-four to his five-eleven. Her cheeks looked even wetter than her hair, and if it hadn’t been raining he might have thought she’d been crying. Which would explain the distress he saw in both her eyes and her body language; she was hunched into herself against more than the chill.

  “Is Hayley here?” she asked. “Or at least Cutter?”

  Chill, he thought again, only this time in the nature of a self-command. Belatedly he realized she wore no jacket over her jeans and light sweater, as if she had come hastily. In pursuit of her phone? He shook off the strange sluggishness that had overtaken him.

  “Sorry,” he said, stepping back to let her in. Obviously she knew Hayley and she hardly looked like a threat, even if he’d been studying her as if she were one.

  “Katie, isn’t it?” Hayley said, coming forward. “Katie Moore? The blue house?”

  “Yes,” she said, sounding grateful.

  Quinn had disappeared from his position by the window, but now reappeared with a fresh, dry towel, which he handed to the newcomer.

  “Here, dry off. I’m Quinn, Hayley’s husband.”

  “Thank you,” the woman said, then applied the towel. “I’m sorry to intrude, but—”

  “It’s no intrusion. Neighbors are always welcome. Come in by the fire and get warmed up,” Hayley said.

  “Thank you,” she repeated, folding the used towel. Gavin noticed, because it was what he did, that her hands trembled slightly. And again he was certain there was more to it than simply being cold. “I don’t quite know what happened. I—”

  She stopped then. Because Cutter the phone thief had stepped between them and stood at Katie’s feet. And then he turned and sat, staring up at Quinn and Hayley.

  “Ah,” Quinn said, as if the dog’s action explained everything.

  Gavin had heard about this, although he’d never seen it in person. But even if he hadn’t known, he could have seen that this was a signal.

  Fix it.

  That’s what Quinn called it, the dog’s “fix it” look. And eyeing the clever animal now, he believed it. What he found harder to believe was the thought that popped into his head then.

  In the interest of a good cause...

  That was a bridge too far, thinking the dog had stolen the phone specifically to get this woman here because she had a problem that Foxworth could fix.

  Wasn’t it?

  Quinn and Hayley exchanged a glance. And then Quinn looked at Gavin.

  “That question you asked, about a case? The answe
r just changed.”

  Chapter 2

  “Sorry, I’m a bit scattered,” Katie said, hands wrapped around the steaming mug of hot cocoa Hayley had fixed for her.

  She was starting to feel warm again, thanks to it and the fire. And Cutter’s presence. The dog had taken up residence at her feet, lying on them in fact, and his body heat was doing nearly as much as the fire and cocoa to warm her up. She felt miles away from the new pit of shock and despair she’d been cast into just a short time ago, and for the moment she let herself revel in the warmth.

  “This rascal is good at distractions, when needed,” Quinn said. His voice was quiet, steady, but it took nothing away from his formidable appearance. In fact it added to it. This was a man, she thought, who had nothing to prove to anyone.

  “He’s been visiting me a lot lately,” she said. “He’s really been quite sweet. I don’t know why he did this.”

  Quinn and Hayley exchanged a look that was both knowing and wary, but also seemed slightly amused. They didn’t seem the type to take their pet’s misbehavior as funny, not after Hayley had gone to the trouble of introducing Cutter to the neighbors, but maybe she was wrong. She hoped not.

  As for their guest, introduced as Gavin visiting from St. Louis, he was something else altogether. When a complete stranger had answered the door, all sorts of crazy thoughts had run through her mind. She’d known she had the right house; she’d done her due diligence on the neighborhood before she’d moved in five months ago. But when the man who now sat slightly apart from them, as if he were in the room but not the group, had opened the door, her heart had slammed into her throat.

  Hayley’s husband was tall, looked strong, and his military background showed in his demeanor. This Gavin might be a little less imposing physically but there was something about the way he looked, something in eyes so dark they almost appeared black, that she found even more imposing—a bright, quick intelligence that to her crackled as tangibly as the fire she was sitting beside. And the way he’d stared at her, making her overly conscious of how wet and bedraggled she must look, left her feeling she had been thoroughly assessed and cataloged.

  Could you tell I’m a basket case? About to fly into a million pieces?

  “Katie runs our new library,” Hayley was saying to their friend. “And it’s become quite the success thanks to some of her ideas.”

  Katie found herself watching the man who’d opened the door, awaiting his reaction, half expecting some kind of joke or comment she’d heard too many times before. Somehow being a librarian came with certain judgments or stereotypes, many of them wrong, some of them very, very wrong. But nothing showed in his expression, and he said nothing. She wasn’t sure why she had reacted to him so strongly, with that startled leap of her heart.

  “So, Cutter’s been visiting you a lot?”

  Hayley’s quiet question snapped her out of her ruminations. “Yes. I haven’t minded,” she put in quickly. “He’s been...quite comforting, actually.”

  “He has the knack,” Quinn said.

  “He does,” Hayley agreed. “He can always sense when someone is in turmoil. Or pain. Or has a problem.”

  Well, all three of those fit her just now, Katie thought.

  “And,” Hayley said, her voice even softer now, “he’ll do whatever it takes to get that person the help they need.”

  “Including making off with their cell phone,” Quinn added.

  Katie blinked. She stared at them both, then at the dog at her feet. Then she looked back to Quinn. “Wait. You’re saying he took my phone on purpose? To...what? What are you saying?”

  Hayley leaned forward, focusing on Katie. Her voice was gentle, encouraging, like a hug from a friend. “He can always sense when someone needs the kind of help the Foxworth Foundation can provide.”

  Katie frowned, puzzled. She remembered the name from when Hayley had come by, but she’d been too entranced by the charming Cutter to really focus on the brief mention of the foundation she and her husband—and the dog—were part of, other than to register she’d heard of it before. But while she appreciated the concern—and heaven knows she needed any support she could get—she doubted this foundation of theirs could help, even though she had only a vague idea of what kind of work they did.

  “I’m afraid your foundation can’t solve my problem,” she said. “Because what I need is a really, really good attorney.”

  Neither Foxworth answered her. There was no sound but a loud pop from the fire. But Hayley, Quinn and even Cutter had all shifted their gaze. And they were staring at the man sitting in the chair opposite her. The man who had gone suddenly very still.

  “Told you,” Quinn said, breaking the silence.

  Katie had no idea what Quinn was referencing, but Gavin muttered something she guessed she was glad not to have heard.

  “Katie,” Hayley said in a more formal tone that was no less gentle, “let me more fully introduce someone to you. This—” she gestured at Gavin “—is the Foxworth Foundation’s attorney, Gavin de Marco.”

  She was so startled at the coincidence of their guest being an attorney, on top of their dog seemingly leading her here, that it was a moment before the name registered. When it did she gaped at him, she was sure gracelessly.

  “De Marco? The Gavin de Marco?”

  She’d known the name since before the scandalous downfall of the governor last spring, but once it was discovered that the formerly famous but now rarely heard from attorney was involved in sorting out the aftermath, his name had been included in every news story. And suddenly she remembered that was where she’d heard about the Foxworth Foundation before, in those stories. She just hadn’t realized that Quinn and Hayley were those Foxworths.

  But she doubted there was any adult in the entire country, except perhaps those who lived purposely in ignorance, who hadn’t heard the name Gavin de Marco. Any criminal case that had hit the national news in the last decade, there was a 50 per cent chance de Marco’s name was attached. After blasting into the public awareness at a young age when a senior attorney had died midcase and he’d had to take over—he often referred to himself as the understudy who made good—his record was so amazing that it had become, in the public mind, an indicator of guilt or innocence in itself. Not because of lawyerly tricks or clever dodges, but because he always seemed to turn up the evidence or get testimony or make an argument that exonerated his client so thoroughly juries could vote no other way.

  And then there were the other cases. She’d read about them, back when she’d been living and working down in Tacoma, because they were hard to avoid as she shelved the newspapers patrons had still wanted in those days. The Reed fraud case, the Redmond murder case, and the others where he had withdrawn from the defense. By then his reputation was such that it was practically a conviction in itself, no matter what reason was given.

  All these thoughts raced through her mind in the embarrassingly long moment when she simply stared at him. Along with a rapid recalculation. She’d thought he must be about her age, but he had to be older. College, three years of law school, however long it had taken to hit the national stage, all those famous cases, and then the three or four years since he’d dropped out of sight for reasons still a matter of wide speculation.

  He didn’t look like the pictures and video images she remembered. Gone was the exquisitely tailored suit and the haircuts that had likely cost more than her monthly food budget. Now he was wearing a pair of black, low-slung jeans and a knit, long-sleeved shirt that stretched over broad shoulders and clung to a narrow waist and hips. His hair was longer, with a couple of dark strands kicking forward over his brow. Outward signs of inward changes? she wondered. It all made him less intimidating...until you looked at his eyes. No one with those eyes could be anything less than intimidating.

  She had no idea how long she’d been sitting ther
e gaping at him when he said, in a level tone that told her he was familiar with her reaction, “And you need an attorney because...?”

  No preamble, no “Nice to meet you” exchange. He’d cut right to the chase. But then, wasn’t that what an attorney was supposed to do? Be objective, get to the heart of things, and not be distracted by such messy things as emotions?

  Easy, when you’re not the one whose life is being blown up.

  The spark of emotion she felt at his cool detachment enabled her to pull herself together. And instead of saying the multitude of things piling up in her mind, she made herself answer his question simply.

  “I need an attorney because my father is suspected of murdering my best friend.”

  Chapter 3

  Well. He hadn’t expected that, Gavin thought.

  He’d wanted to cut through her obvious reaction to his name, even as he wondered yet again when it would at last fade from the public consciousness. He looked forward to that day with more longing than he ever had getting into a courtroom, even in the fresh, young days of idealistic fervor.

  That it was likely going to take until an entire generation grew up having never heard of him was a thought he tried not to dwell on. For a guy who, unlike many of his fellow attorneys, had never wanted that kind of fame, he surely had acquired enough of it to last a lifetime. And he was likely going to be a crotchety old man before it faded.

  And who says you’re not a crotchety old man already, de Marco?

  “No wonder you’re scattered,” Hayley was saying. She’d moved to sit next to the woman on the sofa, putting an arm around her. Cutter sat up and shifted so that he could rest his chin on her knee. The woman lifted a hand to stroke the dark head. He could almost feel some of the tension ease from her, even from over here.

  That dog was...something. Then again, Gavin couldn’t blame the dog for wanting to be stroked by this woman.