Operation Notorious

by Justine Davis

  He blinked. Where the hell had that come from?

  “Can you tell us the story?” Hayley asked gently.

  “I wouldn’t know where to start.”

  Gavin heard the husky tremor in her voice, saw the sudden gleam in her eyes, recognized the welling of moisture. She was on the edge of breaking. He knew there were usually two ways to go with someone who was teetering like this. Let them go, let it gush out uncontrollably and try to make sense of it after, or take the lead and control it for them. Both approaches had their benefits. An emotional flood sometimes netted information the person would not necessarily have revealed had they been in control. But it could also lead to confusion, because emotionally distraught people often saw connections where there were none, assumed cause and effect where it wasn’t warranted, or at worst made no sense at all.

  He decided on the latter approach, and told himself it was not because he simply did not want to see this woman break down in front of him. And it had nothing to do with that errant thought that had blasted into his mind as he’d watched her stroke Cutter’s soft fur.

  “Or,” he said, intentionally rather briskly, “would you rather just answer some questions, in a logical order?”

  Gavin saw her take a deep breath, as if to steady herself. Her mouth tightened slightly, and he found himself disliking the tension of it in a very peculiar way.

  “There’s no point.” She glanced at Gavin. “I need an attorney for my father, but we can’t afford Gavin de Marco.”

  Quinn stepped in then. “If we determine Foxworth can help—and that is a big if—you won’t have to. Gavin works for us.”

  “In that case, I probably can’t afford you, either.”

  “Not an issue,” Gavin said. “Whether your case meets Foxworth criteria is.”

  “And if it does,” Quinn said, “there’s no cost for Foxworth’s help.”

  “No cost?” She glanced at Gavin. “What’s your billable rate? A thousand an hour?”

  His mouth quirked upward. There had been some bite in the question, a sign she was steadying. Given even what little he knew of her situation from her stark explanation, he found it admirable. He doubted many could manage it.

  “It was actually a bit more,” he said. “Back in the day.”

  Her gaze shifted to Quinn. “So you have him on retainer, or what?”

  “Actually,” Quinn answered mildly, “we don’t pay him at all.”

  She drew back rather sharply. Hayley put a hand on her arm. Cutter nudged her to keep petting. Between the two of them Katie didn’t have a chance, Gavin thought, but he hid his amusement.

  “Gavin,” Hayley said, “works with us because he, like all of us, believes in what we do.”

  Katie’s gaze shifted from Hayley to Quinn to him in rapid succession. “For free?” she said in obvious disbelief.

  “I get compensated in...other ways,” he said. Like the easing of my soul.

  She looked genuinely confused. People always were, when first confronted with the idea of an organization like Foxworth. It just didn’t seem possible these days that anyone would take up causes like this.

  “What exactly is it,” Katie said carefully, “that you do?”

  Gavin glanced at Quinn, the man who had pulled him out of a quagmire of betrayal and self-doubt and given him a clear and bright path to follow. Were he not here Gavin might have tried to explain himself, but the Foxworth Foundation was Quinn’s creation, his and Charlie’s. Quinn walked over and sat on the edge of the coffee table in front of Katie, his elbows resting on his knees.

  “When I was ten, my parents were killed in a terrorist bombing. I have never felt so helpless or so enraged as when the terrorist was set free and nobody would tell me the truth. Foxworth was founded to help people who are in that same boat, fighting injustice. Honest, good people in the right, who have fought but can’t fight anymore, or who haven’t been able to get help anywhere else.”

  Gavin watched with interest as Katie Moore studied Quinn. “And who,” she asked after a moment, “decides they’re in the right?”

  Gavin registered the question that many didn’t even think to ask. Ms. Moore was clearly not in the nonthinking category. He could almost hear the click in his mind as he checked off that box in his assessment. She would not be difficult to work with in that way. In other ways...

  Again he had to slam on the mental brakes. Maybe Charlie had been right, and he really was going nuts.

  “That’s the joy of being a private enterprise,” Quinn answered with a smile. “We do. We have our values, and our criteria are ours alone.”

  “We only take cases we can get behind wholeheartedly,” Hayley added. “We can’t help everyone, but those we do help get it all.”

  Katie seemed fascinated by the concept, and was now distracted enough that she appeared and sounded calmer than when she had arrived. Gavin knew he was right because Cutter settled back down at her feet, head resting on his front paws.

  Her hair had dried now, and he saw it was a sandy sort of blond with strands of a lighter, golden color here and there. And her eyes truly were that blue. Even as he thought it she glanced at him, giving him the full force of that vivid color. Then she turned back to Hayley and Quinn.

  “What kind of cases?” Katie asked.

  “We’ve reunited long-lost families—my own included,” Hayley said with a smile. “Recovered a kidnap victim. Helped some troubled kids, and adults, find their way. Gave a grieving family a reason they could bear for a suicide. And Quinn found a stolen locket that was the only memento a girl had of her dead mother.” She looked at her husband proudly. “That’s still his favorite case.”

  Katie smiled at that. It was a nice smile, Gavin thought, yet it was tinged with a sadness that made him wonder about her own mother. Not something you need to know. Stop it.

  Katie only asked, “Even more than taking down a corrupt politician?”

  “In a way, yes,” Quinn said.

  “And there you have it,” Gavin said, speaking for the first time since this explanation of Foxworth had begun. “The reason Foxworth is what it is. It’s in what they value.”

  Katie’s head turned and she studied him for a moment. She clearly took her time, thought through things, processed them. He wondered if she ever did anything on pure impulse. Images flashed into his mind, of things Katie Moore might do on impulse. Heat shot through him, as if the fire they were gathered around had suddenly flared. He quickly shifted his gaze to that fire, wondering what the hell was happening with him, and if she’d seen anything in his eyes.

  He looked up again when she spoke, but she was back to looking at Hayley and Quinn, and he could breathe again. He would analyze this later, far away from those eyes.

  “I’m sorry,” she was saying, “I didn’t realize you were the Foxworths mentioned in all the stories last spring.”

  “We don’t advertise it. We work mostly by word of mouth,” Hayley said. Then, rather pointedly, she nodded at Cutter. “Although these days, he brings us enough work all by himself.”

  Katie blinked. Gavin understood. He was more than a bit bemused himself by how easily Quinn and Hayley accepted that their dog had not only sensed this woman needed their help, but apparently had engineered this entire meeting.

  Quinn smiled. “I was as skeptical as you are, but he’s proven himself time and again. I’ve learned to just go with it.”

  “We all have. Even Gavin,” Hayley added with a grin and a sideways look at him, “and he’s the least fanciful guy you’ll ever meet.”

  “Thanks,” Gavin said drily. “I think.”

  “I would think being fanciful wouldn’t be a good trait for an attorney,” Katie said.

  Gavin found himself oddly curious. “And what traits would be?”

  Katie studied him ag
ain, perhaps looking for any sign his question had been facetious or snarky. His curiosity was genuine, and apparently she sensed that. Once decided, she seemed to consider the question as thoroughly as she had everything else. After a moment she said, “Sifting. Through all the dross to the essentials, I mean. Empathy that doesn’t cloud objectivity. Researching. An affinity for the facts.”

  Gavin stared at her. “That was very concise.”

  “I read a lot. Remember most. Was I close?”

  “Very.” His mouth twisted at one corner. “Except the objectivity and affinity for facts seem to be falling by the wayside these days.”

  “You asked what traits would be good, not which ones were common.”

  He blinked. Quinn laughed aloud. “She got you there, Gav.”

  He laughed himself, something rare enough to be appreciated. “Indeed.”

  Cutter’s head came up, and Gavin found himself the object of the dog’s steady gaze. He got the oddest feeling it was a look of approval. Then he almost laughed again, at himself for attributing such things to a look from a dog. And he was glad when Quinn turned things back to Katie’s situation.

  “It’s up to you, of course, but if you tell us the story and Foxworth can’t take the case, we can perhaps guide you to someone who can. We have a lot of contacts, people who’d be willing to help.”

  “That’s the payment Foxworth gets,” Hayley told her. “The willingness to help someone else down the line.”

  Katie glanced at Gavin again. He could almost read the question in her glance, if he was one they had helped who was now paying them back.

  More than you could imagine, he told her silently.

  She continued to look at him. Cutter made a small, low sound, drawing his gaze. The dog was staring at him again, and he felt oddly compelled to tip the troubled woman over that edge, get her to open up. He leaned back in his chair, as if settling in.

  “What was your friend’s name?” he asked.

  “Laurel,” she said. “Laurel Brisbane.”

  The pain that echoed in her voice jabbed at him. The old instincts still kicked in, but the old impartiality was struggling. He tried to ignore it and went for the easiest question that was likely to get her started. They’d get to the rest once she’d gotten used to the idea of talking.

  “Tell us about her.”

  She drew in a deep breath, and he knew the ball was rolling.

  Chapter 4

  Katie was amazed at what a relief it was to talk about Laurel to people who hadn’t heard it all before. People who neither wanted salacious details nor tried to steer her away from the painful subject. She knew her friends and even her family meant well, but the way they shied away from even speaking about Laurel or her death, as if the lively, clever and utterly loyal woman she’d been had never existed, only added to the hurt.

  And yet she herself shied away from her death now, choosing to start at the beginning, when two girls had laughed at the same thing in a fourth grade classroom, and a fast, enduring friendship had begun. And they listened, these people she barely knew, even though this wasn’t the story they were really waiting for. Even Gavin—she had to think of him by his first name because realizing she was sitting in the same room with the celebrated Gavin de Marco disconcerted her—listened quietly, not interrupting or prompting. That was unexpected to her; she thought he’d be more of a “cut right to the chase” kind of guy. At least, that was the impression he’d always given in news reports and video clips. He’d been renowned for his talent for reducing a case to its simplest aspect in a broadcast-worthy sound bite, succinct and pithy. Of course, the fact that the camera loved him didn’t hurt, she’d thought back then when she’d seen him.

  Now, however, she knew it wasn’t the camera at all. He really was that good-looking, and more compelling in person than any recorded image could be. And that was a path she was not walking, she told herself sternly. But didn’t it just figure that the first spark of real response she’d had to a man in a long time would come now, not only amid an impossible situation but with an impossible man?

  Ignore it. It will go away. Or he will.

  She jumped ahead to where Laurel had, temporarily, moved into Katie’s apartment in Tacoma after a final breakup with her boyfriend of a couple of years, Ross Carr. Laurel had seemed both unsurprised and resigned, and Kate’s role seemed to mostly be offering commiseration, ice cream and reassurance that she was better off without him.

  Until that day a week later, when she had come home from work to find a bloody nightmare of a scene. Her fingers curled into fists as she fought to get it told. The words came out in compressed chunks, in between harsh breaths.

  “They told me there was no sign of forced entry. She fought him, they said. Then...he used a kitchen knife. It wasn’t mine. He...he slashed her. Blood everywhere. He cut—”

  She broke off, nearly choking on what she couldn’t, just couldn’t give voice to, the horrifying carnage she’d walked in on. She was aware of Hayley putting a comforting arm around her. Cutter jumped up beside her and put his head in her lap. She automatically put a hand on his head, and the feel of the silky fur steadied her again.

  “Is that why you moved here?” Hayley asked, and the gentle concern in her voice almost broke Katie. She was holding on to a hair of control when she answered.

  “Yes. The opening at the library here came up, I knew the area because my father lives here, and... I wanted new surroundings. Quiet, peace. A place where I could soak in the tranquility, purge the...the ugly.”

  “Of course,” Hayley said.

  Katie nodded because she didn’t dare speak anymore. This quiet, supportive concern, even from near-strangers, was somehow harder to cope with than the thoughtlessness of people who had no idea. That was another reason she’d moved here, to get away from those who couldn’t resist speculating about the shocking murder, never realizing or caring that they were talking to or in front of the collateral damage.

  “It’s taken me a while, but I reached...tranquility, if not peace.” She grimaced. “I wasn’t sure of that until I went back to visit a friend and ran into Ross at the coffee shop.”

  “That must have ripped the scab right off,” Quinn said with a grimace.

  “Yes. Yes, it did. I couldn’t wait to get back here. I could feel the...serenity, I guess, growing the closer I got.”

  “Sign of a good decision,” Hayley said.

  “Why isn’t he the prime suspect?”

  The question, the first time Gavin had spoken since she’d begun her sorry tale, was not quite brusque but close. It had the effect of a blast of cool wind, complete with the rain still falling outside. And it quashed the silly reaction she was having to him.

  “He was. In the beginning. Especially since they’d recently broken up. They even grilled me, until they verified I’d been at work late that night. The ones closest to the...victim always are the first ones they suspect, aren’t they?”

  “And they’re guilty more often than not,” Gavin said, in that same tone.

  “I know. But Ross had a solid alibi. They verified it. Lots of witnesses.”

  Odd, she thought. It was somehow easier to deal with that brisk, businesslike tone. Or maybe it was the inexplicable comfort provided by petting Cutter.

  “And,” she added, “he was as devastated as I was. He genuinely cared for Laurel. He told me the breakup had made him realize how much he loved her. He’d even bought a ring, was about to propose, right before she was killed.”

  “Then why did they break up in the first place?”

  Again, Gavin’s clipped tone made it somehow easier to answer. As if they both realized this, Quinn and Hayley stayed silent. Cutter never moved, however, and she was glad of that. Still she hesitated, then said, “I know she’s gone, but it still feels like betraying a confi
dence.”

  “Weigh it,” Gavin said, “against finding out who killed her.”

  Put like that, there was no question. “Cheating was all she said. She hadn’t been ready to talk much about it yet.”

  “And so she turned up on your doorstep, expecting you to take her in?”

  Something jabbed through the pain of her recollections. “No,” she said, rather sharply herself, “she turned up on my doorstep knowing I would take her in. As she would for me.”

  His expression didn’t change, as if he hadn’t heard the shift in her tone. She wondered then if he’d done it on purpose, to shake her out of the dreadful memories. Surely he hadn’t gotten to where he’d been a household name without having more than a few tricks up his sleeve. And she had to admit this one had worked; she was steadier now. Before she had time to decide how she felt about that, he dragged her back to what she’d been dreading most of all.

  “Your father,” he said flatly. “He’s now a suspect?”

  “That’s what they’re saying. And they’re talking like he’s now the only suspect. The news, I mean.” She gave herself a mental shake; she was sounding very scattered. “A friend heard it and called me.”

  “Let me guess,” Gavin said, his tone sour now. “It was ‘according to a source close to the investigation,’ or some such.”

  “Yes, something like that. They didn’t say who it was.”

  “Of course not.”

  She realized he’d dealt with the media a lot during his career. She saw him exchange a glance with Quinn, and although the other man didn’t speak Gavin apparently saw some kind of signal and went back to his questions.

  “Has an investigator called you yet?”

  “Yes, although I didn’t realize it was about this at the time. A detective contacted me about a month ago, said she was following up, and asked several questions they’d already asked. But one of them was if my father had a key to my apartment—he used to, but I got it back to give to Laurel—and if I’d seen him that day.”

  “That came in the middle of a lot of other questions, I’d guess.”