Operation Notorious

by Justine Davis

  She gave him a sideways look.

  “I don’t,” he repeated. “Ever.”

  “And what about those lies of omission?”

  “If I can’t or won’t tell you something, I’ll say so.”

  “What’s the difference?”

  “The difference is honesty, admitting there is something you’re not saying. Like there’s a difference between something honestly slipping your mind, and withholding something the other person needs to know or should know.”

  Her tone was a bit frosty when she said, “And have you decided which you think I did, about my father’s past career?”

  He studied her for a moment. “I think,” he said slowly, “that you’re just not used to thinking the way I have to.”

  That simply he disarmed her, melting the frost and making her feel a bit of an ache for him, for she couldn’t imagine living a life where you had to think that way all the time.

  “How do you ever trust anyone?” she asked, more rhetorically than anything.

  “Very carefully,” he said. “But I don’t think that was the question you wanted to ask.”

  He waited, silently, giving her room to ask or not. Either choice would tell him...something, she supposed. She hesitated, then admitted she wanted to know badly enough to betray...whatever this would betray to him. And she asked her question.

  “Why did you really walk away?”

  Chapter 27

  Gavin was startled; he hadn’t expected that from her now. He thought he’d headed her off when she’d asked earlier.

  He’d been asked for the real reason before. Often. By acquaintances who were genuinely curious, more often by reporters who were rabid for a juicy story. For the most part they all got the same bland, noninformative, packaged response. Not that it mattered. What saw publication was all the usual speculation. He was rich enough to never have to work again—that much was true. He had nothing left to prove—he supposed that one was true, too, but still not the reason. He wanted to run for office soon—so far from truth he’d burst out laughing the first time he’d seen that one.

  His true reasons were his own business, and not something he wanted to share with a gossip-hungry world.

  And yet now, sitting here in this cozy room, too close to the woman who threatened to convince him there were people you could trust on sight, he felt an urge he couldn’t resist. And to his own surprise, he abandoned the usual practiced response.

  He had to think for a moment. He’d almost never told the whole thing except to Charlie, who asked, and Quinn, who had never asked, but Gavin had felt he deserved it before he hired him. He took a deep breath, and started.

  “When I was in college my best friend, Ben Olsen, was arrested for murder. I knew there was no way he could have done it, and he swore to me he didn’t. But he was convicted and sent to prison. Consensus was it was because of an incompetent, inexperienced attorney.”

  “I’m guessing that was your inspiration? To become a defense lawyer?”

  “Yes.” Nearly two decades later it still left a bitter taste in his mouth, even knowing how it had turned out in the end. “While I was in school, I spent every free hour searching for new evidence to get the case reopened. I visited Ben in prison regularly, made him go through it time and again, trying to find something, some new angle, anything that would convince a judge to take another look. And every time I worried more as Ben got worse. Being locked up was pushing him to the edge. By the time I passed the bar, I wasn’t sure how long he could hold on.”

  “I can’t imagine,” she said softly.

  “It went on while I was getting established. I built that reputation as much in the hope it would help Ben as anything else. I wanted the fact that I knew he was innocent to be worth something.”

  He stopped, swallowing against the lump forming in his throat. She was watching him intently, and something in her eyes made him able to go on.

  “And then... Ben got cancer. And it became imperative to find something, fast. So I put everything else on hold. It was all I did for six months, 24/7. I was...driven.”

  “Understandable.”

  His mouth tightened. “Yeah. Until Ben took a turn for the worse. Or worst.”

  “He died? In prison?”

  He nodded, becoming aware of how hard this next part was going to be. But he was in it now, and he was going to finish it.

  “Gavin, I’m so sorry—”

  He held up a hand to stop her. “Don’t be.” His voice had become a cold, harsh thing. “On his death bed, Ben confessed.”

  She drew back sharply. “What?”

  “He confessed he’d done it, told them where he’d buried the body. They found it right where he said. All the forensics matched his story. He’d done it.”

  “He lied to you? All those years he let you go through that?”

  “I was so convinced he was innocent I built my career, my entire life around saving him, and others like him. And then he destroyed it all.”

  “My God. No wonder you have no tolerance for liars. And that’s why you walked away?”

  “I walked away because I no longer had any faith in my own judgment.”

  Her brow furrowed. “But you were right, all those other times.”

  “Was I? How do I know somebody I got off, who’s out walking around, wasn’t another case where I was wrong? How do I know I didn’t get off a vicious child molester, or worse, just because I took his case and the state pled out to a lesser charge? And that’s not even counting the times when I had to withdraw for an unrelated reason and the buzz was that client must be guilty, when I knew he wasn’t. My reputation was a double-edged sword, and I’d lost control of it. I didn’t wield it anymore, everyone else did. Judges started refusing to let me withdraw for anything short of a blatant conflict of interest because it would prejudice the case.”

  For a long moment she was silent. And he felt scoured out, with nothing left to say. He felt like he was teetering on the edge. When she finally spoke, her voice was so gentle it brought him even closer to that edge.

  “You must have felt like your entire life was based on a lie.”

  “It was.” His voice sounded as bleak as he felt. “And I was so damned tired of being a step back. Dispassionate, detached. I’d started not to feel anything at all anymore. If I hadn’t met Quinn when I did, I’d be digging ditches somewhere, and glad of it.”

  And then Katie changed course completely, and caught him by surprise.

  “I did my homework on you, you know.”

  “I would expect no less.” She was a librarian, after all.

  “And nowhere,” she went on, “did I see even a hint at what you told me, about why you quit.”

  “Not something I advertise,” he said drily.

  “Who else knows?”

  “Charlie. Quinn.”

  “Your family?”

  “My mother did. I suspect she told my father. Moot point. They’re both gone now.”

  “I’m sorry.” Her words resonated. From her it wasn’t some routine, meaningless expression of sympathy. She’d lived it; she knew. But thankfully she left it at that. Perhaps also from experience. “Who else knows?” she asked.

  He shrugged. “No one. Not from me, anyway.”

  “Why did you tell me?”

  And there it was, the question he couldn’t answer because he wasn’t sure himself. And that was because the only answer he could think of would be foolish beyond belief.

  Something must have shown in his face, because the next thing he heard, in that low, gentle voice that felt like brushing his skin with soft velvet, was, “When you figure that out, come tell me.”

  “You say that like you already know the answer.”

  “I do.”

  He
went still. He couldn’t deny he wanted her. And she had to know it, after he’d slipped and kissed her, an action he still didn’t quite understand. He shoved that aside to confront the matter at hand. Did she think this...oversharing was part of that? That he was the kind of man who would bare his soul, as it were, just to get her into bed with him?

  He’d never put it in so many words before, not even in his head. And now that he had, his imagination fired up as if it had only been waiting for that. Images poured through his mind. Katie coming to him, naked and wanting. What her skin would feel like in the soft, hidden places. What her eyes would look like hot with desire, and aimed at him...

  “Gavin? Are you all right?”

  Hell, no. “Just what is it,” he said with an effort, “that you think you know?”

  She gave a light, simple shrug that was completely at odds with where his mind had just gone. “You’re starting to trust me.”

  He stared at her. After that flood of racy, lascivious visions he was having a little trouble with her take on it.

  “I know you thought I purposely didn’t tell you about my father’s past work, but I think you see now I didn’t really lie. I just didn’t see the connection you were making, because, as you said, I’m not used to thinking the way you do. The way you have to think to do what you do.”

  “I see.” It was all he could manage.

  “And as I said, it’s no wonder you can’t tolerate liars. Why that above all things is what you can’t forgive. But I don’t lie, any more than you do, and I think you see that now.”

  “Got me all figured out, do you?” He hadn’t meant to sound mocking, but it came out that way anyway. On some level he knew he was flailing out because Katie Moore was digging into places he ever and always kept hidden.

  And who opened the door for her?

  “I would never presume to think I had you all figured out,” she said. “That would be a lifelong challenge.”

  Lifelong.

  Gavin sucked in a breath, wondering why it was suddenly so hard to get enough air. Maybe that was it. His brain was starved for air—that’s why he’d told her that pitiful tale. Hypoxia might explain it.

  Even as he thought it he nearly laughed. He could almost feel his mind squirming, looking for a way out of the simple truth of what she’d said. He was beginning to trust her. In fact, he’d gone well beyond just beginning. But it wasn’t his usual conscious, carefully considered process. It had happened on some level he hadn’t even been aware of. Some level he hadn’t even realized existed before.

  A level that heard the word lifelong and yearned instead of recoiling.

  Chapter 28

  Katie didn’t know what she’d said that hit him so hard, but she hadn’t been giving it her full attention. She was still too thankful that this was likely the source of his doubts about her father, why he suspected everyone of lying at some point.

  She didn’t care for the “guilty until proven innocent” aspect of this trait of his, but now she understood it. Given his history, it would be amazing if he didn’t feel that way. For her, it would be like finding out her father was in fact guilty; it would shatter the very foundation of her life, her entire concept of who she was.

  But now she was staring at him, and the way he was looking back was sending shivers through her. And making her think of that kiss. That inappropriate, heart-stealing, pulse-pounding kiss. That kiss that had been so quick, over so fast, that there was no way the memory of it should be able to do this to her.

  And yet here she was, her heartbeat quickening, her skin flushing, long-dormant parts of her awakening. And no amount of telling herself she was a fool seemed to help her get herself back in control.

  Not when he was looking at her like that, as if he was thinking the same thing.

  “I’d better get out of here.” He said it sharply, almost harshly.

  “I didn’t mean to make you angry.” She still wondered what had set him off.

  His eyebrows rose. “Angry? When you were looking at me as if—”

  He cut off his own words, and she couldn’t help herself, she couldn’t just let it go. “As if what?”

  The answer came in a low tone that practically vibrated up her spine. “As if you wanted me to kiss you again.”

  Her breath caught. One part of her, the part that he brought voraciously to life just by looking at her like that, wanted to say simply, “Yes.”

  “There are so many reasons that would be a mistake,” he said, his voice even lower, rougher.

  “And only one reason it wouldn’t?”

  “I can think of several, but they’re all just different words for the same thing.”

  She could think of several, too. Want. Need. Desire. Crave. Yearn. She’d never felt anything quite like this. The intensity of it was nearly overwhelming.

  He turned to go, clearly determined not to make that mistake, as he called it. She stiffened her spine, reeled in her uncooperative senses.

  Fine. I’m certainly not going to beg the man to kiss me. She thought it with solid determination. At least, she thought it was solid until her sneaky mind added in almost a whimper, Even if that’s what I feel like doing.

  She hadn’t made that whimpering sound. She knew she hadn’t. And yet Gavin turned back suddenly. Crossed the three feet between them in one stride. She felt his hands cup her face in the moment before he lowered his mouth to hers. The unexpectedness of it didn’t lessen the jolt, or slow the fire that leaped to life in her anew, as if it had only been banked, not extinguished. The feel of his mouth on hers rekindled it thoroughly, sending heat and sensation racing along every nerve. She forgot to breathe, and when he finally pulled back she sucked in air in a gasp.

  She stared at him, seeing an echoing heat in his eyes, but unable to tell if he was glad or regretted that his determination had crumbled.

  And then he was gone, without another word, leaving her with senses clamoring for more, need caroming around inside her, and a wry—and tardy—common sense telling her she should be thankful he hadn’t pushed for what she would have apparently given him without another thought.

  She should be thankful.

  But she wasn’t.

  * * *

  Gavin didn’t make a habit of calling himself names, but he was still rattling them off the next morning. Especially when he looked in the mirror to shave, after a night of restless sleep that had him thinking he’d have been better off if he’d just stayed awake all night. As it was, he had a dull, thudding headache and his eyes looked as if he’d been on a three-day bender. Even Cutter had stayed clear, as if sensing not even his calming presence was going to help.

  But at least he had a plan. A plan that would keep him safely out of Katie’s orbit for a couple of days, at least. Which wasn’t the goal, he assured himself. He’d just moved something up on his mental schedule, something he’d planned to do in the next few days anyway.

  He had the names and details on the witnesses who had backed up Laurel’s ex-boyfriend’s story, had copies of their sworn statements, but for him nothing took the place of an in-person interview. That after this much time they might be less certain of their stories could be both a curse, in that the details might be fuzzy, and a blessing, in that they might not feel the same urgency to stick to the narrative.

  If there was one, he thought as he got dressed. The police had been satisfied the dozen or so witnesses from the party Ross had been at during the time of the murder had been truthful. And given some of the rather embarrassing details of that night they had confessed to, he tended to agree. It had taken a promise from the police not to pursue the details of some of the more illicit party favors to get anything at all out of a couple of them.

  “You look like you’ve been rode hard and put away wet, as my gramps used to say.”

 
Gavin whirled to face the man who had seemingly appeared out of thin air in the doorway of the bedroom. Rafe Crawford looked at him steadily over a mug of coffee Gavin could smell and suddenly craved.

  He fought down the images the old saying had blasted into his mind, images that had nothing to do with horses and everything to do with a naked Katie Moore riding him. Hard.

  He swore under his breath, glared at the dog beside Rafe for the lack of warning, and headed for the kitchen, thinking if the man hadn’t left enough coffee for another mug, he was going to take his head off. Then he remembered who exactly he was dealing with and realized taking on one of the best snipers in the world was hardly within his skill set.

  “And they call me grouchy before my coffee,” Rafe observed, his tone almost amused as he watched Gavin fill a mug and get to the caffeine infusion. “But then, you sleep even less than I do.”

  Gavin grimaced. “You here for the day?”

  Rafe nodded. “Generator wobbled a little on the last exercise cycle, and the chopper needs service.”

  Gavin nodded. Idleness did not suit the man. In that they were alike.

  “I’m going down to Tacoma,” he said. “Witness interviews.”

  Rafe lifted an eyebrow at him. “Any reason you’re telling me, not Quinn?”

  “Quinn knows. But I’m leaving him here,” he said, gesturing at Cutter. “Might take a couple of days for me to track down everyone I want to talk to, so I’ll probably be staying over. If you’re going to be here, saves me dropping him off at their place.”

  “Fine with me,” Rafe said with a shrug. “He can supervise.” He gave Gavin a considering look before adding, “Does he know you’re leaving him behind?”

  “Quinn?”

  “Cutter.”

  Gavin blinked. Then his mouth quirked. “I haven’t discussed it with him, no.”

  “Better. Or you’ll find him in your car and not so easy to get out.”

  Gavin had the sudden feeling that he was far from knowing all the ins and outs of dealing with this dog. “And just how do I do that?”