Читать книгу Operation Notorious - Justine Davis - Страница 15

Chapter 6

Katie closed her door and leaned back against it, all her focus inward, on the odd hammering of her heart and the strange way her house, even at its normal temperature, felt chilly compared to standing outside in the rain.

With Gavin de Marco.

Even thinking the name seemed absurd. As did her reaction to him. She felt foolish; she should have known that that man would have “it,” that elusive quality that drew attention even from those who didn’t know who he was. Charisma, appeal, magnetism, whatever name you gave it, that man had it in abundance.

And apparently it worked on her just fine. She’d been hyperaware of him from the moment he’d opened the door.

She fought for calm. She began to move, busied herself with mundane things, like locking the back door she’d left unsecured when Cutter had so unexpectedly grabbed her phone and she’d given chase. She put away the bowl she’d gotten out, planning to reheat the leftover chili from last night; she had no appetite for it now, not after reliving her worst and persistent nightmare yet again.

But at least it had been for good reason this time, and intentional. Not like the way it so often snuck up on her and left her paralyzed with grief and horror. She’d reached an equilibrium here, but she knew it didn’t take much to upset it. Like pouring out the ugly story to strangers, one of them Gavin de Marco...

Gavin de Marco. How impossible was that?

She went back to the living room and grabbed her phone. And once more she hit the speed dial for her father. She hadn’t spoken to him since this morning, when he’d reassured her everything would be all right because he was innocent. He was cooperating with the police, of course, he’d told her. She’d suggested a lawyer then, but he’d said that he didn’t need one and that he couldn’t afford one anyway.

So how would you like the most famous defense lawyer in the country for nothing, Dad?

When he answered, he sounded different than he had this morning. Not quite so unruffled, but still confident.

“It will be fine, honey. I think they’re grasping at straws because they have nothing else.” He laughed, and there was only the slightest touch of strain in it. “They even gave me the ‘don’t leave town’ speech. As if I would.”

She cut to the chase. “You need a lawyer, Dad.”

“We’ve talked about that, Katie.”

She hesitated, but there was no way she would do this behind his back, so she plunged ahead. “I found you one. Or rather he found me. Sort of. Actually it was the dog, I think.”

There was a moment’s silence before he asked, “Dog? Katie, you’re sounding a bit confused.”

She laughed then, and it eased the tightness in her chest a little. Then as concisely as she could she told him the story. She was honest enough to admit that she savored the moment when she dropped the name Gavin de Marco.

“Wow. He was big-league. But I thought he quit?”

“He did, but he’s working for them now.”

“Doesn’t matter. No way on earth I can afford Gavin de Marco.”

“That’s just it, Dad. You don’t have to.” She explained about the Foxworth Foundation, and how Quinn and Hayley said it worked. And she pointed out that just having Gavin’s name attached to the case could change things, and would certainly assure that the police moved carefully. “It’s for your own protection. You have the right.”

“I don’t need—”

“At least talk to him, Dad. What can that hurt?”

By the time they ended the call, her father had—so reluctantly it surprised her—agreed to at least talk to the man if, after meeting with him tomorrow, Katie still wanted him to.

It was odd. She’d thought he would be pleased. She knew he trusted that the truth would come out, but she couldn’t see why he didn’t want the insurance that an attorney could provide. Especially one on the level of this one.

She walked to the small den in her house that served as an office of sorts. She opened her laptop and when the familiar screen appeared, she opened a search engine. It was time to do some homework. Research, after all, was a big part of what she did.

She began with the Foxworth Foundation. Their website was clean, simple and gave little clue as to exactly what they did. It was mainly contact numbers for the various regional headquarters. Five, she saw with some surprise, covering every region of the country; she hadn’t realized just how big they were. She remembered what Hayley had said about working mainly by word of mouth, and wondered how an organization grew to this size that way. Even if they had the willing help of hundreds of previous clients, it took funding to keep something this size going.

She found a bit more on Quinn’s history, including his rather stellar military career. The mentions of the foundation here and there in news articles were always scant, as if they were trying to keep a low profile. As if they didn’t want public credit for what they did.

But it was the other entries in various places that told her the most. The almost tearfully thankful blog posts and public letters all made clear that what the Foxworths had said was true, that they really did take on anything that met their own, personal criteria.

This made her feel a new, bubbling kind of hope, to have this kind of organization helping her. She felt something else, a lightening of a burden now that it had been shared. And she wondered if the time of holding herself apart while she tried to rebuild a life with a huge piece missing had passed, if perhaps she should open up, let some people in. New friends, who wouldn’t be always aware, who wouldn’t assume that any time she grew quiet or thoughtful she was mired in grief. Not that it wasn’t true much of the time, but it was easier to get through if everybody around her didn’t know it. Social pressure was an effective tool.

She opened a fresh search window. She hesitated for a moment, feeling a tiny bit stalkerish. But she chided herself out of it. If she was going to go through with this she needed to know as much as possible, didn’t she? The sensational headlines didn’t tell the whole story, they never did. And it wasn’t like she was checking out a potential date. Surely he would expect her to gather data. She was sure he did all possible research himself. Settled now, she reached for the keyboard.

And typed in Gavin de Marco.

* * *

Gavin traveled enough to be used to waking up in different places. When he slept at all, anyway. This time, realizations tumbled through his mind one after the other. He was in Quinn and Hayley’s place. His head was pointing south, the opposite of at home. Weird quirk, but he’d always had it. The rain had stopped.

He wasn’t alone.

That was enough of a jolt to bring him fully awake. As if his movement had been the trigger, he heard a soft woof. Cutter. A cool, damp nose nudged his hand. Instinctively he reached out and stroked the dog’s head. Odd that he hadn’t heard him come in; he slept lightly, and usually the slightest sound woke him. On that thought he sensed more than saw the dog hop up on the bed. Felt the slight give of the mattress as he landed, felt the brush as he went over him and plopped down on the other side. He nearly laughed as he felt the swipe of the dog’s tongue over his ear, then smiled into the dark as Cutter curled up and put his head down, his side pressed up against Gavin’s back. He’d never been allowed a dog as a kid, so this was a new experience.

It seemed rude to toss and turn as was his wont most nights, not when the dog had just gotten comfortable, so he tried to lie still. It was more difficult than he would have expected.

Maybe he’d been sleeping alone too long, he thought. He rarely considered his dearth of a sex life; years of dealing with women who just wanted a Gavin de Marco feather in their sexual cap had soured him. It seemed to come with that heady territory, but that didn’t mean he had to like it.

That thought, rather uncomfortably, brought him around to Katie Moore. He didn’t want to dwell on her spirited personality or her open, lovely face, because that had nothing to do with the business at hand. And his reaction to her was downright irritating.

He’d wanted to dive right into research last night, but Hayley wouldn’t have it. Ty, on St. Louis time, would be up well before them and have it ready before they headed to the office for their meeting. And, she’d pointed out, since he was still on St. Louis time himself, it was two hours later according to his body clock. So she’d fed him and hustled him off to bed at what would have been midnight at home.

Usually, especially when traveling, once he woke up that was it. The brain kicked into gear and there was no turning it off. But now, Cutter seemed to have short-circuited that pattern as the warmth of the dog’s presence seeped into him. And much to his own surprise, he went back to sleep.

When he woke the rain had begun again, and Cutter had his chin propped on his leg. He could feel the dog staring at him. Willing him awake? It wouldn’t surprise him at this point. He ruffled the dog’s fur as he turned his head for a glance at the clock. Still early, barely six, but even though it was still dark here at that hour, he knew he was done sleeping. And he wasn’t complaining. He’d gotten more than he usually did by at least an hour.

“Five hours,” he said aloud to the dog as he flipped on the light. “Wow. If you brought that with you, thanks.”

The dog grinned at him.

Gavin blinked, staring. That was a ridiculous thought. But what else would you call that silly, tongue-lolling, mouth up at the corners expression?

He heard a sound from the other room. Somebody else was up, he thought. Cutter clearly heard it as well and jumped down from the bed. Gavin grabbed the jeans he’d had on last night and tugged them back on; he’d sort out unpacking later. He stepped out into the hallway. He followed the dog out into the great room, where he saw not Quinn—another early riser—as he’d expected, but Hayley. She was in the kitchen, laying out a rather large array of eggs, bacon, ham, peppers, onions, potatoes, cheese and spices. When she heard them she looked up and smiled.

“I thought maybe that was where he disappeared to,” she said, nodding at the dog. “He seems to have decided you need his attention.”

Cutter trotted over to her and she gave him a quick pat.

“I’m still trying to figure out how he got in without me hearing,” Gavin said, not commenting on what she’d said about the dog’s decision process; he didn’t want that door opened.

“He has his ways.” She glanced over at the dog’s set of bowls as if to make sure he had food and water. As if on cue the animal walked over and began to lap. “Did you sleep? He didn’t keep you awake?”

“Some. Enough. And no. It actually was...” He wasn’t sure what to call it.

“He’s very comforting. And you,” Hayley added, eyeing his bare torso assessingly, “are too thin. You’re going to eat while you’re here.”

“Hey,” he protested, “not everybody can be built like Quinn.”

She laughed. “He always said you run on nerves and coffee.”

“Fuel of the gods,” he said. Cutter, finished with his drink and a few pieces of kibble, came back and sat at his feet. He scratched the spot behind the dog’s right ear that he knew he liked.

He couldn’t help but notice that through breakfast—Quinn’s famous scramble that was never the same twice, and which he ate enough of to satisfy even Hayley—and the rest of the early morning, Cutter was never far away. In fact, he seemed to have attached himself nearly at the hip, even following him when he took a shower and dressed.

Before, for a meeting with a client, he would have worn a suit. But Foxworth was a different place, and he was a different man, no longer worried about impressions and the look of success. Yet when he stood in front of the bathroom mirror with his razor in hand, debating whether to bother, it was Katie’s image that floated into his mind. Did the local librarian like or dislike stubble? The moment he realized where his mind had drifted, he slapped the razor down on the counter, rather sharply.

When he’d packed he hadn’t included one of those suits, telling Charlie that if they needed him in such a rush they had to take what they got. Of course, that had been when he’d thought they’d needed him up here for a case. A case that at the time hadn’t existed. Which gave him another thought. When she’d sent him, Charlie had to have known there was no case.

Back in the guest room he picked up his phone and hit the speed dial. As he’d half expected, it went to voice mail. Probably thinks I’m ticked. As I would be, except—

The tone cut off his thought. “Okay, Charlie, I get it,” he said for the recording. “I’m a bit restless. But now there really is a case, so you’re safe for a while. See you when I get back.”

He ended the call and put the phone in his pocket.

Then he started to mentally prepare for the meeting with Katie Moore, who was also the reason he wasn’t really angry with his boss.

And that realization made him even more restless.