Uncovering the truth puts a target on a lawyer’s back in this explosive Cutter’s Code romance

Katie Moore’s small town is rocked when her best friend is brutally murdered—and her father becomes the prime suspect. Her dad’s only chance is Gavin de Marco, an attorney who doesn’t trust anything or anyone. Now Gavin is probing secrets heartbroken Katie didn’t know she had—and sparking an attraction neither can resist.

Betrayal taught Gavin to ruthlessly expose the truth—and he’s certain Katie is hiding something. Still, her fiery warmth is challenging his defenses every step of the way, making it impossible to stay out of her arms. But surviving a killer’s insidious scheme could shatter any shot he and Katie have at justice—or a future...

“There are so many reasons this would be a mistake,” Gavin said, his voice 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.”

He turned to go, clearly determined not to make that mistake, as he called it. Katie stiffened her spine, reeled in her uncooperative senses. Fine. I’m certainly not going to beg the man to kiss me. Even if that’s what I feel like doing.

And yet Gavin turned back suddenly. Crossed the three feet between them in one stride. Katie 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 Gavin’s mouth on hers rekindled it thoroughly, sending heat and sensation racing along every nerve...

* * *

Be sure to check out the rest of the books in this miniseries.

Cutter’s Code: A clever and mysterious canine helps a group of secret operatives crack the case.

Dear Reader,

Like many writers, I’m sure, in the process of writing a continuing series like Cutter’s Code, I often find myself mentioning in passing the names of characters I never really expect to write an entire book about. They serve their purpose and then vanish, perhaps to be mentioned from time to time. But sometimes they reappear, full grown and knocking on my consciousness, saying, “Hey, remember me?”

Gavin de Marco is one of those. I had worn a uniform and a badge for many years, so attorneys in general were not always at the top of my guest list, except for ones I knew were good guys. But I think it does us good to take out old perceptions and rattle them around a bit, and see what happens. And Gavin turned out to be quite a good guy in the end. I’m glad he came knocking. I hope you will be, too.

Happy reading!

Justine

Operation Notorious

Justine Davis

www.millsandboon.co.uk

JUSTINE DAVIS lives on Puget Sound in Washington State, watching big ships and the occasional submarine go by and sharing the neighborhood with assorted wildlife, including a pair of bald eagles, deer, a bear or two and a tailless raccoon. In the few hours when she’s not planning, plotting or writing her next book, her favorite things are photography, knitting her way through a huge yarn stash and driving her restored 1967 Corvette roadster—top down, of course.

MILLS & BOON

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SAM

Sometimes the best things just end up on your doorstep...

One day a little puppy, lost and alone, somehow managed to pick the right house to show up at. He was a two-color pup, black-and-white fur, with one blue eye and one black eye. Irresistible, because when it became clear no one knew where he came from, the people at that house took him in.

They dubbed him Sam, sometimes called Perky because he was, and he became a member of the family. He took to life on a farm, with cattle, horses and chickens, grew to a nice medium size and functioned as buddy, playmate and, if necessary, protector. He loved them as only a dog can, and they loved him very much in return, for all the many years they were blessed with. And, as all dogs should be, he is remembered with love to this day.

To all who loved him, from Granny Thrasher.

This is the latest in a series of dedications from readers who have shared the pain of the loss of a beloved dog. For more information visit my website at www.justinedavis.com.

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

Introduction

Dear Reader

Title Page

About the Author

Dedication

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Extract

Copyright

Chapter 1

“I’m sending him to you. Make up something you need him for.”

Quinn Foxworth blinked, and frowned at his phone. “What?”

“Fight info’s en route. You’ve got six hours to come up with something. Good luck.”

“What am I supposed—”

He stopped when he realized he was talking to dead air. He lowered the phone, staring at the screen that told him the call had lasted eighteen seconds.

Funny, it seemed shorter.

He turned to his wife, Hayley, who had come out onto the deck with two mugs of coffee and was now looking at him curiously.

“Charlie.”

“Ruh-roh,” she said with exaggeratedly widened eyes as she handed him his coffee.

“Yeah.”

He wrapped his hand around the mug. It was due to rain by this evening, and he’d come out to scan the clouds. The warmth of the coffee was welcome against the chill of the shifting season.

“Dare I ask?” Hayley said after taking a sip from her own morning brew.

“Gavin’s on his way here.”

“Our Gavin? De Marco?” Her brow furrowed. “Do we need him?”

“No.”

“Then why—”

He offered her his phone. “Call Charlie and ask.”

She laughed. “No, thank you. So she didn’t say why?”

He shook his head. “Only that it was life-and-death that he get out of there.”

Her eyebrows rose. “Whose?”

“No clue. Maybe he’s just driving Charlie crazy.”

“Now that,” Hayley said with a grin, “is a frightening thought.”

Quinn laughed. “For you? I don’t believe it.”

And he didn’t. The first time she’d met his fearsome sibling, and gotten that up and down, assessing, calculating look that intimidated less hardy souls, Hayley had never wavered.

So you’re the one who thinks she can tame my brother?

I don’t want him tamed. I love him as he is. And he loves me. So if you hurt me, you hurt him. Don’t.

Charlie had blinked, stared, then burst into laughter. She’ll do, little brother. She’ll do.

Indeed she would. Forever.

“Well,” Hayley went on after a moment, “if something’s really eating at him, one of us should be able to get him to talk.”

A quiet woof turned both their heads. And simultaneously, they laughed at their dog, Cutter.

“You can, is that what you’re saying?” Hayley asked the clever animal.

Cutter’s plumed tail wagged, and his amber-flecked dark eyes gleamed with amusement. Given the dog’s history, Quinn wouldn’t put it past him to have even the man who had once been the most famous attorney in the country spilling his guts to him.

And then the dog’s expression changed, and his head swiveled around, looking north. Never one to waste time, he trotted off to investigate whatever had caught his attention.

“Good thing all the neighbors know him,” Quinn said.

“And we don’t live in a city of leash laws,” Hayley added.

Once they’d realized what they had on their hands, they had introduced Cutter to all of those neighbors. Most were receptive to a trained watchdog who would look out for all of them as part of his home duties. The dog was respectful of the older neighbors, gentle with the young children, playful with the pets in the zone he’d mapped out for himself, and somehow realized that the rather reclusive residents on the corner didn’t care for dogs and kept his distance.

“Maybe he can help Gavin,” Hayley said.

Quinn grimaced. “Sure. Because Gav is so good about accepting help.”

“Because he doesn’t trust anyone. Except Foxworth. Cutter is part of Foxworth. Besides there’s one thing he can be surer of with Cutter than anyone.”

Quinn lifted a brow at her. “Which is?”

“Cutter,” she said seriously, “will never, ever lie to him.”

And that, Quinn thought, was the key to Gavin de Marco. He would tolerate much, never blinked at the grimness and unfairness he sometimes encountered in his work for them but, with very good reason, he refused to put up with liars.

And now he was going to get therapy from a dog. A dog Gavin didn’t quite understand yet. But he would. He’d have no choice.

Quinn nearly grinned at the prospect.

* * *

Katie Moore drew her knees up tighter to her chest, wrapping her arms around herself as if that could keep her from flying into pieces. The nightmare hadn’t been this bad for a while, and she’d dared to hope it might eventually go away entirely. But last night it had returned with a vengeance and now, three hours after waking up screaming, she was still shaken.

She sat on the floor of the small garden gazebo, amid a patch of roses stubbornly refusing to admit it was almost November. She stared at one of the blooms, studying each curving petal as if it held the answer. When she had moved here, away from the city where life had turned so ugly, she’d planted the roses around the gazebo with some vague idea in her mind that someday when the worst was over, she would sit here and breathe in the sweet scented air and remember the good times. She’d never had a sister by birth, but she’d found her sister of the heart, and since they’d met in elementary school they’d rarely gone a day without communicating in some way.

And still sometimes she had her hand on her phone to call before she remembered she would never speak to Laurel again.

Images from last night’s horrific dream seethed just below the surface, and her barricades seemed particularly weak this morning. She wished it was a workday; losing herself amid the books she loved would help get her mind off this ugly track. Maybe she should go in anyway. Surely, there were things she could do.

Being the librarian in a town this small wasn’t a difficult job, but she loved it. The new library was a beautiful, light, airy space that was a delight to the community that had worked so hard to make it happen.

Laurel would never see it.

That quickly, she was back in the morass. She felt so lost without the steady, loving friend who had always been there for her. If she hadn’t been the one to find her body, maybe it wouldn’t be so bad. The loss would be just as great, but she wouldn’t have those horrifying images seared into her brain. Maybe—

“Woof?”

Katie snapped out of her grim thoughts, startled by the quiet sound. She smiled when she saw the dog sitting politely at the bottom of the gazebo steps. Cutter, Hayley’s dog, from down the street. He was unmistakable with his black fur over face, head and shoulders, shifting to a rich reddish brown over his back down to his fluffy tail. She’d seen him often since her neighbor had come by to introduce him, and had been amusedly grateful he had apparently taken it upon himself to protect this entire block. More than ever now she needed reassurance of safety.

“Hello, boy. On your rounds?”

For an instant she could have sworn the dog shook his dark head. She laughed at herself. She’d never had the tendency to anthropomorphize animals, but it was hard to avoid with this one. Especially when he came up the steps, turned and sat down beside her, and leaned in. As if to comfort her, as if he knew how roiled her inner self was this morning.

As, perhaps, he did. Dogs did wonders as therapy animals, she knew. One of the most popular nonfiction books in the library last month had been the story of one such dog. But she wasn’t sure anything could alleviate this kind of pain. What could possibly make this any easier to bear? She shuddered, her throat going tight, nearly strangling her airway. Cutter leaned in harder, and when instinctively her hand came up to stroke his soft fur, she found, to her surprise, that the horror receded slightly. Only slightly, but enough to allow her to breathe again.

She hugged the dog. And by the time he trotted off toward home, his rounds completed for the morning, she realized she was going to have to read that book.

* * *

Gavin de Marco shifted the backpack slung over one shoulder, and adjusted his grip on the duffel in his left hand as he walked through the airport parking structure to the rental car area. The crisp Seattle air was like a gulp of pure, clean ice water after the humidity he’d left in St. Louis, which was having trouble surrendering its grip on a muggy summer even two months into fall.

Two children in Halloween gear raced past him, shrieking. He’d almost forgotten the day of costumes and candy was nearly upon them. A man he’d noticed on his flight let go of the suitcase he’d been wheeling and bent to greet the two mini-superheroes, a wide, loving smile on his face. The woman with the children joined them, and the look the man gave her made Gavin turn away. It was personal, intimate, even here among the throngs of a busy afternoon at SeaTac Airport. That “you’re mine and I’m yours” kind of look that meant a deep, irrevocable bond that might change over the years, but would never fade or break.

The kind of look Hayley gave Quinn, and more surprisingly, Quinn gave Hayley.

The kind of look no woman had ever given him.

Not, he thought wryly, that he’d ever earned it.

He let out a disgusted breath. The disgust was aimed, as it usually was lately, inwardly, not at Quinn Foxworth, one of the last few people on earth he trusted without reservation.

Unfortunately that few did not include himself any longer.

He made himself focus on the task of picking up the car. He’d refused Quinn’s offer that they would pick him up—by car, plane or helicopter, whichever he preferred—and insisted on the rental car. He wanted to be independently mobile, because recently there were times when he just couldn’t stay put.

He said he just felt restless.

Charlie said he was crazy-making.

So here he was, sent off to make the other Foxworth sibling crazy. Maybe that’s all it was, Charlie getting him off nerves he’d trod on too often.

He hoped Quinn had something going on he could seriously gnaw on. Not that it hadn’t been a challenging go-round last time. Taking down a governor was not simple, even when they mostly did the job for you. Gavin didn’t want to admit he’d been exhilarated by walking through that minefield; it made him wonder if he’d become some kind of adrenaline junky.

He knew some had assumed he always had been, what with the kind of headline grabbing cases he’d been involved in during his career in criminal defense, but that hadn’t been it at all. He’d been coolly analytical, helped by his knack for anticipating the moves of others. He’d been able to think on the fly and draw up almost any precedent-setting case he’d ever read about. He’d been—

Wrong. Don’t forget that one.

He interrupted his own thoughts with the sharp, bitter reminder. For he had been wrong. Very wrong, and it had pulled the rug out from under not just his career but his entire life.

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 answer 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 there 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.

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 again, 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 confidence.”

“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.”

“Yes. Why?”

“Less chance for you to realize that was the whole purpose. Hide that particular tree in a forest of them. So you couldn’t tip off your father that they were looking at him.”

Her mouth tightened. “Well, it clearly worked on Ms. Oblivious.”

He shrugged. “If they’re good, it works on most people. What did you say?”

“The truth, of course. I hadn’t seen him or talked to him, not that day. Since there’s no way he could have done it, it didn’t matter. At least I thought it didn’t. Until I heard he’d become their prime suspect.”

The toxic combination of anger and despair threatened to rise and swamp her, and she barely managed to hold it at bay. She felt a bit like a bug—a helpless one—under a microscope, and wondered if that was what the people Gavin de Marco confronted in court had felt like. She wondered, as she had at the time, why he’d really quit. Cutter gave a low whine and licked at her hand. And again the dog steadied her.

She lifted her gaze from the dog to the man whose attention was so focused on her. “If they were so worried about keeping it secret, then why are the police talking to the media about it now?”

“Likely because they haven’t got enough evidence, or it’s all circumstantial.”

She frowned. “Of course they don’t, since he didn’t do it. But why would they let it leak that he’s a suspect now, after all this time?”

“They may be hoping to prod him into doing something.”

Perplexed, she frowned. “Doing something?”

“The knife,” he said. “Did they find it?”

“No. The killer took it with him.”

“Then they may have wanted him to think he had to get rid of it, if he hadn’t already.”

Her frown deepened. “My father doesn’t own that kind of knife, either.” Somehow she was able to say it fairly evenly, and fight off the images that were piling up behind that barricade she’d built in her mind. She suspected it was thanks to his businesslike tone.

Again Gavin glanced at Quinn. This time she saw the barely perceptible nod. It was odd, she thought, to think of Gavin de Marco having a boss. She would have thought he would call his own shots. And again she wondered why he’d walked away, wondered who left when they were top of the heap?

She remembered the stories after he’d removed himself from the Reed case, his request to the judge stating that there had been a breakdown in the attorney-client relationship that made him unable to provide effective representation. The congressman had later been found guilty of fraud, his political career destroyed by proof of influence peddling and graft. His former attorney had, as required by his professional obligations, never said another word about it, but Gavin de Marco’s withdrawal and the resultant verdict had only cemented his reputation. And she couldn’t help thinking of the effect having Gavin de Marco publicly on her father’s side would have.

When he spoke again his tone was sharper, not accusatory, but not friendly, either. The questions came rapid-fire, as she imagined they would in a courtroom, except he gave her no time to answer. And he was leaning in, into her space.

“What proof is there that he didn’t obtain said knife just for this purpose? What makes you sure he would tell you the truth about it? Did he know Laurel? What was his relationship with her? What is his alibi for the time of the murder?”

Her mind was racing as he fired the words at her, trying to decide what he was doing.

“Are you trying to pressure me into saying something I didn’t intend to, or just showing me what it would be like dealing with you?”

He leaned back then. Kept his gaze on her. “Yes.”

She straightened up, giving Cutter a final stroke between his silky ears. She met that gaze head-on. Her certainty gave her strength.

“I’ve told you the truth and nothing but. My father is innocent. He would never lie to me. Bring it.”

For a brief moment, barely an instant, she thought Gavin de Marco smiled.

And the little jump in her pulse was ridiculous, for just a smile.

Chapter 5

Gavin looked up from the computer he’d been working on as Quinn ended his call. His boss slipped his phone back into his pocket. It was a special piece of equipment modified by Foxworth IT expert Tyler Hewitt back home in St. Louis; he had one just like it, as did everyone at Foxworth.

While Hayley continued to talk with Katie in the living room, they had adjourned to the den that had become an office.

“Brett said he’ll make a call. He knows someone down in Tacoma,” Quinn said.

“Is there anywhere your sheriff’s investigator doesn’t know someone?”

Quinn grinned. “If there is, we haven’t found it yet. He confirmed that Steven Moore is the main suspect, judging by the bulletins that came out to all local agencies last week.”

“That must be when they decided to let it go public,” Gavin said, leaning back in the office chair. “A knife and that kind of carnage—that screams personal. Rage.”

Quinn nodded. “Find anything?” he asked, gesturing toward the computer’s wide monitor.

“Nothing that jumped out in a cursory search, no contradictions. Once I eliminated the spate of reports that hit in the last twenty-four hours, he’s pretty low profile. Haven’t dug into the reporting on the actual murder yet.”

“Ty can do that, and send us the report.”

Gavin nodded. Ty was an expert at finding things buried deep. Gavin didn’t mention that the main reason he hadn’t gotten to that search was that he’d also searched on Katie, and found several entries on her taking over the new library and turning it into a welcoming place for all.

Quinn glanced toward the living room. “What’s your assessment, Counselor? Is she for real?”

Gavin remembered Katie’s response to his string of questions, coming nearly as rapid-fire as his own words had, and, he noted, in the same order and complete. There was nothing slow about Katie Moore, for all her thoughtful consideration of things, but he’d already guessed that.

My only proof is knowing he can barely use a kitchen knife without cutting himself. He has never lied to me in my life, even when it would have been easier, and I have no reason to believe he would start now. Of course he knew Laurel; she’d been my best friend since I was nine. He liked her the most of all my friends, for my sake if nothing else. And obviously he doesn’t have a provable alibi or he wouldn’t be a suspect, would he?

He’d probed a little further and learned her father’s story was that he’d been home, alone, watching an old movie on cable. They’d verified the movie had indeed played when he’d said, but obviously that wasn’t proof that he’d watched it. A bit more pushing and he’d learned how close she and her father were, especially since her mother had died when Katie was nine. He got the picture of a loving dad who had focused on his only child during a very difficult time, and that they had gotten through it together.

“I think,” he began in answer to Quinn’s question, “that she believes every word she said. It’s whether it’s all really true that’s in question.”

“Agreed.”

Gavin raised a brow at his friend. “Are we taking this on? Not exactly our usual. A straightforward, if ugly, murder case. The police are pursuing it, even months later, so it hasn’t been forgotten.”

“But they might be pursuing the wrong man.”

“True.” Gavin looked at Quinn quizzically. “But that alone is still not usually enough to fire your jets. So what is?”

Quinn returned his look. “That she’s a beautiful woman with a problem isn’t enough for you? And if you say you didn’t notice, then I’ll know you’re lying. I saw your face when you opened the door.”

“She was soaking wet. I knew you’d feel guilty if she caught pneumonia.”

He wasn’t sure why he was deflecting. Katie Moore was beautiful, in that quiet way that had always moved him more than the flash and glitter that had seemed to surround him back in the days when his name could get him entrée into just about anywhere. But that had nothing to do with it. He was moved by her plight, not the woman herself. The kick of his pulse when he looked at her notwithstanding.

“Nice of you to be so concerned about her health,” Quinn said drily.

“And you’re dodging the question.”

Quinn sighed. Then he shrugged. “Cutter.”

Gavin drew back slightly. “Seriously?”

“Do you need another rundown of all the cases he’s found?”

“No. But hearing about it is different than seeing it.”

The image of the dog wiggling through his private door, purloined cell phone in his mouth, played back in Gavin’s head. He knows a Foxworthy case when he sees one, Liam, a fellow operative, had joked the last time he’d been here.

Gavin had laughed, but he couldn’t deny the facts. The cases the dog had brought them, directly or indirectly, had all turned out to be their kind of case. He just didn’t see how this one was. But he had meant what he’d told Quinn; he believed that Katie Moore believed every word she’d said. She might have been lied to, but she wasn’t lying herself.

Right. And you’re sure of this because your judgment is infallible, right?

But in the end, the bottom line was simple. If Quinn—or apparently Cutter—said they were taking the case, they were taking the case.

When they left the office, they could hear that Hayley and Katie were actually laughing. Cutter was at their feet, his tongue lolling happily as Hayley reached out to scratch behind his right ear.

Both women and the dog looked up as they came into the room. Quinn didn’t waste any time. “Can you meet us at our headquarters tomorrow, and we’ll get started?”

Katie blinked. “You’re doing this?” Her gaze flicked to Gavin. “Including you?”

“I’m Foxworth,” he said simply. And meant it. In the Foxworth Foundation he had found both something he hadn’t been fully aware of missing, and something he hadn’t thought existed anymore—good people fighting for good people and good causes. People he was proud to work with, who had given him back a pride in his own work, in what he could do. “I don’t do criminal defense any longer, so if it comes to that, we’ll find you someone. But I can still prepare a case.”

Cutter stood up and gave a woof that Gavin couldn’t deny sounded satisfied. Then Katie stood up, her eyes wide and full of hope.

“I don’t know how to thank you,” she began.

“Don’t thank us yet,” Quinn warned. “We go after the truth, and there’s always a chance you won’t like it.”

“I know what the truth is,” she said confidently. Gavin winced inwardly; he’d heard that before, and seen it explode.

In fact, he’d believed it before and seen it explode, nearly taking him with it.

“We will ask you questions you probably won’t like answering,” he said, adding to Quinn’s warning. “About things you may not see the reason for.”

She met his gaze. “They might be new, but they can’t be any worse than the ones I’ve already asked myself.”

Self-blame, Gavin guessed. It was common. People always thought there was something they could have or should have done to prevent the tragedy that in fact had nothing to do with them.

“Let’s get you a ride home, then, and we’ll start fresh tomorrow,” Quinn said as he handed her the business card he’d picked up in the office. “Since it’s Sunday, maybe a later start? Ten or so?”

“Fine,” Katie said, although Gavin had the feeling if Quinn had said 5:00 a.m. she would have been there.

Cutter trotted past them toward the door, as if he’d understood that Katie was leaving and he was a well-trained doorman. Gavin found himself smiling. The smile widened when the dog raised up and grabbed a set of keys from the table just inside the door and trotted back.

“Now he’s your parking valet?” he said, half joking and half astonished that the dog had understood.

“I’d say he’s more your valet at the moment.” Quinn laughed as Cutter came to a halt directly in front of Gavin and sat. Only then did he see that the keys the dog had brought were indeed the ones to his rental car. The animal stared at him intently, clearly waiting for him to do the obvious. He reached for the keys rather gingerly, but Cutter released them without protest.

“I guess you’re doing the honors, then,” Hayley said, and Gavin didn’t quite understand the undertone in her voice. Not quite amusement, but he couldn’t put a finger on what it was.

“You don’t need to,” Katie said. “It’s only a block and a half, I can walk.”

Hayley shook her head. “It’s dark, and it’s pouring rain. You’ll end up twice as wet as you were when you got here.” Cutter barked, short and sharp this time, as if to hurry them up. “You might as well give in now, save the energy,” Hayley said cheerfully. “He’s obviously decided.”

As silly as it seemed to acquiesce to their dog, there didn’t seem to be anything to do but give in. Hayley handed him an umbrella—with the standard joke about it marking him as a tourist, since practically nobody who lived here used one. But at least it would save Katie from being drenched anew even on the short walk to his rental car parked in the driveway. He would have preferred to give it to her and just take his chances, but when he realized that was because he didn’t want to be as close to her, he mentally rolled his eyes at his own childishness and ordered himself to snap out of it.

“That dog,” he muttered when they were inside the car and he had the umbrella tossed in the back. “Apparently his word is law around here.”

“I didn’t come looking for help, just my phone,” she said, and he realized she had taken his words as complaint.

“That statement had nothing to do with you,” he said as he started the car. “I’m just a bit...bemused at Quinn, who’s one of the most grounded, practical guys I know, taking his lead from a dog. An amazing dog, I’ll grant you, but a dog.”

“I think it’s sweet.”

Gavin doubted the word sweet had ever been applied to the adult Quinn, at least not before he’d met Hayley.

He followed her directions and made a turn into a narrow driveway. In the dark and the deluge he couldn’t see much of the yard, other than what appeared to be lots of trees and smaller plants. He grabbed the umbrella and walked around to her side of the car, then sheltered her under it up to her front door. She thanked him rather more than he thought necessary, and ended it with a smile on her upturned face that made his pulse jump oddly. For a moment they just stood there, uncomfortably and deliciously close. The sound of the rain falling on her porch roof seemed to amplify both the chill around them and the body heat between them.

If she hadn’t moved first he wasn’t sure what would have happened. But she did, hastily, thanking him once more, opening her front door and escaping inside.

Escaping. What a word to come to mind, he thought as the door closed. He shut the umbrella despite the good fifteen feet between him and the car. And when he got back inside it, already good and wet, he turned off the heater. As he drove the short distance back, he had to admit none of it helped, the chill of the rain or the lack of the heater’s output. He was still a hell of a lot warmer than he should be, and had been ever since she’d looked up at him with that smile.

And he’d wanted to kiss her.

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.

Chapter 7

Gavin gave Cutter, with whom he was sharing the back seat, another head scratch. The dog shifted in the seat, giving up his intent looking-out-the-window to lie down beside him and plop his chin on his knee. Automatically Gavin stroked the dog’s head, and was once more struck at how soothing that simple action was.

He seems to have decided you need his attention...

Hayley’s words played back in his head. The dog certainly seemed to sense things. Although that didn’t explain the stunt he’d pulled last night with the phone. He wasn’t sure anything could.

Keep it up, de Marco. Pretty soon you’ll be buying everything else they say about this critter.

With an inward laugh at himself, he gave the dog a final pat as they turned off the paved road onto a gravel drive.

He’d forgotten how truly peaceful the surroundings were here at the northwest headquarters. Set back from the road at the end of the drive that curved through thick trees, the dark green, three-story structure sat in a clearing that seemed a world away from city chaos. It was unmarked; as with most of Foxworth, they didn’t advertise their presence.

He noticed that the double sliding doors of the warehouse-like building set to one side were open.

“Rafe must be here,” Hayley said, clearly having seen the same thing.

Despite the good working relationship they’d developed, Rafer Crawford still unnerved Gavin like no judge or opposing lawyer ever had. He also knew that building was mostly Rafe’s bailiwick; the former marine sniper with the deadly eye had a knack for mechanics. He said the two went hand in hand, that the calculation on a long shot was brother to the logic of machinery.

Cutter seemed to know the man was back as well, although he seemed a bit reluctant to leave his self-selected spot at Gavin’s side. Bemused anew, Gavin told him to go and shook his head when the dog gave him a final nudge before taking off for the open doors at a dead run, head and tail and ears up, letting out an odd series of barks, a staccato combination of short and long.

Rafe came out through the open doors to greet the dog, who danced around him delightedly. Gavin knew the tall, lean man was a favorite of the dog, as evidenced by the specific bark he used only for him. After a minute or two the animal left his beloved Rafe and came trotting back to attach himself at Gavin’s knee. An act they all seemed to notice, including Rafe as he headed toward them.

Gavin was struck by how different the man seemed here. He, as all of Foxworth did, occasionally visited the St. Louis headquarters. Rafe always seemed more guarded there, although dressed like any other person who worked in one of the towering buildings, drawing no notice from people too busy with the bustle of their own lives to see the leashed predator among them. That he was able to go unnoticed at all was testament to his skill, Gavin supposed.

But here he was more relaxed, at ease, as if here he didn’t have to hide behind a mask of bland civilization.

“Who’s in trouble?” Rafe asked with one brow lifted when he reached them.

“Apparently I was,” Gavin answered, not taking offense.

Rafe glanced at Cutter, who was leaning against Gavin’s leg. “I see.” He shifted his gaze back to Gavin and considered that for a moment. “Getting on Charlie’s nerves again?”

“Interesting that that’s your first guess,” Gavin said drily.

Rafe’s mouth quirked at one corner. “You two remind me of a pair of siblings I knew once. So alike they had to pick fights with each other now and then, just to keep life interesting.”

Gavin glanced at Quinn; he was, after all, Charlie’s brother.

“Don’t look at me,” Quinn said instantly. “I gave up trying to fight with Charlie long ago, when I realized that in the end I always lost.”

“Wise man,” Rafe said, without inflection. Then he looked back at Cutter. “Interesting,” he said again.

“So it seems,” Hayley agreed—although Gavin had no idea with what—and she didn’t even bother to try to hide her smile.

“We’ve got a case?” Rafe asked.

“Just arrived last night,” Quinn said, and gave Rafe a condensed version of Cutter’s antics and Katie Moore’s arrival as a Foxworth case. “She’s due here in about an hour, and we’ll make the final determination.”

“Need me?”

“Not yet, but come on in, so you’ll be up to speed.”

The dog stayed close to Gavin as they went inside and up the stairs to the big meeting room. He was drawn to the wall of windows looking out over the meadow behind the building. Beyond the clearing the forest stood, the evergreens a backdrop to the brilliant fall color of the deciduous trees as their foliage flamed out before surrendering to winter. Somewhere up there, he knew, a pair of bald eagles had their nest. As a man who had lived his life in cities, he could see the appeal, even as he felt a little out of place. More than eagles roamed the forests in the northwest.

Still, he knew there were those who’d consider the city more dangerous than this place, no matter what kind of wild creatures were out there.

Doesn’t take trees to make a jungle.

He smiled inwardly as one of Rafe’s observations echoed in his mind. He couldn’t argue that. In fact, he could attest that some of the most lethal jungles in the world were those consisting of concrete and steel and people more ruthless than animals driven only by instinct. Win at Any Cost was the motto of too many in those places, as if they’d completely lost the ability to see any view but their own. It wasn’t a sense of right or wrong, just win or lose, and the latter was to be avoided no matter what, no matter if the person in the right was forever damaged.

Which was another of the reasons he’d walked away.

He turned from the expansive view and moved to the back corner of the room where Quinn and Hayley were hunched over the bank of computers.

“Ty’s research,” Quinn explained as the file downloaded. “He had an appointment so he recorded a video for us.”

“Where is Liam, by the way?” he asked, referring to the operative who usually handled their computer work. He and Ty had a friendly competition over who could dig deepest fastest, and it made for some amazing—and sometimes frightening—results.

“Texas,” Quinn said. “Checking on the kids from our last case.”

Gavin nodded. He’d done a bit of work on that case, helping smooth the way for the two young brothers who had been struck yet again by tragedy to leave the state for a temporary stay with a well-qualified foster family who also happened to be Liam’s parents.

“How are they?” he asked. “Those kids have had a rough time.”

“Liam says they’re doing great. That’s about all I could get,” Hayley added with a pleased smile, “because he’s a bit distracted. He took his girl with him to meet the family.”

Gavin blinked. “That was fast.”

“When it’s right, it’s right,” Quinn said, looking at his wife.

As he watched Hayley’s smile, Gavin felt a twinge that he hated himself for. He thought he’d long ago accepted that such a connection was not in the cards for him, but being around these two seemed to shake that acceptance.

Cutter’s head came up and he gave a rather emphatic bark.

“Katie must be here,” Hayley said.

Gavin knew the gravel drive announced a car’s arrival to the dog’s sensitive ears long before they would hear it. As he listened, Cutter bumped up against him as if trying to nudge him toward the door, and the stairs.

“What?” he asked the animal, who merely looked at him steadily and continued to nudge. He glanced at Quinn and Hayley, who were smothering smiles; apparently they found their dog’s odd behavior amusing.

“Go on down and get the door, would you?” Hayley said, a bit too breezily.

“We’ll be down as soon as we glance through what Ty turned up,” Quinn said. “I’d like to have an idea before we talk to her.”

And so Gavin ended up following the dog’s urgings and headed for the stairs.

“Coffee’s on, and there’s some fresh-baked cookies on the counter next to the fridge,” Hayley called out, sounding too chipper for the circumstances.

With the feeling he was definitely missing something, he headed down the stairs to play greeter. He’d had enough sleep—barely—to alleviate the jet lag a bit, so he’d be fine. He’d handle this like any Foxworth case, if they indeed decided to take it on. His odd reaction to Katie Moore last night had only been because he’d been tired and jet-lagged.

When they got downstairs Cutter ran to the door and sat expectantly.

“Why don’t you just open it?” he muttered at the dog. “That automatic door opener is for you.”

Cutter tilted his head back so far he was practically looking at Gavin upside down. He wondered if that was the dog equivalent of rolling his eyes. With a sigh he reached out and pulled the door open. As he’d expected, it was Katie.

What he hadn’t expected was the difference from the rain-dampened woman he’d met last night. He took it all in rapidly, noticing details as he had all his life.

This woman was pulled together, leaving little sign of her distress from last night. She wore a bit of makeup—not much, and he’d dealt with enough overdone paint to know—that accentuated her delicate features and made those incredible eyes look even bluer. Her hair fell in loose waves to her shoulders, and the streaks of golden blond seemed warm on this chilly morning.

She was dressed for the temperature in a sweater the same blue as her eyes, with a loose sort of collar that fell softly around her neck and shoulders, worn over a pair of trim black leggings and midcalf boots. No high heels for her, but a solid, block heel and leather that would withstand a northwest winter. But those legs...

His breath jammed up in his throat, his pulse skipped and then picked up speed.

“Hello,” she said, and he realized that low, husky note in her voice hadn’t just been from her emotional state last night. It sent a tickling sensation up his spine.

So much for being tired and jet-lagged.

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