Operation Homecoming Page 17

  “Coffee?” she asked, lifting the pot and gesturing in his general direction.

  He assessed how much control he’d regained, decided it was enough and got to his feet. “Thanks.”

  By the time he got there she had a mug poured for him. It was the friendliest gesture she’d made, and he dared to hope Hurricane Amy’s winds might be ebbing. He added a packet of sugar, as much for the energy hit as the sweet, then leaned against the kitchen counter and looked at her as he took a sip.

  “A little anxiety chaos of your own?”

  She hesitated, then nodded. “I remembered something.”

  “Oh?” Again, she hesitated. He set down the mug. “Amy, if I’m going to keep you safe, I need to know. Everything.”

  She looked him up and down. It took her long enough that he was glad he was in pretty good shape, and he was foolish enough to hope she was seeing something she liked. But then she focused on the tat on his inner forearm, her brow slightly furrowed, and he wished he’d taken the time to get it removed. Or given how long that took, at least get it changed, worked over into something other than the ugly reminder.

  “Where did you learn to fight like that?”

  “Here and there.”

  “Quinn said you’d had training.”

  Obviously, he was going to have to work to get that answer. He picked his coffee up again and took another sip before saying, “I didn’t sign up at the local dojo, if that’s what you’re asking.”

  Her mouth quirked. “Were you ever anyplace long enough?”

  “Some places more than others. I stayed until I had enough money to move on. Once it was a year before I had enough. That’s why it took so long to get the list done.”

  “What did you do? To earn money, I mean?”

  He grinned at that. “What didn’t I do? I shoveled manure, I stocked shelves, rented kayaks, and in one place I sold rain gear. That felt like home.”

  She studied him for a moment, and when she spoke, he got the feeling it was to ask a question she’d had in that agile mind of hers for a long time. “You never...wanted someplace to settle and not move on?”

  “It was a long list. Dad had a lot of places he’d wanted to see in a lot of states.”

  “And you were determined to finish it.”

  “I needed to finish it.” He didn’t enjoy talking about it; in fact, had quite gotten out of the habit, since it had been five years since he’d been forced off the path he’d chosen. “It seems crazy, I know, but I felt closer to him in those places he’d always wanted to see than I did standing at his grave.”

  Amy cupped her mug as if drawing warmth from it. The little dwelling was fairly cool at night, even in the California heat, building already in early spring. They’d known what they were doing, those early folks who’d built their homes with thick adobe walls.

  “Maybe he was there,” she said. “With you.”

  That surprised him. He didn’t recall Amy ever having a whimsical turn of mind. She’d always been pretty much a literalist, and he’d always thought it had come from the chaos of her home life; she tried for order and reality and predictability everywhere else.

  Perhaps that she’d had this thought now was a sign of how far she’d come from those days.

  “It felt that way sometimes.” He hesitated for a moment, then decided this quiet moment was too precious to waste. “When I finally got to the Alamo, last on the list, it felt...different. You know he always had a fascination with it. When I got there, when I was standing there, in that place, it felt...as if it was time to let go. Let him go, I mean.”

  “Maybe that’s where he wanted to be,” she said quietly. “With the spirit of those other brave men like him.”

  He smiled, pleased at her characterization. “Maybe.”

  “But you kept moving after that.”

  He shrugged. “By then I liked it. Was used to it. New places, different people.”

  He picked up the coffeepot and, when she nodded, topped off her mug, then his own. The caffeine was beginning to work; he was feeling almost human again.

  “What I remembered...” she began abruptly.

  So he was finally going to get an answer. He listened intently, silently, liking it less with every word. She had just finished, and he was turning it over in his mind, when Quinn and Hayley walked in. Quinn made a beeline for the coffeepot.

  “She told you?” Hayley asked.

  Walker nodded.

  “Sounds ugly,” Quinn said.

  “That the fictitious company is shelling out money to a killer and major drug trafficker? Worse than ugly. Amy needs to get out of there.”

  “Amy can make up her own mind, thank you,” Amy said in that too-sweet tone that was as much a warning as a fire alarm.

  “Depends on what the goal is here,” Quinn said, then took a long sip of coffee.

  “The goal?” Walker asked.

  “If the only goal is keeping Amy safe, then yes, she should get out of there.”

  “Wait a minute,” Amy exclaimed, sounding as if she felt a bit betrayed. Quinn held up a hand and she subsided, waiting.

  “But if the goal is finding the truth, then she needs to stay. She’s our only way in.” Another long draw on the mug, then Quinn set it down.

  “What about the cops?” Walker asked.

  “I believe what we have would be called skimpy at the very best. Especially now that the evidence has been removed. And they’re not likely to give Cutter’s instincts much credit, either.”

  “I want to know the truth,” Amy said. “If my boss is scummy, I want to know. I can’t work for someone like that.”

  “Some would say it’s a given, if you work for a lawyer,” Quinn said drily.

  “I thought he was different. I really did.”

  Amy sounded so disheartened Walker wanted to hug her. He doubted she would welcome it.

  “So what do we do?” Walker asked.

  Quinn glanced at Hayley. “We plan,” she said.

  “Plan what?” Amy asked.

  Quinn looked at his wife with a satisfaction that Walker envied even as he appreciated it, for his sister’s sake. Not to mention he appreciated that he was apparently now included in that “we.”

  “A trap,” he said.

  Chapter 25

  “You can’t do it.”

  Amy turned her head, gave Walker her best shot at the intimidating down-the-nose look she’d seen Becca give antagonistic witnesses. “I beg your pardon?”

  To her chagrin, Walker just laughed. “Come on, it would never fly.”

  “And why not?” she asked, trying not to sound as indignant as she felt. They’d been hashing this out all afternoon, and she’d assumed from the beginning that she would be the one who set the bait.

  “Because nobody who knows the first thing about you would ever believe you’d turn bad,” Walker said.

  She supposed she should be flattered by that. But she couldn’t help pointing something else out. “A lot of people would say that about Mr. Rockwell, too.” Then, added sadly, “Including me.”

  “Walker does, however,” Quinn said rather carefully, “have a point.”

  “But it has to be me. I’m the one who has the in,” Amy said. They’d agreed they would lure her boss with some tempting information, since he’d already shown he was willing to bend principles for gain.

  “I’ll do it.”

  Amy’s gaze snapped back to Walker. “What?”

  “You have to admit, I can play slime much better than you ever could.”

  “Play?”

  Walker winced. “Been holding that back for a while, have you?”

  “Yes,” she admitted.

  Walker let out a long breath before saying, “I apprec
iate the honesty. But it’s exactly why I’m right. You could never be convincingly corrupt.”

  “I can pretend,” she insisted.

  Walker shook his head, and when he spoke there was nothing of teasing or criticism in it. “You’re honest to the bone, Amy Clark. And it shows. Hell, it glows.”

  Amy looked at the others. Quinn looked like he agreed with Walker. Hayley was looking from Walker to her and back again, a thoughtful expression on her face.

  “He is right about that,” Hayley said after a moment.

  Amy let out a disgusted breath. And then she nearly laughed at herself. This was something she should be glad about, wasn’t it? Hadn’t she spent her life being scrupulously honest to counter the influence of the man who tossed off any story that would get him out of trouble or earn him another drink?

  “But how could he lure my boss into this?” Amy asked, finally accepting. “How would he even get close enough to him?”

  “Easy,” Walker said. “I just become exactly who your receptionist thought I was.”

  Amy stared at him. “But she thought you were...”

  “I know.”

  Something in the look he gave her then sent her insides into free fall. Because Kim had assumed they were together. In intimate ways. She’d only dropped back to the friend with benefits when Amy had denied it.

  Because she believed her. Because Walker was right; she just didn’t—and probably couldn’t—give off the vibe of deceitfulness that it would take to carry this off herself.

  “Come on,” he said, almost coaxingly, “you can pretend you don’t hate me. You’ve done it. Maybe you can even pretend you like me. A stretch, I know,” he added wryly. “But it’s a lot more believable that you’d fall for a scumbag than that you are one.”

  Amy felt the sudden urge to retreat, to go somewhere, anywhere, alone, away from him, so she could sort out the chaotic feelings that were rocketing through her. She wasn’t sure what was affecting her more, that he thought so highly of her, or that he was actually willing to play this part, given how she’d treated him.

  Not that it would be difficult to act like she was infatuated with him. She had spent over ten years of her life that way, hadn’t she?

  She’d also spent a considerable and painful amount of time getting over that infatuation.

  But that didn’t mean she didn’t remember what it had felt like. Could she reenact that? Pretend she was head over heels for Walker Cole and his incredible eyes and knock-your-socks-off grin?

  Oh, I can do that all right, she thought. Too easily.

  She remembered the expression on Kim’s face, realized half the job would be already done for her, because any breathing woman would be halfway there herself after her first look at him. They’d probably be wondering what a man like him saw in her, but it’s doubtful anyone would question her side.

  “Amy?”

  She looked at him. Her mouth quirked downward at one corner. “I think,” she said, “the bigger acting job is going to be yours.”

  For a moment he just looked at her, but then, slowly, he shook his head. “No. Not to any guy, anyway.”

  “At the risk of interrupting whatever’s going on between you two,” Quinn said, “we still have some strategy to work out.”

  Walker broke the eye contact that had lingered long enough to speed up her pulse all over again.

  “I’ll need an approach that doesn’t undermine Amy,” he said. “Just in case we’re wrong.”

  Hayley lifted an eyebrow and after a moment gave him a slight nod. Amy had the impression she was studying her brother carefully when she said, “So that lets out her letting something slip in pillow talk.”

  Amy thought there was a second of lag time before Walker nodded in turn. She herself felt as if she’d been sideswiped. Pillow talk. And again she was all tangled up. Walker wanted to protect her job, so he had rejected the scenario where she let something slip in an intimate moment. She suppressed a shiver at the very thought of intimate moments with him. It took an effort; she was out of practice. She was sure that was all it was; she just hadn’t had to do it for a long time.

  And yet...

  “I may have a way around that,” Quinn said. “Let me make a call.”

  He took out his phone and walked toward the door. He made a slight motion with his hand, barely perceptible, but Cutter was on his feet in an instant and at his heels.

  “Cutter certainly obeys him,” Amy said as they stepped outside, and Quinn closed the door behind him. She somehow doubted he’d ever been a door slammer, even as a kid.

  “He has since the first moment they met. Or rather, since the first moment Cutter dragged me into his life.”

  Amy laughed, glad of the change to something more comfortable to talk about. “He does seem to have a nose for trouble.”

  “And love,” Hayley said softly.

  “His matchmaking success rate is pretty impressive,” Amy said, thinking of the couples she’d met at the wedding.

  “Yes,” Hayley agreed. “Us, the Burdettes, Teague and Laney, the Kileys, now Brett and Sloan.”

  Walker looked from his sister to her, and Amy nearly laughed at his expression. “You say that like he meant it all to happen.”

  “I’m just saying he brought them all together, wouldn’t let them leave until they worked their problems out,” Hayley said.

  “And,” Amy added, enjoying his discomfiture, “they’re all deliriously happy.”

  “I thought you said he found you cases, people with problems.”

  “He does. I’m not sure which he thinks is his main job, though.”

  “This is a dog we’re talking about,” Walker pointed out.

  “So they say,” Hayley said cheerfully.

  Walker looked at the both of them as if they’d slipped slightly out of their orbit. But before he could speak, Quinn was coming back through the door. Cutter trotted ahead and, to Amy’s surprise, went to Walker, turned and sat at his feet, all the while looking up at her. Almost expectantly. Considering the conversation they’d just been having, it was a little unnerving.

  “All right,” Quinn said briskly, slipping his phone back into his pocket as he strode toward them, “I think we—or rather you,” he said with a look at Walker, “are all set.”

  “I am? How?”

  Quinn looked steadily at his ne’er-do-well brother-in-law. “I got you a job,” he said.

  Chapter 26

  “No way I can pretend to be a lawyer,” Walker said. “Especially with someone on Armistead’s level.”

  “You don’t have to,” Quinn said.

  “Then what?”

  “Blackmail.”

  Walker blinked. Opened his mouth to speak, closed it again without saying a word. He waited. Watched Quinn. Silently. And after a moment Quinn gave the slightest of nods.

  “You’re an opportunist who has something on Armistead’s son, and leveraged it into a nonproductive position at his firm.”

  Quinn’s tone was even, impersonal, but the words still bit. Walker thought he’d gained some ground with this man, but he was still feeling like he’d been staked out on a rocky beach, left for the crabs, gulls and other scavengers to feed on, all of them tearing tiny pieces off him, yet leaving him alive to feel the pain.

  “Figure I can play that easily, do you?”

  Quinn shrugged. “And there’s the added advantage that his main office is right across the street from Amy’s. So you can be close without causing suspicion.”

  Walker pulled his mind back into the game. If he’d let himself be this distracted when he was with Tarir and crew he wouldn’t be here now; he’d have given himself away and earned a one-way trip to Tarir’s private boneyard.

  “So what’s my bait?”

 
“Something we’ll plant. Something on Alex.”

  Walker raised a brow. “He’s okay with that?”

  “His idea.”

  “I know he’s your friend, but...”

  “He’s not one to tolerate crooked lawyers. Or ones who get people like Soren off.”

  “I thought that was a defense attorney’s job,” Walker said.

  “Depends on your standards,” Quinn said.

  “Or if you have any,” Amy said drily.

  “Yes,” Quinn agreed, and with a look at Amy added, “He likes your boss and would be much happier if we prove him innocent.”

  “So would I,” Amy said.

  “So the goal’s not to entrap him?” Walker asked.

  “The goal is the truth. And true justice. That’s what Foxworth does,” Hayley said.

  Walker had spent the past five years with people who thought they were after justice. If he’d learned anything it was that justice wasn’t the only thing that was blind, that too often those who sought their twisted version of it were even blinder.

  Foxworth, he was certain, wasn’t that kind.

  “So he’s, what, a guy who uses something he’s got on the boss’s son to get a job where he just collects a paycheck and has all this free time to suck up to the paralegal across the street?” Amy asked, sounding doubtful.

  “Not just any paralegal,” Hayley said. “Your boss’s.”

  “Oh. Okay, that makes more sense. He’s after me to get to him.”

  Walker grimaced. “Or maybe he’s just after you because you’re you?” he suggested.

  For a moment no one spoke. Amy turned to look at him, while Quinn and Hayley exchanged rather pointed glances.

  “We are talking about setting a trap, aren’t we?” Amy asked rather archly.

  “Yeah. Right.” He managed not to wince at her tone, and at what he’d betrayed by that silly statement. But it bugged him that she seemed to think he—or the blackmailer they were setting him up to be—would need an excuse to be pursuing her, other than that she was a damned attractive woman.

  “So we set up that he—” Amy gestured at Walker in a vague sort of way that stung “—has something on Mr. Armistead, something that could, what, get rid of him as competition?”