Operation Notorious Page 7

  In that moment he believed her. He’d withhold final judgment until he met and questioned her father, but for now, they would begin.

  “All right,” he said. His tone revealed nothing of his own tangled feelings. He’d walked away from the criminal defense arena, intending to never go back. He hadn’t been down in those trenches for a long time. This, even if it never ended up in a trial, was as close as he’d gotten, and a lot closer than he’d wanted to get. If it did come down to a trial, her father would have to hire his own attorney.

  But he couldn’t deny that he liked Katie Moore’s spirited defense of her father. And he was here anyway, so why not help? He wasn’t really stepping back into the ring, just helping to find the facts of the case. That’s what he did at Foxworth.

  And, he told himself, the unexpected fact that he found this woman both quietly attractive and sharply intelligent had nothing to do with his decision.

  Nothing at all.

  * * *

  “I’m assuming you don’t need me, so I’ll go back to earning my keep.”

  Gavin gave Rafe a glance as they stood alone in the kitchen where he refilled his mug with Hayley’s coffee blend of the day. “You earn your keep just by being available to call on.”

  Rafe gave a half shrug. “Until then, I keep busy. Keeps me from getting bored.”

  Gavin wondered for a moment what a bored expert sniper might do for entertainment if he didn’t have the mechanics he loved to keep him distracted. It was an interesting thought.

  “And I,” Rafe said as he rinsed his own mug out and put it in the compact dishwasher, “would not want to face you in court. As an attorney, a defendant, a witness or a judge.”

  Gavin shrugged. “It’s a rough game.”

  “I think she’s up for it.”

  He met Rafe’s speculative gaze then, and kept his tone carefully neutral. “Agreed. She’s tougher than she looks.”

  “Cutter thinks so, too,” Rafe said. “And his track record’s impossible to ignore. In more than just bringing us cases.”

  Gavin’s eyes narrowed, yet Rafe met his gaze easily. It would take a lot more than an accomplished and notorious lawyer to intimidate this man, if it could be done at all.

  “Just saying that he’s good at more than matching us up with cases,” Rafe drawled. “And I think you’re next on his radar.”

  Gavin blinked. “What?”

  “That little seating dance that ended up with you sitting next to our client? Not an accident.”

  “Come on,” Gavin said incredulously. He knew the credit this branch of Foxworth gave to the dog for...changes in their personal lives. But him ending up next to Katie had been an accident. Of course it had. It was a dog.

  “Track record,” Rafe repeated. “And a familiar tactic by now.”

  The idea that he had been maneuvered by a dog who had some idea in his canine brain that they belonged together was the craziest thing he’d ever heard. And in his career he’d heard some very crazy things.

  And some of them were true.

  “She’s a client,” Gavin pointed out, his tone resolute. “Nothing more.”

  “Sure,” Rafe said, but Gavin thought he was laughing inside. As much as the man ever did, anyway.

  Gavin couldn’t deny people had ended up together—quite happily—thanks in part to Cutter’s intervention. Apparently anyway, he thought, adding the qualifier because he doubted happy endings a bit more than just about anything in life.

  Except the truthfulness of people in general.

  Fresh coffee in hand, he headed back to begin what could be a very nasty process.

  Chapter 10

  Cutter was still by Katie’s side, but Quinn and Hayley had left to meet with their friend, sheriff’s detective Brett Dunbar, who had apparently picked up some scuttlebutt through his extensive grapevine.

  Gavin walked toward her, took a swallow of coffee, set the mug down, then looked at her.

  “I think better on my feet,” he said by way of explaining why he would be standing while she sat.

  “So you’re not standing just to try to intimidate me?”

  She said it with just a shade too much innocence, enough so that he understood she was letting him know she hadn’t missed the tactic earlier. He didn’t apologize, but noted her perceptiveness.

  “I needed to know if you were up to this.”

  “Then I’ll take the fact that we’re proceeding as a compliment.”

  He barely managed not to smile. He hadn’t been wrong about her spirit. And I could think of a lot more compliments to add to that. He quashed the unexpected thought. It had nothing to do with the case, after all.

  He was true to his word and made her go through it all again, asking her questions as things came up, and often made them non sequiturs, jumping around in the story, which he’d found sometimes gave him answers that he wouldn’t have gotten otherwise.

  “When did you last see her?”

  “That morning at 7:30. Right before I left for work.”

  “Why that market?”

  “It’s close, and she doesn’t—didn’t—have a car. Hers had quit on her, and she’d been using Ross’s.”

  He noticed the stumble of someone who hadn’t managed to completely change a lifetime of thinking yet, but said nothing.

  “You believe Carr’s alibi?”

  “Hard not to. And the police did. There were at least a dozen people who said he was at that party all evening.”

  “How long had they been together?”

  “Off and on, a couple of years.”

  “He ever hit on you?”

  She blinked. “I... He asked me out once, yes. Before he started seeing Laurel.”

  “Didn’t go well?”

  “Didn’t go at all. I said no.”

  “Why?”

  “He’s not my type.”

  And what is your type? “So there was no chemistry, or you sensed something...off about him?”

  “Yes to the former, but I doubt I could give you an honest answer about the latter.”

  “Why?”

  “It would be too colored by what happened. Too easy to believe I’d seen...something, because of what happened later, when it’s clear he didn’t do it.”

  Points for that, he thought. “Let me sort that part out. I need you to give me everything you thought or felt or suspected, whether you have proof or not.”

  Her brow furrowed. “But if there’s no proof—”

  “Right now I’m looking for paths, not proof. Directions to go, places to look. Possibilities, not conclusions.”

  After a moment she nodded. “Then I guess...we had nothing in common. Didn’t like the same things at all.”

  “Books?” he suggested.

  She laughed. “I think for him an evening at home in front of a fire with a book would be akin to torture.”

  “And what is it to you?” he asked softly.

  “Heaven,” she said simply.

  A sudden image of just that, shot into his mind. Katie curled up before a fire, light dancing over her, maybe cuddled in a soft blanket, reading with that intensity only a true lover of books could have. His reaction to the quiet, peaceful image startled him. His mind careened into crazy places, imagining the scene in such detail it seemed almost real. He projected himself into the silly imaginings, walking into that room, stopping and just savoring the tableau.

  He yanked himself back to reality. He wasn’t prone to mental wanderings like that, and he was a little disconcerted not only that he’d done it, but that it had caused a strange sort of ache inside him.

  “What else about him?” He hoped his tone wasn’t too sharp, but he needed to get back on track. She didn’t seem to notice, or more likely she
assumed it was his way, which was just as well.

  “He was a little too smooth for my taste.” She smiled then, and it held a wealth of emotions, sadness, ruefulness, pain and loss. “And then he saw Laurel and that was that anyway.”

  “She was an attractive woman,” he said neutrally.

  “She was more than attractive. Funny, vivid, gregarious, always ready to go and do. She was beautiful, and so, so alive. She was everything I wasn’t, so it was no wonder...” Her voice trailed away and she turned back to Cutter as if for comfort.

  “That is the first stupid thing you’ve said.”

  The words were out before he could stop them, and once they were, he didn’t regret them. She was staring at him, but this time he couldn’t read anything in that look.

  “Some people would much prefer that book before the fire to a merry-go-round of going and doing,” he said.

  Wasn’t he proof of that? No one had gone and done more than Gavin de Marco at his peak, after all. He’d been at the apex of the glittering world so many lusted after. He’d been amid the movers and shakers, the household names from government, business and the entertainment world. There were few of them who, even if they’d never met, wouldn’t take a call from him back then. And if they ever found themselves in need of a criminal defense attorney, he would have been at the top of their short lists.

  And yet he had never felt more relieved than when he had walked away and left it all behind.

  “Do you think,” she said slowly, still looking at him, “that it’s possible to change from one to the other?”

  “I did.”

  He wasn’t sure why he’d admitted that, but it was nothing less than the truth. And no one had been more surprised than he himself. When he wondered if she was wishing she could change in the other direction, he felt a twinge of sadness and had to stifle the urge to tell her she was fine as she was.

  But this was not about her, and she likely wouldn’t appreciate him making it about her, so this time he stopped himself.

  “Tell me about your father.”

  Her chin came up then. “My father is a good man. He’s kind, loving and strong. He’s successful now, but he wasn’t always. There were tough times, some when I was a kid, especially after my mom died, but he never gave up. And he often did without, so that I didn’t have to.”

  “Textbook-perfect parent?”

  Her gaze narrowed again, as if she suspected there was sarcasm behind the words.

  “As perfect at it as any human being can get,” she answered. “He had his flaws elsewhere, but as a father he was the best.”

  “What flaws?” For a moment she didn’t answer. “I warned you,” he said.

  “I was thinking, not avoiding,” she said, her tone a little sharp. Then, more evenly, she said, “He has a tendency to bite off more than he can chew, and then has to scramble, or put in impossibly long hours to get it done. Or leave half-finished projects all over. His shop—he makes metal sculptures as a hobby—is full of them. And sometimes he’s too generous for his own good.”

  “Meaning?”

  “I’m guessing you already know he owns a mailboxes franchise.” At his nod, she went on. “What you don’t know is that some of the box renters are transient or homeless, so he’ll carry longtime customers if they come up short. He has a few disabled or elderly customers, and if they can’t get in to pick up their mail, or there’s a package too big or heavy for them, he’ll hand deliver it on his way home.”

  “Admirable,” he said, meaning it.

  “He is an admirable man. One of those who just quietly keeps the world turning.”

  “And you love him.”

  “I adore him. But I’m not blind. He floundered a bit—well, a lot—after my mother died. We both did. He loved her so much he changed his whole life because he couldn’t bear going on as if nothing had happened. He changed his job, his car, his friends, we moved... He changed everything but me.”

  He studied her for a moment. “But weren’t you the biggest reminder of all?”

  She didn’t flinch. “Yes. And that’s what finally made him realize that he couldn’t run from it. That grief was going to happen no matter what he did.”

  “Were you ever afraid he’d want to change you, too?”

  “Never,” she said firmly, instantly. Before he even had the chance to wonder why on earth he’d asked that one. “We were a team, the two of us.”

  “Maybe he wanted it to stay that way. Didn’t want a third team member.”

  Her brow furrowed. “He’s always the one encouraging me to get out more, meet people, date, all that.”

  He hadn’t meant that, he’d meant Laurel, but he found it interesting that it apparently didn’t occur to her. And he found himself interested in the answer to this, on more than one level. “You don’t?”

  “I haven’t had time, with the new job and moving.” She sounded a tiny bit defensive.

  “So no boyfriend in the picture, who might get jealous of the time you spent with Laurel?”

  “No,” she said, sounding relieved now, as if she’d thought he was going to chide her about her social life. Which would be rich, coming from him. He steered her back to the question.

  “And your father?”

  She blinked. “What?”

  “Was he jealous of the time you spent with her? You and he being a team of two all those years?”

  She drew back sharply. Her lips parted to speak, and then she stopped. Looked thoughtful. He guessed she had been going to answer angrily, then had reconsidered. Perhaps she remembered what he’d said about asking questions she wouldn’t like.

  “No,” she said, calmly enough. “He was not. Laurel had always been my best friend. Growing up, he included her as if we were sisters. They even threw a surprise birthday party for me together, in April, right before...”

  Another layer of pain for her, he thought; for the rest of her life her birthday would be connected to the loss of her best friend. He changed direction again, wondering on some level if he was doing it to protect her. He was usually more ruthless than that, but she wasn’t the suspect here, her father was.

  “What about your father’s social life?”

  “He’s only now starting to live again himself.”

  “So he’s going out, seeing people?”

  “A little, yes. He was too grief-stricken for a very long time. It was nearly fifteen years before he would even think about it. I’m glad for him.”

  “But he wasn’t out that night.”

  She stiffened visibly. “I told you—”

  “I know. The old movie.”

  “Casablanca. Mom’s favorite classic film. He always watched it, if it was on. Even though it hurt.”

  “You don’t?” That really had nothing to do with anything, but he was curious. He was curious about too damned much with this woman.

  “I’ll watch it,” she said with a half shrug. “But I don’t make an appointment for it, like Dad will.”

  “Is that—”

  The ring of his cell cut him off. He glanced at it, saw that it was Quinn, excused himself and walked toward the kitchen as he answered.

  “News?” he asked without preamble.

  He listened to Quinn’s rapid report with his back to Katie. He was glad of it when an old, familiar coldness began to spread through him.

  “Got it,” he said when Quinn finished, saying they were on their way back. Just as well, Gavin thought. This could get ugly.

  He ended the call with a swipe and shoved the phone back in his pocket. After a moment he realized his teeth were clenched, and purposely relaxed his jaw. Then he turned and walked back, looking down at her.

  “I thought we had an understanding,” he said, the coldness seeping into his voice.

/>   Her brow furrowed. Even Cutter lifted his head to stare at him, as if he sensed the change in him.

  “What do you mean?” she asked, sounding so honestly confused it made the cold bite even deeper. “Which understanding?”

  “That you wouldn’t lie to me.”

  Chapter 11

  Katie stared up at him. It really was intimidating, having him tower over her, whether that was his intent or not. She stood, but it didn’t help much; he was still much taller than her own five-four.

  But that was nothing compared to the ice in his voice. Even Cutter was on his feet, as if he sensed the sudden change in mood in the room.

  “I didn’t lie to you,” she said, with as much calm as she could muster considering the accusation. “About anything.”

  “Lies of omission are still lies,” he said, his voice even colder, “and I will not tolerate either. From anyone.”

  Some part of her mind that wasn’t shrinking away from that iciness was telling her there was more than just this case prodding at him, and she wondered why he’d felt compelled to add those last two words. But right now she couldn’t spare brainpower to figure it out. This was the Gavin de Marco they wrote about, and she needed all her wits to even begin to deal with him.

  She suddenly remembered, in her research last night, watching a video from one of his old cases that had been broadcast across the country. The prosecutor had given his opening statement, sounding convincing if a bit strident. And then Gavin de Marco had risen, slowly, all the while shaking his head in confident amusement as he glanced at the opposing attorney, then the jury. Letting his reputation make the first statement without saying a word.

  She was getting her first inkling of what it must have been like to go up against this man.

  “What is it you think I lied about? Or since you said omission, what do you think I left out that makes a difference?”

  “You neglected to mention your father’s history.”

  She drew back, more puzzled than ever. “What?”

  “You didn’t think the fact that he used to be a locksmith was relevant?”