Operation Homecoming

by Justine Davis

  “Little girl scared?” he asked. The laugh was dismissive this time. “You should be.”

  His first two fingers in a V, he pointed at his eyes, then at her. I’m watching you...

  And then he was gone, fading back into the shadows of the garage. Moments later she heard an engine start, and a sleek, flashy black European sedan with wheels so large the tires seemed no more than a couple of inches thick rolled by.

  The scene kept playing back in her head as she sat there. Something was niggling at her, something about that man. She hadn’t gotten the best look at him in the dim light, but still... And that voice. She knew that voice. She closed her eyes, hearing it again in her mind.

  And then it hit her. She’d seen that man. Recently. Not in person, but on a video screen.

  Dante Soren.

  The case they had been watching, the one that had made her boss famous in criminal defense circles.

  The case that, she was convinced, had made him walk away from what could have been an incredibly lucrative career.

  Or had he?

  Possibilities tumbled through her mind. Had he been meeting with Soren? Was that the reason he’d been down here? The reason he’d had that look on his face? Was it even possible, that kind of coincidence, her boss just happening to be in the garage where his most notorious client was lurking, with another man he had clearly threatened enough to send him scurrying away in apparent terror? Likely with some kind of deadly weapon?

  They’d read off a list in that courtroom video of the weapons taken off the suspect at the time of his arrest, a list that had sounded like an armory to her. Knives, handguns, some kind of stunning device. He could have had any one of those at hand today, ready to use on that other man.

  And then turn on her, she thought with a shiver.

  She wondered briefly what the man had done to so displease Soren that the demon of his street name appeared. Wondered if he worked for him, or had just been in the wrong place and crossed him somehow.

  Wondered what would have happened if Soren had taken more of an interest in tormenting her.

  But she wasn’t the issue here. Her boss was. Had he only seemed to quit? Were the calm, dry trusts and wills and business documents he dealt with now only a cover? Behind the scenes, was he still working for this piece of human debris?

  She sat there, shaken, her list of errands forgotten.

  I have...in my pocket...

  I have a lawyer in my pocket? Is that what he’d said?

  She reached for her purse to get the phone Quinn had given her. Realized that she’d never even thought of it when Soren had been towering over her. She should have. Quinn had said they—including Walker—would be within close reach all day. Even so, she’d likely have been dead if that had been Soren’s intent. For she had no doubts about his ability and capacity to do just that, if he wanted to. She knew as surely as she knew her eyes were blue that he’d committed those murders. And probably more.

  Instead, he’d just teased her, tormented her and then laughed. She was clearly no threat to such as he.

  Or so he thought.

  She pulled out the phone. And realized she felt oddly better about this whole thing.

  Because now she was sure it wasn’t just paranoia. Something was definitely going on, and it was getting smellier by the moment.

  Chapter 20

  “No wonder you were rattled,” Hayley said.

  “It was scary when I realized who he was,” Amy admitted. “And when he did that ‘I’m watching you’ thing.”

  “Especially if he was armed.”

  “I’m only guessing, I couldn’t really see. But...he had something jammed up against the guy’s neck, and it was metal. Part of it, anyway. And the van they were next to, it looked like the one that I thought was following me. My first thought was I should call the police, but...”

  “You did the right thing, calling Quinn first. He’ll handle it.”

  “She should have called me first,” Walker said. “I was closer.”

  Quinn, who had been on the phone across the room, ended his call and came back. He’d been at her side within a minute or two when she’d called, showing her he’d meant what he’d said when he promised he’d be close by.

  She was a little startled at how good it felt to come home to people who cared, especially now, in the middle of...whatever this was. And no part of that feeling good had anything to do with the fact that Walker had just come into the room.

  He didn’t speak, but then he often didn’t. He just quietly waited until he got a feel for what was going on. This was a marked change from the gregarious boy she remembered, and she wondered what had caused it.

  One of the multitude of things she wondered about him. All of which were a waste of time, she added to herself firmly.

  “A friend of Brett’s,” Quinn said as he put the phone back in his pocket.

  “He’s originally from LA,” Hayley elaborated, “and still has a lot of contacts down here.”

  “I met him at the wedding, didn’t I?” Amy asked. “The one Cutter decided he was going home with while you were gone?”

  Hayley laughed as the dog at her feet yipped. “That would be him.”

  “And look where that got him,” Quinn added with a grin.

  “Happy at last, you mean? Our little matchmaker,” Hayley said with a laugh, ruffling the fur on the dog’s head, then going for a scratch behind his right ear that had the dog’s head lolling blissfully. Then she looked at her husband. “What did you find out?”

  “I told him what happened. He’ll call me back if they need a statement, but for now it’s just SOP for Soren. And apparently he isn’t happy with local law enforcement. They won’t leave him alone.”

  “I’m not surprised,” Amy said.

  Quinn nodded. “Brett’s friend says the narcotics division sets up on him periodically—in fact, they tailed him for a couple of days last week—just to remind him they’re still around, even if he walked on the best case they’d managed to put together. They don’t, by the way, care for your boss much.”

  Amy sighed. “I imagine not.”

  “They’re sure he’s still dealing, but think he’s put a couple more layers of deniability between him and the actual business.”

  “He’ll end up a politician,” Walker said.

  And yet again Quinn gave him a sharp look. Then his gaze flicked to Cutter, who was leaning against Hayley’s knees. As if in response, the dog got up and went to where Walker was sitting, turned to face Quinn and sat. On Walker’s left foot, if she wasn’t mistaken.

  Walker, looking a bit bemused, reached out to scratch the same spot Hayley had. But the dog’s reaction was completely different. He never took his intense gaze off Quinn. And after a moment Quinn gave a short shake of his head.

  “Okay, dog. If you say so.”

  Only then did Cutter happily lean into the touch of Walker’s fingers. Message sent and received? Amy wondered, then laughed inwardly at her own whimsy. Wondered when she’d become convinced the dog was communicating. Wondered just how much Hayley and Quinn really followed his lead.

  Wondered anything except how the touch of Walker’s fingers must feel.

  * * *

  It couldn’t be coincidence. Could it?

  Amy stared at the screen. The very next day after she sees her boss and Soren in the same place, if not actually together, there’s a big deposit in the business account in her boss’s name? When as far as she knew, nothing was due? They’d taken on no new cases or clients, because Mr. Rockwell was gearing down for a long vacation.

  Her breath caught. Maybe a permanent vacation? Was he going to take whatever Soren was paying him for...whatever it was, and run?

  She couldn’t imagine it. He had a wife he quite
openly loved, and two sons he was immensely proud of. She simply couldn’t imagine him risking all that.

  But then, she couldn’t imagine him doing any of this in the first place.

  Maybe she was just wrong. There could be no connection. Maybe someone had just paid a bill early, or perhaps a late payer had come up with a chunk of cash.

  Except, the deposit was just that. Cash. And who in this day and age walked around with nearly five figures in cash, let alone handed it over to someone to pay a bill?

  A drug trafficker, that’s who.

  She wondered how long it would take before that money, clean and fresh and laundered, would go back out, headed for the account of that fictitious company.

  And straight into the pocket of that slimy Dante Soren? Was he the payee they were looking for?

  She called up the bank account from the fictitious company again, looked at the mailing address. She used the Foxworth phone to map it—Quinn had told her to use it for things like that, to keep her own computer clean in case her boss checked—and decided since it wasn’t too far out of the way she’d just drive by when she got off this afternoon. She wouldn’t really do anything, just go by to get a better look than she’d been able to from the satellite photos.

  Not that it would do any good, she thought when, after clearing her desk and locking her computer, she was on her way. It was clearly only a mail drop, but she was curious, since it was so far from the part of the city Soren claimed as his domain. She knew the area—upscale, expensive and a bit flashy. On the edge of one of the truly wealthy areas, where no one had anything to prove and quietly went about their lives without needing to trumpet their success to everyone.

  And where no one drove a car like the one parked out front when she arrived.

  Soren was here.

  Picking up his payment already? Was that actually how they did it, in such a mundane way, a paper check? But then, a paper check could just be cashed, didn’t have to be run through another traceable account. But surely it didn’t happen that quickly? Maybe he was here to pick up a prior check, maybe he...

  She reined in her racing mind with an effort. A sharp horn beep from an impatient driver—was there any other kind in LA?—made her realize just how much she had slowed as she went past the mailbox rental storefront. She made a turn at the next street. She would circle the block and go by again, she thought, although what she thought she was going to learn she didn’t know.

  She had to wait for a break in the steady traffic to get back out onto the main boulevard again. By the time she was nearing the mailbox store, it had been several minutes. Soren’s car was still there. So he must still be inside. Why? Did he get other mail there? What would a drug trafficker use snail mail for? Surely not the drugs themselves, he was...

  He was right there.

  She realized with a little jolt that the man had just walked out of not the mailbox store but the place next to it. The coffee place, judging by the tall cup in his hand.

  The car might still be that flashy, out of place ride, but this was a different man she’d seen yesterday, in looks at least. This man was dressed in jeans, a button-down shirt and a lightweight jacket, and was minus the excess jewelry and hair gel. And minus the intimidating swagger, he looked like any guy walking down the street sipping at some coffee drink.

  She was so startled by the complete change that she was staring, just to make sure it really was him. But she was sure it was; she’d never forget that face even if his hair seemed lighter now, minus the hair product. Besides, one ring and the watch with the heavy gold band she remembered were still there.

  As if he’d sensed her stare—or more likely, she told herself, that he wondered what idiot was clogging up already nasty traffic by driving so slowly—he looked at her. And for one split second their gazes locked. He frowned, in the manner of a person trying to place someone they’d seen before. And then something else flashed in his eyes, something cold and lethal.

  Her instinct was to jerk her head away. Because in that instant, all her thoughts of this man being just another guy walking down the street sipping coffee were blasted away.

  She forced herself not to react, to simply scan past him, look up and down the block as if she were looking for a parking place. She put a show of disgust on her face, as if she were giving up the search.

  She drove on, her hands clenched around the steering wheel. Only when she was out of sight did she truly breathe again. Because those eyes had belonged to nothing less than a top-of-the-food-chain pure predator.

  And he’d recognized her.

  * * *

  “You’re sure?”

  “Yes. I wish I wasn’t,” Amy said in answer to Quinn’s question.

  “And he recognized you?”

  “Yes.”

  “He’s seen her twice in two days, and it’s registered each time,” Walker said. “He could be the one having her followed. He could be thinking she’s a problem for him. That’s not good.”

  “Agreed,” Quinn said.

  “I never thought he’d actually be there,” she said.

  “You just charged over there to accomplish...what, exactly?” Walker asked.

  She bristled at his tone. “To look, that’s all. I was curious, wondered why he’d chosen that neighborhood, so far from his turf. Not that it’s any of your business.”

  “It is now,” he said.

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “You need to stay away from this.”

  She drew back slightly. “What?”

  “Stay here, out of it, until we have a chance to nail down exactly what’s going on. And this commuting alone stuff has to stop. You’re too vulnerable. Anywhere you go, I’m with you.”

  She stared at him in disbelief. “And just where did you get the idea that I take orders from you, Walker Cole?”

  “Same place he got the idea he’s part of that ‘we,’ I imagine,” Quinn said drily.

  Walker turned on Quinn. “You think I’m wrong?”

  “Didn’t say that. Just wondering why you’re even offering.” Quinn said.

  “Amy,” Walker said simply.

  Something about the way he said her name made Amy’s chest tighten. Which was silly. She didn’t want this, didn’t want him to have the power to do this to her, make her feel like this. She might not be furious at him any longer, but she still wasn’t happy with him, and that’s the way she wanted it to stay. But at this moment, when he’d given her name as the only reason he needed to volunteer to protect her, it was annoyingly difficult to hang on to.

  “I can call Liam to come down,” Quinn said.

  “I’m already here,” Walker pointed out.

  “And Liam is a trained operative,” Quinn said. “What makes you think you could handle it?”

  Walker’s jaw was tight as he faced his brother-in-law. “Try me.”

  The moment the words left Walker’s lips, Quinn moved. Without warning. He punched out at Walker’s set jaw. Amy nearly gasped out loud at the unexpected speed of it. Faster even than the first time. Yet Walker reacted as if he’d expected it, throwing up an arm just in time to block the blow. She instinctively took a step toward them, although she wasn’t sure exactly what she intended to do. Hayley held her back. Amy flicked a glance at her friend, read her expression quickly. Quinn had a plan, and it needed to play out. Reluctantly, she gave in.

  Quinn struck again. This time low and from the side. Walker blocked him again with a perfectly timed elbow. Quinn advanced. And while Walker ceded some floor to him, Quinn never landed a really solid blow. And once or twice Walker tagged him.

  “Well, well,” Hayley said.

  Amy recognized the feeling. Her own mind had been racing since the instant Walker hadn’t gone down when he should have. Somehow he was holding
his own against a man she would have thought would have him on the floor begging for mercy in mere seconds.

  So why was he? How? Who the hell was Walker Cole, anyway?

  And then Quinn connected with a solid right. Walker went down this time. But as he did he swept out with one leg, catching Quinn behind the left knee. Quinn staggered, almost going down himself. And by the time he regained his balance, Walker was back on his feet, practically on him. He smacked Quinn’s right hip as if they were playing tag football.

  Then Walker stopped. Stepped back. Eyed Quinn. “If you’d been armed, you’d be dead.”

  Quinn, steady now, stared back. After a moment he said, “Surprise is on me. You’ve had some training.”

  “And I’ve picked up a bit here and there.”

  Amy’s brow furrowed as he didn’t deny the training comment. Training by who? Where? When? Ideas careered through her mind once more, from possible to outlandish.

  “Can you handle a weapon?”

  “Not quite as good with sidearms as long guns, but yes.”

  Amy knew they’d grown up with weapons, and their father had seen to it they knew how to safely use them.

  “He is good,” Hayley said.

  “You won’t have the element of surprise with Soren or his henchmen,” Quinn warned.

  “I won’t need it.”

  As Amy studied Walker the memory of his fight with Quinn played in her mind, and she wondered if he would have had the same outcome with Soren. She found herself half-convinced he would have managed it. Somehow.

  She had the feeling a lot more was going on in Quinn’s agile brain than merely the assessment of Walker’s capabilities. And she was very much afraid she knew what it was.

  “All right, then. Come with me.”

  The two men walked out, headed toward the front building. Quinn pulled some keys out of his pocket as they went, isolating two. One was a door key, the other smaller.

  The weapons locker. Hayley had said it was in the office.

  “Oh, no,” Amy said. “Not happening.”