Operation Homecoming

by Justine Davis

  Just the word brought back those tangled feelings from her discussion with Becca, and she had to fight to keep her mind where it should be. “Of course not. So what did he...?” She broke off as she realized what the call had probably been. “The video?”

  He nodded. “It’s ready. And I have to say, Quinn—and Mr. Armistead—did a great job. It’s quite believable. So now we just have to arrange for your boss to see it.”

  “You could email it to me.”

  He shook his head. “Quinn and I agreed we should keep you a step removed, if possible. You’ve already gotten me in front of him, that’s enough. We’ll figure the rest out this weekend. By the way, we’re heading down south to Foxworth as soon as you’re done this evening.”

  She didn’t know which bothered her more, that they were conspiring to keep her out of this, or that Walker and Quinn were conspiring—and apparently agreeing—at all.

  “I started all this, if you recall.”

  “Yes. You did. Doesn’t mean you have to stay in the middle of it. Soren or Theo, whoever he is, he’s a bad guy. Ty dug back and he’s been connected at some level to over twenty murders.”

  Amy drew in a steadying breath. The man she’d seen in the parking garage seemed quite capable of that. The man outside the mailbox drop, not so much.

  “Having doubts?”

  She shook her head slowly. “Not really. It’s just...he seemed so normal, that second time. Just a guy out for coffee.”

  She heard an electronic beeping. Walker pulled a cell phone out of an inner pocket. It was the one that matched hers, the one Quinn had given her. She followed as he walked to a more sheltered spot next to a concrete wall, away from the stream of passing pedestrians who might overhear. Then she waited while he answered.

  “Hey, sis.”

  Hayley. So they had progressed to at least speaking normally. But then, this was different; they’d all agreed on that. For the duration of this op, as Quinn had said, everything else had to be on hold.

  She watched as Walker frowned. His gaze flicked to her and the frown deepened, although it was clearly in response to what Hayley was saying, not she herself.

  “Got it,” he said. “Yes, she’s right here. I’ll tell her.” A pause before he grimaced. “I know that.” Another pause before he said, “All right,” and ended the call.

  “You don’t look happy about whatever she said.”

  “Which part?” he asked with another grimace and in a very glum tone. “The part where she said Dunbar’s friend talked to the narcotics guy and found out they’re scrambling because three of Soren’s lieutenants have been found dead in the past month? Or the part where she said the murder I should really be thinking about was mine, if I hurt you again?”

  Any blinked. Then smiled.

  “Like that, do you?” Walker asked, his mouth quirking. “You’ll like this even more. She said she and Quinn would probably argue over who would do it.”

  “It’s good to have good friends.”

  “Yes. I’m glad you have them.”

  Any teasing tone had vanished. He’d meant those words.

  “Even when they’re threatening your life?”

  “If I hurt you again, I’ll have it coming.”

  And suddenly it was there, alive and flexing, for the moment pushing the other thing they’d learned aside. The memory of those heated moments, that unexpectedly fierce and devastating kiss, fairly crackled between them. Amy felt an echo of the rippling sensation that had seized her then, down to the faint weakness in her knees. And in his eyes she could see he was remembering, too, and when he swallowed tightly she dared to hope it was as powerful to him as it was to her.

  Something flared in those changeable eyes and she knew. She knew, and she did nothing to stop it as he leaned over to kiss her again. She did nothing to stop it because she wanted to know, she had to know, if it had been real. If a simple kiss had truly been what she remembered, or if it had just been the shock of it tangled up with a thousand childhood fantasies.

  In the first instant of contact all other awareness fled, the world could have fallen away and she wouldn’t have known it. His mouth was warm, firm, yet gentle, so gentle it seemed impossible for it to cause such a tumultuous reaction.

  Real, her blood sang as he flicked his tongue over her lower lip. It was real, all of it. Despite everything—the years, the disappointment, the absence, the anger—Walker was the only man who had ever made her feel like this.

  He pulled back, and she almost let out a whimper of loss. But then reality hit with a shock as a small cheer went up from two people passing by. Color rushed to her face as she remembered abruptly that they were out not only in public but on a street rarely without lots of pedestrians. Including those two, who were, she realized with even more embarrassment, from her office. And Alan, in particular, had a distinct tendency toward gossip. And she was sure he’d just found his material for the rest of the day.

  “Well, that ought to do it,” Walker muttered under his breath.

  It was an effort to keep her voice steady. “Do what?”

  “They work with you, right?”

  “Yes,” she said, surprised he’d recognized them, although they had been at the party, as were all employees down to the woman who brought in sandwiches and snacks for them.

  “Then this’ll be the talk of the office, won’t it?”

  Shy, quiet Amy Clark kissing a man in public, on the street? Oh, yes, it would be.

  It hit her then. She stared at him. “Is that why you did it?”

  He blinked. “What?”

  “Is that why you kissed me? To make sure the whole office knows about us?”

  He drew back. Stared at her. “I kissed you because I couldn’t not. I never even saw those guys until...after. That was just luck.”

  She wanted to believe him. At least, she thought she did. But the minute she thought that, her common sense chimed in to tell her she’d be better off if he’d only meant it as a ruse, as a way to spread the idea that they were in an intimate, sharing relationship.

  She didn’t know which to hope for.

  And then she called herself seventeen kinds of a fool for hoping at all, for wanting anything to do with Walker Cole.

  And it wasn’t until much later, remembering what Walker had said about twenty murders, that it occurred to her to that had they been somewhere other than that parking garage that day, Dante Soren might well have murdered that man right in front of her.

  And she would have been a witness.

  Chapter 32

  “I don’t like it,” Walker said.

  “Then think of another way,” Amy retorted.

  That was just it. He couldn’t think of another way. And neither could anybody else, although they’d been chewing on it like Cutter on that nylon bone all weekend.

  He leaned back in the chair, feeling oddly weary. All he’d done all week, except for the party and those brief interludes with Amy, was take up space. Oh, and kiss her. Yes, let’s not forget that. As if he could ever forget that sizzling contact that had sent him into overdrive right there on the street. That had been one of his more stupid moves. Right after kissing her the first time, and realizing that, God help him, little Amy Clark fired his circuits like a lightning strike.

  Better to focus on all the time spent watching from the office with the window toward her building that Alex Armistead had generously provided for him. The man certainly had no hesitation in going to the wall for Quinn. He’d asked about that one morning when he’d arrived and encountered the man already on his way to his own expansive corner office.

  “I owe Foxworth everything. There’s not much he could ask that would be too much.”

  “Even having to pretend your son is in trouble again?”

  Armis
tead had grimaced. “Not something to enjoy, but it also makes me even more aware of how grateful I am that he’s not. Thanks to Quinn.”

  His brother-in-law, Walker had thought then, was quite something.

  But now he needed to focus, because he truly did not like the idea of Amy marching straight to her boss to show him the incriminating video. But emailing it to him directly would likely rouse suspicion, make him suspect a trap. It needed to be more natural, best presented with a distraction, so he didn’t think too much about that aspect. Yet at the same time it had to be tempting enough for him to take the bait. It had to be real enough to him. He thought it was, but having Amy take it to him directly...

  He looked at his sister, who was frowning as if she liked this idea no better than he did. He glanced at Quinn, who looked merely thoughtful. Assessing, Walker corrected his own thought. As if he were simply calculating the odds of Amy’s idea succeeding. Walker had thought they were on the same page about keeping Amy out of this, but now he wasn’t so sure.

  He remembered Cabrero telling him once that compartmentalization was the key, that you had to isolate some things in your mind as not to be thought about when you were neck-deep in crap. He was guessing Quinn Foxworth knew all about that.

  “Have you had the slightest hint that your boss suspects you know anything?” Hayley asked.

  “No.” Amy’s mouth—God, that mouth—quirked. “In fact, when he was warning me off Walker, I would have sworn he had nothing but good intentions.”

  He should feel good, Walker thought, that he’d apparently played his part successfully. But he didn’t.

  “It was like he was...” Amy began again, and stopped.

  “The person you always thought he was?” Hayley asked gently.

  “Yes.”

  He heard the note of distress in her voice, and his own grinding pain didn’t matter anymore. In a way, she’d been let down again. Her father, her boss...and him. Because he had to face it—he’d let her down, too, even if he hadn’t realized it at the time.

  It was a wonder she didn’t hate men in general. Or maybe she would, when this was over. And he’d be in the top three.

  Amy took off her glasses—the classic black today—and rubbed at her temples. His fingers curled, and he fought the desire to do that for her. To ease her pain, her stress. Wished he was the kind of man who could fulfill the childhood wish to kiss it and make it better. Because heaven knows he wanted to kiss her again. And again.

  “I’ll just ask him for advice. Help. Tell him he was right.”

  “Two things that would appeal to most men,” Hayley admitted.

  Walker flicked a glance at Quinn, whose expression was impassive. “Little help here?”

  Quinn looked at him then. “Hard to do when they’re both right.”

  “I didn’t say they weren’t right, but if he’s who and what we think he is, this could be dangerous for Amy.”

  “I already work for him,” she pointed out. “Besides, he’s not going to try anything right there in the office.”

  That, Walker had to admit, was likely true. So why didn’t he feel any better?

  “And he already thinks you’re slime,” Amy added.

  Even though he knew that had been the goal, something about the casual way she said it jabbed at him. “I’ll lose sleep over that, that a crooked lawyer and money launderer doesn’t think much of me.”

  She focused on him then. “I didn’t think you could lose much more sleep.”

  And just as the casual acceptance had jabbed at him, the quiet tone of those words took the push right out of his anger. In fact, were he fool enough, he might even think there had been a touch of concern in her voice.

  “And how would you know?” he asked.

  She looked away then, leaning over to pet Cutter as she had so often done last week. And he suddenly remembered Cutter’s people were still here. For that moment, it had almost seemed as if they were the only two people in the room. He risked a glance at them, caught Quinn still looking impassive, but Hayley looking at them assessingly.

  He could almost hear the warning headed his way again.

  “She adored you. She never quite got over you. Don’t hurt her again. Quinn will kill you, if I don’t first.”

  “If I hurt her? Or you?”

  “Yes.”

  The conversation they’d had echoed in his mind. And the silence in the room only emphasized it.

  He picked up the Foxworth phone Quinn had given him. Tried to ignore the red emergency button. Foxworth could make a mint putting this on the market, he thought. But then, it was already clear to him they weren’t in this for the money.

  He watched the video again. It was well done, in the sense that it appeared very real. Ty had tweaked it a bit here and there to make sure certain things were clear, but had done nothing to detract from the surreptitious feel of it. A shadowy meeting place, with one man taking a briefcase from another, setting it on the fender of the car beside him and opening it. Then one well-lit moment courtesy of the headlights on a passing car—driven slowly by Hayley—that showed Alex Armistead’s face clearly as the man handing over the briefcase. And the stack of money the other man—Quinn, still hidden in deep shadow—was taking out of the case and riffling through. The transaction was clear. As was the only intelligible audio—again courtesy of Ty—that of Armistead telling the man he called James to head straight to the airport and get out of the country before the trial.

  The video was clear, good resolution, and Walker knew if someone zoomed in they’d see the bundle of bills Quinn had checked were large denomination, making the possible total of everything in the case rather awe-inspiring. And when Quinn had picked up the case and walked toward the driver’s door of the car, the video zoomed in, giving a quick look at the license number of the car.

  Which happened to come back to a man listed—by the name Armistead had used out loud—as the main prosecution witness in an upcoming spousal murder trial in which Armistead was acting for the defense.

  And they had a video that portrayed the premiere criminal attorney in the city bribing a witness to leave the country.

  That the witness really wasn’t one, and that the vehicle belonged to Foxworth and the registration had been, thanks to Ty’s genius, temporarily altered, didn’t matter. The name was on the court’s witness list, courtesy of Alex Armistead’s connections, and a registration check would match.

  Ty had also made a teaser cut, seventeen seconds of the whole, showing the crucial part but lacking the identifying license plate. It was this they would use as the final bait.

  Would it be enough? Would Rockwell bite? Jump at the chance to take down one of the biggest names in his profession, with his own firm next in line for the top? Or since money was apparently his goal, would he perhaps bite at the chance to blackmail the man? Armistead had very, very deep pockets, and Ty’s report had indicated Rockwell’s wallet had suffered since he’d abandoned the high-profile cases. Plus he had two kids in expensive colleges, and the bills must be staggering.

  “It’s the only way,” Amy said quietly when he looked away from the phone. “I’ll just go to him, pretend to be very upset and show him the clip. He’ll think you’re going to use that video. I can talk about how desperate Mr. Armistead would be to keep this secret. And that will plant the idea that maybe he could use it first. And then...he’ll do what he’s going to do.”

  He asked the big motivation question that was bothering him about the idea. “Why would I send it to you?”

  “Because you love me and can’t resist sharing everything with me.”

  His jaw tightened. “If I love you, then why the hell would I put you in the middle of something like this?”

  He realized in the moment he said it that he was, indeed, resisting putting her in the middle of it. Wha
t that meant he wasn’t going to dwell on, he told himself sternly.

  “Maybe I picked up your phone by mistake and found it.” She spoke as if she’d completely missed that moment. “They are exactly alike.”

  “He’s seen your regular phone, hasn’t he?” Walker asked, his voice steadier now.

  “Yes.” She smiled at him, that slightly too-sweet smile that was a warning in itself. “But we got new ones together, a sharing plan, because it was a great deal. And I’m happy about that, because my silly imagination thinks that means you’re thinking permanent.”

  He blinked. She was clearly bantering, but he was guessing the insight into the thinking was probably real. Which boggled him. “A good deal on a pair of phones translates into a permanent relationship?”

  “Don’t you just love the female mind?” she asked breezily. She looked at Quinn. “So, are we set?”

  Obviously, the final decision was not up to him. He didn’t blame her for that; he’d trust Quinn’s assessment over his own anyway.

  “This gives you the out that you didn’t have anything to do with the video itself,” Quinn said with a nod. “But you’ll have to wait for the right moment.”

  “Tomorrow,” Amy said. “It has to be. He’s leaving Tuesday for Dallas for three days.”

  And that easily it was settled. Walker felt the urge to protest again, but realized it wouldn’t make any difference. Amy was determined, Quinn approved, it was done.

  “All right,” Quinn added, “we’ll all be close by. I’ll be in the building, just outside your office. I can fake waiting for a meeting.”

  “And since no one will recognize me,” Hayley said, “I’ll come to your office and ask to see whoever’s available at the time. Which will likely be no one, but I’ll be in the waiting room, actually inside.”

  Quinn grimaced slightly at that, but he said nothing. For a moment Walker wondered again at the amazing relationship they had, his sister and her man. He guessed Quinn’s first instinct was to protect, but he smothered it so that he didn’t smother her. And Walker was more certain than ever, by this ceding of control from a man he doubted did it often, just how much Quinn Foxworth loved his sister.