Operation Notorious

by Justine Davis

  And she’d be a fool, worse than a fool, to read anything more into it than that.

  Chapter 22

  Gavin stood beside the fire, staring into the flames. Then he moved his head to glare down at Cutter. “So what’s with you, dog? Isn’t the comforting and soothing thing your shtick?”

  The animal, who had been watching as Katie retreated to the bathroom—no doubt to be embarrassed to see her mascara had succumbed to the torrent of tears—lifted his head to give Gavin a look he could only describe as smug. To make it worse, the dog’s shoulders twitched, almost like he was shrugging.

  You didn’t need me.

  Gavin grimaced as the words formed in his mind, the verbal equivalent of what the dog’s expression and action would mean in a human. He was beginning to understand why Quinn and Hayley and even Rafe had taken to anthropomorphizing this animal.

  He supposed he was getting used to the presence of his self-appointed shadow. He even found himself conversing with the dog as if it were a two-way conversation. And sometimes he would swear it was; Cutter was a very expressive animal. He wondered, as he tried to refocus on the job at hand, how many people had pets because they felt awkward talking to themselves.

  Then he wondered if he was focusing so much on the dog to avoid thinking about the woman in the other room, and his own question.

  Why her?

  He’d meant what he’d said. In all the years he’d been a practicing attorney, he had been confronted more than once with a weeping female. More than one weeping male, too, for that matter. He had always left it to his assistants to deal with, to do whatever it took to get the person, be it client or witness, back in hand so he could proceed with the job. It had been necessary then. If he’d gotten too emotionally invested in a case, it might affect his judgment, cloud his thinking when it was crucial that it be clear and sharp.

  But Foxworth existed for entirely different reasons, and his function with them was entirely different, as well. But until now, it hadn’t run to this.

  He supposed it was in part because of the jolt of fear he’d felt when he’d first realized who his late night visitor was. He’d just been going over his conversation with Detective Davidson, and in fact had been somewhat stuck on that one part, about the possibility Laurel hadn’t been the target at all.

  Unlikely didn’t mean impossible. He couldn’t be one hundred percent certain that Katie hadn’t been the target, or that she might not be now. What if this had been some vendetta against Laurel that could yet spread to Katie?

  He’d seen too many crazy cases to pretend it didn’t happen. He was mulling those over when Katie had unexpectedly arrived, so the first reason that shot into his mind for her to come here was that something had happened. And in that mindset his imagination had made the leap to her being hurt.

  Cutter’s head came up, and a moment later the bathroom door opened and Katie came out. She’d cleaned up the streaks of mascara, and looked fairly composed as she came back.

  “Sorry for the meltdown,” she said calmly.

  “Don’t apologize for caring. She was your friend.”

  “I wasn’t,” Katie said. “Just sorry you had to deal with it.” She looked at him steadily. “But thank you for doing so.”

  Gavin almost brushed it off with something light. Just part of the Foxworth service. But looking at her, at those blue eyes of hers, slightly reddened from tears, he couldn’t bring himself to do it.

  In the end, all he said was, “You’re welcome.” Because my pleasure would send him down a mental path he didn’t dare to tread just now. This woman did crazy things to him, and he didn’t know what to do about it. And Gavin de Marco didn’t like not knowing what to do.

  She sat in her old spot, gave Cutter a quick pat and turned her attention back to the papers. He’d thought she might leave after that emotional episode, but she again proved herself tougher than that. Katie Moore would do what had to be done, whatever it might be.

  He sat back down himself, and they went over the rest of his discussion with Davidson. She seemed worried that the detective had said they did have a motive, but heartened by his assessment that he wasn’t completely sold on her father’s guilt.

  “I think he’s a good cop,” Gavin said. “He’s not convinced yet, so he’ll keep going after the truth.”

  “Good,” she said. “If he does that, then he’ll see my father is innocent.”

  He wanted to warn her not to be so certain, but given she’d already been through enough distress tonight, he held it back. Besides, that outlook was his, not hers. It wasn’t her fault that he could count on two hands the number of people he totally trusted.

  He settled for saying, “It’s going to take more than his uncertainty to get him completely off your father.”

  She nodded. “I know. And I don’t just want the police not suspecting him any longer. I want him proven innocent.”

  He knew she passionately believed finding the truth would do that, and he hoped, so fervently it surprised him, that she was right.

  He also knew he’d better keep his mind on the task at hand, because after holding her in his arms, the thought that she was passionate about anything stirred feelings he didn’t want to deal with right now.

  Or maybe ever.

  She was looking at the page he’d labeled “Possibilities,” where he listed some of the most frequent reasons for murder under these circumstances. He watched as her eyes widened, and guessed she would never have thought some of them viable reasons to kill someone. Her gaze then skipped to the next page, which he’d labeled “Probabilities.” Those he’d culled from the possibilities list as most likely to apply here.

  Then she moved to the one labeled “Suspects,” with a column for “Motive.” Ross Carr was at the top, with the obvious motives listed, but next to that in caps he’d written “Solid alibi.” Under that was “Other Acquaintances.” As she scanned the names, her expressive face shifted from grimace to frown. She lingered the longest over the last name, her father’s, next to which he’d written “Jealousy of time spent with K? Disapproval? She saw something? He saw something?” And next to that speculation, he’d written in caps, “Weak,” for that’s what he felt those motives were.

  Underneath that was the most problematic of all, for there was nowhere to even begin: “Random.”

  When at last she looked back at his face, her expression troubled, he felt a pang of regret that he was going to have to make her go through it all again.

  “What is it you’re looking for, beyond the obvious?” she asked.

  He shrugged. “Connections. Patterns. It helps me if I run the data through my brain first.”

  “By reading, distilling, then writing it,” she said with a nod of understanding. “It’s a different process than just reading it alone.”

  “Exactly.” He wasn’t surprised she understood. “I’ll need to talk to you again, in detail, but it can wait until—”

  “Now.”

  He stopped, studied her for a moment. “It’s already late.”

  “I know you’re probably still jet-lagged, and you’ve been working hard on this, so if you need to get some sleep I’ll go. But if you’re going to be awake anyway, let’s get it over with.”

  “What about your sleep? Don’t you have a big deal to prep for, tomorrow night?”

  Her gaze flicked from him to Cutter, then back. “Appointing yourself my keeper?”

  He couldn’t stop his smile then. “Touché.”

  And so they began again. To her credit, she gave him no protest when he queried her on the smallest things, just marveled at the depth of Ty’s work.

  “I’d completely forgotten about that meter reader,” she said, indicating the name of the man Laurel had filed a complaint with the city about when she caught him peering in her bedroom
window at her as she dressed.

  “He’s unlikely. He apparently pulled that on several women, and they’re all fine, plus it appears he’s left the area.”

  “And the woman from that chain reaction traffic accident? That was years ago, and Laurel was just in the middle of the string of cars.”

  “But Laurel was the one who said she’d seen the woman at the stoplight moments before, on her phone.”

  “True,” she admitted. “But a woman? Really?”

  “‘Deadlier than the male,’ I believe is how the old phrase goes.” He saw a slight shiver go through her and added, “I agree it’s unlikely, but it’s a base that needs to be covered.”

  She looked up from the page she was holding. “Is this how you did it? Before, I mean?”

  “Same general approach, yes.”

  “Fascinating,” she said, and from her expression as she looked back at the various stacks, he thought she meant it.

  “Anything to add?” he asked when they’d finished discussing the list he’d made.

  She looked doubtful but said, “Now that you have me thinking that way, there was a delivery driver that used to flirt with her all the time, asking her out, and she always said no. I always thought it was just sort of a game with them, but maybe he wasn’t as accepting of her rejection as he seemed.”

  “Good,” he said, adding to the list the name of the company she gave him. “Anyone else?”

  Slowly, she shook her head. “I couldn’t tell you the number of guys who asked me about her, if she was married or seeing anyone. And a couple of women who asked me if she was straight. No one stands out, though.”

  “Why did they all ask you?”

  Katie shrugged. “I guess I was easier to approach. Laurel had that glam thing going on.”

  “And you?” he asked softly, even though it had nothing to do with the case.

  “Me? I was just the sidekick. The bestie. Or in their case, information central.”

  She smiled, and it wasn’t the least bit wry or rueful. She’d apparently been content to be just that for her flashier friend. He, on the other hand, had had enough flash and glamour—female and male—to last him a lifetime. And now he found it hard to even hold a conversation with one of those kinds of people if there were still waters like Katie Moore in the room.

  He shook off the realization and pressed on, making her dig deep. It was an awful exercise, going through everyone you’d ever had contact with, searching for a possible murderer, but it had to be done and no one could have quite the perspective and range of knowledge as the victim’s best friend. He knew that women shared things a guy would never even think to talk about, even to his best friend. He wanted it all, because you never knew which small piece might solve the puzzle.

  A detailed picture began to emerge in his mind, of a vivacious, lively, and slightly “short of good judgment” woman, and the quieter, more solemn, levelheaded—and probably smarter—best friend.

  Yes, these days it was the calm, the quiet—and the brain—that drew him.

  Like Katie Moore did.

  Damn. You’re losing—

  Her quiet gasp cut off his thoughts and he looked at her. Her eyes widened, and she was staring at him in shock. Had she remembered something, thought of someone, some possible suspect who could shift the whole case?

  “You...” she began, then faltered.

  “What?”

  “Tell me you don’t think I should be on that list? That I was jealous of her, tired of being her...what do they call it, her wingman?”

  She was shivering again, her expression horrified. He reached out, grasped her shoulders.

  “Katie, no. That never, ever occurred to me. You couldn’t. You wouldn’t.”

  He meant it, more than he’d meant anything in recent memory, except his gratitude for working at Foxworth. And that alone told him volumes.

  She leaned into his arms again, and he felt the shivering ease, then stop. He was seized with the crazy urge to stay like this forever, make sure she was never hurt or scared or distressed again.

  She looked up at him then, those wide, clear blue eyes still slightly reddened. He wanted her never to cry again, either. He could think of a lot worse things to spend his time on than seeing that never happened.

  And then he did the only thing he could think of to do next.

  He kissed her.

  Chapter 23

  For an instant, the barest split second, Katie thought she was imagining it. Her overactive subconscious had merely fed on emotions she’d been fighting and had somehow manufactured this moment.

  But the feel of his mouth on hers was fiery, breath-stealing and very, very real.

  Sensation rocketed through her in a way she’d never experienced. She had, on occasion, pondered the strange way that a pinch here could make you feel a twinge somewhere else. But she’d never understood how thoroughly some things were connected in the body. Never understood how a touch of lips could ignite fire in so many places at once.

  Until now.

  Hungry to understand more, she parted her lips, wanting to taste, to explore. And when suddenly the kiss was over, when the taste of him was suddenly out of reach, she felt bereft.

  Through the echoing waves of surging heat she fought the urge to follow him in his retreat, to stay close. She wasn’t even sure why she was resisting. She wanted more, didn’t she?

  A chill swept her as the obvious answer hit her.

  She wanted more, but clearly he didn’t.

  The fog cleared, just in time for her to hear him speak.

  “My apologies. That was...inappropriate.”

  Katie fought to find words. Thought of the papers that were now scattered around them. Lists. “I could give you a long list of things that kiss was. Inappropriate wouldn’t be on it.”

  He stared at her as her mind raced. Did he want more of the luscious heat and sensation, after all? How could he not? Unless...it wasn’t like that for him.

  A new emotion began to well up inside her as she remembered exactly who she was looking at. Gavin freaking de Marco. Why would he be interested in a small-town girl with a quiet life and a quieter job?

  It was much more likely that he’d tried to comfort, or distract, and she’d misread his intentions.

  “Katie,” he finally said, and the regret in his tone seemed to confirm her guess.

  “Sorry,” she said. “I think I misinterpreted that.”

  She saw something flash in those dark eyes, something bright and hungry. It was gone in an instant, but it had been there and real. And it blasted all her rationalizations to bits. She couldn’t help the relief that flooded her; it hadn’t been one-way. That glorious, surging tide hadn’t been only in her.

  “Attorney. Client.” His voice sounded tight, as if he were finding it hard to speak.

  Katie’s brow furrowed. “Are you saying you meant...ethically inappropriate? I’m not your client, not like that.”

  “Fine line.”

  “But a line, nevertheless.”

  She saw him take a breath, and when he spoke his voice was steadier, and that look in his eyes had faded. “Mixing business and personal when it comes to legal matters—especially involving murder—is never wise.”

  Katie gave herself an inward shake. However dreary her social life had been lately, she hadn’t yet been reduced to trying to talk someone into wanting her. And if he really did have professional scruples about it, she had no right to try and talk him out of them.

  “Fine,” she said briskly. “Let’s get back to those legal matters, then.”

  When she picked up another of the pages, she heard a low, sour-sounding huff from Cutter and looked over at him.

  The dog was looking at Gavin, and something about the angle of hi
s head and the lowering of one brow made his expression seem like one of pure disgust.

  It almost made her laugh, but she stopped herself.

  Because it would be inappropriate.

  * * *

  Gavin first drove by the library early the next evening. Her car was there, and he knew she would be there for the duration. The library would close at its normal time, she’d told him, but reopen an hour later fully decked out and ready for the children’s Halloween party. Since it was a school night, the event needed to start early so it would finish in time for a reasonable bedtime, she’d told him.

  He’d had the idle thought that she’d make a good mom. Which was not the kind of thought he usually had about an attractive woman, and another warning jolt went through him.

  It was simply, he told himself, that he’d spent too many years among women the term good mom would never apply to. Katie was such a stark contrast, that was all.

  He kept driving until he could make the turn at the end of the block and head over to the state highway. Here and there he spotted costumes, on both kids and adults, as the evening’s festivities began, apparently undaunted by the light but steady rain. He drove past what appeared to have once been some kind of buoy next to someone’s mailbox, large and round, and now wearing a rather startling jack-o’-lantern face. Clever, he thought, but it was forgotten as he made the last turn and slowed in front of Steven Moore’s house.

  Gavin pulled into the driveway, effectively blocking the carport. He didn’t really think it would be necessary, but he did it anyway. He wanted to talk to the man without Katie present; even when not in the room the presence of a loved one could affect what was said. He wanted to be sure Moore wasn’t putting up a front. He couldn’t quite bury the feeling that the man was hiding something. At the same time, he couldn’t make himself believe Moore was a brutal murderer.

  And deep down his gut was churning, afraid he was denying the obvious because of Katie. Because of how he was beginning to feel about her.