“Sorry, I’m a bit scattered,” Katie said, hands wrapped around the steaming mug of hot cocoa Hayley had fixed for her.
She was starting to feel warm again, thanks to it and the fire. And Cutter’s presence. The dog had taken up residence at her feet, lying on them in fact, and his body heat was doing nearly as much as the fire and cocoa to warm her up. She felt miles away from the new pit of shock and despair she’d been cast into just a short time ago, and for the moment she let herself revel in the warmth.
“This rascal is good at distractions, when needed,” Quinn said. His voice was quiet, steady, but it took nothing away from his formidable appearance. In fact it added to it. This was a man, she thought, who had nothing to prove to anyone.
“He’s been visiting me a lot lately,” she said. “He’s really been quite sweet. I don’t know why he did this.”
Quinn and Hayley exchanged a look that was both knowing and wary, but also seemed slightly amused. They didn’t seem the type to take their pet’s misbehavior as funny, not after Hayley had gone to the trouble of introducing Cutter to the neighbors, but maybe she was wrong. She hoped not.
As for their guest, introduced as Gavin visiting from St. Louis, he was something else altogether. When a complete stranger had answered the door, all sorts of crazy thoughts had run through her mind. She’d known she had the right house; she’d done her due diligence on the neighborhood before she’d moved in five months ago. But when the man who now sat slightly apart from them, as if he were in the room but not the group, had opened the door, her heart had slammed into her throat.
Hayley’s husband was tall, looked strong, and his military background showed in his demeanor. This Gavin might be a little less imposing physically but there was something about the way he looked, something in eyes so dark they almost appeared black, that she found even more imposing—a bright, quick intelligence that to her crackled as tangibly as the fire she was sitting beside. And the way he’d stared at her, making her overly conscious of how wet and bedraggled she must look, left her feeling she had been thoroughly assessed and cataloged.
Could you tell I’m a basket case? About to fly into a million pieces?
“Katie runs our new library,” Hayley was saying to their friend. “And it’s become quite the success thanks to some of her ideas.”
Katie found herself watching the man who’d opened the door, awaiting his reaction, half expecting some kind of joke or comment she’d heard too many times before. Somehow being a librarian came with certain judgments or stereotypes, many of them wrong, some of them very, very wrong. But nothing showed in his expression, and he said nothing. She wasn’t sure why she had reacted to him so strongly, with that startled leap of her heart.
“So, Cutter’s been visiting you a lot?”
Hayley’s quiet question snapped her out of her ruminations. “Yes. I haven’t minded,” she put in quickly. “He’s been...quite comforting, actually.”
“He has the knack,” Quinn said.
“He does,” Hayley agreed. “He can always sense when someone is in turmoil. Or pain. Or has a problem.”
Well, all three of those fit her just now, Katie thought.
“And,” Hayley said, her voice even softer now, “he’ll do whatever it takes to get that person the help they need.”
“Including making off with their cell phone,” Quinn added.
Katie blinked. She stared at them both, then at the dog at her feet. Then she looked back to Quinn. “Wait. You’re saying he took my phone on purpose? To...what? What are you saying?”
Hayley leaned forward, focusing on Katie. Her voice was gentle, encouraging, like a hug from a friend. “He can always sense when someone needs the kind of help the Foxworth Foundation can provide.”
Katie frowned, puzzled. She remembered the name from when Hayley had come by, but she’d been too entranced by the charming Cutter to really focus on the brief mention of the foundation she and her husband—and the dog—were part of, other than to register she’d heard of it before. But while she appreciated the concern—and heaven knows she needed any support she could get—she doubted this foundation of theirs could help, even though she had only a vague idea of what kind of work they did.
“I’m afraid your foundation can’t solve my problem,” she said. “Because what I need is a really, really good attorney.”
Neither Foxworth answered her. There was no sound but a loud pop from the fire. But Hayley, Quinn and even Cutter had all shifted their gaze. And they were staring at the man sitting in the chair opposite her. The man who had gone suddenly very still.
“Told you,” Quinn said, breaking the silence.
Katie had no idea what Quinn was referencing, but Gavin muttered something she guessed she was glad not to have heard.
“Katie,” Hayley said in a more formal tone that was no less gentle, “let me more fully introduce someone to you. This—” she gestured at Gavin “—is the Foxworth Foundation’s attorney, Gavin de Marco.”
She was so startled at the coincidence of their guest being an attorney, on top of their dog seemingly leading her here, that it was a moment before the name registered. When it did she gaped at him, she was sure gracelessly.
“De Marco? The Gavin de Marco?”
She’d known the name since before the scandalous downfall of the governor last spring, but once it was discovered that the formerly famous but now rarely heard from attorney was involved in sorting out the aftermath, his name had been included in every news story. And suddenly she remembered that was where she’d heard about the Foxworth Foundation before, in those stories. She just hadn’t realized that Quinn and Hayley were those Foxworths.
But she doubted there was any adult in the entire country, except perhaps those who lived purposely in ignorance, who hadn’t heard the name Gavin de Marco. Any criminal case that had hit the national news in the last decade, there was a 50 per cent chance de Marco’s name was attached. After blasting into the public awareness at a young age when a senior attorney had died midcase and he’d had to take over—he often referred to himself as the understudy who made good—his record was so amazing that it had become, in the public mind, an indicator of guilt or innocence in itself. Not because of lawyerly tricks or clever dodges, but because he always seemed to turn up the evidence or get testimony or make an argument that exonerated his client so thoroughly juries could vote no other way.
And then there were the other cases. She’d read about them, back when she’d been living and working down in Tacoma, because they were hard to avoid as she shelved the newspapers patrons had still wanted in those days. The Reed fraud case, the Redmond murder case, and the others where he had withdrawn from the defense. By then his reputation was such that it was practically a conviction in itself, no matter what reason was given.
All these thoughts raced through her mind in the embarrassingly long moment when she simply stared at him. Along with a rapid recalculation. She’d thought he must be about her age, but he had to be older. College, three years of law school, however long it had taken to hit the national stage, all those famous cases, and then the three or four years since he’d dropped out of sight for reasons still a matter of wide speculation.
He didn’t look like the pictures and video images she remembered. Gone was the exquisitely tailored suit and the haircuts that had likely cost more than her monthly food budget. Now he was wearing a pair of black, low-slung jeans and a knit, long-sleeved shirt that stretched over broad shoulders and clung to a narrow waist and hips. His hair was longer, with a couple of dark strands kicking forward over his brow. Outward signs of inward changes? she wondered. It all made him less intimidating...until you looked at his eyes. No one with those eyes could be anything less than intimidating.
She