Buch lesen: «Operation Homecoming»

Lucky

August 2000–October 2011

Lucky was the first dog my kids picked out, a pound puppy who became our 90lb baby and wanted to be a lap dog. A gentle giant, a white and black lab mix who looked like a huge Dalmatian, but who hid behind the chair whenever he saw a camera. He liked to be combed, and he guarded and took care of our rabbits. The rabbits got out of the hutch somehow and we found him and the rabbits lying next to each other under the shade tree. He loved our two Poms and played happily with Fang (my son’s cat). He was brave, but his feet wouldn’t stay still unless he really thought you needed protection, then he would stand between you and it. What we thought was an infection and old age turned out to be cancer. There was nothing to do that wouldn’t make him miserable, and we had to say goodbye. It was a shock, and we still miss him. Our Poms still won’t eat out of his bowl. He will always have a special place in my heart. He was a good dog.

LuDena Radford

This is the latest in a series of dedications from readers who have shared the pain of the loss of a beloved dog. For more details, check Justine’s blog at justinedavis.com.

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

Introduction

Dear Reader

Title Page

About the Author

Dedication

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Epilogue

Extract

Copyright

Chapter 1

Amy Clark slipped her glasses back on as she reached the baggage claim carousel. It was cool and rainy here in Seattle in mid-April, but LA had been having an early heat wave so she welcomed the change. She welcomed even more being away from everything else she’d left behind. Already the burden of her problem felt lighter.

Even after years away, this misty green place still felt like home.

It felt safe.

With your luck, you’ll end up back here soon, running home because the big, bad city was too ugly, too nasty for you.

She wasn’t ready to admit that it was both those things yet. She’d worked hard and loved her job as a paralegal. She wasn’t ready to give up on the dream. Even if it seemed on the edge of turning into a nightmare.

Which reminded her, she was going to have to get her car fixed when she got home. How stupid to have scraped it up like that trying to escape that van that hadn’t really been following her anyway. It just happened to be going the same direction, hundreds of people headed for the airport and the surrounding area every day. She was just on edge, her imagination in overdrive. She—

“Hey, stranger!”

She whirled, a huge grin spreading across her face as she saw her best friend. Hayley Cole—Foxworth, she corrected, still not quite used to the change—looked as she always did, vibrant, her green eyes sparkling. Their hug was worthy of two people who had been friends since the second grade.

The baggage carousel came alive, began to move. Hayley looked at it warily.

“I’m getting better,” Amy said with a laugh. “A whole three-day weekend with only one bag and a carry-on.”

“And a purse the size of Alaska,” Hayley retorted.

“Well, yes. Because you never know.”

“It’s not really leaving home if you bring most of home with you,” Hayley said, right on cue. They both laughed at the old, familiar exchange.

Amy spotted her suitcase and grabbed it as it circled past. It was heavy, but not impossible, and they were soon headed to the parking structure. She was glad she’d put on her jacket, but still welcomed the chill in the air.

“Hot in LA, huh?” Hayley asked.

“In more ways than one,” Amy said, a bit of the grimness she’d pushed aside creeping back into her voice. But she didn’t want to go into it now, so she diverted. “Are the daffs up?”

“All over,” Hayley answered. “Mr. Elkhart planted some new ones last fall, some interesting colors.”

“I’m a traditionalist—I love the yellow ones.” A bouquet of daffodils was one of the most cheerful sights she could imagine.

“I know, you always did. We can...”

Hayley broke off, laughing. They’d reached her car, and a second later Amy was laughing, too. For sitting in the driver’s seat, looking at them with a pleased expression, was Hayley’s dog, Cutter.

“I left him in the back,” Hayley said.

“Is he going to drive?” she asked with a grin.

“Wouldn’t surprise me. At all.”

Amy laughed at Hayley’s serious tone as her friend hit the unlock button and the compact SUV chirped obligingly. She opened the driver’s door. Cutter jumped out at their feet. He was as beautiful as Amy remembered with his black head and shoulders and russet-brown body. He greeted Hayley with a swipe of pink tongue. To Amy’s surprise, she herself got a more effusive greeting, a plumy tail-wagging, nudging sort of dance that made her smile. She set down her voluminous purse to greet him properly.

“Well, hello again, Cutter.”

He gave a short yip, and she bent to pet him. The moment she stroked his dark head she felt an odd sensation of relief, as if suddenly she knew it would all work out, it would all be all right. All the fears seemed to not vanish but at least recede.

In that instant, the welcoming dance stopped. The dog leaned into her, staring up into her face. Something in the intense gaze, or in those gold-flecked dark eyes, was mesmerizing, and she couldn’t seem to look away.

And then he moved. He turned, sat down at Amy’s feet and looked up at Hayley. And Hayley, oddly, stopped midmotion as she was putting her own purse in the car. Her eyes flicked from the dog to Amy.

“Uh-oh,” Hayley said.

“What?”

“Are you all right?”

Amy hadn’t expected that. At least, not so soon. “Fine,” she said. And health-wise, it was true. Otherwise, not so much. But she needed to work up to discussing that. “I may need your help loading this up, though,” she said, gesturing at the large blue suitcase.

“Hmm.” Hayley sounded doubtful, but she seemed to accept the answer. She looked back at the dog. “I got it, boy. I promise.”

Cutter gave a low, soft whuff and a movement of his head that looked startlingly like a nod. Amy had no idea what was going on. She’d never had a dog, so she was a neophyte.

Within a few minutes they were out of the airport and onto the freeway. Amy knew it would be only natural for Hayley to ask how things were going at work and she wasn’t ready for that, so she turned it around.

“How are things at the Foxworth Foundation?”

“Quiet,” Hayley said. Then she glanced toward the back of the SUV where Cutter was now settled in quietly. “At least, they have been. It’s been nice to have a break.”

“Especially since your last case was so huge. Talk about taking on the big guys!” Amy knew the Foxworth Foundation had only one goal, to help those in the right who couldn’t fight alone any longer. The size of the case didn’t matter, but sometimes it got both large and complicated.

Hayley laughed. “Hey, we weren’t even here. That was Cutter and Brett Dunbar, with a little help from Rafe. And things are already getting fixed.”

Amy studied her friend for a moment. Hayley had been through some rough times—the death of her father when she was twelve, more recently the long, slow battle with her mother’s terminal cancer. And of course there was Walker, that black-sheep miscreant. Hayley was far too generous when it came to her thoughtless, selfish, coldhearted brother. All she ever said about the guy who had walked out after their family tragedy, who had later left her alone to deal with their mother, was that everyone had to handle grief in their own way.

She supposed she might be inclined to a little more generosity herself if she hadn’t had such a crush on him when she was a kid, Amy thought. She’d adored Walker Cole, and although she was just his little sister’s friend, he’d always been kind. And then he’d shattered all her illusions. She tried not to remember her foolishness.

“You’re sure Quinn won’t mind me being here? I mean, you have only been married three months.”

Hayley laughed. “He’s glad you could come. He even said it was too bad you couldn’t stay for the month.”

“I couldn’t, anyway. I have our big office anniversary party in a couple of weeks,” she said, “but remind me to thank him for that.”

“He knows what you mean to me,” Hayley said quietly. “He knows you were there for me every time life kicked me in the teeth. You never let me down.”

Unlike your idiot brother, who left you alone to deal.

She stopped herself before she could go down that path. Thinking of Walker Cole was not going to help matters. Because then she would start thinking about how nice he’d once been to her, how he tolerated her silly crush, which would make her think of how just spotting him had sent her heart racing, how she’d learned everything she could about baseball because he played it. Then she’d graduate to his crooked grin, thick, unruly hair and those amazing hazel eyes that were a golden green rimmed with a darker shade, so different from his sister’s meadow green. She knew it was a trick of melanin and light scattering, had even looked it up once, but that didn’t detract from the beauty of them.

And here she was, thinking about him.

She shook off the odd mood, determined to enjoy this visit as much as she could, despite the reason for it. And despite her fear that her life was going to blow up.

“What are you frowning about?”

“Was I?”

“Yes. Let me guess, you’re still mad at Walker?” That was the problem with best friends; they saw things others might miss.

“After what he did? Of course I am. On top of everything else, missing your wedding without even a word except that stupid text message?”

For the first time a hint of disappointment showed on Hayley’s face. “Yes. He did. And I’m not sure Quinn will forgive him for that very soon.”

“I think I’d like to see the day they finally meet, if they ever do,” Amy said, thinking with a rather grim satisfaction of the powerful—and intimidating—Quinn Foxworth taking Walker Cole apart piece by piece.

“You wouldn’t hate him so much if you hadn’t loved him first,” Hayley said.

“Schoolgirl infatuation,” Amy said, even as she realized ruefully how close her friend’s words were to her own earlier thought. “Believe me, I’m angry enough on your behalf alone.”

This was true, but she also knew that she had loved him, with all the strength of her teenage heart. She’d loved his laugh, she’d loved the way he teasingly winked at her and she would never, ever forget the time he had come to her defense when she’d been cornered by a trio of nerd-baiting mean-girl types. He’d already been tall at seventeen, and a star athlete, and that he had bothered to step in and chase off the three—who happened to idolize him, the star pitcher on the high school baseball team—had thrilled her down to her thirteen-year-old soul. It had also insulated her somewhat from further attack. Word had gotten out that she was under the protection of Walker Cole, and while she was sure the nasty comments and thoughts continued, she was never backed into a corner again.

And then it had all fallen apart. His father died and a year later he was gone, the college scholarship abandoned along with his mother and his little sister. The mother and little sister Amy had always thought he loved.

Just goes to prove you’re a lousy judge of men. If you ever needed more proof.

She shook her head sharply. This was not the time to dwell on her miserable dating track record. Not when she’d made a much more serious misjudgment than just dating the wrong men.

And this one could at the least upend, at the worst ruin her life forever.

At least, she hoped that was the worst.

Chapter 2

“You want to tell me what’s really wrong?” Hayley finally asked when they were parked in line for the big ferry that would take them across the sound. “Because Cutter says something is.”

Amy blinked. “What?”

“He knows you have a problem. And,” Hayley added in a dry tone, “he expects action.”

“What are you talking about?”

“That look he gave me, after you petted him. That’s his ‘fix it’ look.”

Amy remembered the moment when the dog had sat at her feet and looked at Hayley. Was it possible the dog had sensed her turmoil? From what her friend had told her, the dog was incredibly empathetic.

Amy drew in a deep breath, savoring the salt-tanged air, looking out over the water toward the towering, snowcapped Olympic Mountains. She couldn’t wait to get into the thick trees where the fresh scent of evergreens would add its own note to the smell of home.

“I did want to talk to you about something. I need some help working something out, and you’re the only one I trust.”

Hayley smiled. “We always do work it out, eventually.”

“Yes. Not,” she added hastily, “that that’s the only reason I came.”

“I’m glad to see you whatever the reason,” Hayley said. “So what’s the problem?”

“I... It’s complicated.”

“I assumed so or we could have talked it out on the phone.”

“No, no, I couldn’t talk about it on the phone.”

Something about Hayley’s demeanor changed then, and the next sideways glance she gave her was different, more intent, more alert.

“Amy, are you in trouble? Did something happen?”

“No and yes. Or yes and yes, maybe. I didn’t do anything wrong,” she hastened to assure her friend.

“I never thought you had. Or would. Is it a personal thing? Some guy?”

Amy laughed sourly at that. “Please. My love life is as dry as LA these days. Only available men I meet are lawyers, and I’ve found I don’t care for most of them much. Not that it matters—I’m not their type, either.”

“Not shallow and flashy enough?” Hayley suggested.

For the first time since she’d started this journey, Amy laughed with genuine pleasure. “And that is why I run to you, my friend. I would have said too quiet and serious. LA legal affairs is a high-powered world.”

“Their loss,” Hayley said dismissively. “So, what kind of help do you need? More than just talking it out?”

“I...don’t know. That’s what I’m trying to figure out.”

“One question, then.”

“What?”

“Should we head for the house, or should I have Quinn meet us at Foxworth?”

Amy hadn’t expected that to come up so soon. Hayley seemed ready to spring into some sort of action, just like that. Maybe working with Foxworth had brought that on.

“House,” she said. “It’s not...immediate.”

She put it out of her mind for the pleasant duration of the ferry ride. They took a walk around the upper deck, outside, so Amy could take it all in again. She looked back as they crossed, seeing the dock and the buildings shrink as the ones they were heading for slowly grew and she began to be able to pick out familiar buildings amid the tall, thick trees. She looked toward the cliffs of the south end of Whidby Island to the north, always a favorite spot of hers since the day she’d seen a pod of orcas passing through the strait.

To complete her ritual, she hit the snack bar for a cup of her beloved clam chowder. Her glasses fogged up as she held the steaming cup under her nose, and they both laughed.

“I like those,” Hayley said, indicating the red frames.

“So do I,” Amy said. The various pairs of glasses she had were her one indulgence; since she had to wear them, she wanted options. What had been a painful necessity as a child had become almost a signature style for her now. She even thought she looked odd without them.

The ferry docked, and Amy felt the calm settle in. The pace was slower here in this more rural area, and she always felt the change. Once off the boat they chatted about other things until finally Hayley started down the familiar driveway. Amy looked around. Every day for years she had come down this driveway to meet Hayley for school, and for respite from the chaos of her own house on the weekends. Now, the empty space to the left, where another house had once stood before it exploded the night Hayley and Quinn met, made it feel almost off balance to her.

“It sounds so crazy,” she said, “that that was a safe house where they were hiding a federal witness.”

“Worth it,” Hayley said. “Vicente was a rock at the trial, and some very bad people were put where they belong.”

“And you found Quinn. Or rather, he found you.”

Even as she said the name, she spotted the man himself coming out the front door. And there was no doubting the sincerity of his greeting as he grandly opened the car door and welcomed her. Tall, dark and intimidating, with that sardonic arch to his brows, Quinn Foxworth would have made her very nervous if he hadn’t been smiling so widely.

At least, he was until Cutter replicated his action from the airport, turning to sit at Amy’s feet and looking intently at Quinn.

“Oh?” he said with a glance at Hayley. She nodded. “Hmm.”

It must be one of those husband/wife things, Amy thought, communicating without really saying anything. Or in this case, husband, wife and dog.

Quinn lifted her heavy case and carry-on as if they were grocery bags, and to Amy’s relief made no comment on their weight. Hayley must have warned him.

It still got dark fairly early this time of year, so the light was already fading by the time they were settled in the comfortable living room before a fire Quinn had built, simply because she’d said she’d missed such things in LA. She liked this man, she thought, not for the first time.

“Now, what is it?” Quinn said.

Startled, Amy looked at Hayley.

“He’s a get-straight-to-business kind of guy,” she said with a smile.

“But how did he— Never mind. Let me guess. The dog told him.”

“Actually,” Quinn said, “he did.”

That’s his ‘fix it’ look...

Apparently Hayley had meant it.

“Really, I just need advice,” she said. And she was suddenly having second thoughts, because once she told someone else of her suspicions, she was committed, and she wasn’t sure she was ready for that.

“We’re good at that,” Hayley said.

Quinn studied her for a moment before saying quietly, “If you’d rather, I’ll leave you two alone. But Cutter seems to think I might be of help.”

She didn’t know how seriously to take this. “So he not only tells you there’s a problem, he tells you who should, as you put it, ‘fix it’?”

Quinn’s mouth quirked wryly. “Believe me, I know how it sounds. I was the hardest sell on his unique...talents.”

“Hayley’s told me all about his abilities,” she said doubtfully, “but seeing it in person is quite different.”

At her words the dog rose from where he’d plopped beside the fire. He walked over to her and rested his chin on her knee. He looked up at her intently. It was a natural thing, she thought, to pet a dog who did that. Yet it was odd how she felt as if she had no choice.

The moment her fingers touched the silky fur of his head, a strange sort of calm came over her. She stroked, gently. Again, then again.

“Crazy, isn’t it?” Quinn asked. “How he makes you feel better?”

She looked up. Realized she truly did feel better. “It’s...disconcerting.”

“At the very least,” Hayley agreed, grinning now.

“So is it personal or professional?” Quinn asked.

That straight-to-business thing again, Amy thought. “Professional,” she admitted, although she still wasn’t sure she should do this. But she’d come over a thousand miles, so it seemed silly to quibble now. And she was feeling better about it, she had to admit. Maybe it really was Cutter, she thought as the dog laid down at her feet, resting his chin now on the toe of her foot.

“I thought you loved your job,” Hayley said.

“I do.”

Quinn lifted a brow. “Problem with people, then?”

“Sort of. I mean, the support staff is great, and Kim, the receptionist, is a sweetheart, but the attorneys... Most of them are just driven types, always looking for ways to raise their profile. Becca Olson—I told you about her, Hayley, she’s the one I have lunch with almost every week—is the only really friendly one. I think that’s a ‘we girls have to stick together’ thing, since there are only a few of us. The guys are pretty cold fish, and I wouldn’t be surprised at anything from them. But I always thought my boss...”

She broke off, still not quite ready to put her suspicions into words.

“You’ve always said you respected him, that he’s tough but fair,” Hayley said.

“I do. Did.” She saw by their expressions that neither of them missed the switch. “But I think... I’m afraid he’s involved in something.”

“Something you don’t like? Or something crooked?” Hayley asked.

“I’m not sure.”

“I met Marcus Rockwell once,” Quinn said, startling her. “He impressed me as a pretty straight arrow.”

“You met my boss?”

“Through a friend, who has another law firm in LA.”

“Oh? Maybe I’ve met him. They all run in the same circles.”

“He’s pretty high up in those circles himself. Alex Armistead.”

Amy’s eyes widened. “I’d say so. As in the very top. We like to think of ourselves as their main competition, but in truth his firm is a couple of rungs up at least. I’ve never met him, even though their office is across the street. Seen him now and then.”

“He’s a good man.”

Amy had the feeling that was not an accolade Quinn Foxworth passed out lightly. “He...”

Cutter erupted to his feet with a trumpeting bark, cutting Quinn off. Amy jumped. Nearly shrieked. Even Hayley drew back in surprise.

Quinn, however, was instantly on his own feet. Amy could practically feel the change in him. Just looking at him, he’d gone from her best friend’s concerned husband to the man she’d only heard about until now. The fighter, the leader, the man in command. So much so that she wasn’t truly surprised when he spun to the cabinet behind him, reached down and touched something that made a part of the surface pop up. An instant later he had a black pistol in his hand and was headed across the room after the dog.

Amy gave Hayley a startled glance. “Some people aren’t happy when we’re done with them,” Hayley said, on her own feet now.

Cutter was nearly to the front door when he stopped dead and fell silent in the same instant. He gave a low whine that sounded almost puzzled. And when he looked back at Quinn, his expression was almost comical. The dog looked utterly confused.

Quinn diverted to the window closest to the front door, but kept to the edge, out of sight from outside.

“What is it, boy?” Hayley asked the dog. “A threat?”

That same puzzled-sounding whine. It might not be words, but even Amy could interpret the canine “I don’t know.”

Quinn reached out and slid the window open a fraction of an inch. He leaned over, clearly listening. Then he took a quick look.

“Somebody walking down the drive,” he said. “Can’t tell who.” He glanced at Cutter. “And apparently neither can he.”

“Odd, he’s never reacted like this before.”

Quinn leaned farther to look through the window again. “Guy isn’t trying to hide,” he said. “And he’s got a duffel bag with him. Don’t recognize him, though.”

He looked a moment longer, glanced once more at the puzzled Cutter, then straightened, setting the weapon down on the table next to the door. That alone made Amy’s pulse slow a bit more. Whether he trusted the dog’s instincts or his own more she didn’t know. But she did trust him. Something about this man she barely knew seemed to inspire that.

Quinn looked at Cutter, who was, Amy realized, staring at Hayley. With that same intensity she’d turned on herself. After a second or two the dog got up and walked to Hayley, then turned to face the door. Putting himself, Amy realized, between her friend and the door. Just as Quinn had put himself between them and the possible threat.

“Well, now,” Hayley said softly as she touched the dog’s head, “this is all new.”

“He’s protecting you, right?” Amy asked.

“He’s not in protect mode. Believe me, you’d see the difference.”

“He wants to be between you and whoever it is,” Quinn said, “but doesn’t think whoever it is is a threat? Dog, you are a challenge.”

He went to the door, opened it in the instant before Amy heard a footstep on the wooden porch. Cutter leaned but didn’t move, and Amy could see his nose flexing as he sniffed eagerly. Yet he didn’t leave Hayley. She marveled at the workings of his canine mind even as she glanced back toward the door with building curiosity.

She heard a voice, low and unintelligible, except she thought she heard Quinn’s name.