Katie stared up at him. It really was intimidating, having him tower over her, whether that was his intent or not. She stood, but it didn’t help much; he was still much taller than her own five-four.
But that was nothing compared to the ice in his voice. Even Cutter was on his feet, as if he sensed the sudden change in mood in the room.
“I didn’t lie to you,” she said, with as much calm as she could muster considering the accusation. “About anything.”
“Lies of omission are still lies,” he said, his voice even colder, “and I will not tolerate either. From anyone.”
Some part of her mind that wasn’t shrinking away from that iciness was telling her there was more than just this case prodding at him, and she wondered why he’d felt compelled to add those last two words. But right now she couldn’t spare brainpower to figure it out. This was the Gavin de Marco they wrote about, and she needed all her wits to even begin to deal with him.
She suddenly remembered, in her research last night, watching a video from one of his old cases that had been broadcast across the country. The prosecutor had given his opening statement, sounding convincing if a bit strident. And then Gavin de Marco had risen, slowly, all the while shaking his head in confident amusement as he glanced at the opposing attorney, then the jury. Letting his reputation make the first statement without saying a word.
She was getting her first inkling of what it must have been like to go up against this man.
“What is it you think I lied about? Or since you said omission, what do you think I left out that makes a difference?”
“You neglected to mention your father’s history.”
She drew back, more puzzled than ever. “What?”
“You didn’t think the fact that he used to be a locksmith was relevant?”
Her brow furrowed. “That was nearly twenty years ago. I barely remember it. Why would it matter now?”
“Can you still ride a bike?”
“What’s that got to—” It hit her suddenly, belatedly.
No evidence of forced entry...
“You think he picked the lock.”
“A pro can get in without leaving any obvious signs. He was a pro, for over a decade according to Detective Dunbar’s source.”
Katie sank back onto the couch. Cutter made a low sound, between a whine and a growl; he clearly wasn’t happy with things at the moment. And neither was she. It had been difficult enough keeping up with his seemingly random questions; she’d never expected him to jump around from subject to subject like that. Then she’d realized that was probably why he did it, to keep the person he was quizzing off balance and more likely to make a mistake or get caught in a lie.
Lies of omission are still lies, and I will not tolerate either. From anyone.
“Nothing to say?”
She drew in a deep breath. Did he really correlate a simple missed connection to lying? She’d been prepared for him to be suspicious of her father, given the police were, but she hadn’t been prepared for him to doubt she was telling him the truth.
“I...it never occurred to me,” she said, her voice a bit shaky. “It’s been so long, and once he left it, he never went back. I don’t think he even still has his tools. It was all part of his life with Mom, and he couldn’t bear it.”
For a long moment he just stared down at her, saying nothing. Finally, as she was sure he intended, it got to be too much.
“Perhaps I should have held out for a say in this understanding,” she said with a grimace.
“Such as?” God, the man could freeze fire with that voice.
“Oh, something simple. Basic. Like presumed honest until proven a liar.”
He let out a short, compressed breath that managed to sound amused and sarcastic at the same time. “I’ve found it more accurate to assume the opposite.”
“Then I don’t envy you your life.”
“If you’d lived that life, you’d understand.”
“And if you’d lived my last six months, you’d understand I would never lie about this.”
For a moment he just continued to stare at her, steady, assessing, but not quite as cold. Or maybe that was her imagination. Or wishful thinking. She’d known this would be uncomfortable, even painful at times, but she hadn’t expected this sense of...almost sadness, that he thought so little of her so soon. Quickly she caught herself. What Gavin de Marco thought of her meant nothing, as long as he believed her father innocent.
Which he now clearly had doubts about. Thanks to a job her dad had once done, and admittedly done well, but had left behind long ago. The unfairness of it stiffened her spine and she held his gaze steadily and, with an effort, kept her voice calm and even.
“You need to talk to my father. Once you do, even if you go in with this attitude, I’m sure you’ll see that he could never have done this.” She let a bit of accusation into her voice. “Unless you’ve already jumped to your conclusion.”
For an instant she thought she saw a corner of his mouth twitch, as if he were fighting a smile. That seemed unlikely, so perhaps he was trying not to laugh at her.
“I intend to talk to him,” he said, ignoring her jab.
Maybe she shouldn’t have done this at all, she thought. The police couldn’t possibly have any evidence, not really, because her father was innocent. They might have been better off leaving it all alone. Especially if de Marco already agreed with the police that her father was the most likely—and she feared the only—suspect.
“If that,” she said rather defiantly, rising to her feet again, “is all the police have to go on, then I’d say Dad has nothing to worry about.”
“I told you, you weren’t going to like this.”
“And you were right.” She was aware that Cutter had also stood again, now directly in front of her. She kept her eyes on the man who was watching her so intently it made her skin heat.
“Sit down, Ms. Moore. We’ve only just begun.”
What she wanted to do was storm out in some kind of high dudgeon, but he’d probably only laugh at her. And that would really sting. She was calm, even serene by nature, and she didn’t like the way this man rattled her. Although she also knew she should have expected it; this was Gavin de Marco, after all.
Cutter whined, then moved, nudging the front of her legs gently but insistently. The dog was urging her to sit back down, she realized when she had to shift to keep from doing just that.
“What if I say we’re done?” she asked, her tone even sharper than she’d intended. She was way out of her league with this man, and that irked her.
He shrugged. “Then we’re done. Barring misrepresentation, the client decides when Foxworth quits.”
She wanted to exclaim she hadn’t misrepresented anything, but was afraid that might make him think she was protesting too much. So she went instead with the question his words had planted in her mind.
“And if the client never does?”
His answer was simple, concise. “Then we never quit.” He smiled then. “Quinn’s got a couple of things he’s been chewing on since before I signed on.”
“And have they ever solved any of those?”
He nodded. “Several. Eventually. Are you firing us?”
For a moment she just looked at him. Calmer now, she realized the absurdity of it, giving up the chance to have a defense attorney of his stature working to defend her father, just because she didn’t like the way he went about it.
And because he hurt your precious feelings.
She chided herself rather fiercely, and pointed out to her roiled emotions that she had no right to feel hurt when he’d warned her she wasn’t going to like his tactics. And firmly denying those emotions had nothing to do with how attractive he was. Even if he wasn’t way out of her league, this was hardly the time.
Slowly, feeling a bit more in control of herself now, she sat back down. For just a moment she saw an odd expression flit across his face. The kind you wore when you’d just checked something off on a list.
Now you’re trying to read his mind? A man renowned for never betraying what he’s thinking or where he’s really going?
She nearly smiled then. But she managed to rein it in and sat rather primly, waiting for him to start again.