Well. He hadn’t expected that, Gavin thought.
He’d wanted to cut through her obvious reaction to his name, even as he wondered yet again when it would at last fade from the public consciousness. He looked forward to that day with more longing than he ever had getting into a courtroom, even in the fresh, young days of idealistic fervor.
That it was likely going to take until an entire generation grew up having never heard of him was a thought he tried not to dwell on. For a guy who, unlike many of his fellow attorneys, had never wanted that kind of fame, he surely had acquired enough of it to last a lifetime. And he was likely going to be a crotchety old man before it faded.
And who says you’re not a crotchety old man already, de Marco?
“No wonder you’re scattered,” Hayley was saying. She’d moved to sit next to the woman on the sofa, putting an arm around her. Cutter sat up and shifted so that he could rest his chin on her knee. The woman lifted a hand to stroke the dark head. He could almost feel some of the tension ease from her, even from over here.
That dog was...something. Then again, Gavin couldn’t blame the dog for wanting to be stroked by this woman.
He blinked. Where the hell had that come from?
“Can you tell us the story?” Hayley asked gently.
“I wouldn’t know where to start.”
Gavin heard the husky tremor in her voice, saw the sudden gleam in her eyes, recognized the welling of moisture. She was on the edge of breaking. He knew there were usually two ways to go with someone who was teetering like this. Let them go, let it gush out uncontrollably and try to make sense of it after, or take the lead and control it for them. Both approaches had their benefits. An emotional flood sometimes netted information the person would not necessarily have revealed had they been in control. But it could also lead to confusion, because emotionally distraught people often saw connections where there were none, assumed cause and effect where it wasn’t warranted, or at worst made no sense at all.
He decided on the latter approach, and told himself it was not because he simply did not want to see this woman break down in front of him. And it had nothing to do with that errant thought that had blasted into his mind as he’d watched her stroke Cutter’s soft fur.
“Or,” he said, intentionally rather briskly, “would you rather just answer some questions, in a logical order?”
Gavin saw her take a deep breath, as if to steady herself. Her mouth tightened slightly, and he found himself disliking the tension of it in a very peculiar way.
“There’s no point.” She glanced at Gavin. “I need an attorney for my father, but we can’t afford Gavin de Marco.”
Quinn stepped in then. “If we determine Foxworth can help—and that is a big if—you won’t have to. Gavin works for us.”
“In that case, I probably can’t afford you, either.”
“Not an issue,” Gavin said. “Whether your case meets Foxworth criteria is.”
“And if it does,” Quinn said, “there’s no cost for Foxworth’s help.”
“No cost?” She glanced at Gavin. “What’s your billable rate? A thousand an hour?”
His mouth quirked upward. There had been some bite in the question, a sign she was steadying. Given even what little he knew of her situation from her stark explanation, he found it admirable. He doubted many could manage it.
“It was actually a bit more,” he said. “Back in the day.”
Her gaze shifted to Quinn. “So you have him on retainer, or what?”
“Actually,” Quinn answered mildly, “we don’t pay him at all.”
She drew back rather sharply. Hayley put a hand on her arm. Cutter nudged her to keep petting. Between the two of them Katie didn’t have a chance, Gavin thought, but he hid his amusement.
“Gavin,” Hayley said, “works with us because he, like all of us, believes in what we do.”
Katie’s gaze shifted from Hayley to Quinn to him in rapid succession. “For free?” she said in obvious disbelief.
“I get compensated in...other ways,” he said. Like the easing of my soul.
She looked genuinely confused. People always were, when first confronted with the idea of an organization like Foxworth. It just didn’t seem possible these days that anyone would take up causes like this.
“What exactly is it,” Katie said carefully, “that you do?”
Gavin glanced at Quinn, the man who had pulled him out of a quagmire of betrayal and self-doubt and given him a clear and bright path to follow. Were he not here Gavin might have tried to explain himself, but the Foxworth Foundation was Quinn’s creation, his and Charlie’s. Quinn walked over and sat on the edge of the coffee table in front of Katie, his elbows resting on his knees.
“When I was ten, my parents were killed in a terrorist bombing. I have never felt so helpless or so enraged as when the terrorist was set free and nobody would tell me the truth. Foxworth was founded to help people who are in that same boat, fighting injustice. Honest, good people in the right, who have fought but can’t fight anymore, or who haven’t been able to get help anywhere else.”
Gavin watched with interest as Katie Moore studied Quinn. “And who,” she asked after a moment, “decides they’re in the right?”
Gavin registered the question that many didn’t even think to ask. Ms. Moore was clearly not in the nonthinking category. He could almost hear the click in his mind as he checked off that box in his assessment. She would not be difficult to work with in that way. In other ways...
Again he had to slam on the mental brakes. Maybe Charlie had been right, and he really was going nuts.
“That’s the joy of being a private enterprise,” Quinn answered with a smile. “We do. We have our values, and our criteria are ours alone.”
“We only take cases we can get behind wholeheartedly,” Hayley added. “We can’t help everyone, but those we do help get it all.”
Katie seemed fascinated by the concept, and was now distracted enough that she appeared and sounded calmer than when she had arrived. Gavin knew he was right because Cutter settled back down at her feet, head resting on his front paws.
Her hair had dried now, and he saw it was a sandy sort of blond with strands of a lighter, golden color here and there. And her eyes truly were that blue. Even as he thought it she glanced at him, giving him the full force of that vivid color. Then she turned back to Hayley and Quinn.
“What kind of cases?” Katie asked.
“We’ve reunited long-lost families—my own included,” Hayley said with a smile. “Recovered a kidnap victim. Helped some troubled kids, and adults, find their way. Gave a grieving family a reason they could bear for a suicide. And Quinn found a stolen locket that was the only memento a girl had of her dead mother.” She looked at her husband proudly. “That’s still his favorite case.”
Katie smiled at that. It was a nice smile, Gavin thought, yet it was tinged with a sadness that made him wonder about her own mother. Not something you need to know. Stop it.
Katie only asked, “Even more than taking down a corrupt politician?”
“In a way, yes,” Quinn said.
“And there you have it,” Gavin said, speaking for the first time since this explanation of Foxworth had begun. “The reason Foxworth is what it is. It’s in what they value.”
Katie’s head turned and she studied him for a moment. She clearly took her time, thought through things, processed them. He wondered if she ever did anything on pure impulse. Images flashed into his mind, of things Katie Moore might do on impulse. Heat shot through him, as if the fire they were gathered around had suddenly flared. He quickly shifted his gaze to that fire, wondering what the hell was happening with him, and if she’d seen anything in his eyes.
He looked up again when she spoke, but she was back to looking at Hayley and Quinn, and he could breathe again. He would analyze this later, far away from those eyes.
“I’m sorry,” she was saying, “I didn’t realize you were the Foxworths mentioned in all the stories last spring.”
“We don’t advertise it. We work mostly by word of mouth,” Hayley said. Then, rather pointedly, she nodded at Cutter. “Although these days, he brings us enough work all by himself.”
Katie blinked. Gavin understood. He was more than a bit bemused himself by how easily Quinn and Hayley accepted that their dog had not only sensed this woman needed their help, but apparently had engineered this entire meeting.
Quinn smiled. “I was as skeptical as you are, but he’s proven himself time and again. I’ve learned to just go with it.”
“We all have. Even Gavin,” Hayley added with a grin and a sideways look at him, “and he’s the least fanciful guy you’ll ever meet.”
“Thanks,” Gavin said drily. “I think.”
“I would think being fanciful wouldn’t be a good trait for an attorney,” Katie said.
Gavin found himself oddly curious. “And what traits would be?”
Katie studied him again, perhaps looking for any sign his question had been facetious or snarky. His curiosity was genuine, and apparently she sensed that. Once decided, she seemed to consider the question as thoroughly as she had everything else. After a moment she said, “Sifting. Through all the dross to the essentials, I mean. Empathy that doesn’t cloud objectivity. Researching. An affinity for the facts.”
Gavin stared at her. “That was very concise.”
“I read a lot. Remember most. Was I close?”
“Very.” His mouth twisted at one corner. “Except the objectivity and affinity for facts seem to be falling by the wayside these days.”
“You asked what traits would be good, not which ones were common.”
He blinked. Quinn laughed aloud. “She got you there, Gav.”
He laughed himself, something rare enough to be appreciated. “Indeed.”
Cutter’s head came up, and Gavin found himself the object of the dog’s steady gaze. He got the oddest feeling it was a look of approval. Then he almost laughed again, at himself for attributing such things to a look from a dog. And he was glad when Quinn turned things back to Katie’s situation.
“It’s up to you, of course, but if you tell us the story and Foxworth can’t take the case, we can perhaps guide you to someone who can. We have a lot of contacts, people who’d be willing to help.”
“That’s the payment Foxworth gets,” Hayley told her. “The willingness to help someone else down the line.”
Katie glanced at Gavin again. He could almost read the question in her glance, if he was one they had helped who was now paying them back.
More than you could imagine, he told her silently.
She continued to look at him. Cutter made a small, low sound, drawing his gaze. The dog was staring at him again, and he felt oddly compelled to tip the troubled woman over that edge, get her to open up. He leaned back in his chair, as if settling in.
“What was your friend’s name?” he asked.
“Laurel,” she said. “Laurel Brisbane.”
The pain that echoed in her voice jabbed at him. The old instincts still kicked in, but the old impartiality was struggling. He tried to ignore it and went for the easiest question that was likely to get her started. They’d get to the rest once she’d gotten used to the idea of talking.
“Tell us about her.”
She drew in a deep breath, and he knew the ball was rolling.