Operation Notorious

Uncovering the truth puts a target on a lawyer’s back in this explosive Cutter’s Code romance

Katie Moore’s small town is rocked when her best friend is brutally murdered—and her father becomes the prime suspect. Her dad’s only chance is Gavin de Marco, an attorney who doesn’t trust anything or anyone. Now Gavin is probing secrets heartbroken Katie didn’t know she had—and sparking an attraction neither can resist.

Betrayal taught Gavin to ruthlessly expose the truth—and he’s certain Katie is hiding something. Still, her fiery warmth is challenging his defenses every step of the way, making it impossible to stay out of her arms. But surviving a killer’s insidious scheme could shatter any shot he and Katie have at justice—or a future...

“There are so many reasons this would be a mistake,” Gavin said, his voice lower, rougher.

“And only one reason it wouldn’t?”

“I can think of several, but they’re all just different words for the same thing.”

He turned to go, clearly determined not to make that mistake, as he called it. Katie stiffened her spine, reeled in her uncooperative senses. Fine. I’m certainly not going to beg the man to kiss me. Even if that’s what I feel like doing.

And yet Gavin turned back suddenly. Crossed the three feet between them in one stride. Katie felt his hands cup her face in the moment before he lowered his mouth to hers. The unexpectedness of it didn’t lessen the jolt, or slow the fire that leaped to life in her anew, as if it had only been banked, not extinguished. The feel of Gavin’s mouth on hers rekindled it thoroughly, sending heat and sensation racing along every nerve...

* * *

Be sure to check out the rest of the books in this miniseries.

Cutter’s Code: A clever and mysterious canine helps a group of secret operatives crack the case.

Dear Reader,

Like many writers, I’m sure, in the process of writing a continuing series like Cutter’s Code, I often find myself mentioning in passing the names of characters I never really expect to write an entire book about. They serve their purpose and then vanish, perhaps to be mentioned from time to time. But sometimes they reappear, full grown and knocking on my consciousness, saying, “Hey, remember me?”

Gavin de Marco is one of those. I had worn a uniform and a badge for many years, so attorneys in general were not always at the top of my guest list, except for ones I knew were good guys. But I think it does us good to take out old perceptions and rattle them around a bit, and see what happens. And Gavin turned out to be quite a good guy in the end. I’m glad he came knocking. I hope you will be, too.

Happy reading!

Justine

Operation Notorious

Justine Davis

www.millsandboon.co.uk

JUSTINE DAVIS lives on Puget Sound in Washington State, watching big ships and the occasional submarine go by and sharing the neighborhood with assorted wildlife, including a pair of bald eagles, deer, a bear or two and a tailless raccoon. In the few hours when she’s not planning, plotting or writing her next book, her favorite things are photography, knitting her way through a huge yarn stash and driving her restored 1967 Corvette roadster—top down, of course.

MILLS & BOON

Before you start reading, why not sign up?

Thank you for downloading this Mills & Boon book. If you want to hear about exclusive discounts, special offers and competitions, sign up to our email newsletter today!

SIGN ME UP!

Or simply visit

signup.millsandboon.co.uk

Mills & Boon emails are completely free to receive and you can unsubscribe at any time via the link in any email we send you.

SAM

Sometimes the best things just end up on your doorstep...

One day a little puppy, lost and alone, somehow managed to pick the right house to show up at. He was a two-color pup, black-and-white fur, with one blue eye and one black eye. Irresistible, because when it became clear no one knew where he came from, the people at that house took him in.

They dubbed him Sam, sometimes called Perky because he was, and he became a member of the family. He took to life on a farm, with cattle, horses and chickens, grew to a nice medium size and functioned as buddy, playmate and, if necessary, protector. He loved them as only a dog can, and they loved him very much in return, for all the many years they were blessed with. And, as all dogs should be, he is remembered with love to this day.

To all who loved him, from Granny Thrasher.

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 information visit my website at www.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

Chapter 37

Extract

Copyright

Chapter 1

“I’m sending him to you. Make up something you need him for.”

Quinn Foxworth blinked, and frowned at his phone. “What?”

“Fight info’s en route. You’ve got six hours to come up with something. Good luck.”

“What am I supposed—”

He stopped when he realized he was talking to dead air. He lowered the phone, staring at the screen that told him the call had lasted eighteen seconds.

Funny, it seemed shorter.

He turned to his wife, Hayley, who had come out onto the deck with two mugs of coffee and was now looking at him curiously.

“Charlie.”

“Ruh-roh,” she said with exaggeratedly widened eyes as she handed him his coffee.

“Yeah.”

He wrapped his hand around the mug. It was due to rain by this evening, and he’d come out to scan the clouds. The warmth of the coffee was welcome against the chill of the shifting season.

“Dare I ask?” Hayley said after taking a sip from her own morning brew.

“Gavin’s on his way here.”

“Our Gavin? De Marco?” Her brow furrowed. “Do we need him?”

“No.”

“Then why—”

He offered her his phone. “Call Charlie and ask.”

She laughed. “No, thank you. So she didn’t say why?”

He shook his head. “Only that it was life-and-death that he get out of there.”

Her eyebrows rose. “Whose?”

“No clue. Maybe he’s just driving Charlie crazy.”

“Now that,” Hayley said with a grin, “is a frightening thought.”

Quinn laughed. “For you? I don’t believe it.”

And he didn’t. The first time she’d met his fearsome sibling, and gotten that up and down, assessing, calculating look that intimidated less hardy souls, Hayley had never wavered.

So you’re the one who thinks she can tame my brother?

I don’t want him tamed. I love him as he is. And he loves me. So if you hurt me, you hurt him. Don’t.

Charlie had blinked, stared, then burst into laughter. She’ll do, little brother. She’ll do.

Indeed she would. Forever.

“Well,” Hayley went on after a moment, “if something’s really eating at him, one of us should be able to get him to talk.”

A quiet woof turned both their heads. And simultaneously, they laughed at their dog, Cutter.

“You can, is that what you’re saying?” Hayley asked the clever animal.

Cutter’s plumed tail wagged, and his amber-flecked dark eyes gleamed with amusement. Given the dog’s history, Quinn wouldn’t put it past him to have even the man who had once been the most famous attorney in the country spilling his guts to him.

And then the dog’s expression changed, and his head swiveled around, looking north. Never one to waste time, he trotted off to investigate whatever had caught his attention.

“Good thing all the neighbors know him,” Quinn said.

“And we don’t live in a city of leash laws,” Hayley added.

Once they’d realized what they had on their hands, they had introduced Cutter to all of those neighbors. Most were receptive to a trained watchdog who would look out for all of them as part of his home duties. The dog was respectful of the older neighbors, gentle with the young children, playful with the pets in the zone he’d mapped out for himself, and somehow realized that the rather reclusive residents on the corner didn’t care for dogs and kept his distance.

“Maybe he can help Gavin,” Hayley said.

Quinn grimaced. “Sure. Because Gav is so good about accepting help.”

“Because he doesn’t trust anyone. Except Foxworth. Cutter is part of Foxworth. Besides there’s one thing he can be surer of with Cutter than anyone.”

Quinn lifted a brow at her. “Which is?”

“Cutter,” she said seriously, “will never, ever lie to him.”

And that, Quinn thought, was the key to Gavin de Marco. He would tolerate much, never blinked at the grimness and unfairness he sometimes encountered in his work for them but, with very good reason, he refused to put up with liars.

And now he was going to get therapy from a dog. A dog Gavin didn’t quite understand yet. But he would. He’d have no choice.

Quinn nearly grinned at the prospect.

* * *

Katie Moore drew her knees up tighter to her chest, wrapping her arms around herself as if that could keep her from flying into pieces. The nightmare hadn’t been this bad for a while, and she’d dared to hope it might eventually go away entirely. But last night it had returned with a vengeance and now, three hours after waking up screaming, she was still shaken.

She sat on the floor of the small garden gazebo, amid a patch of roses stubbornly refusing to admit it was almost November. She stared at one of the blooms, studying each curving petal as if it held the answer. When she had moved here, away from the city where life had turned so ugly, she’d planted the roses around the gazebo with some vague idea in her mind that someday when the worst was over, she would sit here and breathe in the sweet scented air and remember the good times. She’d never had a sister by birth, but she’d found her sister of the heart, and since they’d met in elementary school they’d rarely gone a day without communicating in some way.

And still sometimes she had her hand on her phone to call before she remembered she would never speak to Laurel again.

Images from last night’s horrific dream seethed just below the surface, and her barricades seemed particularly weak this morning. She wished it was a workday; losing herself amid the books she loved would help get her mind off this ugly track. Maybe she should go in anyway. Surely, there were things she could do.

Being the librarian in a town this small wasn’t a difficult job, but she loved it. The new library was a beautiful, light, airy space that was a delight to the community that had worked so hard to make it happen.

Laurel would never see it.

That quickly, she was back in the morass. She felt so lost without the steady, loving friend who had always been there for her. If she hadn’t been the one to find her body, maybe it wouldn’t be so bad. The loss would be just as great, but she wouldn’t have those horrifying images seared into her brain. Maybe—

“Woof?”

Katie snapped out of her grim thoughts, startled by the quiet sound. She smiled when she saw the dog sitting politely at the bottom of the gazebo steps. Cutter, Hayley’s dog, from down the street. He was unmistakable with his black fur over face, head and shoulders, shifting to a rich reddish brown over his back down to his fluffy tail. She’d seen him often since her neighbor had come by to introduce him, and had been amusedly grateful he had apparently taken it upon himself to protect this entire block. More than ever now she needed reassurance of safety.

“Hello, boy. On your rounds?”

For an instant she could have sworn the dog shook his dark head. She laughed at herself. She’d never had the tendency to anthropomorphize animals, but it was hard to avoid with this one. Especially when he came up the steps, turned and sat down beside her, and leaned in. As if to comfort her, as if he knew how roiled her inner self was this morning.

As, perhaps, he did. Dogs did wonders as therapy animals, she knew. One of the most popular nonfiction books in the library last month had been the story of one such dog. But she wasn’t sure anything could alleviate this kind of pain. What could possibly make this any easier to bear? She shuddered, her throat going tight, nearly strangling her airway. Cutter leaned in harder, and when instinctively her hand came up to stroke his soft fur, she found, to her surprise, that the horror receded slightly. Only slightly, but enough to allow her to breathe again.

She hugged the dog. And by the time he trotted off toward home, his rounds completed for the morning, she realized she was going to have to read that book.

* * *

Gavin de Marco shifted the backpack slung over one shoulder, and adjusted his grip on the duffel in his left hand as he walked through the airport parking structure to the rental car area. The crisp Seattle air was like a gulp of pure, clean ice water after the humidity he’d left in St. Louis, which was having trouble surrendering its grip on a muggy summer even two months into fall.

Two children in Halloween gear raced past him, shrieking. He’d almost forgotten the day of costumes and candy was nearly upon them. A man he’d noticed on his flight let go of the suitcase he’d been wheeling and bent to greet the two mini-superheroes, a wide, loving smile on his face. The woman with the children joined them, and the look the man gave her made Gavin turn away. It was personal, intimate, even here among the throngs of a busy afternoon at SeaTac Airport. That “you’re mine and I’m yours” kind of look that meant a deep, irrevocable bond that might change over the years, but would never fade or break.

The kind of look Hayley gave Quinn, and more surprisingly, Quinn gave Hayley.

The kind of look no woman had ever given him.

Not, he thought wryly, that he’d ever earned it.

He let out a disgusted breath. The disgust was aimed, as it usually was lately, inwardly, not at Quinn Foxworth, one of the last few people on earth he trusted without reservation.

Unfortunately that few did not include himself any longer.

He made himself focus on the task of picking up the car. He’d refused Quinn’s offer that they would pick him up—by car, plane or helicopter, whichever he preferred—and insisted on the rental car. He wanted to be independently mobile, because recently there were times when he just couldn’t stay put.

He said he just felt restless.

Charlie said he was crazy-making.

So here he was, sent off to make the other Foxworth sibling crazy. Maybe that’s all it was, Charlie getting him off nerves he’d trod on too often.

He hoped Quinn had something going on he could seriously gnaw on. Not that it hadn’t been a challenging go-round last time. Taking down a governor was not simple, even when they mostly did the job for you. Gavin didn’t want to admit he’d been exhilarated by walking through that minefield; it made him wonder if he’d become some kind of adrenaline junky.

He knew some had assumed he always had been, what with the kind of headline grabbing cases he’d been involved in during his career in criminal defense, but that hadn’t been it at all. He’d been coolly analytical, helped by his knack for anticipating the moves of others. He’d been able to think on the fly and draw up almost any precedent-setting case he’d ever read about. He’d been—

Wrong. Don’t forget that one.

He interrupted his own thoughts with the sharp, bitter reminder. For he had been wrong. Very wrong, and it had pulled the rug out from under not just his career but his entire life.

By the time Gavin’s phone warned him he’d reached his destination even he had to admit his brain had eased up a bit, as if responding to the more peaceful surroundings. Just as Quinn said it did for him. Here on the other side of Puget Sound seemed a world away from the bustling city in feeling if not distance. He never would have thought he’d say it, but maybe Quinn was on to something here.

A light rain had begun just as he stepped under cover of the porch, and his hosts congratulated him on his timing. He was welcomed, his bags stowed in the guest room, and a drink poured and waiting for him by the fire crackling in the hearth before he recognized the luscious smell wafting from the kitchen was Quinn’s famous spicy chicken.

“I’m honored.” He tilted the glass of wine in a salute. “You cooked for me?”

“Don’t get used to it,” Quinn said.

Gavin managed a creditable grin before asking, “Where’s that rascal dog of yours?”

“On his nightly rounds,” Quinn said.

Gavin found himself laughing, to his own surprise. “Patrolling the neighborhood?”

“Morning and evening, every day we’re not on a case,” Hayley said.

“Strong sense of duty, that one,” Gavin said, not really kidding.

Quinn nodded. “Like most good operatives.”

Gavin had heard enough stories of the uncannily clever canine to know Quinn was dead serious. “Even Charlie has finally accepted that he’s an integral part of your team.”

“Speaking of Charlie,” Hayley began, then stopped.

Gavin studied her for a moment, then let out a long breath as he lowered his gaze. Quietly, he voiced what he’d been suspecting since his plane had cleared the Rockies. “You don’t have a case, do you?”

Hayley exchanged a glance with her husband. Quinn grimaced.

Quinn had never lied to him—one reason he trusted him—and Gavin knew he wouldn’t now. But before he could answer there was a sound at the rear door that drew their attention. Gavin turned just as a hinged section at the bottom of the door swung open. A second later Cutter was there, looking a bit damp from the rain, which had picked up now. He had something in his mouth, some toy Gavin guessed.

“He has his own door now?” he asked as Hayley grabbed a towel clearly kept by the door for that reason and turned to the dog.

“It’s easier,” Quinn said. “He’s got a mind of his own and—”

He stopped as the animal walked past Hayley and the towel, toward Gavin. He guessed that figured, given he hadn’t been here when the dog had left the house. Cutter sat at his feet, looking up at him intently. Did he even remember him? Gavin wondered. He hadn’t spent much time here last time, and—

His speculation broke off when he saw what the dog had in his mouth. It was not a toy. A cell phone? What was the dog doing with a phone? Whose phone? Where had he found it? And why the hell was he bringing it to him?

By the time he got through the string of mental questions Quinn and Hayley were at his side. Cutter allowed Hayley to take the phone from him, but the dog’s steady gaze never left Gavin. He found it strangely unsettling.

“It doesn’t look like it’s been lying around and he just found it,” Quinn said.

“No,” she agreed. “It’s not damaged at all. And it’s on, so it’s working.”

“Is he given to stealing things?” Gavin asked neutrally.

Quinn gave him a sideways glance. “In the interest of a good cause, it’s not unheard of.”

Gavin didn’t know what to say to that, so he said nothing as Hayley pressed a button on the side of the phone.

“Locked,” she said. “Charge is at 65 per cent.”

“Good. The owner will probably call it once they realize it’s gone,” Quinn said.

“Assuming they have another phone, and don’t already know because Cutter snatched it right out of their hand,” Hayley said, sounding a bit glum.

“Well, there’s that,” Quinn said, glancing at the dog. Hayley handed him the phone and went to work on the dog with the towel.

She had just finished when the doorbell rang. She put down the towel and looked at Quinn. “And maybe,” she said, “whoever it was—”

“—followed him here,” Quinn finished for her.

“I’ll get it, shall I?” Gavin said lightly, telling himself a buffer between a possibly irate phone owner and the owners of the dog who’d grabbed it might be a good idea. Quinn didn’t immediately answer him, but moved across the living room to where he could get a glimpse out the window to the porch, where a motion-sensor light had come on. Only then did he nod.

“Sometimes I forget,” Gavin muttered under his breath as he reached for the door handle. Coming in as he did, usually after everything had happened and there was nothing left but cleanup, he did sometimes forget that Foxworth occasionally irritated people with minimal impulse control. People who could be dangerous.

He pulled the door open, revealing a woman who looked a bit damper than the dog had. Rain glistened on hair pulled back in a wavy ponytail, and a couple of drops clung to long, soft-looking eyelashes. Lashes that surrounded eyes that seemed vividly blue even in the artificial glow of the porch light. Her face, with a slightly upturned nose and a nicely shaped mouth, was turned up to him since she was probably about five-four to his five-eleven. Her cheeks looked even wetter than her hair, and if it hadn’t been raining he might have thought she’d been crying. Which would explain the distress he saw in both her eyes and her body language; she was hunched into herself against more than the chill.

“Is Hayley here?” she asked. “Or at least Cutter?”

Chill, he thought again, only this time in the nature of a self-command. Belatedly he realized she wore no jacket over her jeans and light sweater, as if she had come hastily. In pursuit of her phone? He shook off the strange sluggishness that had overtaken him.

“Sorry,” he said, stepping back to let her in. Obviously she knew Hayley and she hardly looked like a threat, even if he’d been studying her as if she were one.