Justine Davis - Operation Homecoming

“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...”