there. He needed to get his head back in the game.
“I need to go if I’m going to make it on time. Don’t want to speed out of here because our downstairs neighbor the cop is out washing his car. Is what you sent last night the final cut?”
“Yes.”
“I’ll be on my way then,” his partner said.
But he stopped in the doorway and looked back. He and Sergei Kesic had built their small, digital video promotion company from nothing to a going concern, thanks to Dane’s knack for tailoring the product to individual customer needs and Sergei’s no-nonsense, bottom-line sales approach that appealed to companies in a belt-tightening era.
“You sent it at 3:00 a.m.,” Sergei said.
“Did I?”
“You’re keeping some pretty long hours, buddy.”
“Don’t be late,” Dane said. The last thing he wanted was to get dragged into discussing the reasons behind his late nights and lack of sleep. Sergei hadn’t asked why he’d suddenly taken to sleeping here instead of at Kayla’s, and he didn’t want that conversation to start now.
He had to put it out of his mind, he told himself as Sergei shrugged and left. There were decisions to make, plans to go over.
A sour laugh escaped him. Plans. Yes, indeed, plans. He’d had a lot of those.
He yanked the watch off his wrist, opened a desk drawer, shoved it in the back and slammed the drawer shut. One more step, he thought. And he should do it now, when he knew where she’d be, at the post office checking for another one of those damned notes. He would go over to Kayla’s and pick up the last of his stuff.
And leave his key.
He winced at the thought but shored up his determination and grabbed his key ring from the desk. He pried the ring open and worked the gold key off, fighting memories of the night she’d given it to him.
He shoved the key in the watch pocket of his jeans.
With a final glance at the photograph, he headed for the door. That picture was going, he told himself firmly. As soon as he got back.
This was crazy.
Kayla stared at the business card in her hand. It looked official enough, but anybody could churn out a good-looking business card. And there was no indication on the card of exactly what the “Foxworth Foundation” did.
They had walked across the street to the small city park and were seated on the stone wall that surrounded the kid’s play area, deserted now at this morning hour. The dog that had started all this was sprawled in the grass, basking in the morning sun and looking decidedly smug.
“Does he do this often?” she asked.
“Cutter?” Hayley said.
“Yes. Does he drag total strangers with a problem to you?”
“As a matter of fact, yes.”
Kayla blinked. Hayley smiled.
“He has a knack,” she said. “I don’t know how he does it, but he seems to know when people are troubled.”
“And he brings them to you?”
“It’s not usually as…neatly as today,” Quinn said with a wry smile. “But yes, he does.”
Kayla glanced at the dog, who seemed blithely unconcerned about the entire situation. As if his job was done, she thought, even as she realized she was going a bit overboard with the anthropomorphism.
“And he makes it pretty obvious,” Hayley said, “that he expects us to fix whatever’s wrong.”
Whatever’s wrong, Kayla thought. And lost causes are their specialty?
I love you, but I won’t—I can’t—stay and watch you throw the rest of your life away on a lost cause.
Dane’s final words as he had walked out her door echoed in her mind, drowning out every other thought. He’d been upset with her before but always seemed to find a reserve of patience she marveled at even as she used it up. But this time had been different. She’d heard the finality in his voice, seen the sadness in his eyes. The man she’d loved since she was fourteen had finally had enough. His departure had left her bereft and a little stunned at how completely off balance her already damaged world now felt.
“Whatever it is,” Hayley said softly, “let us help. It’s what we do.”
Kayla looked up. “Lost causes?”
“Yes.”
“Who are you?” She glanced at Quinn, gestured with the card, remembering his introduction. “You’re the Foxworth.”
“One of them,” he said.
“What’s this foundation do?”
“What should be done but isn’t,” Quinn said, with a warm glance at Hayley that made Kayla miss Dane all the more.
“They—” Hayley caught herself, smiled and went on, showing Kayla she wasn’t used to saying it yet, “we work for people in the right who don’t have anyone else to help them.”
Curious now, she looked at them both. “Who decides who’s in the right?”
Quinn grinned suddenly. Kayla could have sworn she heard Hayley’s breath catch; she didn’t blame her, it was a killer grin. Nothing on Dane’s, of course, but still….
“That’s the joy of being privately funded. We decide. We have a crack research team to help in that.”
“Research team?”
“You’d be amazed,” he said, his voice taking on a wry note, “how many people sound like they’re in the right until you look into the other side.”
Kayla sighed. “Then you won’t want to help me,” she said.
“Why do you say that?”
“Because the other side is the police, and when you look into it you’ll probably find some notes saying I’m delusional, disturbed or maybe just crazy.”
“Are you?” Hayley asked, sounding merely curious and not at all bothered by the mention of the police.
“No!” Kayla stopped, sighed. “I’m…determined. Dane thinks I’m obsessed. But he and Chad never got along anyway.”
She realized she was starting to sound a little mental, talking to total strangers about people they didn’t know. She should get out of here. Whoever these people were, they couldn’t really do what they said they did. People didn’t just help strangers like that. Did they?
And even if they did, what she’d said was true. If they looked into this they’d find all the evidence the police had pointing to Chad and probably some mentions of his sister. Not nasty
