Chapter 4
“Who are these people you work for?” Blaine asked as he tried to orient himself amid all the changes to what had once been his stomping grounds since he’d last been here.
“They’re the best,” Rafe said simply. Then, with a crooked smile he added, “Even if Quinn Foxworth is a former Ranger.”
Blaine drew back slightly. “He is?”
“It’s okay,” Rafe said, the smile widening. “We’ve got Teague Johnson, too, and he’s one of us.”
“So the Marines outnumber the Army? Always a good sign.”
“Exactly.” Rafe said it with another grin. Blaine wasn’t sure which was harder, adjusting to the changes they were driving through, or the changes in the guy driving.
“But what is it they—you—do, exactly?”
“We help the little guy in the right against the big guy in the wrong.”
Blaine blinked. It sounded so simple, but he’d had enough experience with the big guys to know it had to be very far from simple or uncomplicated. “A lot of that last part going around these days,” he said.
“We’re rarely short of work,” Rafe agreed as they pulled to a halt at a stoplight that had just turned red.
“How does that little guy you help pay for your services?”
Rafe looked at him. “They don’t. We’re very careful, and if we take a case, the only cost to the people we help is a promise to help us help someone else down the line, if they can.”
Blaine stared this time. Rafe Crawford, toughest of the tough in the Marines, lethal sniper, was now a…do-gooder? For the first time since Erin’s phone call, his brain locked onto something else.
“What is it, exactly, you do for them?”
“Whatever they ask.” Rafe didn’t even blink. “Including what I used to do in uniform, if necessary. Only now the goal isn’t to kill, just to succeed.”
Blaine recognized now what he was hearing in Rafe’s voice. Satisfaction. The kind he used to get, knowing he was on the side of the angels. Not so much anymore, but once…
“If your…customers don’t pay for it, who does?” he asked.
He wasn’t prepared for the expression that he saw on Rafe’s face then, a bemused but joyful look he would have never expected to see. The man he’d known had been a silent stoic, who, if he’d ever known how to be happy, had long forgotten the lesson.
But all Rafe said was, “Quinn’s sister takes care of that. Among many other things.”
“So this is a family business?”
“In more ways than one, yes.”
Blaine thought he understood the implication there.
That not only was this business owned and run by a family, everyone who was part of it was also part of that family.
He didn’t know much about Rafe’s blood family, but he knew all he needed to know about this new family just by looking at that expression.
And at the changes in him. Now he seemed so darn solid it was almost hard to believe it was the same man he’d known.
“We’re about twenty minutes out from Foxworth Southwest,” Rafe said as the light changed and they moved on. “Want to use it to fill me in?”
“Foxworth Southwest?” The two words together tickled something in the back of his mind, but he focused on the first question that occurred. “How many are there?”
“Five, now. I’m stationed out of Northwest, but we’ve got one in all four corners, plus an HQ in St. Louis.”
Blaine figured he was probably gaping now, but he couldn’t help it. “And they all do the same thing?”
Rafe nodded. “Same mission. Quinn’s wife is Hayley, and her brother, Walker, runs this office. He also happens to be married to Hayley’s best friend.”
Blaine gave a quick shake of his head. “This Foxworth…”
“Is as incredible as it sounds. Anyway, they’re on a job over in Arizona at the moment, so we’ll have the run of the place.” He gestured at the dash of the SUV. “Including this or anything else we need.”
“Where’d you fly into?”
“Closest. John Wayne Airport.” Rafe’s mouth quirked. “I liked the statue. Ironic, given I hear he hated the noise from the jets when they flew over his house on takeoff.”
Blaine smiled. “I remember. It’s a busy field, for being pretty small.”
“Not so much on the private side.” Another smile flashed. “My boss flew me down.”
Blaine knew he was gaping now. “Flew? As in…you’ve got a plane, too?”
“We do. Named Wilbur. And perhaps more of interest to you, a sweet little helicopter, too.”
And now laughter got through, because he couldn’t stop it in his wonder at both what Rafe was telling him, and the fact that he was enjoying it so much. “Let me guess, Orville?”
“Nope. Try again.”
It only took him a second. After all, Sikorsky had invented the things, and his name was still carried on many built today. “Igor?”
“Got it,” Rafe said.
“And your boss…he flew you down himself? Just for this?”
“He understands,” was all Rafe said about it. “Now, did you really want to know all that, or were you just dodging the question?”
Blaine sighed audibly. “Yes,” he admitted.
“I’m not asking you to pour your guts out. Treat it like a mission and give me the need to know.”
He sucked in a breath. Then, in the most neutral tone he could manage, he did as Rafe asked.
“Ethan fourteen now, and he’s been in a…
teenage mood. Mad at her. Hiding things from her.
Blaming her for…everything. Started hanging with some shady kids.
A week ago he disappeared. Left their house during the night.
Took a few things with him so it wasn’t a case of snuck out and didn’t come home.
She hasn’t seen or heard from him since.
Me, either. He stopped texting, or any contact at all. ”
“She report it to the police?” Rafe’s voice was as neutral, and even more businesslike than he’d been able to manage.
“Yes. They’re looking, and she said they told her they were familiar with the group of kids she described.”
“That’s both good and bad.”
He nodded. “That’s how I felt. Last update I had was last night before I headed here—no news.”
“All right. You have a recent photo of him?”
Blaine grimaced. “Most recent I have is from a couple of years ago when he started middle school.” And I had to beg for that.
Rafe merely nodded. “We’ve got someone who can age that up a little, if necessary, but I assume his mother has something more recent?”
“Oh.” He felt stupid now. He was so used to pushing Erin out of his thoughts he hadn’t considered that. “I’m sure she probably does. She used to take pictures of him all the time.”
“Good.” Blaine caught his sideways glance as he said, “But you’ll have to ask for it. Are you on speaking terms?”
“On this we will be,” he said flatly. “Whether she wants it or not.” Rafe seemed about to speak again, then he stopped.
Blaine grimaced. “It’s not as bad as that sounded.
We’re in touch, it’s just always email or text.
We never…talk. That’s how I knew this was bad, when she actually called me.
But she’s never tried to come between me and Ethan, stop me from talking to him or seeing him if I can get here on leave. It just gets…difficult.”
“She can’t really stop you, can she? You are paying child support and then some, you said?”
That bit harder than he would have liked.
He didn’t want to think that was the only reason Erin was so reasonable about Ethan, but deep down he knew it well could be.
Because he was sending her not just the court-ordered amount, but most of the rest of what he could spare.
He supposed it was stupid, and more than one person who’d found that out told him he was nuts, but… he loved his son.
And then there was Erin…
Almost exactly on Rafe’s stated twenty minutes, they turned into the drive of what looked like it had once been a typical residence in the tile-and-adobe style of many places close to the famous Mission San Juan Capistrano.
Long and low, with arch-topped windows facing the street, the building looked solid and well kept.
There was a sturdy gate across the driveway, which Rafe opened with a button above the rearview mirror.
In the back, where the driveway curved toward the garage, there was a smaller building in the same style, apparently a guesthouse.
As they got there, Blaine could see a tiled courtyard directly behind the main building.
In the middle of the courtyard sat a classic-style, three-level fountain, which at the moment was apparently a birdbath for the local avian population.
Beyond that was a grassy area shaded by a large tree, which he guessed would probably be a welcome cool spot in a hot California summer.
“Nice,” Blaine said.
Rafe shrugged. “Opened this one about a year and a half ago. Quinn’s thinking about getting out, though. Arizona, maybe. California’s getting a little…cramped.”
“Is that why…his wife’s brother, you said? Is that why he’s there?”
“Partly. He’ll be checking things out after this case. So for now, it’s all ours. Office is up front, and we can crash back here,” Rafe said, nodding toward the second, smaller building.
“Not even a sign out front?” Blaine asked, wondering how anybody found this firm Rafe worked for.
“The Foxworth Foundation keeps as low a profile as possible. Which,” he added with a wry grimace, “is getting harder all the time.”
And suddenly that tickle in the back of his mind exploded. “Wait… Foxworth Foundation? Like in the people who took down Governor Ogilvie up north, and then that crooked former senator a couple of months ago, what was his name?”
“Maximilian Flood,” Rafe said, and Blaine knew he hadn’t mistaken the pure satisfaction in his voice.
“You’re working for that Foxworth?”
“I am.”
“Taking down crooked politicians?”
Rafe shrugged. “A couple. But that one was personal. He betrayed the country and us, and almost got our entire team killed. Including him,” he added, with a nod toward the dog.
Blaine automatically reached back to pat the dog’s head, and again felt that odd sensation that went beyond warmth into soothing.
“So, Foxworth is karma delivery?”
A grin flashed across Rafe’s usually—at least, it had been—unreadable face. “You could say that. But on any level. One of Quinn’s first cases was finding and returning a stolen locket that was a little girl’s only memento of her dead mother.”
Blaine drew back, staring.
“And then, about six months ago, we ended up helping the reformed thief who gave it back.” That made him blink.
“And he’s now working for Foxworth, helping guys like him who have truly turned around and made their way back into society, with the Foxworth name behind them.
Which means a lot in some circles. That one was Hayley’s idea. ”
Blaine didn’t think he could ever remember this man talking this much.
But pride rang in every word. He wasn’t just happy at this Foxworth place, he was proud.
And given the medals that could hang on his dress uniform, that was saying a lot.
More than a lot. He had a few himself, and he tried to think of something in the civilian world that would make him as proud, but right now saving his son was the only thing that really mattered at all.
“And,” Rafe added, very quietly now, “you’ll have all that team to back you up, if need be.”
Blaine was beginning to think that calling Rafe Crawford hadn’t just been the only thing he could think of, it was the smartest thing he could have done, for Ethan’s sake.