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It was Micah’s turn to look at the women at the table in question. He assumed his sons were both looking at the same table. Scanning it quickly, he saw that there were eight women seated around the table. Seven appeared engaged in conversation and the eighth, a blonde—Greg had to be referring to her—was looking in their direction.
His eyes met hers unexpectedly and for a very long second, neither of them looked away.
She had a nice smile, he caught himself thinking. He saw her mouthing something and belatedly realized that she was saying, “Cute little boys.” Not knowing what else to do—and ignoring her seemed rather rude—he mouthed, “Thank you.”
Her smile curved even more, pulling him in a little further. For some reason, he was having a difficult time looking away. There was something almost hypnotic about the smile, yet incredibly soothing at the same time.
“How come you’re not making any noise?” Greg asked, then explained the reason for his question. “Your mouth’s moving.”
“He’s using his inside voice,” Gary informed his brother importantly. Then, raising his chin, he added, “I can hear him.”
Even at four, Greg knew a lie when he heard it. “No, you can’t,” he insisted.
“Can, too,” Gary shot back, ready to go to war against his worst enemy/best friend in the blink of an eye.
“Boys,” Micah interjected sternly, “what did I tell you about arguing?”
“Don’t,” both boys chorused, their eyes downcast. Both appeared to be properly chastised, although Micah suspected that a little playacting was going into their performances.
Satisfied that they were going to behave for at least the next five minutes, Micah nodded and turned his attention back to the meal. Their waiter was approaching the table.
“All right, let’s order the food while it’s still Mother’s Day,” he urged his sons.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” Sheila asked, looking dismayed, annoyed and worried all at the same time.
“But I just did,” Micah pointed out, spreading his hands wide.
They had barely crossed the threshold to his house before his aunt had pounced and demanded to know what was going on. They’d stayed at the restaurant a good two hours and apparently she had enjoyed every minute of it. But now, she informed him in a no-nonsense voice, it was time to come clean.
“What’s wrong and why do you feel you need a lawyer?” she’d asked—and he’d told her.
Told her everything.
Granted it was a summarized version, and he’d left out a few details because she was outside the realm of those who had a need to know, but he’d relayed the general gist of it.
She’d taken it all in quietly, making no comment while he talked. But he could tell that she was upset.
“Besides,” he pointed out, “it’s Sunday. There’s not much I can do about this until tomorrow.” Everything had blown up on him late Friday afternoon. He’d spent Saturday trying to come to terms with the unexpected, jarring turn his life had taken.
“Oh, yes, there is,” Sheila informed him in no uncertain terms. She went directly to the kitchen and the phone on the wall.
To his knowledge, no good law firm did business on a Sunday. “Who are you going to call?” he asked sarcastically. “Lawyers R Us?”
Granted he wasn’t an expert, but in his opinion, any attorney who was in his office or on call on a Sunday was either desperate, ridiculously expensive or not any good. None of which were qualities he was seeking in the person he needed to represent him. He needed someone good who charged a reasonable fee, one that he had a fighting chance of paying off before the turn of the next century.
Sheila stopped just short of dialing, looking at her nephew over her shoulder. “Remember that woman who waved at me in the restaurant?”
He remembered. Remembered, too, the tall, striking blonde he’d made eye contact with. It had been an odd feeling, a little like déjà vu, as if he’d been in exactly the very same spot before.
But of course he hadn’t. He blamed it on his overwrought nerves.
Shaking off the feeling, he got back to his aunt’s question. There seemed to be only one reason why she would refer to the other woman.
“She’s a lawyer?” he guessed. But the moment he said it, he knew that didn’t make any sense. “I thought you said she sold you the condo.”
He didn’t want to hurt his aunt’s feelings, especially not on a day that celebrated mothers. He was ever mindful of the fact that she had taken him in when she didn’t have to. No law would have made her open her home—not to mention her heart—to an orphaned relative. She’d done that out of the goodness of her heart and he loved her for it.
Still, this was his life—and quite possibly his freedom—they were talking about.
“Usually anyone who wears two hats doesn’t wear either one well,” he told her diplomatically.
The boys were sitting on the floor watching a cartoon video his father kept on hand just for occasions like this, when Gary looked up, his attention captured by the phrase his father had used.
He frowned thoughtfully. “She wasn’t wearing any hats, Daddy. Don’t you remember?”
“My mistake,” Micah said.
It was easier saying that than getting involved in an explanation that cited the sentence as an old expression. Since Friday, when his life had suddenly been upended, it was all he could do just to try to hold himself together and not think of the possible consequences if things went awry.
He couldn’t even afford to let his mind go there. He had sons to provide for and an existing pile of medical bills—both for Ella and for Greg—that he still had to pay off. That meant keeping a clear head and being prepared at all times. Prepared to defend himself, prepared to answer charges—and somehow get to the bottom of all this to find out how he’d become implicated in these criminal allegations to begin with.
All he knew was that he was innocent. The tough part was getting everyone else to believe him. In the meantime, he had to hang on to his job while getting himself emotionally ready to face the kind of charges that could very well be leveled against him.
“Maizie’s not a lawyer,” Sheila told him. “But I need her to get in contact with one of the other women at the table—Theresa Manetti.”
“She’s the lawyer?” Micah asked.
Sheila sighed. It would have been simpler just to say that Maizie had arranged for a beautiful, unattached woman to be at their table just so that she could see him and he her—and that woman just happened to be a damn good lawyer. At that point, no matter how good she actually was, Micah would definitely not avail himself of her services. So she went the long way around, just to eventually get to where she needed to be.
“No, she runs a catering business.” Then, seeing his confused expression, she quickly added, “but her son and daughter are both lawyers.”
“There are lots of different kinds of lawyers, Aunt Sheila,” he pointed out tactfully. “What I’m going to need is a criminal defense lawyer—”
Gary, who was openly eavesdropping, appeared horrified. “Daddy?” he cried uncertainly. “Are they gonna put you in jail?” His eyes were suddenly huge, watery saucers as he contemplated his own words.
“No!” Greg cried, not waiting for his father to answer. The small boy jumped to his feet and immediately threw his small arms around the first part of his father he came in contact with: his elbow.
Micah sighed. He’d always tried to protect his sons, doing his best to keep them away from topics that he considered too adult, despite the fact that both boys seemed, at times, to possess old souls. He made sure that the parental block was in place on a host of programs and channels. Yet, the world obviously had a way of intruding and circumventing all his best efforts.
“Nobody’s putting anyone in jail,” Micah quickly assured both boys. “I just want to ask a lawyer some questions, that’s all.” Gently extricating his arm from Greg’s surprisingly strong grip, he put that arm around the boy and his other one around Gary. “There’s nothing to worry about.”
Sheila could almost believe him—if she didn’t know him as well as she did. The only time Micah lied was to spare someone else’s feelings. In this case, he was trying to make all three of them believe that everything was all right.
Except that it wasn’t, she thought.
She called Maizie’s number. Counting off the number of rings, she heard the receiver being picked up on the fourth. Sheila began talking immediately. In short order, she told Maizie that what had begun innocently enough as an effort to get her nephew back to the dating scene had just taken on far more serious ramifications.
On the other end of the line, Maizie listened.
Several moments later when Sheila paused, Maizie jumped in. “I’ll talk to Kate directly,” she promised. She’d already made the decision to bypass Theresa for now. Her friend could be filled in on this newest development later. They no longer had the luxury of allowing things to progress naturally and gradually. Sheila’s nephew needed legal aid now, which meant that he had more of a professional need for Tracy than a personal one.
She got right on it.
Kate was a little confused as to why Maizie was calling her, but she listened to the woman patiently and tried to answer her questions to Maizie’s satisfaction.
“Yes,” Kate told her mother’s best friend. “Tracy is very good. She’s extremely dedicated. I had to literally drag her away from work today.”
Maizie put her own interpretation to the information. “Then what you’re saying is that Tracy is booked up,” she said, disappointed.
She was surprised to hear Kate laugh. “The thing about Tracy is that she always makes time for more cases. I’m beginning to think that she hardly ever sleeps. What I’m saying,” she summarized, “is that I’m sure she’ll be more than willing to look into the case for your friend’s nephew. And if she thinks she can win, she’ll let your friend know. As far as I know, she’s never lost a case,” Kate said with a note of envy. “Let me give you her cell phone number.” She rattled it off, then added, “But, knowing Tracy, I’ve got a feeling she’s probably back at the office right now. I’ll give you her number there just in case your friend has trouble getting through on the cell.”
Maizie made a note of that number, as well, then turned around and called Sheila with both.
Sheila, in turn, spun around and handed the two numbers to Micah.
Despite the fact that she had a burning desire to handle this for him, to set up everything for him in order to minimize what he had to deal with, she knew that doing so sent the wrong message to Tracy. Although Micah had a softer, gentler side to him, he was definitely not one of those neutered males that a woman could easily lead around by the nose and lose respect for by the hour.
“Here,” Sheila said, placing the two phone numbers in front of him.
It had been less than twenty minutes since he’d given his aunt a general summary of what he was dealing with. To spare her, he’d left out the more troubling details. She didn’t have to know about that unless it was absolutely necessary.
This was fast, he thought. He looked from one phone number to the other.
“Which one belongs to the better lawyer?” he asked.
“They both belong to the same lawyer. That’s her cell number—” Sheila pointed to the first piece of paper, then to the other “—and that’s her office number. According to my friend, she’s there now. In her office. Working.”
That sounded like his kind of person, Micah thought. If he didn’t have his sons, or if they’d been older and away at college, he would have buried himself in his work and not even bothered to come up for air unless he absolutely had to. It wasn’t that work soothed him, it was just that it kept him so busy, he didn’t have time to think.
To remember.
And regret.
“Okay,” he said. Picking up the pieces of paper, he started to put them in his pocket.
“Now,” Sheila insisted, drawing his hand back so that he was forced to place the phone numbers back on the counter in front of him. “Call her now.” And then, in case he had any suspicions as to why she was being so adamant, she said, “The sooner you start to tackle this, the sooner it’ll go away.”
She was right, Micah thought. Taking out his cell phone, he began to tap out the phone number on his keypad. Charges of treason and espionage were not something to take lightly or ignore—no matter how much he desperately wanted to.
After five rings, the answering machine on the other end kicked in. He almost hung up but then decided against it. Dutifully, he gave his name, phone number and a “brief message.” He was almost finished when he heard the line pick up.
“Hello? Mr. Muldare?” Tracy said, picking up on the name he’d given as he started leaving his message. “This is Tracy Ryan. How may I help you?”
The voice was soft, melodic, and drew a response that took Micah entirely by surprise. He felt an uncertain tremor at the core of his stomach, definitely not the kind of response that a person had to their potential lawyer.
Chapter Three
Several seconds went by as Tracy waited for the man on the other end to say something.
Had he hung up? Or was he just reconsidering his options? If it was the latter, she had a sneaking suspicion she knew why. Over the phone, she sounded younger than she actually was. Youth didn’t exactly generate confidence in clients who found themselves in need of a criminal lawyer. That was why she always preferred to meet a client face-to-face for the first time.
While at five-six, slender and blond, Tracy knew that she would never be mistaken for a football lineman, at least she didn’t look as if she was a senior in high school, which was the way she sounded on the phone according to Simon, her ex. In reality, she was twenty-nine—going on sixty.
Some days, she felt even older than that.
“Mr. Muldare?” she prodded after another minute had gone by. If he’d hung up, where was the dial tone? “Are you there?”
The sound of her voice had thrown him. He’d come very close to asking to speak to her mother before realizing that this was the lawyer his aunt’s friend had referred him to.
“Micah,” he told her. “Call me Micah.” After all, if she was going to be his attorney, he had a feeling they were going to be spending more than a little time together.
“All right, Micah,” she said, deliberately emphasizing his name, “just how is it that I can help you?”
You can wave your wand and make this all go away. Wouldn’t that be a neat trick? he couldn’t help thinking sarcastically. Out loud he asked, “You’re a criminal lawyer, right?”
“Right,” she echoed, then waited for him to continue. Instead, she heard him sigh. “Is something wrong, Mr. Mul—Micah?”
She heard him laugh. It was more of a disparaging sound than a happy one.
“Chronologically or alphabetically?” Micah asked.
“Excuse me?”
“Well, I really don’t know where to begin,” Micah admitted somewhat helplessly.
“In my experience, the beginning is usually the best place.” And then, because there was another, somewhat long pause on his end, Tracy decided a few questions might be in order. “Why don’t we start with where you got my name and number.” She gave him several choices. “Was it off the internet or did you—”
“My aunt got your name from one of her friends. I’m not sure of the exact relationship but I think it’s safe to say that it was a friend of a friend.” He stopped, realizing how ridiculous all this had to be sounding to her. “I’m afraid I’ve never done anything like this before—looked for a lawyer,” he explained in case she didn’t know what he was talking about—and why should she? Rattled by this unexpected turn his life had taken, he was barely making any coherent sense. It had all served to put him on the hairy edge. “And I usually don’t ramble like this,” Micah added.
Rather than make some sort of belittling noise or say something that conveyed the presence of an attitude, he heard the woman on the other end say, “I’m sure you don’t. Finding themselves needing a criminal lawyer usually knocks the average person for a loop. Why don’t you come into the office tomorrow and tell me why you feel you need my services?”
He’d have to see about arranging for some comp time at work. The way things were going there lately, though, making up time was the least of his problems. He was already facing restricted duty, and his security clearance had been suspended pending further notice.
“Sounds good. What time?” he asked the adolescent-sounding woman.
Tracy pulled over her desk calendar—the existence of which the administrative assistant she shared with two other lawyers at the firm always found incredibly amusing—and glanced at the appointments that were listed for tomorrow.
The page was full.
She suppressed a sigh, thinking. “How about after hours?” she finally suggested. “Ordinarily, I’d say lunchtime, but I’m going to be working through it tomorrow. If you can come in around five-thirty, I can see you then,” she told him.
“Five-thirty,” Micah repeated. It was doable and this way, he didn’t have to make up any work time—as long as he got in early. His department had been on flextime for eighteen months now. “I’ll be there.”
He sounded as if he were ready to hang up, Tracy thought. She talked quickly to stop him. “Oh, Micah, just so I know what I’m up against, how serious is the alleged crime you’ve been accused of?”
Micah glanced over his shoulder to see if either one of his sons had quietly sneaked up behind him. For the most part, Gary and Greg were as quiet as train wrecks, but every so often—most likely through the use of magic—they managed to approach his space without making a sound, and almost always when he was saying something they weren’t old enough to hear yet.
But when he looked, both boys were still on the floor in front of the TV. Gary was laughing and chattering to his brother. Greg wasn’t answering. The younger boy appeared to have fallen asleep.
