Once Upon a Matchmaker. Marie FerrarellaЧитать онлайн книгу.
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.
Taking a breath, Micah said, “The word treason should cover it.”
“Oh.” Tracy paused a second to get her bearings and regroup. “You’re being accused of treason? Seriously?” she asked, her voice echoing disbelief.
“That’s it in a nutshell. Treason,” Micah repeated. He half expected the woman with the teenager’s voice to beg off, saying something along the lines that she’d just realized she had a prior commitment—like for the next eighteen years.
But instead, he heard her say, “Okay, then. I’ll see you tomorrow at five-thirty.”
Well, that was a surprise. The woman had taken it in stride. “Five-thirty,” he repeated, feeling both numb and, for the first time in two days, somewhat hopeful. Numb because he still couldn’t believe this was happening to him, and hopeful because at least he’d taken the first step toward resolving this nightmare.
God knew he’d never been an angel, nor had he presented himself as one, but anyone who knew him knew that he took pride in his work, pride in the fact that in some small way, he was helping to defend the country that he loved. He could no more do what he was being accused of—selling top secret information to this country’s enemies—than he could suddenly grow a viable set of gills and live the rest of his life in the ocean.
And yet, the company he’d gone to work for straight out of college was saying he was guilty.
“Daddy,” Gary called, breaking into his thoughts. The boy beckoned wildly for him to come over and join them. “Come see this. It’s funny!” the little boy said, laughing.
“I could use ‘funny’ right about now,” Micah told his son. Putting his cell phone away, he went to join the two little boys. He sat down on the sofa directly behind his sons and glanced in Greg’s direction. His younger son was curled up on the floor and from the looks of it, had fallen asleep. “Looks like this put Greg to sleep,” he commented to the other boy.
Gary waved a dismissive hand at his brother. “He’s a baby,” he taunted the sleeping boy. “He still needs naps.” And then, suddenly becoming animated, Gary looked over his shoulder at his father. “Want me to wake him up for you?” he asked eagerly.
“No, that’s all right,” Micah assured his son. “Let him sleep. He probably needs it.”
He heard Gary mumble “Big baby” under his breath. The next moment, the boy was scrambling up onto the sofa, taking advantage of the fact that with his brother asleep, he had his father all to himself. “Just us guys, huh, Daddy?” he asked, puffing up his chest.
Just then, Sheila came out of the kitchen. She’d placed all the food they’d brought home in doggie bags from the restaurant into the refrigerator.
“So how did it go?” she asked, sitting down on the other side of Micah. She nodded toward to phone in his pocket to make her point.
“Well enough, I guess.” It was hard to glean anything from the few minutes he and the lawyer had talked. “I’m meeting her at her office tomorrow.”
“Good,” Sheila approved, nodding her head. “This’ll be over with before you know it,” she promised, then smiled warmly at him as she patted his hand. “Just you wait and see.”
“Shhh,” Gary said loudly. He put his finger to his lips. “You hafta listen,” he insisted, looking at his great-aunt. “You’re missing all the good stuff.”
“No, I’m not,” Sheila told him, her eyes crinkling as she regarded the little boy fondly. “The ‘good stuff’ is right here.”
“This is the good part,” Gary alerted his father and his great-aunt just before he turned his eyes back to the screen and watched in rabid attention.
Yes, Micah thought, eyeing both his sons, this is the good part. No way would he allow some baseless, false accusations to destroy that for him.
Certainly not without one hell of a fight.
Tracy’s last appointment wound up leaving early, for once sticking to the facts and cutting his rhetoric short. That allowed her a few