Once Upon a Matchmaker

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.