Once Upon a Matchmaker

by Marie Ferrarella

  The problem was so involved, Tracy wasn’t sure just how to go about asking. “For starters, answer a question for me.”

  “If I can,” Jewel qualified.

  “The official accusation against Micah is that his laptop was compromised. Someone breached his firewall and got into the information on his hard drive. He swears it has to be a hacker. I know his company takes extreme precautions to keep the information on the laptops impenetrable. They employ state-of-the-art techno security safeguards.” She took a breath. “So my question is, could someone have hacked into his laptop, or is that not really a possibility?”

  “Oh, it’s always a possibility,” Jewel assured her. “Like the old saying goes, ‘the difficult we can do, the impossible takes a little longer.’ If someone builds a better mouse, someone else is guaranteed to come up with a better mousetrap.”

  Tracy was trying to follow this reasoning. “So is that a yes?”

  Jewel nodded. “That is most definitely a yes. And, the worst part of all this is that whoever actually hacked into your client’s laptop is going to hide their trail really well. So if someone actually hacked into Donovan Defense’s system—”

  “When someone hacked into Donovan Defense’s system,” Tracy insisted.

  Jewel inclined her head, correcting herself. “When they hacked into the system, if they’re good enough to get in, they’re good enough to make it close to impossible to track them down.”

  Tracy picked up on what seemed to be the all-important word in Jewel’s statement. “Close?”

  Jewel smiled and nodded, the picture of confidence. “Now, this is why your firm keeps me on retainer,” she reminded Tracy. “I happen to know a computer tech who makes Harry Houdini look like a rank amateur.”

  “I’m sure that with computers, Houdini probably would have been,” she commented. The man had been a world-renowned magician, not a wizard with technology. “If at all possible, I want your techno wizard to try to find out just who it was that got into Micah’s system.”

  “And if he does manage to find the guy—or the ring—doing the hacking, do you also want to know why he, or they, hacked into Micah’s hard drive?”

  That was the one thing Tracy felt she didn’t need to find out. She assumed she already knew why. “He—or they—hacked into his system because Micah has sensitive material on his laptop that no one outside of a select few at the company is supposed to be aware of or is allowed to see.”

  “There’s that,” Jewel allowed with a nod. “And then again,” she said with a wide, knowing smile, “you might just be surprised.”

  “Okay, I’ll bite. How so?” Tracy asked.

  “For all you know, if his hard drive was hacked into by an outside party—”

  “And we’re assuming that’s the case,” Tracy reminded her firmly.

  “His laptop might actually be just part of a wide network hijacked by the hacker.”

  Tracy stared at her. Just what was Jewel telling her? “Come again?”

  “A network,” she repeated, then began to explain. “It’s called a botnet and it’s not as uncommon as you might think. What it boils down to is that his laptop might just be one of many computers that are remotely accessed and controlled by hackers. The hackers use these infected computers to troll other computes for credit card numbers, bank account information and various other ‘useful’ things they can get their hands on and eventually deplete. It’s very possible that initially, the hackers might not even know what they have in their hands here,” she told Tracy.

  Now, there was both a hopeful—and a chilling—possibility, Tracy thought. Hopeful because if they didn’t know and weren’t looking for it, the data on the hard drive pertaining to the ongoing missile work might be safe. Chilling because there were now skilled rings emptying people’s life savings with a click of the right key. People like that should be shot, she thought. No ifs, ands or buts.

  Looking at Jewel now, she asked, “And you think there’s a chance that this is what happened?”

  “Could very well be. But do us both a favor and don’t get your hopes up until I can get the chance to talk to my techno guy and have him get started.”

  “There’s just one problem,” Tracy said, none too happy about the matter.

  “Just one?” Jewel quipped. “Hardly seems worth the effort.”

  It might be just one problem, but it was a huge one in her eyes.

  “I can’t get my hands on my client’s laptop. It’s been confiscated by his company and he said it’s scheduled to be scrubbed, whatever that actually means.” She knew it couldn’t mean what the word ordinarily suggested. No one submerged a laptop into water and expected to be able to use it ever again. Something else was going on with the machine.

  Jewel sighed. “It means that all traces of any infecting virus will be erased, as well as any and all existing programs. The company’s tech department will have to reinstall all the programs from scratch in order for the laptop to be of any use to your client.”

  That was what Tracy was afraid of. “Won’t that get rid of all the evidence?”

  Her question made Jewel grin. “You underestimate what a really good tech can accomplish. There’s always a trace to follow. Footprints in cyberspace, so to speak.”

  Tracy shook her head in wonder. It seemed as though the impossible was possible these days. She couldn’t begin to wrap her head around that. “I can’t even retrieve files that were accidentally deleted.”

  “That’s why you need people like me—who in turn need people like Neal—that’s my techie,” she explained. Glancing at her watch, Jewel quickly rose from her chair. “Looks like I’m out of time,” she told Tracy. “If I leave right now, I’ve got just enough time to reach the restaurant—provided all the lights on the way there are green.”

  “Good luck with that,” Tracy said.

  Grabbing her things, Jewel promised, “I’ll get back to you.” As she hurried out, Jewel added, “This sounds like a really interesting case.”

  She supposed that was one word for it, Tracy thought as she watched her firm’s primary investigator disappear. Another word for it was challenging. Very, very challenging.

  Suppressing a sigh, Tracy got back to work.

  She had other cases. Trials to prepare for. God knew she didn’t lack for things to keep her extremely busy and occupied for marathon days on end. But the odd thing was, her mind kept reverting back to Micah’s case.

  Or, more specifically, to Micah.

  Though she hated to admit it to herself—because it signified that she wasn’t being objective—there was something almost sensually attractive about the man, some kind of chemistry between them. A chemistry that she would rather not acknowledge existed—except, perhaps, and it was a big “perhaps,” in the deep recesses of her own mind.

  She tried to tell herself that she was confused, that her reaction was due to the fact that he was a single father trying to raise two sons, which she found very admirable. He was like an underdog in this situation. She’d always had a weak spot for underdogs and people struggling against the unexpected blows of life.

  Despite her excuses, deep down Tracy knew she was rationalizing and trying not to acknowledge that she found the man not just sympathetic but knee-weakeningly attractive.

  Since when did she even think that way? Tracy upbraided herself. It had been years, years, since she even glanced at a man with something other than impartial interest—and then only if he was involved in a case of hers. That little zip that most women experienced and were acutely aware of, the suddenly igniting spark that made women do stupid things in an effort to meet the object of their attraction, had been M.I.A. in her life since she climbed out of the disaster known as her marriage. And she liked it that way.

  It kept life simple, uncomplicated. As far as she was concerned, her cases were all the complexity she wanted. And yet, though she tried to squelch it, a little thrill snaked through her each time she thought of Micah Muldare.


  This wasn’t going to end well, Tracy grimly predicted and wondered if she would be better off if she just handed Micah’s case over to someone else in the firm.

  But who? Everyone was superbusy.

  Besides, she’d already taken steps to get the case rolling, already had her own take on things and, from what she could see, Micah seemed to trust her, something that was all-important in a case and not always all that easy to earn or negotiate.

  She would just have to get a grip on herself. She just had to keep in mind that thinking of Micah in any other terms than as her client would compromise the case. She couldn’t properly represent someone she was sleeping with.

  The unbidden thought had her jaw dropping down to practically her desk.

  Where the hell had that come from?

  How had she gone from “cute guy” to making him her bed partner? Talk about getting carried away.

  And, more than likely since he’d made no real moves on her other than as her client, he wasn’t attracted to her. Micah had been nothing if not a complete gentleman and she was willing to bet that he would remain that way no matter how long they had to work on this case.

  So, she concluded with feeling, if she didn’t allow herself to get carried away by her own thoughts, everything was under control.

  Squaring her shoulders, Tracy rose from her desk and collected her notes. Depositing them into her briefcase, she got ready to leave. She had a case waiting for her in court.

  * * *

  Weary at the end of a long day, Tracy was finally heading home. But first, she would make a quick stop at Micah’s house.

  Uneasy about the pit stop, she told herself that she was only doing this for the same reason she’d had Jewel stop by the office instead of discussing the case with her over the telephone. Since, as far as Donovan Defense was concerned, this case involved possible unlawful access to highly classified top secret information, talking about it on the telephone was asking for trouble.

  Wire tapping was illegal—unless special waivers were granted by the district attorney. But she’d be a fool to believe that Micah’s phone wasn’t being tapped. So she felt it safer to assume that someone might be listening in on her call to Micah. She didn’t want to risk jeopardizing the case in any way.

  For all she knew, someone was framing Micah for reasons all their own. It sounded far-fetched but not entirely impossible. Which was why she was here, on his doorstep again. The stop wasn’t out of her way. And besides, the man deserved to get an update. His very freedom hung in the balance.

  Tracy had barely touched the doorbell when the door swung open.

  “Hi.” Micah stood in front of her wearing jeans, a blue V-neck sweater that should have had a shirt beneath it but didn’t, and he was barefoot. His dark hair was carelessly tousled and he looked more like his sons’ older brother than their father.

  He was also breathless.

  She felt her gut tightening unexpectedly. “Am I interrupting something?” she asked him uncertainly. Maybe she should have at least called ahead.

  “No, no, c’mon in. I was just playing a game with the boys,” he told her, running a hand through his hair and trying to get it into some semblance of neatness. “Greg’s feeling a lot better, so we thought we’d celebrate by playing a game Gary came up with,” he explained. Stepping back, he allowed her more than enough space to walk in. He looked at her, mildly confused. “Remind me—did we have an appointment for tonight that I seem to have forgotten about?”

  She should have definitely called, Tracy upbraided herself. Too late now.

  “No, I just thought I’d stop by to give you an update,” she explained, then added, “Talking on the phone about this case just didn’t seem quite right somehow.”

  Micah smiled, nodding. He read between the lines and picked up what she wasn’t saying. “The company does have a habit of making a person feel completely paranoid,” he agreed.

  She still felt bad about interrupting him when he was playing with his sons. She began to edge away. “Look, since you’re busy, maybe I should just—” she began.

  He stopped her before she could finish her statement. “Right now, I’m losing, so I’m not too busy.”

  Standing back on the threshold, she hesitated for a moment. Still, she was here now. She might as well stay.

  “Well, if you don’t mind—”

  “I don’t mind,” he said, his eyes holding hers.

  She felt as if he was talking directly to her, not to his lawyer or to the person gathering information on his case, but to her. To the part of her that wasn’t an attorney but a woman.

  “I won,” Gary crowed, sailing into the room and unwittingly shattering the moment.

  Picking up the boy, Micah swung his older son around as if he were a small jet plane. “Yes, you did, but I’ll get you next time—unless Greg does,” he added, grinning at his younger son.

  She noticed that the boy beamed in response.

  Well, Micah Muldare certainly has fatherhood down pat, she thought.

  There was no way she would allow him to be separated from his sons, she silently vowed. No matter what she had to do, Micah Muldare would remain with these precious boys.

  Chapter Eight

  As Tracy walked into Micah’s living room, she said, “I have one of my firm’s private investigators looking into your case.” She saw the sudden apprehensive expression in his eyes. He was afraid of information being leaked. This special top-secret program had to be hell to live with. “Don’t worry, Jewel is very discreet.”

  “Jewel?” Micah echoed. What kind of a private investigator had a name that sounded as if it belonged to a model, or a Country-Western singer? He felt less than reassured.

  Tracy could almost read the thoughts going through his mind. Was that a good or a bad thing?

  And if she could, was he transparent to others, as well? That could definitely be a problem.

  A moment later, she decided she could second-guess what was going on in his mind because she was so tuned in to his case, so that made it all right.

  She smiled reassuringly at him. “We can’t help the names our parents give us.”

  They were in agreement on that, Micah thought as he considered the name his parents had given him.

  “I guess not,” he replied. “I never much cared for my own name,” he admitted. “When I was a kid, I thought it sounded antiquated, like something that belonged to a prospector who was close to a hundred years old.”

  She wondered if that was his assessment of it, or if some bully had taunted him. Rolling it over in her mind, she decided that, unless she was mistaken, Micah wasn’t the type who would put up with a bully.

  “It’s not so bad,” she countered. “Right now, it’s rather unique.”

  “Unique is good?” he asked, mildly amused.

  “Unique is always good,” she replied. “Who wants to be like everyone else?” As if he could possibly be lumped in with everyone else. She had a feeling that Micah Muldare had stood out in a crowd right from the start.

  Maybe he saw the picture a little more clearly because he had kids, Micah thought, but his attorney definitely didn’t remember his playground days.

  “Oh, I don’t know. Maybe every kid under the age of twenty,” he suggested. “That’s why I had everyone calling me ‘Mike” when I was growing up.”

  “Mike,” she repeated, toying with the name, rolling it around on her tongue. “No,” she decided, shaking her head. “‘Mike’ doesn’t cut it. I like Micah better.”

  Why didn’t that surprise him? The woman struck him as someone who definitely didn’t march to the same drummer as everyone else.

  “So I guess I’ll keep it.”

  My God, he suddenly thought. Was he flirting with her? Until a second ago, he’d just assumed that all that—flirting, male-female dynamics—was behind him. That his life was now set in stone. He had his sons and his career, and that was all he needed or wanted.

  But now his career was in
serious jeopardy, dangling dangerously by a thread and if, through some twist of fate, he was found guilty, then he wouldn’t have his sons, either. He’d have to leave the boys with his aunt while he was in prison. He couldn’t believe that with all this going on, he was reacting to the woman that fate—and in an odd way, Donovan Defense—had brought into his life. Reacting to her on a very basic level.

  He hadn’t gone this route since he’d first dated Ella.

  Almost self-conscious, Micah cleared his throat. “Can I offer you dinner? I made shepherd’s pie. It’s Greg’s favorite.”

  The selection in her refrigerator hadn’t improved any since yesterday. Grocery shopping wasn’t exactly high on her list of priorities and she tended to forget to do it.

  That was why there were phone numbers to at least half a dozen takeout restaurants anchored down by various magnets on the front of her refrigerator door. They offered her a wide variety of food to choose from. From what she’d sampled of Micah’s cooking, he was head and shoulders above what the restaurants she ordered from could deliver.

  “I can’t impose on you like that again,” she demurred, although with little verve. She was hoping he’d talk her into staying.

  “Sure you can,” Micah told her. He was already leading the way to the kitchen. He glanced toward his sons. “Can’t she, boys?”

  “Yeah,” Gary piped up. “She can.”

  Rather than add his voice to his brother’s, Greg quietly came over to her and took Tracy’s hand in his, as if the four-year-old had every intention of escorting her to the kitchen.

  Amused, moved, Tracy left her hand in the boy’s small one—the part of it that he actually managed to hold—and allowed herself to be led off.

  “I guess I can’t fight all three of you,” she said, surrendering.

  Gary’s small brow scrunched up as he looked up at her. “We’re not fighting you,” he pointed out, confused.

  “Daddy doesn’t like fighting,” Greg informed her solemnly.

  “It’s an expression, boys,” Micah explained. His back was to them as he carefully spooned out a portion of the shepherd’s pie for his unexpected guest.