An Accidental Woman Read Free

sweater, the sheer bulk of which made her look lost. Her expression mirrored that. When she caught sight of Missy, she stopped short. Her eyes met Micah’s for a single, alarmed second before returning to the child.
    Missy was looking at the two agents. “Who’re they?”
    Micah said, “More friends of Pete’s. Go on back in with Star, Missy. I need you to help.”
    Missy stayed pressed against the wall.
    Heather knelt by her side. “Daddy’s right, sweetie,” she said in a gentle voice. “Go in with Star. She needs you.”
    Defiance gone, replaced by worry, Missy slipped an arm around Heather’s shoulder. “Where are you going?”
    â€œInto town.”
    â€œWhen’ll you be back?”
    â€œA little later.”
    â€œAre you sure?”
    â€œYes.”
    â€œDo you promise?”
    Waiting for the answer himself—hanging his future on it much as the child was—Micah saw Heather swallow. But that was the only beat she missed. In the same soft voice, she said, “I’ll do my best to be here when you get home from school.”
    â€œDo you promise?” Missy repeated.
    â€œYes,” Heather whispered. As she straightened, she pressed a kiss to the child’s head. She closed her eyes, and a look of anguish crossed her face. Micah imagined that she held the kiss a beat longer than she might have. Sure enough, as she came toward him, her eyes were filled with tears. When she was as close as she could be, she whispered, “Call Cassie.”
    Cassie Byrnes was one of Heather’s closest friends, and she was a lawyer.
    Micah took her hands, only to find that the sleeves of the bulky sweater concealed handcuffs nearly as cold as her skin. Furious, he turned on Pete, who raised a brow in warning and nodded toward Missy.
    â€œCall Cassie,” Heather repeated—which was certainly the right thing to say, certainly the practical thing to say, though not what Micah wanted to hear from her. He wanted her to profess utter confusion, to insist that a mistake had been made, to protest her innocence, even to cry and loudly declare that she had never in her life heard the name Lisa Matlock—all of which might well be the case, Micah told himself. But yes, Heather was a practical woman, and yes, given the circumstances, especially with the legality of the arrest warrant as vouched for by Pete, cooperating was the only thing to do.
    Still, the handcuffs offended him. A small person like Heather didn’t have a chance in hell of overpowering these three agents, plus however many were outside, even with both hands free. Not that his Heather would think of fighting. In the four years that they’d been together, he had never seen her lash out in anger at anything.
    When the two female agents ushered her toward the door, he followed closely. “Where are you taking her?”
    Mooney stepped in his path as the agents whisked Heather outside. “Concord. She’ll go before a magistrate there this morning. She needs an attorney.”
    Go before a magistrate. Micah’s eyes flew to Pete, who said, “They have to return the fugitive flight warrant.”
    â€œIs she being charged with murder?”
    â€œNo. Not charged with anything yet. They return the warrant and ask for extradition. Heather can choose to waive an extradition hearing and go back with them, or she can fight it. They can’t take her back—can’t charge her with murder or anything else—until they make a solid enough case that the charges are legit.”
    Micah wanted to know the how, why, and where of everything Pete was talking about, but he had more immediate questions, and Mooney was leaving. Following the agent out the door, he trotted barefoot down the steps, oblivious to the crusted ice on the wood planks, the snow on the drive, and the subfreezing air on his near-naked body. “I’m coming with you,” he