The Professor (McMurtrie and Drake Legal Thrillers #1)(60)

He sighed, his head hurting from all the questions he had and doubts he felt. Glaring at the farmhouse, he wished there was somewhere – anywhere – else he could go. But he knew there wasn’t. Other than Powell, Rick had no friends in the legal community who could help him. And Powell had told him to come here.

Rick grabbed the door handle, trying to summon the courage to move. With his other hand, he felt in his pocket for the photograph he now kept with him at all times. A picture that Ruth Ann had given him during their first interview. He didn’t even have to look at it, the images were so burned into his mind. Bob Bradshaw’s beaming, proud face. Jeannie Bradshaw’s smile, her mouth slightly open as if someone had just made her laugh. And, finally, Nicole Bradshaw, holding a teddy bear under her arm, looking shy, vulnerable and so young.

This ain’t about you, Rick told himself. It’s about them.

Taking a deep breath and a last sip of coffee, Rick opened the door.





46


Tom woke to the sound of knocking. He turned to look at the alarm clock, and yelled as the soreness from yesterday’s “torture” sent a flare of pain through his groin. 6am. “Who the hell...” He rolled off the bed and looked down, where Musso remained snoring away. “Christ, boy, at least make an effort.” Tom put on a pair of sweatpants as the knocking continued. “I’m coming,” he yelled, and again felt a pull in his groin.

Finally, Musso let out a weak bark and crawled off the bed.

“That all you got?” Tom snapped, shaking his head. “Fighting dog my ass,” he muttered as he walked down the hall to the den. “If this is Bo, so help me, I am gonna whip his ass,” Tom said, limping through the den and beginning to wake up.

Tom stopped when he saw Rick Drake’s face behind the glass window.

“Can I come in?” Rick asked through the glass. Tom squinted back at him, wanting to make sure he understood right.

“Can I come in?” Rick repeated. “Please, Professor... I... I know it’s early, but I need to talk with you.”

Tom finally forced his legs to move forwards. He unlocked the deadbolt and opened the door. He stood in the doorway but didn’t move back to allow access in.

“What’s this about, kid?”

Drake let out a breath. He looked like death warmed over, his eyes blood red.

“I need your help.”



They sat in the den, as the kitchen table was still completely cluttered with unopened mail. Tom sat in his rocker and Rick on the couch. Tom had made a pot of coffee, and Rick leaned forward, holding his cup with both hands. The boy looked tired and scared.

“So how did you find me?” Tom asked, crossing his legs and drinking some coffee.

“Powell,” Rick said, placing his cup on the coffee table in front of him and then pulling a folded newspaper from his pocket. “He gave me this article.” Rick handed it over and Tom opened it, knowing full well what it was.

“The article mentions that you retired to a farm in Hazel Green,” Rick said, picking up his cup and gazing into it. “I think Powell managed to get your forwarding address from a friend at the post office in Tuscaloosa. He wouldn’t tell me the rest.”

“Well, you found me,” Tom said. “What’s on your mind?”

Rick drank some more coffee and finally raised his tired eyes. “I need to talk with you about the case you referred me, but... first...” Rick sighed, looking back down at the cup.

“First what?” Tom asked. He stopped rocking and watched the boy, noticing sweat beads on Rick’s forehead. After a half-cup of coffee, Tom was finally awake and was beginning to realize how difficult being here must be for Rick. Whatever he came here to do, it’s killing him to do it.

“First... I wanted to say I’m sorry about punching you in Washington. I shouldn’t have done that. I lost my temper. I... I lost control of my emotions, and it cost us the national title. I’m sorry.” Rick stopped, and met Tom’s eye, but Tom didn’t say anything. Did I just hear him right?

“Second,” Rick continued. “I’m sorry about how the law school forced you out. That’s a lot my fault too and...”

“Hold it,” Tom interrupted, putting his hand up for Rick to stop. “Son, I appreciate the apology, but you didn’t cost me my job. That was going to happen regardless of what happened in DC.”

Rick wrinkled his face in confusion, and Tom cursed under his breath. “The incident was just the pretext, all right? If it hadn’t been our fight, it would’ve been something else. Dean Lambert wanted new blood, and Tyler gave him the ammunition to get rid of me.”

“Tyler?” Rick asked. “Jameson Tyler?”

Tom nodded. “He became attorney for the University right before I was forced out. He orchestrated the whole thing.” Tom shook his head and stood, his agitation growing. “You said you needed to ask me some things about Ruth Ann’s case.”

Rick looked up from his cup. “I do, but... there’s one other thing.” The look of anguish on Rick’s face told Tom all he needed to know.

“Dawn?” Tom asked.

Rick nodded. “I have to know the deal. The newspaper–”

“The deal is simple,” Tom interrupted. “My last week, I hired Dawn to be my student assistant. When I hired her, she was so relieved to get the job that she started crying, and the Dean walked in my office while I was patting her hand.” Tom shrugged. “Later in the week, in the pouring-down rain, I walked Dawn to her car under an umbrella so she wouldn’t get wet. She gave me a hug as a way of saying thanks.” Tom sighed. “Somehow, Tyler captured the whole thing in some photographs that paint a skewed picture. Dawn is...” Tom chuckled. “Well, hell, you’ve seen her. She’s attractive. Her T-shirt is wet in the photographs. I guess it probably looked bad, but nothing happened.”