Page 15 of Captive Mafia Wife

“The Maclean case.” I plant my hands on my hips, narrowing my gaze. “I told you about it at dinner the night before last, but maybe you were too enamored with your wifey to hear me.”

A contented smile stretches over his face. “Home cooking by a fine-looking woman. One of the many benefits of wearing a wedding ring. And thanks to my bride, I’m a much better listener than I used to be. I know exactly which case you’re talking about.”

“And?” I challenge.

“Wednesday evening, when you were sipping at your stew, and I took the bowl and polished it off for you with a slab of honey wheat bread, you said you had a case before the judge in the morning,” he says triumphantly. “Old man Maclean’s case.”

“No,” I correct him. “Jack.” I swap out my fading island accent for my fake Los Angeles one. “The young one. Thehawtone, as Kitt would say.”

Callum’s face goes blank. See? I knew he wasn’t listening. He was elbow-deep in beef stew and had no idea who I was talking about.

“So, it was rescheduled for yesterday morning, and it was Jack, and yes, I won—you should have heard my closing speech, now THAT was pure dead brilliant—and yes, I went out to celebrate with the girls afterward.”

He stares at me.

“And if I know the Maclean family, there’ll be a lovely fruit basket in the way of a thank you waiting on my desk, and hopefully, there will be some chocolate biscuits hiding under all that healthy stuff?—”

Callum’s face is going from blank to seriously disturbed, his brow knitting together, his hand touching his beard. “Freya?—"

“Callum, I’ve got to go?—”

He grabs my arm, stopping me. “When you said Maclean, I assumed you meant Harold. Not Jack.”

“Nope.” I shake my head. “It was certainly Jack. I don’t think Mr. Maclean could find trouble if it tugged him with a fisherman’s hook.”

Callum’s thick brows knit, his green eyes flashing with worry. “Jack—I thought you said you’d never go against your principles with who you represent.”

“I did! And I didn’t!” Och, will this man stop talking in circles and let me get to work? “Callum, what are you talking about?”

His voice rumbles like thunder. “He’s not who you think he is.”

“What do you mean…” The look on his face leaves me with an uneasy feeling wiggling into my already queasy stomach. “Tell me.”

“The elder, he’s fine, he’s a good man. But your Jack.” His eyes go cold. “The young one…whatever he was accused of, I assure you, he’s guilty.”

“No,” I say, my heart dropping into the soles of my stilettos. “Can’t be.”

“Why not?” He eyes me. “‘Cause he’s good-looking?”

I shake my head, denying that the man’s classic Highland smoldering good looks have anything to do with my assessment of his story and the facts he presented to my team during interviews.

Sure, it was very last-minute—his lawyer dropped out of the case moments before he was due in court—but I trusted my gut, rescheduled him for yesterday, and got him off.

“I’m a terrific judge of people,” I say, wondering if I did, in fact, let the man’s strong jawline and thick hair sway me. Having pin-straight hair that won’t curl myself, I admire a wavy head of hair. “And the Macleans are as clean as the word in their surname.”

“Things have changed. We need to talk.” He gives me that look that means I will do what he says, especially since he’s not yet let go of my arm. He’s distraught. “No more putting me off. Tonight.”

The man with the blue eyes comes to mind. Should I mention him to Callum? A little yellow parakeet pops out of the grandfather clock in the hall I’d had shipped in from Norway, tweeting his sweet little tune, informing me I’m going to be late.

I push the memory away with a sigh. “Fine. Tonight. But I really must go.”

Something heavy in his tone makes me take a beat, assess his tight jaw and the death grip he’s still got on my bicep. “Promise me you’ll come straight home from work. And take our car service. Don’t walk.”

“Car service? You mean your band of thugs?” Finally, I head toward the door, my back to him. I offer an eye roll and a joke to lighten the mood. “My little brother. So paranoid.”

But the air stays heavy as I leave, and I feel his gaze on me as I go.

I let his guards drive me to work, but as much as he’d like to, Callum knows full well that he can’t control me. Nor I, him. I let the tension of the morning go as I breeze through the office, greeting the others.

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