He wasn’t outwardly aggressive, but those eyes readdon’t fuck with me. And that made me want to fuck with him. The deep tan that coated his bronzed skin spoke of the days spent outside. I would bet ten to one that his large yet chiseled body hadn’t been earned solely by spending time in somebody’s commercial gym.
All of those musings ran through my mind in a matter of seconds, not minutes. Above all, there was a sense of familiarity as I peered up into Micah’s unflinching gaze. As if Micah Townsend and I had met somewhere, sometime before. But I would’ve known right off the bat if he and I had met before. Besides, I hadn’t been to Texas in years. I highly doubted we came across one another anywhere else.
“Wh-What was the question?” I found myself asking.
Those lips spread wider as if he knew something that either I didn’t know, or didn’t want him to know.
“I asked how I can help you.”
I nodded. “Right, that makes sense.” I cleared my throat. “It’s my grandfather.”
His eyebrows dipped, but not in confusion. In interest, as if he was narrowing in on every word that came out of my mouth.
“I believe he was murdered.”
He didn’t even flinch or look surprised in any way.
“That’s a big accusation. Do you have any proof?”
“That’s why I’d be hiring you,” I retorted.
He nodded slowly before breaking eye contact and moving closer to his desk. Finally taking a seat behind it, he nodded for me to sit across from him.
I did.
“Tell me what you think you have.”
I ignored the part about what IthoughtI had and began laying out the facts as I knew them.
“Tom Walker was your grandfather?” he questioned once I finished explaining the circumstances of my grandfather’s death.
I pushed out a breath, already feeling defensive that I might need to explain how Thomas Walker, a white man, was my—a very obviously black woman—grandfather.
“Yes,” I responded curtly.
He cocked his head to the side slightly, examining me. “I see the family resemblance,” he stated after some time. “I met your grandmother. Both of your grandparents, actually. Years ago.”
My chest caved a little as I let out a breath. Hearing this man say he’d met my grandparents meant he knew they’d been an interracial couple. I didn’t need to go into detail about my family’s history.
“You look like your grandmother.”
His voice was so damn deep it felt as if it dripped over me, slowly coating my outsides as well as my insides with every intonation.
“I’ll take that as a compliment,” I quickly replied. My grandmother was a beautiful woman. Both my mother and I took after her.
His pink lips spread wider into a smile that made my breath stick in my throat.
“You don’t believe your grandfather committed suicide,” he finally stated after a full minute of silence.
“No. You can’t believe it after everything I told you, right?”
He gave a nonchalant shrug of the shoulders that pissed me off. “I think grieving family members often want to believe things that aren’t real about their loved ones. If your grandfather was lonely and—”
“But he wasn’t,” I blurted out, cutting him off. I paused to gather my thoughts and to do my best to make a rational argument, instead of an emotional one. “I know what it looks like from the outside. His wife died a decade ago, his daughter and granddaughter live on the East Coast and don’t visit much. But I spoke with my grandfather weekly. Often a few times a week. I would know if something was bothering him so much that he was depressed to the point of suicide.”
Micah remained silent, tilting his head to the side, discerningly. His gaze took on a specific depth as if he was dissecting each word I’d said.
“Look ….” Standing, I opened my bag, unable to take much more of the silence. I grew uncomfortable with the way my body began responding with the rise of goosebumps along my arms. I pulled the green tin from my shoulder bag, opening it.
