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tailored in a dark pin-striped suit, a wine-colored silk tie, sporting soft Italian leather wing-tipped shoes that matched his tie, and a low hair cut that showed off the natural soft wave of his hair, Micah Jordan-Wells cut a dashing picture of self-assuredness and confidence.
    Micah was a dangerously handsome man. His face had been cast with classic features. His coffee-colored skin was velvety looking in its smooth texture and his eyebrows had a natural wavy arch to them.
    He had long dark sweeping lashes that fringed a pair of eyes that were penetrating as well as observant. Yet, there was a light of kindness that shown through from time to time, capturing you in the depth and brilliance of their light brown coloring.
    Charisma clung to Micah as though he had been given a permanent patent on it.
    He stood just outside the courtroom door in the hallway with his partner, Nugent Lewis, otherwise known as Nuggie to those near and dear.
    Nugent was about as laid-back as they come. He was made of solid stuff. Never easy to ruffle, Nugent observed the world through a self-created distance. He was also Micah’s right-hand man. They were closer than brothers.
    As two of Silky’s counsels approached the courtroom they both gave an inward sigh upon spotting Micah Jordan-Wells, who was clearly king of the day, standing in front of the courtroom.
    Micah slid smoothly into script as they stopped in front of him. He pinned his sights first on Judd Nelson who was the lead counsel. “You should never have taken this case, Judd, and you know it.”
    The second attorney, Rick Bowker, jumped in before Judd could reply. “Ever the expert. Right, Micah?”
    Nugent laughed. “I would never have figured you clean-cut prominent guys for ambulance chasers, but . . .” Nugent shrugged his shoulders and let his sentence trail off leaving a clear rebuff in the air.
    Judd Nelson said, “You want to reel in your ego just a bit, Micah?” He ignored Nugent.
    Judd’s entire law firm, including the partners, had thought the high-profile case of Silky would be easily locked down. They had looked forward to bucking horns with the charismatic Micah Jordan-Wells.
    They had counted on it to pitch their law firm as well as the presiding attorneys into the national spotlight, which it had. What they hadn’t counted on was being made to look like national fools.
    It was a simple case of murder by insanity, or so they’d thought. But it hadn’t turned out like that. They had assembled their experts. Patrick Hayes, the prosecutor, had discredited each of them during the trial.
    The end result was that now Micah stood looking at them knowing they would have given their right arms to be any place else and in his conceit he was being less than gracious about it. The press hovered nearby, catching the whiff of a possible catfight.
    Derrick Holt, the Star-Ledger newspaper’s crime reporter smelled a golden opportunity arising. Never one to let it pass, he strolled over and took the tension to the next level by complimenting Micah.
    â€œMicah, dazzling footwork man, just dazzling. It’s been brought to my attention that your police work and testimony are being written about in countless publications around the country, and it’s slated to become a documented case study on the university circuit.”
    Derrick stuck out his hand and Micah reached for it.
    Micah smiled. Meekly he said, “It looks like you have more information than me, Mr. Holt, but I certainly hope the capture of such a dangerous criminal as David Stokes will assist in precedent for other killers that prey on innocent society.”
    It was all Judd Nelson could do to keep his breakfast down and not roll his eyes heavenward in front of the media who had slunk closer and were beginning to record the conversation as well as snap pictures.
    Judd’s job had been to paint Silky as insane, to say that a man who committed such heinous