Scared Stiff by Annelise Ryan Page A

think he means it.
    But it doesn’t change the facts, and after seeing the pathetic look of dejection on Erik’s face, I’m more motivated than ever to get to the truth.

Chapter 12
     
    A fter saying my good-byes to the ER crew, I head for my car, knowing what I have to do next but dreading it. Erik is going to need a lawyer, a good one, and I know one of the best: my brother-in-law, Lucien. Unfortunately, being a good lawyer doesn’t require charm, finesse, or good taste, and Lucien is a shining example of this fact. He behaves like a sexist pig and lacks any sense of tact or political correctness. He is famous, or perhaps infamous, for his free use of words like poontang, diddlywhacker, and rib bumpers. Once, at a party David and I had, Lucien vocalized his fondness for women who cater to fast-food restaurants because, “we are what we eat and that means they’re all fast, cheap, and easy.”
    I’ve never understood what my sister, Desi, sees in Lucien, though as far as I can tell he is a faithful and loving husband despite his belief that developing a hard-on is a form of personal growth. He is also a wonderful father to his daughter, Erika, and his son, Ethan, who despite some odd idiosyncrasies are both bright, sweet kids. Twelve-year-old Erika seems to have inherited her father’s flair for attention-getting behavior, a trait she exhibits through her appearance rather than her speech. Her clothes are typically dark, mismatched, and oversized, and her hair color changes on a regular basis, ranging from raven black to hot pink. Ethan, who just turned ten, is brilliant but far less outgoing and flamboyant. Desi calls him her mini nerd. He prefers to hole up in his room alone much of the time, though that might be because no one else wants to go in there. The kid is enthralled with bugs of all kinds and his room holds a creepy but fascinating collection.
    As I dial Lucien’s office number and listen to the phone ring on the other end, part of me hopes he won’t be available. Talking to him is an exercise in extreme patience that I’m not sure I’m up for today. But as luck would have it, he’s not only in, he answers his own phone.
    “Lucien, it’s Mattie.”
    “Well, hello, Sweet Cheeks! What goodly deed did I do to warrant a call from you?” In my mind I think it’s more the other way around—what horrible thing did I do to deserve the punishment of having to talk to him? “If you’re calling to thank me for that picture thing, there’s no need. It’s all in the family, so to speak.” He lets forth with a salacious chuckle.
    The picture thing he’s referring to is a shot of me standing bare-chested next to Joey, a gigantic hulk of a man who despite being a little slow in some areas has a savant ability when it comes to computers and programming. Joey also fancies himself something of a superhero and even dresses the part by wearing a skintight, red hero suit—complete with cape—under his regular clothes. How I came to be standing bare-chested next to Joey is a story in itself, one that nearly rivals the infamous nipple incident. Unfortunately, it was Alison who took the picture, and in an effort to keep her from publishing it in the local paper, I had Lucien serve her with an injunction. In the process, he got a copy of the picture. I shudder to think what he’s been doing with it since then.
    Still, as trying as Lucien can be, he’s a successful criminal defense lawyer who, more often than not, wins his cases. I’ve long held the belief that he wins by embarrassing, harassing, or simply talking his opponents to death. However unbecoming his behavior might be, it’s effective. Bracing myself, I tell him why I’m calling.
    “No, it’s not that. I’m calling to ask a favor.”
    “Let me guess. You’re starting to feel a bit pent up with your new single life and you want me to fix you up with somebody, right? Can do, Babycakes. With those headlights of yours you should be able to snag a