By Her Side

Heather’s fingers wiggled into his ribs and he jumped. She’d discovered his weakness when they were four and never let him forget it. “I’ll always need my brothers,” she said, then lowered her voice. “All of them.”

Jeremy. A silent message passed between them. Although Jeremy still spoke with him on the phone occasionally, Chris was getting concerned about what he saw as Jeremy’s increasing detachment from the family. At first he’d thought his oldest brother just needed some time and space but lately Jeremy seemed to be pulling away from them even more.

Chris kept one arm around Heather and wrapped the other one around his mother, bending down slightly to plant a kiss on her temple.

“We were just going to the cafeteria for something to eat,” Nora told him. “Do you and Tim want to join us?”

“No.” Tim pushed the word into the conversation before Chris could reply. He was in business mode again. “Is Dad awake?”

Nora shook her head. “The nurse will be in soon to give him his meds, so maybe you can say hello then.”

“We’ll wait here. Someone should be with him.”

Chris gave his mom’s shoulders a comforting squeeze. “If the cafeteria has one of those jumbo cinnamon rolls, smuggle one up to me, okay?”

As soon as the two women were out of earshot, Tim gave Chris a meaningful look. “We don’t want to say anything to upset him.”

A not-so-subtle hint to toe the Hamilton line, Chris thought wryly.

“No one will give me a copy of the Observer.” They were the first words out of Wallace’s mouth as Chris and Tim entered the room a few minutes later.

“That’s because it increases your blood pressure,” Chris said, his voice mild.

“I’m just waiting to see what dirt they dig up next.” Wallace shifted restlessly and his intense, dark-eyed gaze flickered over them, pausing to rest on Chris. “Tim said you had a meeting with Felicity Simmons.”

Chris nodded. “I’m concerned about the letters she’s been getting. It’s not your average disgruntled citizen, Dad. Felicity’s tires were slashed while she was at work this morning—”

“You don’t know that it’s related,” Tim interrupted. “It could be a coincidence.”

“Are you willing to risk Felicity’s safety if it isn’t?” Chris was frustrated with his brother’s tunnel vision.

“The Observer is going to have a field day with this,” Wallace muttered.

“They won’t find out.”

“They found out about Jeremy, didn’t they?” Wallace’s breathing increased and his hand gripped the metal rail on the side of the bed. Chris instinctively reached out and covered it with his own and gave it a reassuring squeeze. As soon as he did, he realized he couldn’t remember the last time he’d touched his father. While Nora was affectionate and generous with hugs, Wallace was just the opposite. An occasional, awkward pat on the back was all he could manage to communicate his approval. And there hadn’t been many of those for Chris over the years.

“There has to be a way to keep Felicity safe and carry out an investigation without the Observer finding out about it,” Tim said.

“There is.” Wallace continued to stare at Chris. “You can help us.”

“I already have. I talked to Captain Driscoll earlier today and told him you would be concerned about the publicity. He promised we could keep a tight lid on this at the department and he officially assigned me to handle Felicity’s case.”

Wallace shook his head. “It’s not enough. If something happens to that reporter, there’s no way to keep it quiet. And we can’t ignore the fact that the same person who sent the letters to Miss Simmons may have leaked the story about Jeremy to the Observer.”

Chris glanced at Tim and saw him nod in agreement. The truth was, he hadn’t considered a connection between the two until now. His concern was Felicity’s safety. But obviously Tim and his father had.

“I want to hire you,” Wallace rasped out.

“Hire me?” Chris wondered if the pain meds were starting to have an adverse effect on him.

Realization dawned in Tim’s eyes and a slow smile spread across his face. “He’s right. It makes sense. You can keep the investigation in the family and keep Felicity safe.”

Chris didn’t consider himself a slow learner, but they’d lost him somewhere between hiring him and keeping Felicity safe.

Wallace’s gaze was riveted on him. “Until you figure out who’s writing those letters, I want you to be her bodyguard. Keep a close eye on her.”

Chris gaped at him. “I have a job, Dad.”

“Until three. Then you’re off duty,” Tim put in.

Chris wanted to put his brother in a headlock. No, that wouldn’t work. He could still talk. “You can’t hire someone to be a bodyguard without the other person’s permission.”

“I’ll take care of that.” Tim casually crossed his arms.

Chris read his mind. If Felicity didn’t agree, she’d be covering the elementary school’s summer baseball games. He was about to protest when suddenly he felt pressure on his fingers.

To his amazement, Wallace was squeezing his hand.

“Your chance to help out, son,” he whispered. “Maybe it’s not so bad to have a cop in the family.”

The chance to help. Chris wavered. That’s what he’d been hoping for. A chance to show Wallace that even though he wasn’t working for Hamilton Media, he was still a valuable part of the family.

It was an answer to a prayer he’d been praying for years.

“I’ll do it. But—” he gave Tim a warning look “—let me be the one to talk to Felicity.”

Chapter Four

Felicity tried to concentrate on her next assignment but the image of the Cadillac’s slashed tires stalked her like the paparazzi chasing celebrities on Oscar night.

What if Chris had been right? What if the person who was clearly a prime candidate for anger-management classes was the same one who’d sent the letters?

For the hundredth time, she silently backtracked through the stories she’d written, searching for something that might have triggered her un-admirer’s anger. Other than the mention of the city council meeting, which was open to the public, the letters were so vague it was difficult to pinpoint what might have set him off.

“Go home, Simmons, you’re making the rest of us look bad.” Lyle poked his head around the half wall, an unlit cigar clamped between his teeth. The cigar had remained unlit for the past six months, ever since his doctor had made him an offer he couldn’t refuse—quit smoking or settle into a long relationship with an oxygen machine. Felicity couldn’t imagine the temptation that dangling, unlit cigar offered, but Lyle had told her that without it he was like a preschooler without his security blanket. He might not be able to smoke it but he needed it close by.

Felicity looked up at the clock on the wall. Almost six o’clock. Because of Mr. Slasher, she hadn’t made it halfway through her to-do list.

“By the way, your ride is waiting for you.”

“My ride?” She hadn’t called a taxi to take her home yet. The mechanic had told Felicity they had to special order her tires and it would take a day or two to get them in. The downside of owning a piece of history.

Lyle shrugged. “So he says. Ask Herman if you don’t believe me. He practically does a background check on anyone who comes to pick up one of his girls.”

Any of the single women who worked in the building were automatically tucked under Herman Gordon’s protective wing. He might have been old enough to be their grandfather, but he was more intimidating than the principal on homecoming night.

“Even Herman can’t kick up a fuss if the guy’s a cop, though, can he?” Lyle chuckled and the cigar bobbed up and down. “See you tomorrow, kid.”