LITMIR.BIZ

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      “He’s getting X-rays right now.” Her soft drawl did nothing to soothe the panic racing through his chest. “They suspect he broke his hip.”

      Crap. Broken hip? “I’ll be right down. What hospital again?”

      She repeated the name while he scribbled.

      “He didn’t lose consciousness,” she said. “But I thought you would want to know.”

      “Thank you. I’m leaving right now.” He hung up and filled in Roger.

      “Go.” Roger waved him away. “I’ll let you know if we hear anything new.”

      Kaden rushed to his apartment. He grabbed his go bag, threw in his laptop and Dopp kit, and headed out of Atlanta.

      Traffic on I-75 was bumper-to-bumper. Even the left-hand lane, void of trucks, barely moved at the speed limit. He longed to go hot and let the sirens get him to his grandfather.

      Nigel had saved him. Pulled him away from his useless parents and shown him he could have a normal life. A life that didn’t require moving all the time and keeping an eye out for cops or DEA agents.

      The miles crawled by. He merged onto I-16, hoping traffic would ease. No luck. Container trucks filled the right-hand lane, heading to the port of Savannah. He hit the radio and tuned into CNN, then the BBC, trying to knock out the voices in his head that were warning him he might lose his last family member. Even deep breaths didn’t ease the tightness in his chest.

      Clutching the steering wheel, he exited on the 516. A broken hip at his grandfather’s age could be deadly. When he got to Waters Avenue and then Lexington, he exhaled. Finally.

      He scouted the full ER parking deck. His fingers drummed the steering wheel. On the second pass, a car backed out and he grabbed the spot.

      Dashing to the ER receptionist desk, he said, “I’m looking for Nigel Ganders.”

      The young man searched. “He was just admitted.”

      Kaden followed the directions to the correct floor, stopping at the nursing station to verify his grandfather’s room number. His heart pounded as he pushed open the door. And found a roomful of strangers.

      “Kaden?” Granddad waved a finger at the three redheaded women in the room. “Who called my grandson for something this piddling?”

      “I did.” One of the women shook her finger back in Granddad’s face. “He’s your emergency contact. Of course I called him.”

      Granddad stared at Kaden. Then he touched his heart.

      Tears threatened to spill from Kaden’s eyes. It had always been their signal. When Kaden had been playing basketball or giving a speech, it had been that small gesture that let him know Granddad loved and was proud of him.

      The woman with a ponytail walked over, holding out her hand. “Hi, I’m Abby Fitzgerald. I called.”

      “Nice to meet you.” Kaden’s response was automatic, but he stared at his grandfather. Nigel’s gray eyes were bright and his posture straight. His full head of white hair was as tidy as if he was heading to church instead of lying injured in a hospital bed.

      Granddad made introductions. The other two women were also Fitzgeralds; Bess, long hair, and Dolley, short curly hair. He’d heard enough about the sisters from his granddad that Kaden said, “I almost feel like I know you.”

      “Good. You’ll be staying in Savannah, right?” Abby asked.

      “Yes.” No question. Kaden would be here for his grandfather.

      “Wonderful.” Abby stepped out of his way, letting him move next to the bed. “You’ll be our guest at Fitzgerald House. No charge.”

      Dolley grinned at him. “I’ve put a hold on a Carleton House room.”

      “That’s not necessary.” Kaden looked at Granddad.

      His grandfather shrugged. “No use protesting. They always get their way.”

      “He’s right.” Abby smiled and patted Kaden’s arm. “At the B and B, you’re closer to the hospital than at Nigel’s house out on Tybee Island.”

      “Umm, sure.” Kaden would have slept at the hospital.

      “Good. Just head over when you’re ready. Here’s the address.” Dolley handed him a business card and then frowned. “I don’t think Nigel’s ever said what you do up in Atlanta.”

      He hesitated. “I followed in my grandfather’s footsteps.”

      “Construction?” Bess asked.

      “Yes,” he lied. Few people knew he worked for the FBI and fewer knew about the drug task force. It was necessary to keep everyone and their families safe.

      After exchanging phone numbers, Abby kissed Granddad’s cheek. “I’m heading back to Fitzgerald House. Call if you need anything.”

      Dolley and Bess also kissed his granddad. “You take care of yourself,” Bess whispered loud enough for Kaden to hear.

      Women loved his granddad. But not as much as Kaden did.

      Once they were alone, his grandfather complained, “You didn’t need to drive down from Atlanta.”

      “Of course I did.” Kaden wrapped his arms around Granddad’s shoulders. His Green Irish Tweed aftershave cut through the bite of hospital bleach burning his nose. He gulped deep breaths to capture the sandalwood scent. “What did the doctors say?”

      “I fractured my hip.”

      “How?” Kaden took the chair, but reached for his hand.

      “Painting.” He grimaced, his thick white eyebrows forming a line. “I just wanted that last little bit and stretched too far.”

      “You know better than that.” Kaden squeezed his hand. “You weren’t hopping the ladder along the outside of the wall like you did the first year I lived with you, were you?”

      “I gave that up twenty years ago.” Granddad closed his eyes. “You shouldn’t have come.”

      “I’m here for you.” Kaden’s heart pounded a little harder as lines of pain etched his grandfather’s face. “Did they schedule your surgery yet?”

      “They’re working on it.” His grandfather gave him his infamous no-nonsense look. “I don’t want to pull you away from your job.”

      His work was important, but some days it felt like he was holding up an umbrella to battle a tsunami. Drugs flooded the southeast states and innocents were getting hurt.

      “I’m not leaving you alone to deal with this.” Nigel had saved him. “I’m right where I belong.”

      * * *

      “‘RIKKI-TIKKI HAD A right to be proud of himself—but he did not grow too proud, and he kept the garden as a mongoose should keep it, with tooth and jump and spring and bite, till never a cobra dared show its head inside the walls.’” Courtney closed the book and smiled at the circle of children at her feet.

      “Read another,” Jamison called in his strong Southie accent. “With more bad cobras!”

      “I can’t.” Courtney shook her head. “Our time is up.”

      Actually, she’d run over the library’s reading hour. But she’d wanted to finish The Jungle Book story. “I’ll see you next week.”

      As she pushed up from her small chair, Jamison wrapped his arms around her knees. “Thank you, Miss Courtney.”

      “You’re welcome.” She hugged the little boy. “Thank you for paying attention.”

      Two months ago, Jamison hadn’t been able to sit still for more than five minutes. Now he sat for the entire story hour.

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