LITMIR.BIZ

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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.”

      Chris.

      Felicity’s heart took a swan dive.

      Don’t read into it, Felicity chided herself. Maybe he’d found out something about the person who slashed her tires.

      She shrugged on her linen jacket and grabbed the purse she kept stashed under her desk. With her heart still kicking like a stubborn toddler in the candy aisle, she made her way to the lobby.

      Herman and Louise had already left for the day and the lobby was empty. Except for Chris. He was leaning casually against the wall and when he straightened, Felicity blinked. He’d packed quite a punch in his uniform, but in faded blue jeans, a white T-shirt and a pair of black canvas high-tops, he was what some women referred to as “eye candy.” His dark hair was slightly mussed, too, giving him an appealing boy-next-door quality. The crooked smile he flashed in her direction sent her nerve endings on red alert.

      Something was going on. Her reporter’s intuition shifted into high gear.

      “I called the garage to check on your car and the mechanic told me they were keeping it for a few days. I thought maybe you could use a ride home.”

      “I didn’t realize it was so late. I was planning to call a taxi.”

      “This will be faster.”

      In spite of her hunch that there was something fishy going on, Felicity’s toes began to throb in her shoes, reminding her that they’d been stuffed into a funnel-shaped pair of flats all day. Another twenty minutes waiting for a taxi might cause irreparable damage and there was a pair of fuzzy slippers with her name on them right inside the door of her apartment.

      “Thank you.”

      Chris grinned and gave a funny bow. “Your carriage awaits, my lady.”

      She hated the revolving door almost as much as the elevator but at least she could see Main Street through the glass, so it wasn’t quite the same as being confined in a windowless moving box.

      She pushed through the door, momentarily shoulder to shoulder with Chris, and saw the carriage he’d referred to. Tim’s lipstick-red Ferrari was crouched in the small parking lot across the street, the one reserved for the Hamilton family.

      “Hey, I might never afford one of these but it’s nice to have a brother who can.” Chris jingled the keys. “He’s working late tonight so he told me I could borrow it.”

      “Is this yours?” Felicity paused and looked at the motorcycle in the parking space next to the sports car. It was an older model but meticulously cared for.

      “When I want to claim it.”

      She saw an extra helmet strapped to the backrest. “We can take this.”

      If she’d announced to Chris that she’d written the threatening letters herself, she didn’t think she would have shocked him more.

      “You’re serious? You don’t exactly look…”

      She

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