would take full advantage of the situation and enjoy every minute of it. He was probably sharpening his tongue right now, waiting for Matt to show up at the jail so he could bust his balls.
Matt reminded himself to play it cool. Losing his temper at the first taunt wouldn’t help the situation, or his father.
It hadn’t always been so tense between him and Josh. In fact, there was a time when they had been close friends. In the first grade, Matt, Josh and George Renchaw had formed a bond that had lasted for years. They had called their little trio the Three Musketeers, not a very original name, but they were little kids and they looked up to anyone with a sword and a plumed hat. Together they had done their share of pranks and mischief. George kept them straight. Studious and levelheaded, he was the one who made sure his two buddies never went too far.
Then in eighth grade, everything changed. A new girl moved next door to Josh’s house and all three boys fell head over heels in love with her. When Mary Ellen Sanders chose Matt, George gracefully accepted defeat, but Josh declared war on Matt.
Long after Mary Ellen had left their lives, Josh’s animosity toward Matt kept on growing. Matt and George graduated from college at the same time Josh got his army discharge. That summer, another incident had pulled Matt and Josh even further apart. Matt’s former girlfriend, nineteen-year-old Felicia Newman, disappeared. When foul play was suspected and several young men were interrogated, Josh was quick to point the finger at Matt, claiming he had heard the couple argue. Fred Baxter, the chief of police at the time, had no choice but to bring his son in for questioning. A few days later, Dusty Colburn, a mentally retarded man with a crush on Felicia, was arrested, and Matt was cleared.
The unfortunate incident had left the town bewildered and unsettled, with a handful of people not completely convinced that the right man had been arrested. And while no one believed that the chief’s son was the culprit, Josh’s unfounded accusations had taught Matt one important lesson: New Hope wasn’t big enough for the two of them. When Josh announced that he was planning to join the New Hope police force, Matt decided he should be the one to leave. Two months later, he was entering the FBI Academy in Quantico, Virginia.
After his graduation from the FBI Academy, the news that a hometown boy was now a federal agent kept the town abuzz for weeks. Jealous of the attention Matt was getting, Josh, by then a rookie with the New Hope PD, applied for a job with Interpol, the international police force that specialized in global crimes. But although Police Chief Baxter gave the young officer a good report, it wasn’t good enough to be accepted into that elite organization.
Angry and bitter, Josh had nonetheless put up a good front, but Matt knew that deep down, he blamed Fred for ruining this unique opportunity. His animosity may have tapered off when Fred recommended him for the position of chief a year ago, but with Josh, it was hard to say.
George Renchaw had done equally well. A corporate attorney with a large New York City firm for many years, he had left his job and returned to New Hope, where he still practiced law while serving a second term as mayor. There were rumors that he was being considered for a higher office, but nothing had been officially announced. As for Matt, after twenty-one years with the bureau, he was now a special agent based in Philadelphia, where he headed the antiterrorism task force.
Flashing lights in Matt’s rearview mirror ended his trip down memory lane. He pulled to the side, slowing just enough to let the police cruiser pass, but the car slid behind him, lights still flashing.
Matt brought his Jeep Durango to a stop and glanced in the rearview mirror. Josh, looking fit in his dark-blue pants and shirt, got out of the car and walked toward the Jeep, taking his time.
“Great,” Matt muttered under his breath. And immediately reminded himself to be civil.
“Hello, Matt. Welcome home.” Josh tilted his hat back and smiled, bracing his big hands on the window’s edge. He looked the same as he had a year ago, when he had attended Fred’s retirement party—tall, fit and in control.
“Is this a personal welcome, Chief?” Matt said casually. “Or was I going over the speed limit?” Surely that was civil enough.
“Actually I’m tempted to ticket you for going under the speed limit. What’s the matter? The signs aren’t written big enough for you?”
Matt kept his smile pasted on. “I was just taking in the scenery. A year is a long time to be away.”
“Well, like I said, you’re always welcome here.”
Matt refrained from telling him that welcome or not, he didn’t need his permission to visit. “I’d like to stay and chat,” he said instead. “But I’m anxious to see my father. So if you don’t mind—”
“What makes you think that I’m going to let you see him?”
Matt took a breath and counted to five. “It’s his right to have visitors. Or haven’t you read that part of the manual yet?” He probably shouldn’t have said that, but dammit, the bastard had it coming.
“He’s been charged with murder one,” Josh said. “Which significantly alters his rights, but since I’m a good guy, I’m going to let you come and go as you please. For old time’s sake. And while you’re visiting your dad, tell him to do himself a favor and take a guilty plea. It’ll save the taxpayers money and get him a lighter sentence.”
“You can’t ask an innocent man to plead guilty.”
“He did it, Matt. You’ve got to accept that.”
Matt’s fists tightened around the wheel. “Are we done here?”
Josh moved away from the SUV. “For now. Just don’t abuse my kindness.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it, Chief.”
Seven
Although Matt had prepared himself, seeing his father behind bars hit him harder than he had expected. The only comfort was Fred himself. At sixty-three, the police veteran had never looked better. He was leaner and more muscular, probably because now that he was retired, he had time to work out. And in spite of the confinement, he seemed totally relaxed as he sat on his bunk, his back against the dingy wall, one ankle propped on his knee and reading the Bucks County Courier Times.
“What’s the matter, Pop? You couldn’t stay away from your old stomping grounds, so you got yourself arrested?”
Fred looked up, his blue eyes lighting up instantly. He tossed the paper aside and stood up. “Hello, son.” He took in Matt’s tall, lean shape. “You’re looking good. And tanned. Been skiing?”
“You could say that.” Matt never discussed his assignments and his father knew better than to ask for more details.
The two men reached through the bars and clasped hands. “How come they haven’t transferred you to the county jail where you wouldn’t have to put up with Josh?” Matt asked.
“Haven’t you heard? Last month’s floods badly damaged the building. It looks like I’m going to be here for quite a while.”
“Not if I can help it, Pop.”
“Josh isn’t going to make it easy for you.”
“Josh is an ass. Why you recommended him for the job of chief, I’ll never know.”
“Nobody’s better qualified. He’s dedicated, fair—”
“You want to rethink the fair part, Pop?”
Fred shrugged. “He’s just doing his job, Matty. And he’s got to do it under extreme pressure—from the town, who wants me out of jail, and from the D.A. who wants to make sure I stay in.”
“Not if your new attorney has anything to say about it.”
“What new attorney?”
“Lucy wasn’t happy with Miles Stewart, so I contacted a friend of mine who used to be with the bureau and now practices in New York City. He’s