.

followed the direction she was pointing and his gaze settled on a baby-blue Cadillac straight off the set of Happy Days.

      He would have whistled his appreciation except for one thing. Both back tires had been slashed.

      Felicity pushed her shoe back on and headed over to survey the damage. Anger surged up and crested inside her. She dug into the pocket of her linen blazer for a caramel candy. Popping it into her mouth, she looked from the tires to Chris, who was prowling around the car. The humor had vanished from his eyes and his mouth had flattened into a grim line. He looked every inch the police officer.

      “Don’t kids have anything better to do than vandalize people’s property?” And here she’d been harping about nothing happening in a parking lot in the middle of the morning.

      Her words pulled at Chris’s attention. “You’re sure this was kids?”

      In an instant she knew what he meant. Her secret un-admirer. She refused to believe it.

      “It had to be.” The words sounded weak, even to her. She scanned the nearest vehicles parked close to hers, searching for similar damage. No. Just her beloved Caddy.

      “What time did you get to work this morning?”

      “About quarter after eight.”

      “Do you park in the same place every day?”

      “I park wherever I can find a spot.” Which meant that if it was her un-admirer, he knew what kind of car she drove. A cold shiver danced up her spine, raising the hair on her arms.

      She could see by Chris’s expression that he had come to the same conclusion.

      “I’ll call a tow truck.” He lifted his radio out of the holder on his belt and took a few steps away, murmuring quietly into it.

      Felicity looked at her watch and resisted the urge to howl. But then Chris would have felt obligated to make another call for someone to come and take her away. She concentrated on the caramel candy that was melting in her mouth even though what she really wanted to do was crush it between her teeth. Her dad’s anti-stress remedy. He’d told her by the time the candy had dissolved, so would her temper. And it always worked. Well, most of the time. She’d kept a pocketful since she was seven years old.

      “All set.” The frown that had settled between Chris’s eyebrows was still there. “They’re on their way.”

      “This guy didn’t happen to leave a message under my windshield wiper, did he? Maybe one with a letterhead on it?” Felicity tried to ease the tension with humor. She couldn’t let him see how the mangled tires had affected her equilibrium. She propped one hip against the door to steady herself. Her legs felt like overcooked pasta.

      “He left a message all right.” Chris bumped the shredded tire with the toe of his boot. “It’s right here.”

      “Felicity told me about her tires.” Tim showed up at the police department later that afternoon. “Someone’s car was keyed in that parking lot a few weeks ago.”

      Chris’s breath hissed between his teeth. “Usually if it’s vandalism, someone sticks a knife in the tire and walks away. The air seeps out, the tire goes flat. The vandal walks away. Felicity’s tires looked like fettuccini. There was a truckload of aggression driving that knife into the rubber.”

      “Dad doesn’t want any more publicity.”

      “I’m going to follow up on this.” Tim valued the direct approach, so Chris was going to be direct. “And I’m off duty in a few minutes. Let’s go talk to Dad together.”

      Hopefully they could put aside their differences to make the best decision. For the family and Felicity.

      There was no way he was going to step away from this now. No matter how Felicity had kept up a show of bravery, he still had a hunch it was all show. Letters were easier to ignore than a blatant attack on your personal property. When the mechanic had loaded up the car, Felicity had given the convertible a final comforting pat on its baby-blue fin. And for a split second, he’d seen the flicker of fear in her eyes.

      “We can take my car to the hospital,” Tim said.

      The Ferrari. Okay, he was big enough to admit it. He practically drooled with envy whenever he saw his brother’s mode of transportation but he wasn’t going to pass up an opportunity to enjoy those butter-soft leather seats and the low purr of an eight cylinder, either. He’d leave his motorcycle baking in the parking lot for a few more hours.

      “Can I drive?”

      Tim’s bark of laughter echoed around the room and Chris realized that laughter had been something their family hadn’t indulged in much lately. Especially Tim. He was so much like Wallace—so confident and driven—it was easy to assume he’d taken his place at the company helm without any additional effort. Now, Chris suddenly wondered if that was true.

      “No way. I’m not giving my keys to someone who took out a mailbox the day after he got his learner’s permit.” Tim tossed the keys in the air and deftly caught them again.

      “You really need to learn to let go of things, bro.”

      When they got to the hospital, Nora and Heather met them in the hallway. Heather walked right into his arms without hesitation. Her cheek rested against his shoulder and he patted her back, feeling the tremors that coursed through her.

      “Nice to know that you still need your brother now that you’ve got Ethan hanging around,” Chris whispered teasingly, referring to Nashville Living’s staff photographer—and the reason Heather was walking two feet above the ground these days.

      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