Felicity caught her breath. He’d just described the way she’d felt in the stairwell when she’d had the feeling someone was watching her. And she’d been angry about those feelings, never thinking of them as a positive thing. Should she confide in Chris? Maybe he’d think she was turning into a hysterical woman who was becoming afraid of her own shadow. Or worse, he might tell Tim, who’d insist she take a leave of absence. She’d temporarily lost her political beat, what else would she lose if she told him she suspected someone had been watching her?
“We don’t know for sure if I’m in danger. With your job, it’s a given,” Felicity reminded him.
“In my line of work, I do what I can to not only keep myself safe, but other people, too.” Chris went on. “I’m not reckless and I never charge into a situation without weighing the cost. My life, the lives of my friends and innocent people—it’s not something I take lightly. I’ve had hours of training and I figure God wants me to use that knowledge the best way I can. Ultimately, though, my life is in His hands. That’s the difference. That’s the point when fear bows to faith.”
No wonder Chris had stepped away from Hamilton Media and gone into law enforcement. He was almost vibrating with the intensity of his beliefs.
Everything inside her resisted the truth in what he was saying even as she fell captive to the passion in his voice. His hands instinctively moved toward hers on the table until their fingertips were almost touching. Felicity stared down at his hands—the kind of hands that looked strong and gentle all at the same time. There was no wedding band on his finger. She’d known he was single, but maybe she had just caught a glimpse of the reason why.
Maybe he’d filled his life with his career the same way she had. With a single-minded devotion that hadn’t left a space for another person. So far.
So far?
Felicity was caught up short by that rogue thought. In an effort to squelch the sudden yearning to have someone like Chris to talk to—to share her days with—she blurted out the first words that came into her head. “I never thought of it from that angle before. Could I interview you sometime?”
“That angle?”
Judging from the disbelief on his face, she’d obviously chosen the wrong word. It wasn’t her fault that something about Chris Hamilton rattled her more than closed-in spaces. “Mom always told me never to let an opportunity pass you by,” she said quickly, relieved to see Betty approaching with their cheeseburgers.
“Pearls of wisdom from Mom.” He nodded in understanding and Felicity saw the warmth return to his eyes. His mom was Nora Hamilton. If the term “quiet strength” had a picture beside it, Felicity knew it would be Nora’s.
“You’ve heard a few of those over the years.”
“A few.” He smiled at Betty as she put a bottle of ketchup near his elbow.
“It’s funny how those things stick with you, isn’t it?” Felicity mused. “The blessings of a close family.”
“I guess.” The intense emotion that had challenged her to look at her situation from a different perspective drained away, leaving his words curiously flat. “I’m sure you’ve heard that the Hamiltons haven’t exactly been the poster family for support and encouragement lately.”
The pain in his eyes cut right through her. Chris was tough and confident, but when it came to his family she’d seen pockets of vulnerability. And it made her respect him even more. She didn’t always deal patiently with things she perceived as weakness—in herself or in others—but somehow she knew that the depth of love Chris had for his family was another one of his strengths.
“Close families may stretch during hard times but they never break.”
Chris’s eyebrow lifted at her feeble attempt to encourage him. “Another Dad-ism?”
“No.” Great. Now she was going to look like an idiot. “I saw it on a bumper sticker once.”
Chris’s laughter came from some reservoir deep inside him and Felicity knew that only the Lord could keep those wells brimming when life threatened to suck them dry. She swiped a French fry through a pool of ketchup and waggled it at him. “Don’t laugh at me.”
“I’m laughing with you.” He winked at her and she felt it down to her toes.
She leaned forward slightly, aware that Betty was clearing the table across from theirs. “Chris, I’ve heard the way Amy and Heather talk about you. Heather calls you her rock. And your mom brags about you to anyone who will listen.”
“Eavesdropper.”
“Reporter.”
Betty paused beside their table and Chris reached out his hand, assuming she was going to give them the bill. Instead, she gave his hand a little pat.
“It’s important for families to appreciate each other,” she said. “Their strengths and weaknesses.”
Chris nodded in agreement but the glance he shot at Felicity was confused. “That’s true.”
Betty released his hand. “You take care, Chris. You’re a good man. And give my best to your family.”
There was silence as she moved away and Felicity reached over and took one of his fries. “See. You have a fan club.”
“Interested in running for president?”
“What will that get me besides a cheap button and the envy of all my friends?”
“Meet me in the parking lot after work and I’ll show you.”
Chris spent two hours with his parents at the hospital. While Nora took a walk around the grounds to stretch her legs, Wallace had grilled him about Felicity but without his usual level of agitation. Chris was almost afraid to believe that maybe it meant his dad had a small measure of trust in his abilities. At least it gave them a common bond, something they hadn’t had since he was a kid and he’d coaxed his dad into the backyard to play catch.
When Heather showed up, she’d freed him to head back to the Dispatch. And hopefully to Felicity.
She had a gift for sneaking out on him, and even though she’d been cranky about being taken off her evening assignments, Chris was glad Tim had done it. It was obvious she was more than capable of causing enough trouble during the day!
He could only pray that he’d gotten through to her during their conversation at the Bakeshoppe. It had been divine intervention that he’d suddenly thought to use his bulletproof vest to make his point. But would she admit to him if she were afraid? Would she even tell him if something spooked her? Or if she received another threat? He couldn’t be sure. She trusted God to protect her but she didn’t trust him. Not yet.
When he’d met up with her on the courthouse steps, he could have sworn by the way she reacted to his unexpected appearance that something had made her jumpy.
Probably you, Hamilton.
Their relationship was forged out of necessity and they were still finding their footing. Coming from completely different perspectives but trying to fit together. No wonder they were laughing one minute and nose to nose, glaring at each other, the next.
When he got to the parking lot, he noticed that Felicity’s Caddie wasn’t anywhere in sight. With a sinking feeling, he stalked around the opposite side of the building to look for it. The only thing he saw was an ancient bicycle, the kind he’d seen in movies that sported a wicker basket on the handlebars. Which this one did.
“Rule Number Two. Deviate from your regular routine,” Felicity sang out as she emerged from the back door of the building and zeroed in on the bicycle. “I left my car at home this morning.”
Call him a cynical cop, but Chris wondered if it was safer for her to be recognized at the wheel of a blue Caddie the size of an armored vehicle or riding a rickety bicycle, at the mercy of someone in a car. Someone in a car with a nasty grudge.
“It’s from my grandpa—”
“Let me guess. The one who never threw anything away.”
“That’s right. Are we going back to my apartment to watch another movie?”
Chris winced. “Not tonight.”
Felicity looked disappointed. “Stella and I had one all picked out.”
“I’ll bet you did.” Chris was relieved it was a Youth Connections night. “I have a commitment that I can’t get out of and I hope you don’t mind coming with me.”
Felicity’s eyes narrowed. “Is this going to be a guy thing?”
“You could say that.”
“You’re getting even for The Sound of Music, aren’t you?”
“That never crossed my mind.” But hey, if it worked.
“Since I don’t think I’ll fit in this basket, we’ll take my car.”
“You have a car?”
Was she teasing him? It wasn’t a Ferrari but it got him from point A to point B. Felicity locked up her bicycle and then slid into the passenger’s seat. He’d noticed she wasn’t one of those women who marinated themselves in perfume, but occasionally he caught the scent of the soap she used. Like right now. The soft fragrance reminded him of a piece of his childhood—the way his sheets had smelled after drying on the clothesline in the summer sun.
He headed toward the bridge over the Cumberland that separated Davis Landing from Hickory Mills and noticed with amusement that Felicity was leaning forward, eagerly watching the scenery as if she was trying to guess where they were going. He suppressed a smile. Apparently her inquisitive nature had been put to good use!
“So why did you decide to be a reporter?”
“When I was a freshman, I hurt my knee and got sidelined from sports. My parents suggested—in a loving way—that I find something else to do besides mope around and drive everyone crazy. I tried chorus. The teacher politely told me to try band. The band teacher steered me toward the school newspaper.”
“Where you discovered your inner busybody.”
She flashed him a look. “Ouch.”
“Sorry.” Chris forced a smile. “Reporters have been permanently crossed off my Christmas card list this year. I’m not used to my family’s private life being open for inspection. Or should I say dissection?”
“That wasn’t professional journalism,” Felicity said in disgust. “In fact, it bordered on libel. That’s why I like to concentrate on local government. There’s a lot that goes on behind the scenes and if reporters aren’t there to give objective coverage, integrity might take a back seat. We keep things honest.”
“You realize that most people wouldn’t buy your argument that reporters keep things honest. They’d say the media like to slant things for their own agenda.”
“That’s where my faith comes in,” Felicity said simply, not rising to the bait. “Ultimately, I answer to God for the things I write. He keeps me on target.”
They were a lot alike, Chris thought in amazement. He ran into the same kinds of potholes in his profession. Guys that went into law enforcement because they were the neighborhood bullies all grown up and still loved to push their weight around. Or they started out with what Felicity had called integrity and then the focus shifted from what they could do for the community to “what’s in it for me?” Dirty cops. He’d run into a few of those over the years.
It was a constant challenge as a believer in his career not to grow cynical while he traced footprints into the dark places where some people chose to walk. Jason understood. He hadn’t expected that Felicity might.
“What’s this place? Don’t tell me—it’s witness protection à la Tim Hamilton.” Felicity pressed her face against the glass, peering through the rain at the row of identical brick buildings that huddled on a bend near the river.
“Not quite.” Chris eased the car into the narrow space tucked beside one of the buildings. Now that they were here, his heart kicked up a notch. How would Miss Button-Up react to the group of energetic, and sometimes unruly, boys he coached? Maybe he should have asked Jason to run things tonight.
“Hey, bro. It’s about time.” A small, wiry figure as thin as a pogo stick bounced in the doorway and waved to them.
“Jason and I run a sports program for kids a couple times a week. It’s only two hours. I know you’ll probably be bored out of your mind, but grab a chair and maybe I can hunt up a magazine…” He knew he was rambling but Felicity was already getting out of the car and he felt the sudden need to warn her. The shrill, grating laughter of boys who teetered on the edge of puberty and the sharp thud of basketballs bouncing off the rim rushed out of every crack in the building.
The look Felicity turned on him would have melted steel. “A magazine?”
Chris didn’t have a chance to respond because they were surrounded by a cluster of sweaty adolescent boys, all talking at once. It reminded Felicity of watching a nominated actor on the red carpet before the Academy Awards—except that every question pelted at them began with one word: Chris.
Felicity took advantage of the commotion to look around. The cavernous room had been transformed into a gym. The hardwood floor was scuffed and worn, the water-stained walls plastered with posters of famous athletes. Fans chugged in the corners, circulating the humid air.
“Is this your girlfriend?”
The question rose above the others and Felicity suddenly felt the weight of a dozen pairs of curious eyes.
Chris grinned and deftly caught the basketball that one of the boys lobbed at him. “Nope. She’s my cheerleader.”
His cheerleader? Felicity’s eyes narrowed. First he was going to bench her with an issue of Nashville Living. Now he planned to arm her with a pair of invisible pompoms.
Not in this lifetime, Officer Hamilton.
Jason came out of a back room and blew a whistle. “Shirts against skins. Teams are the same as last week.”
A cheer spiraled to the top of the plaster ceiling and T-shirts were tossed into the air like confetti, landing in damp little heaps at the boys’ feet. They sprinted toward Jason and by lifting one hand above his head, he separated them with the same flair she imagined Moses must have used to part the Red Sea.
“Come on, Chris!” A chorus of impatient shouts ricocheted around the room and Chris shrugged a silent apology as he loped away to join them.
“Your stuff might be safer in the back room,” Jason called out to her, motioning toward an open door at the back of the gym.
Felicity followed the direction he’d pointed in and wandered into a makeshift locker room. Wooden benches were scattered around the room, layered with discarded lumps of clothing and discarded shoes.
She dumped her bag on one of the benches and pulled out the black cotton shorts and T-shirt she’d stuffed inside, the ones she’d worn when she’d ridden her bicycle to work that morning. Wiggling her feet into heavy white socks and a pair of tennis shoes, she unclipped her hair and shook it out. She didn’t have a brush along, so she finger-combed it and pulled it back into a casual ponytail.
When she stepped out onto the gym floor, Chris was dribbling the ball toward the basket, a swarm of boys at his heels. His lean body twisted gracefully as he went in for a lay up. And then his eyes met Felicity’s.
He missed the basket. And landed with a resounding smack on the floor.
Felicity hurried over to him and knelt down. The boys crowded in around her.
“Are you okay?”
“That’s gonna leave a mark,” another one breathed in awe.
“You lost your focus, Chris,” the boy crouched beside Felicity complained, obviously lacking the sympathy his friends had.
“I don’t think he lost his focus,” Jason said. “I think it just went to something other than the net.”
Felicity glanced up and saw his amused gaze resting on her before he grabbed Chris’s hand and yanked him to his feet.
Chris rubbed his side and smiled wanly. “I’m fine. Just got a little distracted.”
“It’s our ball,” one of the boys shouted, right next to Felicity’s ear. She recognized him as the boy who was bouncing in the doorway. On the back of his wrinkled T-shirt, the name Pepper had been stamped in block letters.
“I play center,” Felicity said.
“Chris said you were a cheerleader,” one of the boys was brave enough to grumble.
“I’ll tell you what. If I make five free throws in a row, you’ll let me play.”
Everyone forgot Chris as the boys raced to watch her take her place at the piece of soiled white tape that stretched across the floor at the free-throw line.
Chris limped up to her just before she took the first shot. “By the way, when you mentioned you got sidelined from sports in high school, exactly what sport was it?”
Instead of answering him, Felicity let the ball go. There wasn’t a sound as everyone watched it sail through the air and swish effortlessly into the net.
He shook his head. “I thought so.”