As soon as Chris Hamilton was out of sight, Felicity crossed her arms on her desk and buried her face in them, willing her heart to stop racing.
Had she managed to convince him that the letters were the unsettling but harmless result of someone with too much time on their hands? Because sheâd certainly tried to convince herself. It had taken every ounce of self-control not to let him see that she was just as concerned as he was. Sheâd noticed his assessing gaze, looking for chinks in her emotional armor. As a reporter, she knew all about reading peopleâs body language, too.
It had taken a lot of concentration to make sure her real feelings didnât show, and for some reason, with Officer Chris Hamilton sitting close enough for her to breathe in the warm, spicy scent of his cologne, it had taken more effort than usual.
DAVIS LANDING:
Nothing is stronger than a familyâs love
Ten Years Earlier
âHamilton, maybe you should just throw a cot in the corner over there.â
Chris Hamilton opened his eyes and saw his coach grinning at him.
âAre you leaving already?â he muttered, feeling his muscles tremble under the punishing weights he was balancing over his head.
He must have lost track of the hour. The last time heâd looked, three guys on the other side of the gym had been having a good-natured bench-press competition while the custodian mopped the floor. Now the lights were dimmed and someone had turned off the country and western music that had been blaring from the radio.
âAlready?â One of Coach Swansonâs ragged eyebrows kicked up a notch. âItâs almost ten oâclock. And I know for a fact that you have a big English test tomorrow first period.â
Chris grimaced, but not from pain. The only reason Coach knew about the exam was because he happened to be married to Chrisâs English teacher. That was a bummer. He couldnât get away with anything. For all he knew, they traded notes about their students over their bran flakes every morning.
âI studied.â Not that it would do much good. For some reason, when God had gifted the Hamilton family, Heâd somehow overlooked Chris completely. Or maybe Heâd just given Chrisâs twin, Heather, a double dose. Whatever had happened, he sweated over diagramming sentences more than he did bench-pressing three hundred pounds.
âGo home, Hamilton,â Coach Swanson ordered, âand instead of dreaming about the next game, you better be conjugating verbs in your sleep.â
Chris never ignored a direct order from his coach. He lowered the weighted bar into place and reached for the towel hanging over the end of the bench, swiping it across his face with one quick movement.
âWish I had half your energy,â Coach grumbled, then looked at Chris speculatively. âHad a talk with your old man the other day. Heâs pretty pumped up that you and Heather are graduating next month. Said he canât wait to get some more family members into the business.â
Chris shrugged. âI guess so.â
A familiar restlessness coursed through him. A mixture of confusion and frustration that churned in his stomach the minute someone inquired about his future plans. Maybe it was because it usually wasnât an inquiry at all. People assumed that just because he was a Hamilton heâd naturally follow in his siblingsâ footsteps and stay in Davis Landing, becoming another efficient cog in the powerhouse that was Hamilton Media.
His dad, the incredible Wallace Hamilton, expected it, too. Instead of the usual bedtime stories most kids heard growing up, the stories Chris had been told were about the early Hamiltons and how theyâd brought a small weekly newspaper through the Depression and World War II. When Wallace eventually took control, heâd turned the Davis Landing Dispatch into the successful media corporation it was now, which included not only the newspaper, now a daily, but also Nashville Living magazine.