Page 2 of Feel Me

Perspiration gathers along his receding hairline as he presses his hand to his side. It’s only because he lifts his bowed head and a healthier shade of pink flushes his cheeks that I’m not screaming for help and dialing 911. “Daddy?”

He offers me a weak smile and pats my arm. “I’m all right,” he says, leaning back in his chair.

“No, you’re not,” I say, my throat tightening. His light blue dress shirt clings with sweat along his arms and plump midsection. He’s not well. My father is . . .sick. “What aren’t you telling me?”

His hand slowly eases away from his side, his eyes scanning my face as they’ve done a thousand times throughout my life. “The doctors discovered new tumors along my colon,” he finally says. “They’re planning to resection my bowel and dispose of the affected area with the hope of avoiding chemo this time.”

Very carefully, I straighten. My heartbeat slows to a dull thud, and my legs feel unsteady. I want to cry, and maybe scream, but nothing comes except that awful silence that accompanies bad news.

My father was diagnosed with colon cancer years ago and barely survived the aggressive treatment. If it’s returned, now that he’s older, and not as healthy . . .

“When were you going to tell me?” I ask, my fear worsening my speech impediment and causing the words to spill in shaky spurts.

He sighs. “Friday, over dinner.”

To give me the weekend to absorb it, no doubt. “And your surgery? When is that?”

“A few weeks.” He frowns as if debating what to say. “I’ll be out of commission for a while. In my absence, Declan will lead the office as acting District Attorney.” He looks at me then. “I need you to help him, Melissa. Regardless of your feelings toward him, you have to help him.”

Declan

“This isn’t where I fucking belong.”

I’m beyond pissed, and spent the last hour typing my resignation letter. Each version I drafted ranged from a polite no thank you to a professional fuck you. I deleted each one. As much as I don’t want to head the Sexual Assault and Child Abuse Unit, I’m not a quitter.

“Fuck,” I mumble, pinching the bridge of my nose. “Fuck.”

My brother Curran crosses his arms over his chest, not caring how it creases the shirt of his Philly PD uniform. Curran doesn’t care about shit like that, he would perform official duties in jeans if given the choice. “It’s still a promotion, Deck,” he says. “You got this D.A. spot straight out of law school and have made more of a name for yourself than most douche-bag attorneys ever will.” He holds out a hand. “No offense to the douche-bag attorneys of the world.”

“That’s my point. After all I’ve accomplished, I should be leading Homicide.”

I shove away from my desk and pace. When Miles gave me these new digs, I thought it was the start of all the good things coming my way. When he assigned me a county car and personal secretary, it reinforced that my hard work had paid off. I was on my way, until I wasn’t.

“I spent months dismantling a mafia empire, Curran.”

“I know,” he says. “I was there.”

“I brought down a major crime boss?and another one after that.”

“Yup. Saw that, too,” he agrees.

“AndI received international attention for putting the Kensington Strangler away for twelve consecutive life terms. All that work, all that sacrifice, for what? To be shoved someplace I don’t belong.”

“Why don’t you think you belong there?”

Out of my five brothers, Curran is probably the biggest ball-buster. Wren, our sister, is a close second. But he’s not messing with me now. He’s dead serious.

“Do you want to hear about babies being beaten or women dragged into alleys and raped? Day in and day out?” I ask. “These are the cases I’m going to be dealing with.”

“Someone has to do it, Deck. It’s the right thing.”

“I’m not saying it isn’t. I’m only saying I not the man for this job. These low-life assholes shouldn’t be allowed to breathe the same air as us.”

“Is this about Finnie?” He huffs when I straighten and don’t answer. “Christ,” he mutters. “I suppose it’s about Wren, too.”

Just like that, my brother nails it on the head. For all he sometimes pisses me off, Curran isn’t stupid. “Finnie didn’t deserve what happened to him,” I say, my anger burning down to my gut. “And neither did Wren.”

“Of course they didn’t,” Curran snaps. “No one does. But as their brother, you owe it to them to put these pricks away.”

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