Page 126 of The Wrong Side of the Law

Chapter Forty

Emily - three months later

“Can you breathe okay?” Brian Hatcher asks, wrapping one more layer of tape around Frank’s chest.

“Yeah, breathing’s not the problem, though.” My half-brother takes an experimental deep breath and grimaces. The box truck, converted into a surveillance van, sways with Frank’s movement.

“It’s taking all this stuff off afterwards. I mean, tape. And hair. I’m not looking forward to that.”

“Well, you know the old saying. Omelets, broken eggs,et cetera. Now turn around.” Brian makes some adjustments to the battery pack in the small of Frank’s back. “Okay, done. Button up.”

While my brother obeys, Brian busies himself with the laptop, and I lean over his shoulder to watch.

“Thank you for doing this,” I say. “It means a lot.”

“Paying customer,” Brian shrugs. “I mean, aside from the fact that Lisa would have kicked my ass if I’d said no, and it’s a bad idea to get a lawyer mad at you. Even worse when the lawyer’s your wife.”

“Fair point.”

Of course, if Lisa Mayfield Hatcher hadn’t helped me to get the legal issues around my father’s estate sorted out, I wouldn’t have had any money to pay him, but that’s a whole separate issue.

Brian hums as he works. His fingers flash over the keyboard, typing commands and entering parameters one after another, until finally-

“Ah! There we are!”

The laptop screen fills with a crisp, clear high definition image… of Frank’s thumb.

“Careful, kid! Fingerprints on the lens, that won’t be much good to anyone.” Brian hands me a microfiber cloth and a small bottle of something that smells like rubbing alcohol. “Could you take care of that, please?”

I roll my chair over to my brother and wipe down the camera hidden in the second button of his shirt.

“How’s that look?”

I have to get up close and squint really hard to see that there’s anything different from any of the other buttons. Brian gets all the best toys.

“Oh, wow. No, no- Emily, back away from the camera, please!” The almost-but-not-quite panic in Brian’s voice makes me pull back sharply.

“Huh? What’s wrong?”

“This camera isreallyhigh-res, and up that close… well, let’s just say that someone needs to work on her T-zone a bit.”

My hands fly instantly to the bridge of my nose, making it there even before the microfiber and bottle bounce off the floor of the surveillance van.

“I do not need to work on-” I squawk indignantly, voice muffled by my hands. “Why would you say a thing like that?”

Brian winks at Frank over my shoulder, and both men sputter with laughter at my expense.

“Because I have a low sense of humor?” Brian says, turning back to the computer. “Honestly, though, it’s just a thing I heard Lisa say once. I assume it has something to do with your face, but hell if I know what.”

“We good to go, Brian?” Frank is itching to get on with this.

“Yeah, signal is good,” he says. “Video and audio feed are clean and we’re live and ready to rock.”

“You don’t have to do this, Frank,” I say, giving him one last chance to back out. “You don’t have to face him.”

“Yes, I do.” My brother’s face is grim. “That motherfucker—sorry, Emily—tried to steal fifteen years of my life. So yeah, Idoneed to face him. I need to ask why he did it.”

“Alright. I get it. But I’m still worried about you.” That’s what big sisters are supposed to do, isn’t it? Worry?

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