Trudy tripped over the edge of the blanket, her blue eyes wide as she stared at the dog. “Doggy.”
Roscoe immediately recognized a new ally, one who might have a cookie stuck in her other hand, and moved toward her in quiet dog mode, not making any sudden movements. Reaching the toddler, he sat and, swear to the saints, he smiled.
The girl dropped the blanket and reached for his face.
“Whoa.” Jethro moved to crouch next to her, setting a hand on Roscoe’s head. “I’m Jethro and this is Roscoe.”
The girl grinned.
Man, she was adorable, with curly, very messy brown hair, clear blue eyes, and delicate bone structure. “Cute doggy.”
“He is cute and he is nice, but you want to always be careful not to put your face right in a dog’s face. Okay? Big teeth,” Jethro said.
As if on cue, Roscoe yawned, showing hissharp canines.
Trudy’s eyes widened. “Big teeth.” Then she smiled again and pattedRoscoe’s nose.
Movement sounded behind Barb and she stepped out of the way. “Incoming.”
Jethro partially turned to take the hit of several toddlers ramming him head-on with happy cries of his name. He fell over and then rolled around, gently wrestling and letting the kids use him as a jungle gym. Little Trudy, the only new addition for the semester, seemed content to pet Roscoe while the rest of the kids ganged up on him.
Barb let them play for about five minutes before declaring it was story time and everyone should head for the corner. The kids reluctantly wandered away, and Jet stood, brushing glue from his jeans. His phone rang, and he tugged it from his pocket, his body going still when he saw the private number. He waved to Barb and the kids, motioning for Roscoe to follow him as he headed for the door. He answered once outside in the falling snow. “This is a surprise.” Usually his former commander called on Sunday if hewanted to chat.
“We have a problem,” Cecil said without preamble.
Jethro looked up at the swollen clouds that had become relentless in their release of fat snowflakes. The brutally cold air burned his face and he tucked his free hand in his pocket to ward off the cold. “Define problem.” He turned down the shoveled sidewalk to make his way back to his office, letting the snow melt on his head and face while the devastating wind tried to kill him.
“Belmarsh prisoner number 2342352 escaped from a transport taking him for questioning three days ago,” Cecil said.
Jethro stopped moving and Roscoe bumped into the back of his leg. “You’re jesting.”
“No.”
“Why the bloody hell didn’t you call me the second he escaped?” Jethro snapped, turning to look at the wide parking lot next to him where the cars were already covered in white powder. The wind blew more snow around, shooting a chill through his entire body.
Cecil cleared his throat. “You’re not with MI6 any longer, friend.”
“Bullshit,” Jethro said. “Where is he now? Have you tracked him?” It had taken Jethro six months to hunt down the bastard and put him away, and now he’d gotten loose four years later. Jethro was going to hell for thatmission alone.
“We’ve partially tracked him, and he’s across the pond, Jet. He’s in your neck of the woods. Which means…”
Jethro sought threats in the surrounding trees, seeing only clumps of ice. He’d known. From day one of putting Fletcher away, Jet had known they’d meet up again. “He’scoming for me.”
Chapter Three
Gemma finished tucking her file folders into her borrowed black leather satchel and then reached for her thick, borrowed coat as a knock sounded on her open door. She looked up and smiled. “Mrs. Franks. Hello.” The administrative assistant had been more than helpful in getting Gemma squared away for the semester undershort notice.
“Hi, and I told you to call me Louise.” In her mid-fifties, Louise wore cherry-red cat’s-eye glasses. “How was your first day?”
“Enjoyable,” Gemma said, pulling on the heavy coat she’d found in the back of Serena’s closet. “The students area smart bunch.”
Louise nodded. “That’s good. I wanted to catch you before you left because the selfie picture you sent for the faculty website was too blurry.” She drew a phone from the pocket of her thick green skirt. “Let me take another one.”
Panic spasmed down Gemma’s esophagus, but she remained in place and forced a smile. “Oh, not now. I look terrible after a long day.”
“You’re lovely,” Louise argued, lifting the phone and squinting at the face. “I’m good at this. Trust me.”
“Wait.” Gemma set down her bag and pulled out a set of wire-rimmed glasses. “Let me at least look like a professor.” She zipped the coat to add bulk and then pulled on the glasses, which were clear glass because her eyesight was 20/20. Then she moved to the window, which would light her from behind and partially shroud her features.
