“Hey. It’s Tate.”
Jethro’s gut clenched. “Please tell me you’re just calling to check in.”
“Nope. We have another body, and we need you on scene,” Tate said evenly, rattling off an address. “Like right now.”
Jethro glanced at his watch. “I have a stop to make first.” In fact, he needed to go in the opposite direction, which would take him an extra thirty minutes atthe very least.
“No. Right now, Hanson. Trustme,” Tate said.
Gemma patted his arm. “It’s okay.”
Nothing felt okay. “Fine. I’m on my way,” Jethro said, slowing down to make a U-turn and pressing a button on the navigation screen to end the call. “I’m sorry about this.”
“Who’s Tate and why is he calling you about bodies?” Gemma asked, turning to facehim more fully.
He winced. “It’s a long story, but here it is.” While she knew about Fletcher, Jethro hadn’t given her the entire story, or even as much of it as he was cleared to share with the team. By the time he pulled into the parking lot of a strip mall comprised of a massage parlor, a pet store, and a bondsman, she was staring at him with shock in her pretty eyes.
“That’s a lot,” she murmured.
He parked the truck outside of the yellow crime scene tape. Red and blue lights from the emergency vehicles cut through the falling snow, and he could almost make out Tate beneath the building’s overhang. “Stay here.” He jumped out of the truck, leaving it running. Then he nodded at a uniformed officer, who lifted the tape for him so he could continue striding toward Tate. The wind and snow attacked him, and he hunched his shoulders. “Where’s the body?”
“Was just taken away,” Tate said, slipping his notebook in his pocket. “I’m really sorry about this.”
Jethro stiffened.
Two men in overcoats moved out of the shadows, and one flipped open an HDD badge. “Jethro Hanson, you’re under arrest for the murder of Liping Julian and John Randolf,” the younger guy said, motioning with his finger. “Turn around.” He pulled out cuffs.
Jethro shot Tate a hard look. “You could’ve just asked for me to be interviewed.”
Tate shrugged. “The HDD thought you were a flight risk and didn’t give me the chance. If you ever get out of this, I’ll makeit up to you.”
* * * *
Gemma’s heart pounded in the warm truck as two men handcuffed Jethro and started to lead him through the snow to a dark blue sedan. One caught sight of her and turned, headed her way. Her hand trembled, but she scrolled through the contact form on the navigation screen and pressedWolfe’s number.
“Howdy. We’re fine here,” Wolfe said.
“Wolfe? I think Jethro was just arrested by two guys in overcoats and suits,” she said, hervoice shaking.
Wolfe was quiet for two beats. “Where are you?”
She rattled off the address. “There’s a man comingto the truck.”
The front door opened and the guy jumped up into the driver’s seat. He wore a heavy trench coat and his blue tie showed above thebuttons. “Hi.”
She blinked.“Who are you?”
“I’m Special Agent Tom Rutherford with the Homeland Defense Department.”
The word “motherfucker” came clearly through the speakers.
Rutherford’s head jerked and he looked at the navigation system.“Who’s there?”
“This is Agent Wolfe,” Wolfe snapped. “What the hell are you doing now, Tommy?”
“I can’t comment on an investigation,” the agent said, his tone sly. “Gotta go, Wolfe.” He shut the door and put the truck in reverse.
Gemma grabbed the dash. “Whatare you doing?”
