“Yes,” he said, taking the lug wrench from her uncovered hand. If she was going to give him baloney about flavored popcorn having too many calories, he was going to lose it. Hopefully she didn’t already put pressure on her kid to be as rail thin as she was. His mother had done that to several of his female cousins when they’d visited forsummer breaks.
They’d soon stopped visiting the massive mansionin the country.
He dropped and made quick work of the lug nuts, loosening and then removing them. Without giving her a chance to object, he yanked out the offending tire and pressed the temporary into place, not explaining anything to her. The car surprised him. She was a woman all about image and the vehicle was a heap.
He finished tightening the last lug nut. “This car doesnot suit you.”
For the first time a hint of color rose from her neck up to her high cheekbones. “I’m between luxury vehiclesat the moment.”
It took him a second to catch the thread of irony in her frosty tone. Had she just made a joke? He stood and rolled the tire to the back of her car, placing it, the jack, and the bag in the trunk. His mother would’ve chosen cosmetic surgery and designer shoes over a vehicle, without question. He shut the truck and studied the new professor. Her clothing was not designer.
Not even close.
The boots were scuffed, the wool coat raggedy at the edges, and the earrings simple gold hoops. In fact, hadn’t he seen Serena wear those? “You’re not adding up, Ms. Falls,” he said, moving around to Trudy’s door, his mind clicking facts into lines that didn’t work.
“Not everyone is a math problem,” Ms. Falls retorted, stretching her back and ignoring the snowflakes bombarding her smooth face.
He grinned. “Not even remotely true.” He opened the door to let Roscoe out. The dog had been rooting around the floor for discarded cracker pieces and lifted his head, a Goldfish on his nose. “Out.”
The dog bounded gracefully out, hitting the icy parking lot and skidding several feet.
Jethro ducked. “Trudy, it was nice to meet you.” While the mother’s clothing was worn, the kid’s looked new and warm. A quick look at the car seat showed it was top-of-the-line, with every safety feature, and a juice cup had been placed neatly in the round hole next to the child.
Interesting.
He gently shut the door and looked at the mother over the top of the snowy vehicle. “People usually fall into easy equations.”
“Aren’t you a philosophy professor?” she returned, shivering and shoving her bare, reddened hands into her pockets.
“Yes,” he agreed. “The philosophy of statistics is a hobby of mine.” Figuring out the how and why was usually more interesting than the what. He had a feeling that he hadn’t nailed any of those with this woman, which was rare for him. “There’s a Bobbo’s Tires about three miles west of here. I’ll follow you there so you can buy new tires.” The spare might not even make it there, and the other three didn’t look much better.
Her chin lifted. “That is not necessary. I appreciate your assistance, and the popcorn gift to Trudy was kind, but we have taken up enough of your time.” Her tone had returned to distantand dismissive.
He missed the subtle joke and glimpse of humanity she’d shown earlier. Before he could argue with her, his phone tinkled “American Rebel” from his pocket. The tune had his attention sharpening as he lifted it to answer. “Hanson,” he said, still watching the woman.
“We have a problem,” Clarence Wolfe said without preamble. “I’m holding down the fort and took the call. There’sa body in DC.”
Jethro sighed. “I’m out of the business, Wolfe. I helped your team track down Lassiter because you needed a philosopher, but that life is over for me. No more.” Of course, Wolfe had saved his life while on a mission, so if he requested help, Jethro would give it. But maybe Wolfe didn’t need assistance. Plus, Jethro was on another case right now, whether he wanted that or not.
“The body has a message directed just to you, Professor,” Wolfe drawled before rattling off an address in the Shaw area of DC. “See you in a few.”He clicked off.
Jethro slowly slid the phone back into his pocket. A message? “I have to go. Please take care of that tire.” He looked around the quiet parking area, which was still half full of vehicles with folks working late or takingnight classes.
A message for himon a dead body?
* * * *
The wind blew through the darkened alley that smelled like rotting garbage and fresh death. His head protected by a crime-scene tent, Jethro looked down at the body of a fortysomething blond female who’d been disemboweled. Her Chanel suit, probably a size two, had been cut right down the middle, and one matching Chanel shoe hung off her foot while the other remained in place. Genuine pearls decorated her ears and neck, while several rings coveredher pale hands.
He crouched, studying the barely visible scars at her neck, evidence of a face-lift in the last few years. “Who is she?”
Wolfe stood next to him, flanking him as only the ex-soldier could. “Tate isgetting an ID.”
Jethro looked upat his friend.
Wolfe was six and a half feet of badass killing machine with a heart of pure marshmallow. Usually. Right now, the rugged structure of his face was set in rocky lines, his eyes hard in the lights set up around the perimeter. “Do yourecognize her?”
“No.” Jethro stood, his stomach rolling over three times. This could not be happening. Not now. Not ever again. He’d left death behind to make a new life.
