At First Light(Dr. Evan Wilding #1)(8)

“We’ll look into that, sir,” Patrick said. “You hear anything about him being a minister?”

“No.” It was Billings, who scratched his own chin, sharp as a boat’s keel, and said, “I know him. Owned a jewelry shop. Finer Things. This, sir, is a guy who could hustle.”

Criver glanced at Billings, like a rhino suddenly aware of the tickbird on his back. “You knew him personally?”

“Not personally, sir. No. But I’ve been in his store. Black guy in those fancy shops. Had to check him out. He was a gouger.” He gave an emphatic shake of his head. “Wanted twelve thousand for a tennis bracelet.”

Criver whistled. Even Addie found her thoughts momentarily diverted from Billings’s racism by the prospect of spending twice what she’d paid for her car on a trinket for her wrist.

Criver’s gaze skipped over Addie and zeroed in on Patrick. “What do we know?”

While Addie fumed, Patrick shuffled his feet and filled the lieutenant in. He finished with, “We’re bringing in an expert on these sorts of cases. A professor from the university.”

Criver’s expression shifted from chilly to polar. “What is this going to cost the department?”

“We’ve used Dr. Wilding before,” Addie said. “It’s always been approved. From the top.”

“Intellectual types, I’ve come to learn, are rarely worth their egos or their fees. Outside of court, anyway.”

Billings nodded. “I know what you mean, sir. Know-it-alls. Eggheads and brainiacs.”

“Well, sir.” Patrick scratched behind his ear with a thick forefinger. “The dead guy won’t mind. We’ll keep the professor on a tight leash if that’ll help.”

Addie looked down the hill to hide her smile at Patrick’s defiance.

From up above came the crunch of tires on gravel and an engine shutting off, then a door opening and closing. A swell of murmurs went through the gathered officers like leaves chased by the wind.

This happened whenever Evan showed up.

Addie spun around. “There he is.”





CHAPTER 4


She met Evan at the top of the rise. He stood next to his truck, tapping something into his phone, apparently oblivious to the openmouthed stares. It was a routine she’d seen him use a dozen times—a ruse, actually. He went through this charade of checking his phone to give people time to recapture their equilibrium before they had to meet his eyes.

The pretense would break her heart except that she knew Dr. Evan Aiden Wilding—professor of semiotics, linguistics, and paleography at the U of C, world-renowned interpreter for government agencies of the writings and symbols left by killers and terrorists and madmen—would deck her if he saw even a hint of pity in her eyes.

Once the nearby cops finished with their double takes, they pulled back, as if Evan might be contagious.

“Troglodytes,” she muttered. More loudly she said, “Dr. Wilding.”

Evan lowered his phone, looked up into her eyes, and smiled from beneath the hood of his olive-green parka. She took him in as she always did. Vivid green eyes set in squint lines; thick, curly brown hair; a Van Dyke beard; and a face as quirkily handsome as a character actor’s—the one who played the brilliant Cyrano to the movie idol’s De Neuvillette.

The top of his head came exactly to her sternum. If they’d been lovers, he would have fit neatly under her chin. A thought she’d pushed out of her mind more than once.

No wonder people called him the Sparrow. Although he insisted the nickname came not from his size but from the idea that seeing a sparrow means a secret will soon be uncovered. A don at Oxford had gifted him with the title when, as an undergraduate, Evan bested twenty-three of the country’s best semioticians to crack a code the government was proposing to use on one of its top-secret projects. Evan had needed two days. His nearest competitor took an additional six hours and seven minutes.

Addie knew about this because she’d researched Evan when they were on the way to becoming friends. This was after she’d skidded on her heels and all but fallen into his arms at an art exhibit. And spilled both their drinks. Despite the casualties—a pink Cosmo, a Manhattan, and her dignity—Evan had laughed until she couldn’t help but join in.

A good start to any friendship.

Addie admittedly thought of Evan as a freak, but not in a way that had anything to do with his height. The guy had attended Oxford at age eleven, graduated with two PhDs at seventeen, then gone off to do good deeds in foreign lands for a few years before settling in the States and making a name for himself as a forensic semiotician.

A brainiac indeed. She was glad he was on their side.

She offered her hand, indicating they were meeting here as two professionals rather than old friends, setting a precedent for the officers around her. “Thank you for coming.”

He shook her hand. “Of course.”

She led him around a gaggle of officers and past the lieutenant’s black Suburban, heading down the road to a vantage point she’d picked out earlier—she wanted to give him a chance to take in the scene before he had to deal with the crowd. Automatically, she matched her pace to his.

Behind them, she heard whispers.

“Who’s the midget?”

“They call him the Sparrow. Supposed to be some kind of expert.”