He slipped the phone away.
The Woman’s expression softened.
“You should go.”
“So should you.”
“I will.”
He looked at the SUV.
Then hesitated.
That strange scrape behind the wheel still bothered him.
He crouched again.
The Woman watched.
“What are you doing?”
“One second.”
He looked beneath the wheel well.
The brake line.
Retaining clip.
A faint shiny mark.
Then another.
He touched nothing.
Only stared.
The Woman stepped closer.
“What?”
Before he could answer, the sound of engines approached.
Fast.
Three black SUVs appeared around the bend.
The Single Dad stood.
The first vehicle passed his pickup and stopped directly ahead.
The second stopped behind.
The third pulled partly onto the shoulder at an angle.
Doors opened.
Men in dark suits moved quickly.
The Single Dad took two steps backward.
One man headed directly toward the Woman.
“Ma’am.”
Another placed himself between her and the Single Dad.
“Step away from her.”
The Single Dad raised both hands.
“Easy.”
The Woman’s expression changed instantly.
The warmth disappeared.
Authority returned.
“Do not touch him.”
The nearest security man ignored the instruction long enough to grab the Single Dad lightly by one forearm.
That was a mistake.
Not because the Single Dad fought.
He did not.
Because the Woman’s voice became colder than the highway asphalt.
“I said do not touch him.”
The guard released him immediately.
The Security Chief arrived from the lead SUV.
Mid-forties.
Large.
Controlled.
He scanned everything.
Old pickup.
Tools.
Spare tire.
Woman unharmed.
He looked toward the Single Dad.
“Who are you?”
The Single Dad answered:
“The guy who changed the tire.”
The Chief looked at the Woman.
“Are you okay?”
“Yes.”
“What happened?”
“Flat tire.”
“We lost telemetry fourteen minutes ago.”
The Woman frowned.
“What?”
“Vehicle transponder went offline.”
“My phone calls were failing too.”
The Security Chief’s face tightened.
“When?”
“Immediately after the tire blew.”
He looked toward the SUV.
Then at the Single Dad.
“What did you touch?”
The Single Dad frowned.
“Wheel.”
“Anything electronic?”
“No.”
“Underbody?”
“No.”
“Inside?”
“Parking brake.”
The Chief walked toward him.
“Stay away from the vehicle.”
The Single Dad did not move.
“Fine.”
Then he looked toward the wheel again.
The Chief noticed.
“What?”
The Single Dad hesitated.
He hated getting involved.
He should go.
His daughter was waiting.
This was clearly beyond ordinary roadside help.
But the scrape.