Chapter 14

"Explosion at the Skyride. Near west midway building. We need medics and rescue services stat." Hawthorne's voice, strong but full of urgency, hit Jazz's ear over coms, pulsing adrenaline and alarm through her veins.

Another explosion? This couldn't be happening.

She whipped around the other direction to head for the midway Skyride building.

"Roger, S4." Kerry responded promptly from Base. "Help is on the way. Describe the damage."

"Approximately four casualties." Hawthorne's radio caught sickening background sounds. People yelling. Crying. "We need more security for crowd control."

"Roger, S4."

Jazz's stomach twisted. "PT3 to Base, we're on our way." She picked up speed, Flash tugging at his leash to go all out. But there was no way in this crowd.

"Out of the way!" The shout she repeated every few seconds helped her and Flash reach jogging speed. Thank goodness they'd been at the History Center not far from the west end of the Skyride. She hadn't heard an explosion, probably because she'd been inside. Could be a good sign it was a smaller one this time.

Though from the casualty report and the intensity in Hawthorne's voice as he'd called it in, her gut knew not to be optimistic.

The Skyride ropes and dangling pods appeared above. Still. Not traveling like they always were when the fair was open.

A sinking sensation dropped to the pit of her belly.

"Clear the way." Jazz and Flash pressed through people who stood and stared in the direction of the ride.

As Flash pulled her through the front of the crowd, her gaze landed on carnage.

One quarter of a pod dangled from the heavy rope above. Open like a cracked, carved-out bit of eggshell.

Jazz's throat cinched as she lowered her gaze below the pod.

Pieces of metal scattered across the blacktop amid shards of glass and—

Was that…bodies?

Jazz took a step closer, barely feeling Flash's tug on the leash as her eyes locked on the floral blouse on the pavement.

Aunt Joan's blouse.

A gag lurched into her throat. Jazz put her hand to her mouth and moved closer.

An arm crossed in front of her, and something gripped her shoulder.

Her peripheral caught Hawthorne, standing beside her.

"Let me go." She couldn't look away from the blouse. The patches of red that hadn't been there before.

His hold stayed firm, but his voice was gentle. "Her face was badly damaged. You won't ever be able to unsee it if you look."

Like the faces of the two soldiers and six terrorists she'd seen after surviving the ambush. She'd never forgotten those either. He was right. She didn't need more horrors in her head.

She slowly relaxed away from Hawthorne's arm. Weird her reflexes hadn't kicked in and told her to escape his hold instantly. She could have easily. But something about the concern in his voice made his touch feel more like a comforting embrace than—

"My wife." A man shouted. "Is she all right?"

Jazz's gaze sought the location of the familiar voice.

A face pressed through an opening in the pod next to the destroyed one. An unnatural opening—a long split where one wall was broken off almost completely.

"Jazz?"

Uncle Pierce? She'd never heard him sound like that. Anguished.

"Is Joan…alive?" He stretched his hand through the opening like he was trying to reach his wife on the ground below.

Jazz's heart stuck in her throat. She looked at Hawthorne. Maybe she'd misunderstood what he'd meant.

He shook his head slowly.

She looked up, trying to force air into her collapsing lungs. "I'm sorry."

A groan, a sob, wrenched from Uncle Pierce as he seemed to fall back into the pod, swinging it on the rope.

The sound stabbed Jazz's heart.

Another man inside the dangling pod said something Jazz couldn't hear. It looked through the window like he was patting Uncle Pierce's arms. Maybe comforting him.

"I'm so sorry." Hawthorne's words slowly drew Jazz's gaze to him. His brows tucked together, pain in his eyes.

"What happened?"

"I wish I knew. Everything seemed fine. I'd seen your aunt get on the ride with another woman. A board member, I assume."

Jazz nodded. "They were doing their tour today."

"Right." He squinted up at the pods. "I'd just gotten called to help with a dispute elsewhere when the explosion went off behind me."

"Excuse me." The crowd shuffled out of the way as Marisa pushed through with two more medics. Maybe Aunt Joan had staffed more medics today because of—

The thought cut short with a sharp twist in Jazz's chest. Aunt Joan.

Could that really be her, dead on the pavement?

Marisa and the other medics crowded around her, then one darted to another body Jazz hadn't seen.

"The woman who was in the car with your aunt is still breathing. But she looks to be in bad shape. She must've been farther from the bomb, or your aunt's body shielded her."

Bomb. But there couldn't have been a bomb. Bris and Toby had cleared everything that morning. "Did you see…" Jazz let the question drift. How could she put into words something she didn't even want to imagine? Her aunt being—

"I saw the tail end of the explosion. Everything fell except that scrap hanging there. The car your uncle is in got hit, swung so hard I thought it was going to fall off." Hawthorne lowered his gaze from the pods to Jazz. "I think he and the other man might've been unconscious until you arrived."

Flash whined at her side. Jazz glanced at him, poor guy probably picking up on her anxiety. Or grief. Whatever it was. She'd figure it out later.

She glanced at Hawthorne. "We should get them down. They probably need medical attention. And we don't want another panic situation with any of the passengers."

A flicker of something—maybe surprise?—appeared in Hawthorne's eyes. But he nodded. "Right. I see Butch is here with reinforcements, so we can leave crowd control to him."

The head of security was corralling bystanders with a few other guards, pushing them back to establish a more extensive perimeter.

"Think it'll hold?" Hawthorne's question seemed to come from somewhere far away.

"What?"

"The ride." Hawthorne pointed up at the ropes that stretched out from the building to carry the pods.

"Oh." Jazz blinked away the floral print that seemed to be burned in her mind. She dug her cell phone out of her pocket, tapped to open the camera function, and held it up. She zoomed in on the ropes above the remnants of the exploded pod.

The ropes were darkened, especially the one that had held the destroyed pod, but she couldn't see any signs of fraying. The rope used for the Skyride was an incredibly resilient and strong blend of coils surrounding an inner cable. "I think it will. Let's verify with the operator." She glanced toward the building. Then she needed to call Bris. Pronto.

This couldn't have been a bomb. Not if Bristol and Toby had checked everything.

The fair was supposed to be safe again.

And it couldn't be PK-9's fault, even though Aunt Joan had wanted to blame them yesterday.

The straws she tried to grasp eluded her hold, refusing to distract her from the reality she didn't want to face.

It didn't matter what was supposed to be.

The fair wasn't safe.

And Aunt Joan was dead.

"Are you sure you're okay to do this?"

Jazz glanced at Hawthorne as she finished securing her harness to the auto-belay system. "Having doubts about my climbing skills, even after I beat you down from the Ferris wheel?" Her teasing grin made him wonder if he shouldn't have brought up the sad topic. She seemed to be doing well after the day's events. Surprisingly well.

"I just meant, with everything that happened today, I would understand if you wanted to reschedule this."

"Oh." She frowned, her gaze dropping to the blue floor of the Just Climb It facility.

"Sorry. I didn't mean to bring it up if you were trying to forget for a while."

She looked up again, her mouth lifting slightly at the corners. "I guess I was. Activity is the way I process things. Work off steam." She tested her harness with a tug as she glanced at the forty-plus foot wall. "I'd come alone after a day like today anyway."

"Makes sense." And told Hawthorne a lot about the woman who was going to star in his novels. A woman of action. Processing through activities that would make most people tired just thinking about them made for a fascinating character. "Race you to the top?" He grinned at her.

"You're on." She jumped onto the wall, skipping the first four holds in a move that told him he might be in trouble.

After probably the fastest climb of his life, he lowered from the wall to stand beside the woman who kept impressing him. "Okay, where did you learn to climb like that?"

"My dad started me on it." She smiled, not even sounding winded. She unclipped and walked across the room to the bench where they'd left their belongings. "He wanted a boy, so he taught me everything he would've taught the son he never had."

That explained a lot. But the edge to her tone said she wasn't necessarily happy about that bit of her history. "Including knife-throwing?" He tried to infuse a lighthearted note into the moment.

She narrowed her eyes at him in an overdone way that made him suspect she was teasing. "What in the world are you talking about?" She grabbed a dark green water thermos from the outer pocket of her duffel bag and took a swig.

"Hey, I spotted the extra weapon you carry. Or is that just a special decoration for the fair?"

She laughed, the musical tone that traveled the scale. "Girls love their accessories, you know."

"Uh-huh." He returned her grin as he gave her a quick scan. "You're not packing now, are you?"

"Shh." She stepped closer as she pressed her finger to her lips, drawing his attention to how full they were. "You'll never know. Unless someone gives me cause to use it."

"Ah." His gaze drifted up from her mouth to her twinkling emerald eyes. "So you do have knife-throwing skills."

"A lady never tells." Her smile sparkled.

"Okay. I guess I'll just have to make sure I'm around the next time you need to use that particular ‘accessory.'"

She walked back to the climbing wall and hooked up to the auto-belay in a neighboring section.

He followed and clipped in beside her. "So tell me more about Jazz Lamont. You said your dad taught you a lot of skills. Do you do martial arts?"

"Sure." She started to climb.

He grabbed a handhold and hurried to catch up. "What kind?"

"A mix we learned in basic training in the Army. And some stuff I've picked up on my own along the way."

"When did you enlist?"

"Went in at eighteen."

"How many years did you serve?" Why did he sound more winded than she did? Too much time spent at the keyboard, apparently. Or maybe a sign he needed to add cardio to his weight-lifting routine.

"Eight and a quarter."

"Unusual number." He paused briefly to look for his next hold as she increased the distance between them.

"I'd just re-upped when my dad got sick. I got out to take care of him."

Very noble. And sad. But Hawthorne was a little too taxed at the moment to properly respond.

She reached the top and glanced down at him. "Looks like I'm three for three."

He looked up to see her grin as he strained to reach his last, difficult handhold.

"Or four if you count the Ferris wheel."

"I never count." He pushed out the joke as he paused at the top to catch his breath.

"Race you to the bottom."

He was ready for her this time, and he leaned back to belay, hoping his heavier weight might get him there faster.

"Ha." He pointed at her as he reached the ground a split-second before her.

"Tie."

"What?" His teasing disbelief lifted the word.

"You leaned back farther so it looked like you hit first. But my foot touched first."

He narrowed his eyes as she blinked innocently at him. "A little competitive, aren't you?"

"But always a good winner." She winked. "Need another water break?"

He didn't miss the insinuation she'd only taken the earlier break for his sake. He chuckled. "Oh, probably." He wouldn't mind being able to ask her questions without having to race her up another wall at the same time.

He reached the bench first and grabbed his water bottle. "So what made you want to enlist?"

She glanced away as she picked up her thermos. "My dad."

"He wanted you to?"

"Oh, yeah. He was career Army." She returned her gaze to Hawthorne, the spark gone from her eyes. "Not having a son wasn't going to stop him from getting what he wanted."

Career Army. Was that the reason for the pain tightening her features? Maybe the lifestyle? Wasn't easy on kids, from what he'd seen among his Marine buddies who had families. "Did you move around a lot as a child?"

"Sure. Typical Army brat." She took a long drink, looking away again. She lowered the thermos and set it on the bench. "Until my dad figured out he didn't have to take me along at all."

Ouch. Hawthorne hid a wince, not sure if he should ask what that meant.

"But in a way it was better, I guess." Her tone lifted slightly. "That's when I found my first home. The fair." A partial smile lifted her lips, her eyes seeming to gaze far off at something not in front of them.

"He left you there?"

Her glance hopped to Hawthorne's face, as if surprised to see him. "Oh. Not at the fair." She chuckled. "Not exactly. He sent me to live with my aunt and uncle. The mighty Cracklens of Minneapolis."

"Oh. That's nice you had family that wanted to host you."

She laughed, sardonic. "They never wanted to. I'm still not sure how my dad got them to agree to it. Aunt Joan was his sister, so maybe she felt some sense of obligation? But I found Nevaeh here, my best friend. Spent more time with her family than mine. Summers were the best."

A wistful smile played on Jazz's lips. "Nevaeh and I would run all over the fairgrounds, playing games and getting into trouble. The vendors took us under their wings and gave us treats and things. Aunt Joan was busy, so she let us have complete freedom."

Now that was something Hawthorne could understand. Something he'd missed in the latter half of his childhood. The freedom to be a kid.

Sounded like she'd had an idyllic childhood. If he ignored the pain that had been so evident as she told the earlier parts of her story. And the sense of dysfunction and lack of stability that undergirded her tale of even the happy times.

A well-loved child didn't need to escape to a fair with a friend and a bunch of strangers to find belonging.

The best heroes and heroines were often wrought through painful histories. But the real Jazz Lamont wasn't a fictional character. She was a lovely person he found himself wishing he could help somehow. Maybe alleviate some of her pain.

"And now she's gone, too." Jazz's eyes fixed on some distant point again.

It took Hawthorne a second to remember who she'd been talking about a moment ago. Her aunt. "I'm sorry, Jazz."

She drew in a breath and rolled her shoulders back as if trying to rid herself of some burden. The eyes that turned on him were slightly moist. "I should be the one apologizing for dumping so much on you." She gave him a shaky smile. "I have no idea why I spilled my whole life history like that. I'm sorry."

"Don't be. I wanted to know, remember?"

Her brow furrowed as she peered at him. "You're a good listener. I suppose you use that on all your interview subjects for your writing. Like a superpower."

He laughed. "Never thought of it that way, but I wouldn't mind having a superpower." He sobered. "I am sorry about your aunt."

Jazz pressed her mouth into a firm line and looked unseeingly past him again. "She dedicated her life to the fair. In a way, I owe her for making it what it was. And I can't let all those years of work she poured into the fair be for nothing. I can't let anyone destroy it now."

Admiration warmed Hawthorne's chest—that and a little thrill from seeing an ideal heroine come to life in front of his eyes. "What are you going to do?" He felt as if he were asking his character the question, but she was standing in front of him, real as life.

"I'm going to figure out who did this and make them stop."

He would've written the line as bring them to justice, but he couldn't ask for more heroic spirit and spunky determination than she embodied.

"After I beat you to the top again." She started for the climbing wall.

He grinned as he followed. She was a perfect blend of serious and tough but fun and playful. Full of life and energy, despite the troubled background that haunted her. "Hey, I was just getting warmed up. Didn't want you to feel badly right out of the gate."

"Oh, is that a fact?" Her laughter said she didn't believe him. "What would you say if I told you I am not left-handed?" She dramatically switched the hand gripping the rope from her left to her right, holding the supposedly useless left appendage in the air.

He laughed so hard at the unexpected movie reference to ThePrincess Bride that she got in one of her jumpstarts again before he'd left the ground.

He pushed to catch up, cutting his previous climbing record to a new personal best, he was pretty sure. But he still touched the floor after her, once again.

She threw him a brilliant grin as soon as he landed.

An odd sensation pinged through his chest. Probably because he was about to have a heart attack. He held up a hand. "I know." He breathed much more heavily than he should need to. "Five out of five."

"Up and down." She gave him a saucy smile. "So is that why you want to use me for a heroine in your novels? Because I can beat you at climbing?"

"Of course. A guy loves getting his ego pummeled as frequently as possible."

She arched an eyebrow. "Something tells me your ego is doing fine."

He grinned. "No comment."

"Really, though. Why me?" She still held a smile, but something else—maybe hesitation—crept into her eyes.

"Because you're so unique."

"You mean weird." Her nose wrinkled in a cute expression he hadn't expected from her. "I don't exactly fit in easily, so you got that right." She turned away, whether to go to the bench because she wanted to or to hide some emotion, he wasn't sure.

He caught up with her by their things. "No, I mean you stand out. In a good way."

She stuffed her thermos into her bag and straightened, turning those amazing eyes on him.

"I've never met anyone like you. Strong with incredible skills, but you still care deeply about things."

Her eyebrows clustered as if she was doubting his words.

"Like how you're determined to find the saboteur who's trying to destroy the fair and killed your aunt." He pushed his water bottle into his duffel bag before returning his gaze to her face. "That's the kind of stuff I usually have to invent for my books."

A slow smile lifted the shape of her lips. "I guess it does sound like something out of a Carson Steele novel."

"You see?"

"So if this were a novel…Or a movie." The twinkle returned to her eyes as she watched him.

"Why do I get the feeling you're about to throw out a plot twist I didn't see coming?"

"Maybe more of a cute trope." She laughed.

He couldn't help the answering grin that found his face. "Not usually used in my genre, but I'll bite."

"Well, this is where I should realize you could help me with my investigation. Help me find the culprit."

"I could? I mean, you should?" He blinked at her.

"Yeah. You were an MP investigator. You have experience."

So that's what she was getting at.

"Want to help me catch a bad guy and save the fair?" She stepped a little closer with an admittedly adorable pleading look on her face. "You could be like Carson Steele in real life."

His mouth twitched at that. He was already investigating one suspicious death for his sister. What was one more? And if the saboteur kept going unchecked, a lot more than Jazz's fair was at stake.

"Carson is quite a bit older than I am…" His tease was rewarded with another nose wrinkle. "But I agree whoever this is needs to be stopped before more lives are lost."

Her eyes widened to an even larger size. "Does that mean you'll help?"

"Absolutely. I'll do whatever I can. Though that might not be much." Especially since he couldn't let a new investigation distract him from finding the truth about Sam. He'd promised Rebekah first, after all.

"Terrific. Thanks." The beaming smile she gave him, along with the light touch of her fingers on his arm, sent a strange, warm sensation through his chest. More helpful research. Now he knew how his characters would react to Jazz Lamont in his story. She definitely had an effect on a person.

Jazz checked her wristwatch. "I hate to cut this short, but I'd better get home to Flash."

Only her dog. Did that mean she didn't have a boyfriend or anyone? He'd have to ask her some other time. For character research.

"Early shift again tomorrow."

"Oh, sure." Hawthorne hefted his duffel bag over his shoulder. "I have some things to take care of tonight anyway." Like heading back to the fair for more investigating. He checked his phone for messages and the time. Only five after nine. He'd have time yet to get there well before the fair closed at eleven. As security, he could get in later, but not without answering questions he'd rather avoid.

Hawthorne held the door open for Jazz as they exited the building.

"Thanks." She smiled, apparently not one of those women bothered by a man holding a door.

He hadn't performed the courtesy as a test, but the research was priceless. Wouldn't have thought such a strong, independent woman would welcome the courteous gesture from a guy. Too old-fashioned and demeaning according to modern opinions, he would've guessed. But Jazz seemed to like it.

Fascinating.

"So you'll need to let me have a rematch soon." Hawthorne fell in step beside her on the sidewalk in front of the building, the concrete gently lit by lampposts.

Jazz cast him a smile that beat back the shadows. "Sure you'd be up for that anytime soon?"

"Ouch." He laughed. "Hey, I haven't been climbing for a long time. Ferris wheel notwithstanding."

"If you say so. I'm ready anytime." She veered off the sidewalk to walk between two parked cars.

"All right. You're on." He followed her as she aimed for the navy blue SUV she'd arrived in, parked in the next row. "Though I warn you, I'll bring my A game next time."

"Now you have me worried." She tossed a grin over her shoulder that belied the words.

Something beyond her caught his gaze. Something off.

Was the front tire…

"Hey, Jazz."

She paused and turned toward him.

"I don't think you're going anywhere right now." He caught up with her and looked at the right front tire.

It was flattened to the ground.