Chapter 25

"I was about to come in there and rescue you." Jazz put on a smile to cover the concern that had been twisting her stomach for the last ten minutes as Hawthorne walked toward her in the parking lot outside Best Life. "That must've been some chat with Sam's mom."

The grim set of Hawthorne's mouth as he glanced around made her smile fade. Something was wrong.

"Meet me at my car." He angled away before reaching her SUV and headed to the next row of cars, farther from the Best Life commune.

She took a roundabout path to his car, making sure to keep other vehicles between her and anyone's view if they were watching from inside Best Life. That was clearly what he was worried about. But why?

Tension clenched her insides as she neared his black sedan, where he waited by the driver's door.

"Mind getting in?"

She shook her head and went to the passenger side as he ducked inside. She slid onto the leather seat in his obviously expensive car and immediately found his gaze. "What happened?"

"Mrs. Ackerman called the Helpers on me."

"Helpers." The guys Randall had said maintained order.

"Patch's enforcers."

"He has enforcers?"

"Oh, yeah." A muscle in Hawthorne's jaw twitched as he turned his head to look out the windshield.

Her ribs squeezed as she watched him. What exactly did these enforcers do to him? Didn't see any signs of injury. That was good. But there were ways to hurt people that didn't leave marks. She swallowed. "What did they do?"

"Took me to a room where they left me tied up to wait for Patch."

She stared at Hawthorne's profile, shock rolling through her. "But they all seemed so friendly and kind. Like nice people."

"That's the visitor treatment." Hawthorne returned his gaze to Jazz. "They wouldn't get anyone to join if people knew how dark and disturbing they actually are."

"But why would anyone stay if that's what they're really like?"

Hawthorne turned away again. Sighed. "A number of reasons. For one, they don't tend to treat the adults badly, depending on how you define it. The adults could technically leave when they want or report abuses, so Patch handles them carefully. He gives them what they think they want. He just happens to be able to convince them that whatever he says is what they want."

"So they'll put up with things people wouldn't ordinarily?"

Hawthorne glanced at her. "He gets them so twisted around. They believe lies are true and the truth is all lies. He preys on their selfish desires and heightens them by having them spend all their time focusing on themselves. Contemplating every thought and emotion, acting on desires and impulses and prioritizing what's best for themselves above all else."

Hawthorne gripped the top of the steering wheel. "But the irony is they aren't even doing what's best for themselves. Only what Patch has convinced them is best. They're like puppets on his strings, but they voluntarily stay there because he gets them to want that life."

"That's insane."

"Yeah." Hawthorne let out a humorless laugh. "That's the perfect word for it."

Hurt for Hawthorne, for the boy who'd had to deal with all of that, swelled behind her ribs. "How'd you ever get out?"

His eyes found hers, softening slightly. "I was twelve when my family joined. That helped. I was old enough to know what we'd left behind and to see the problems of the cult. Though what bothered me most at that age, of course, were all the rules about what I could and couldn't do."

His mouth curved in a wry smile. "But being old enough to question my parents helped me see things more clearly than they did. I worked hard to convince them to leave every year until I was eighteen. I don't know if they ever thought my attempts were anything more than teenage rebellion."

He ran his hand over the light stubble on his jaw, weariness settling on his features.

Jazz longed to reach over and rub his shoulders or just hold his hand and tell him she was there for him. But they weren't a real couple.

"Some family, huh?" He glanced her way with that same crooked smile that did nothing to hide the pain in his eyes.

"We can't pick our family."

Something in her tone must've given away the hurt tightening her throat. He tilted his head slightly and watched her. "Have your own family problems?"

"Mainly a lack of family, I guess." Her turn to look out the windshield at the quiet parking lot.

"I just dumped all my baggage on you. Don't hold back." His attempt at humor brought her gaze back to him.

"My dad died two years ago. It was just him and me growing up, except when I'd stay with my aunt and uncle instead. None of them ever liked me. Not my dad, Aunt Joan, Uncle Pierce. Even my cousins hated me."

Silence hung between them as she looked out the passenger window, not really seeing anything but a jumble of sad memories.

"Did you ever get to see your mom?" Hawthorne's question came to her soft and gentle, like a comforting touch.

"No." Jazz brought her gaze to his. "She left when I was a baby. I have no memory of her."

The muscles at the corners of his eyes and mouth twitched like in a flinch. For her sake. He did care.

The proof of it pumped her heart faster.

"I'm so sorry." Sincerity emanated from his eyes.

"I'm sorry about your family."

He gave the smallest of nods. "I guess we have that in common, too."

So he'd noticed they had things in common. Almost like he was keeping track.

Her pulse skipped a beat. Maybe they could be each other's family.

The urge to say the thought out loud pushed at her lips. But she stopped herself. Too much, too soon. He'd think she was proposing. Perfect way to scare off a guy, especially one used to traveling and never settling down.

She'd have to be patient. Wait until he cared for her even more. Until he wanted to stay with her. Or maybe take her along on his travels.

Right now, she'd do everything she could to continue to impress him and prove her worth. Like with the info she'd learned from Randall. "I did find out some interesting things from Rebekah's jealous ex."

"You saw Randall?" Hawthorne's eyes lit, electrifying the teal color so much that Jazz had to fight to keep a clear thought in her head while under the spell of those mesmerizing orbs.

"Yeah. He was in the gift shop like your sister said."

"Perfect. Did he talk?"

She smiled. "A lot. He seemed to take a liking to me, so I was able to question him pretty naturally."

A grin showed off Hawthorne's teeth. "Of course he did. What's not to like?"

Jazz's pulse fluttered. But she tried to stay nonchalant. "I know, right?" She flicked her hair back over her shoulder, earning a chuckle from Hawthorne. "I tried to check for an alibi the night of Sam's death. Randall said he was with others at the cult until nine thirty. Would that give him an alibi?"

"No. The autopsy put time of death between ten p.m. and midnight. But the investigation concluded he must have died during the last ride of the night at the Logboat Adventure, which would mean just before eleven."

"So Randall could've snuck out after his weird stars class."

"Yeah."

"I have a hard time imagining he would've, though."

Hawthorne lifted his eyebrows slightly. "Why is that?"

"I get that he was mad at Rebekah and Sam, and he obviously thinks Sam was a jerk, but he's also totally in love with the cult. He spewed out these programmed answers anytime I pushed the right button."

Amusement curved Hawthorne's mouth as he watched her.

"So I can't really see him having been able to think independently enough to buck the cult and his beloved leader. He'd have had to break so many rules and be somewhat clever."

"Sounds like a good assessment. You're probably right, he's at the bottom of the suspect list."

Jazz nodded. "He did tell me something helpful, though. He said Sam's dad attacked Desmond Patch."

Hawthorne angled toward her. "Attacked him?"

"That's what he said. Sam's dad apparently had to be dragged out of the commune and was banned from coming back."

"Huh." Hawthorne rotated forward and rested his hands in a loose hold on the steering wheel. He looked ahead through the windshield.

"Are you thinking what I'm thinking?"

He turned his head toward Jazz. "That Sam's dad has a motive to sabotage the fair and put the blame on Patch?"

"Exactly." She pressed her lips together. "We've got to find Sam's dad."

"Sam's mother doesn't seem to know where he is."

"I'll ask Cora to track him down for us."

Hawthorne gave her a questioning look.

"She's the communications and tech specialist at Phoenix K-9 Agency. She's a whiz at research and finding people nobody else can."

"Okay, great." Hawthorne didn't look as happy as his words sounded. A faraway expression coated his eyes.

"You've thought of something else, haven't you?"

He redirected his gaze to Jazz, seeming to come back to the present. "I was just thinking. If Sam's dad has such a volatile temper, I wonder if Sam could've inherited the same tendency."

"What if he did?"

"Could've led him to fight. With Randall or anyone else."

"Like the other young guys he might've been with at the fair?"

"It's still only a theory. I don't even know that Sam was in that rowdy group. But it's the best lead I have so far."

"What about Desmond Patch? You saw him?"

"Oh, yes." Hawthorne turned back to the wheel and clamped it harder this time.

"Do you think he could be behind any of this? Sam? The sabotage?"

"I definitely wouldn't put it past him to have made an example of Sam." Hawthorne kept his grip on the wheel as he threw Jazz a glance. "He favors harsh discipline with kids."

She winced inwardly at the implications. Had Hawthorne suffered from such so-called discipline as a child?

"But…" His hands loosened their hold and lowered to the bottom of the steering wheel. "He's smart. Very smart. He wouldn't declare to the world he sabotaged the fair if he was really behind it. Unless his sense of invincibility has become so great as to make him believe his own lies."

"It's a possibility. Sometimes even genius leads people to insane actions." Jazz touched Hawthorne's muscled shoulder. "I have a meeting scheduled for tomorrow. I'll stay on him."

Hawthorne's brow furrowed.

Jazz had thought that would please him.

"I don't think you should be alone with him."

"But it was your idea."

"Before."

"Before what?" Her heart rate sped faster. Did he mean before he'd realized he cared for her?

"Before I saw him again. And his goons."

Oh. Disappointment slowed her pulse.

Hawthorne met Jazz's gaze, intensity in his. "It's not a safe place."

She stared back. "Most places aren't. Never bothered me." As quick as a reflex, she had her knife out of the ankle sheath and in her hand. "Future heroine in your books, remember? I got this." She winked.

A grin took over his handsome face as his posture relaxed, and he looked from the knife to her. "How could I ever forget? Desmond Patch had better watch his back. Jazz Lamont might be the one to take him down."