Chapter 29

Jazz watched Uncle Pierce closely for any sign of disdain as she set out her inexpensive plates and budget flatware.

Of course, the food itself was in plastic takeout containers. From Isabella's, one of the most expensive Italian restaurants in the area.

Flash had barked when Uncle Pierce first arrived, but now he was being quiet in her bedroom where Jazz had left him with his favorite chew stick. He wasn't a jumper or anything, but Jazz had him tucked away when Uncle Pierce came anyway, knowing how he disliked pets. He'd always said cats and dogs were too dirty and unruly to have in a civilized home.

"This is perfect." Uncle Pierce smiled and dished out the carbonara onto their plates.

It was so surreal. Uncle Pierce in her apartment was strange enough. She'd scurried straight from Best Life to the apartment and spent the next two hours cleaning it from trashed to spotless. She hoped. But it was still an older apartment, and the age showed if a person looked closely enough.

The fact Uncle Pierce had brought takeout made the experience even more unbelievable. He also hadn't seemed disapproving at all so far. Not of the apartment, her green blouse and dark skinny jeans she'd thrown on before he'd arrived, or the food.

"Thanks for agreeing to meet for lunch, Jazz." Uncle Pierce poured water into his glass from the pitcher she'd filled with plain old tap water. "And I appreciate your willingness to host." He gave her a gentle smile, the one he'd adopted when she'd stopped by his house.

So strange for him to look at her with kindness. Aunt Joan's death must have really shaken him. Changed him. "Your aunt wondered about where you were living."

"She did?" Jazz halted the progress of lifting her glass to her mouth.

"Yes. She mentioned it." He glanced around the small dining nook that opened to the living room and front door. "It's a very nice apartment. It suits you." He did a good job not letting any note of criticism slip into his voice. He had to be thinking it. Her whole apartment was smaller than the foyer at his house.

"But the real reason I wanted to come was to see you, Jazz."

She spooled fettucine on her fork, afraid to look and see insincerity in his eyes that would puncture the warm bubble of hope forming around her heart. She'd told herself his kindness and sweet words when she'd visited him with the photos had been driven by grief. He hadn't been himself.

By now, she was sure he would've returned to the Pierce Cracklen he'd always been—driven politician, ruthless businessman, exacting husband and father, cold and disinterested uncle.

"I meant what I said at the house. I know I probably surprised you."

Jazz pushed the pasta into her mouth and slowly chewed, still avoiding his gaze. Surprised was the understatement of the year.

"But I meant every word. Joan's death has made me see so many things I missed before. I took her and my daughters for granted. I took you for granted."

She looked at him then, bracing herself for what she'd see—evidence to contradict his words.

But real emotion filled his eyes. Sincerity and something like…loneliness. Or was it need? "Without Joan and my daughters here, you're all I have. You're the family I took for granted. I don't want to do that anymore." He set down his fork and held her gaze. He sighed. "I can see you don't completely trust me and what I'm saying."

She leaned back and reached for her glass for something to do. Heat crawled toward her face. "It's not that." But it totally was. "It's just…a lot to process."

He nodded. "Because I didn't pay much attention to you before." He reached his hand farther across the round table and spread his palm against the wood. "I am sorry for that. I'm sorry for what I missed." He glanced away. "I was too caught up in work, campaigning, providing for my family."

He brought his gaze to her face, regret deepening vertical lines at the edges of his mouth. "I want to make it up to you. And I'm hoping the timing is good for both of us."

"The timing?"

"Yes. We're both alone, in a sense. But we have each other. I know I didn't reach out to you when Lawrence died." He dabbed at the corners of his mouth with the paper napkin, then lowered it to his lap. "Now that I've lost Joan, I understand what it feels like. And I'm all the sorrier that I didn't support you in your time of loss."

She shrugged. "It's all right." She hadn't expected anything different from the uncle and aunt who'd never given her support at any stage of her life.

"No, it's not. I'd like to make it up to you now, if you'll let me. Tell me how you're doing with your father's passing. It must have been very hard to lose him."

Jazz blinked. No one had ever asked her that. And she'd never thought Uncle Pierce would be the one to do it. "I…guess." Was it hard? Probably not in the way he meant.

The slow progress of the kidney failure, the caretaking for so long—that had been hard. Her dad's disapproval and complaints with everything she tried to do for him—that had been difficult.

After the memorial service and cremation he'd dictated that he wanted, she'd realized what was the hardest thing. Not that he was gone. But that she'd subconsciously been hoping all the caring and loving of her dad would pay off in the end. That he'd make some declaration of love or even approval on his deathbed if not before.

That was the hardest part. He'd died still making sure she knew she wasn't good enough to be his daughter. Not good enough for his love.

"I know Lawrence could be…difficult. I suppose that gives you mixed emotions about his passing."

Such an accurate assessment from Uncle Pierce startled her.

Understanding softened his features. Did he know what her dad had been like? Did he understand?

Her heart squeezed.

"You mentioned you kept some of his things. Like those photos you brought over. Does it help to look through them, to remember him?"

"I…don't know." She waved a hand toward the hallway to the right. "I keep them in my guest room. There are a bunch of boxes of things. I should probably go through them sometime and see what I can get rid of."

"My offer still stands to help you. I'll have to do that with Joan's things yet." His mouth pulled into a deep frown, and his brow furrowed slightly. "When I'm ready." He lifted his focus to Jazz. "Perhaps we can help each other with that task. I'd be happy to start with a box or two now, if you're up for it."

Go through her dad's things? Her chest squeezed. It was one thing to quickly find the shoebox she knew she'd stored photos in from her childhood. Totally different to go through his belongings, medals, mementos. She might even find something about her mother in there.

Her stomach lurched. "No." The response came out sharper than she intended. "I mean," she made a show of looking at her watch, "I have to get ready for work." In several hours, but he didn't need to know that.

"Oh." His eyebrows dipped with what looked like disappointment. "I'm sorry to hear that. Maybe another time."

"Sure."

"Do you think you could come to the house for dinner one evening? I could have the chef cook us a fabulous meal." He smiled. "You can tell me what your favorite dish is, and I'll be sure it's on the menu."

The genuineness of his smile smoothed away the tension in her chest. "I'd like that."

"But not tonight?"

"No, I work late."

"Well, I'll keep asking until we find a time that works. I want to have you in my life, Jazz. We're family."

Family. The way he said the word, all warm and certain, surged a burst of hope through her. Could Aunt Joan's death finally bring her the family she'd always longed for?

She tried to stay skeptical, to protect her heart. But Uncle Pierce's approval and acceptance seemed too genuine to deny.

It was the kind of thing she'd dreamed of getting from her dad. Maybe, all this time, she'd just been looking in the wrong place.

"The works and extra bacon, please."

Freddie chuckled at Hawthorne's familiar order. "I could've bet on that one." He turned around and relayed Hawthorne's and Jazz's orders to the teenagers at the grill inside his food stand. Then Freddie scooted to the side of the window and leaned toward them as they stepped out of the line of customers. "Just between us, the bacon is what keeps us in business." He grinned.

"I believe it." Jazz laughed, that lovely sound Hawthorne still hadn't figured out how to capture in words in his book.

But right now he needed to focus on taking this opportunity to try to find out more about Freddie, since the man seemed to want to chat. "Jazz and I were talking about your cousin Jim. He must've retired out in Oklahoma?"

"Yeah, that's right."

"Is that where you're from, too?"

"No. I was an Army brat. Lived in six different states and Germany by the time I was eighteen."

"I can relate." Jazz gave Freddie a smile.

"Dad?"

She nodded. "Yep."

"Mine, too."

"Where do you call home these days?" Hawthorne tried to interject the question as casually as possible.

Freddie straightened. Did that make him uncomfortable? "Not sure yet. I've enjoyed traveling with this job, managing Jim's business."

"I get it. I'm a fan of the nomad life myself."

Someone said something behind Freddie, and he turned around. Then he swung back, two paper baskets cradling hot dogs in his hands. "Here you go." He handed them over with a joyful smile that didn't look wary or any different than his normal friendly demeanor. "Enjoy."

"Thanks." Jazz smiled as Hawthorne handed over her hot dog, and they started for the tables shaded under the canopy.

Flash panted heavily by her other side. Poor dog looked like he could use a good, long drink. The heat and humidity were a nasty combo again today.

"Here I thought you had suggested we meet for dinner just to see me." Jazz slid her basket onto the table and swung the backpack off her shoulders, glancing at Hawthorne just long enough for him to catch the teasing twinkle in her eyes.

He grinned as he sat down and took off his sunglasses. "Men can multitask, too, you know."

She straightened from pouring water into a foldable bowl for Flash. "Really? I didn't know that." Her laugh seemed to ripple through the air and into his chest, awakening feelings he had no business entertaining.

She lowered to the bench across from him, her mouth straightening into a more serious line. "If there's anything to find about Freddie," she glanced toward the food stand as she lowered her voice, "Cora will uncover it."

"Good. Because I couldn't find anything online. No criminal record that I could see. No current residence or phone number."

"Maybe he travels a lot." Jazz lifted her hot dog to her mouth and paused. "Like you." She bit off a large, messy chunk of the ketchup-laden hot dog. Some ketchup smeared onto her cheek.

Hawthorne couldn't help but smile at the cute sight.

"What?" She mumbled the word around the hot dog she chewed.

"You just have a bit of…" He pointed toward the spot.

"Oh." She lowered her hot dog and picked up a napkin, pressing it to her mouth on the wrong side.

"No." He leaned over the table, reaching closer to her face. "There." His heart thumped in his chest, willing him to touch her skin. Caress the cheek that looked so soft and smooth. He jerked back. "About an inch to the left of your mouth."

If this were a novel, he'd have his hero give in to the temptation. Have a romantic moment with his love interest. But this was real life. And Hawthorne wasn't in a romance. He didn't want to be. And that's not where God wanted him to be either. He was meant to be single. To use his freedom to seek closeness with God and do the work He'd called Hawthorne to do. Getting tied down would only interfere with that. Probably lead him astray from God.

"Do you ever get tired of it?"

"Of what?" He'd gotten so lost in his self-directed lecture that he had to scramble to remember what Jazz was referring to.

"Traveling. Never settling down anywhere." She'd wiped the ketchup off her face just fine. So much for all those trope scenes in books and movies where no woman could clean off her own face.

"Not at all. I love seeing the world and being able to find settings for my books in person. No better way to do research."

"I can see that. The settings in your books are so rich. Like another character."

He smiled. "Thank you." He took a bite of his hot dog, stretching his mouth around the mound of toppings.

Jazz munched more of her dinner, too, so Hawthorne glanced at Freddie's food stand. Hopefully, the vendor would leave soon. Hawthorne had gotten off patrol at eight p.m., and it was eight fifteen now. Last night, Freddie had stayed until close, but that didn't seem to be his typical pattern. He'd come in later yesterday and had told Hawthorne he would have to stay until close because his usual closer was sick. Today, he was probably back to his normal hours.

"Have you ever thought about settling down one day? Maybe having a family?"

Hawthorne's chest tensed as he looked at Jazz. Why was she asking? He'd been afraid she would have picked up on his…attraction to her. Maybe this was a good time to try to clarify he hadn't meant anything by that. "No. A marriage and family wouldn't be a good fit for my work, my lifestyle. I need to be free to pick up and go whenever the need or idea hits me."

Her lips curved up slightly at one corner. "You sound like Carson. You really fooled me in The Killer's Corpse."

Book Fourteen, the most recent installment before his newest release. He'd surprised a lot of people with that one, including himself. Mostly by the fact he'd included a romance at all. He hadn't done that with Carson before. But it was a good way to create higher emotional stakes.

"I really thought he was finally going to give up bachelorhood for Valentine Edwards." Jazz shook her head as if she still couldn't believe it. "She was such a perfect match for him. And it seemed like he loved her near the end."

"He did have feelings for her." Hawthorne reached for his soda cup. "But Carson values his freedom above everything else." He took a long sip of the cool drink, checking on Freddie again. Maybe to avoid Jazz's gaze.

"And you?"

Hawthorne reluctantly met her stare. But it would be better to make things clear now than let her get attached and expect something he couldn't give her. "I like freedom, too."

She rubbed her thumb on her thermos. "So you've never been tempted? Never met a girl special enough to catch your eye?" Something in the way she threw in the second question, her darted glance away, the flush in her cheeks, made him hold back the flippant denial he was going to give.

And he couldn't honestly say he hadn't. That would be a lie. Because he was looking at the woman who was that special. "Well…maybe once."

Her emerald eyes lit on him, widening slightly as a smile curved her lips.

He shouldn't have said it. Shouldn't have looked at her the way he was now, probably revealing too much of his growing attraction for her. Not after all that work to clarify he didn't want a relationship.

But the way a flame blazed in his torso at the pleasure and heat in her eyes told him his feelings didn't care about clarifications or boundaries.

"Have a good night, you two." Freddie waved from outside the canopy as he shouted to be heard above the crowd noise and the music from nearby rides.

Jazz returned the wave with a smile as Hawthorne immediately gathered his soda and remnants of hot dog.

"You're going to follow him, aren't you?" Jazz's perceptive gaze locked on Hawthorne.

"I am free at the moment." He grinned.

"Too bad I'm working 'til midnight." Her frown switched to a smile, and she waved him on. "Good luck. Give me a call if you need backup."

"Thanks for dinner." He threw the words over his shoulder as he hurried to drop the trash in a bin and make sure he didn't let Freddie get too far ahead. He might've already given the vendor too big a lead in such a thick crowd of people. Maybe he should've asked Jazz to bring Flash for the first leg. He could probably track Freddie.

Hawthorne used his height to advantage to see above the people he weaved through.

Freddie was unfortunately pretty average looking with nothing to make him stand out in the crowd. But Hawthorne knew which exit he'd be headed for—the staff door by the main entrance that provided a quicker way in and out by avoiding the lines.

Hawthorne kept his stride long but not too fast. Wouldn't be good to get ahead of Freddie. Although Hawthorne was off shift. If he did see the man, it wouldn't be suspicious for Hawthorne to be leaving at the same time.

With that excuse in mind, he picked up his pace. If he passed Freddie without spotting him, he could simply wait outside the gate until he saw the vendor leave.

But as Hawthorne neared the gate, the crowds cleared slightly.

And Freddie's dark hair with receding hairline caught Hawthorne's eye. Red polo T-shirt, tan khakis. Glasses and mustache. That was Freddie.

Hawthorne slowed, keeping Freddie in view as the vendor went through the staff exit as predicted.

Since more visitors were entering than leaving at the moment, Hawthorne slipped out through the main exit instead, allowing him to maintain more distance without losing sight of Freddie.

He kept one row of cars between him and Freddie as he watched to see where the vendor had parked.

Freddie eventually stopped by a light blue sedan and unlocked the driver's door.

Hawthorne sprinted away. His car was parked in another section of the lot too far away.

Sweat dripped from his face by the time Hawthorne reached his car and jumped into the sweltering oven it had become. He started the engine and turned the air conditioning on full blast as he drove as fast as he thought he could get away with toward the section of the lot where Freddie had parked. Too fast, apparently, given the way his brakes slipped as he slowed for a turn.

Freddie would probably use the west exit out of the lot, since that was closest to where he had parked.

Hawthorne took the shortest route to catch the vendor at that exit. Hopefully.

As he reached the west exit, he strained to see past other cars slowing to get in line.

A light blue sedan caught his eye. Two cars ahead.

"Thank you, Lord." He let out a breath as he pulled into the row of vehicles waiting for cross traffic on the street to clear.

He kept his attention fixed on Freddie's car as the blue sedan reached the front of the line, then turned onto the street.

Hawthorne tapped the steering wheel, his pulse picking up speed. The traffic could stop him from tailing Freddie if the car in front of him didn't turn soon.

The next car pulled out, and Hawthorne drove forward, braking for a truck passing by on the road.

The brakes slipped again. Great. He was probably going to have to take the car to a garage and have it looked at. Brake pads must be getting worn down. He had driven it nearly across the country to get to the Twin Cities.

He accelerated hard as soon as the truck passed and darted out onto the road. Freddie shouldn't be too far ahead.

He pressed the gas pedal harder than he technically should for the speed limit. But if Freddie were guilty of sabotaging the fair, Hawthorne could learn a lot by following him. Who knew what the man would do if he didn't think he was being watched? Maybe he'd pick up more supplies for his next sabotage attempt.

Light blue caught the corner of Hawthorne's eye in the lane to his right. Only a few cars between them. Perfect. Hawthorne could hold his position, but then he might not be able to turn quickly if Freddie did.

Sure enough, Freddie slowed at a green light ahead, his right blinker flashing.

Hawthorne jerked to look over his shoulder and darted in between two cars to fit into the right lane.

He pressed the brakes to slow for the turn.

The car didn't slow.

He pushed the brake pedal harder.

Nothing.

Freddie turned off onto the cross street.

The car in front of Hawthorne darted through the intersection just as the light turned red.

But Hawthorne didn't stop.

He couldn't. His brakes were gone.