Chapter 37

Maybe Jazz shouldn't have gone ahead with these interviews of Best Life cult members. Her mind was only somewhat present for most of them, her attention occupied by the news Cora had given her.

Her mother had been dead for ten years. Which meant that for twenty years of Jazz's life, her mother still hadn't wanted her. Hadn't even wanted to meet her.

The old, deep wound of the rejection she'd received at birth seared as if it'd been sliced open again.

But dwelling on it wouldn't help. That had never helped. Forgetting was the only thing that helped. And doing all she could to make sure she never felt that kind of rejection again.

Like finding Sam's real killer for Hawthorne so he'd see how useful Jazz could be for his work and his life. And proving her worth to Uncle Pierce by finding the person who had killed Aunt Joan and was trying to destroy her beloved fair.

She tuned in to the woman who sat in front of her across a table in a small, brightly lit room decorated like a classroom for children.

The woman, her dark hair pulled back in the braided up-do all the women wore at the cult, smiled as she wrapped up one of the scripted answers the other two members before her had also given Jazz. At least this one delivered it with more gusto.

"One more question, if you don't mind." Jazz forced a smile. "Do you feel safe here at Best Life? Or have you ever felt the community is too punitive or frightening in any way?"

The woman looked up at an angle for a moment.

Jazz's attention sharpened. The others had spewed out a response she'd assumed was rehearsed. But she'd still asked, since it seemed like the best way to get at whether or not Patch and others at the cult were more sinister than they liked to pretend. Jazz's money was still on Patch or another cult member for Sam's death and the fair sabotage. Every time she returned to the commune, she became more aware of the eerie feel of it. Like menacing, sinister danger was lurking just out of sight.

"I would say no, but I remember there was one time that I felt that way."

Jazz tried to keep her features from showing her surprise. Was the woman going to admit something bad about the cult?

"For a little while, a man stood outside our commune nearly every day, and he would follow us when we went out."

Okay. That wasn't the kind of confession Jazz had hoped for. But she should see where this trail led. At least she was getting an unscripted answer. Maybe she could leverage that for more off-script intel. "He followed you, specifically?"

"No, not only me. Any of our members who left the building. He didn't seem to care if they were male or female, young or old. He even followed Desmond and his wife." She lightly touched her fingers to her chin. "Although, I don't think she was his wife then." She smiled. "They were courting at the time."

"When was that?"

"Let's see." The woman folded her hands together on the table. "It would have been about two years ago." A frown reshaped her lips. "I remember because my daughter used him as a reason to leave Best Life when she turned eighteen and graduated that year. Though the man stopped soon after she left."

"Stopped?"

"Yes. He wasn't there one day, and I don't think anyone has seen him since."

"Did Desmond get a restraining order or file any charges against him?"

"No. Some members approached him about that, but he said the man hadn't broken any laws since he waited on the city-owned sidewalk and never harmed anyone he followed." The woman smiled again. "I think Desmond didn't want to do anything because of who the man was. Desmond is like that. Always very kind and tolerant."

Because of who he was? Jazz locked on to the hint of something significant. "Who was the man?"

"Oh, didn't I say?" The talkative cult member blinked innocently at Jazz. "He was the ex-husband of Desmond's new wife."

Possibilities sparked in Jazz's mind as she absorbed the information. An angry ex-husband intimidating Patch and the cult. That signaled motivation for sabotaging the fair and blaming it on Patch.

And it had happened two years ago, timed with Sam's death.

But how did the two connect? Maybe they didn't connect at all. She didn't know, but her gut told her she was getting close to the person behind Aunt Joan's death and the sabotage. Maybe even the person who was trying to kill her, though she didn't know how that could be related to an angry ex-husband.

She needed the mind behind Carson Steele's brilliant crime-solving skills. She needed to talk to Hawthorne.

Hawthorne made his way through the crowds to Molly's food stand where Jazz had texted she would meet him before her shift started. His stomach recoiled at the smell of the deep-fried foods Molly specialized in.

"Hey, sugar!" Molly waved from inside the stand.

Hawthorne forced a smile and kept his distance. Not exactly in the best form to talk to the perky woman right now. Not with his insides knotting themselves.

He'd have to clarify things with Jazz. Nevaeh had made it clear Jazz had the wrong impression. Apparently thought he loved her. He hadn't thought he'd shown that much emotion.

But if Nevaeh was right, then he had to straighten everything out before this went any farther and Jazz got seriously hurt.

"Hawthorne." Jazz's warm voice behind him made his pulse jump.

Only because she'd startled him. Or because he was nervous about talking to her. Couldn't be anything else.

An undeniably gorgeous smile spread her mouth wide, and her emerald eyes lit with a twinkle that threatened to undo his resolve to set her straight the moment he saw her.

Maybe it could wait. He swallowed. "Your text said you had something to tell me?"

"Yes." She stepped closer and touched his elbow as she angled away and pointed toward the tables under the canopy. "Let's go over there."

"Lead the way." He paused to let her go first, which also got her to pull away from him as she headed for the seating area with Flash.

She paused to wait for him by a table, and he picked a side and sat down.

But instead of sitting on the opposite side of the table as she usually did, she joined him on the same bench. Not inappropriately close, but close enough to make him feel boxed in. And drawn to her at the same time.

An image of what it would be like if they were a couple popped into his mind—him scooting closer, putting his arm around her shoulders.

Absurd. He was only going to send her the wrong message again if he didn't regain his focus. He was apparently caught up in some sort of infatuation.

And why not? She was an amazing woman. One of a kind. But he knew these desires and feelings wouldn't last. And he knew that when he was thinking clearly, his strongest desires were for freedom to live as he chose and work for the Lord independent of attachments to others who would try to control him or lead him astray.

Jazz shifted to face him as much as the bench would allow. "When I interviewed the Best Life members today, one of them told me something very interesting."

"Oh?" He had a hard time mustering even basic curiosity while fighting the internal battle for control.

"She told me that two years ago, a man started waiting outside Best Life for anyone who came out. He'd follow members, including Patch and his wife. Though she maybe wasn't his wife yet then. I got confused on the timeline there."

"He's had three wives, so it is confusing."

"Really?" Jazz's eyes widened as her mouth shaped into a smirk. "Somehow that doesn't surprise me."

He wanted to smile with her. To enjoy her sense of humor that had clicked with his from the first time they'd met. But maybe that would send the wrong signal, too.

She seemed too excited to notice his lack of response as she jumped back into her story. "Anyway, it turns out this stalker guy was the ex-husband of Patch's new wife."

"Her ex-husband?" That was interesting.

"Yep. Talk about passive aggressive, right?"

"Or aggressive, aggressive." Hawthorne didn't know anything about Patch's current wife. Maybe he could try to find her previous husband.

"I had thought Patch might be behind the sabotage, but now I'm thinking this ex-husband could be our man. He has a strong motive to incriminate the cult if his wife left him for Patch."

"You're right. And he could've chosen the fair as his means to do it because it's the only place Patch publicly denounced in the press."

Jazz nodded. "Exactly. We should look for the ex-husband. How do you think we can find out who he is?"

"I'd start with the record of Patch's most recent marriage and get the wife's former surname from there. Then…" Hawthorne suddenly realized what he was doing—partnering with her again. Helping her with her quest to find the culprit behind the fair. He'd said he would, but he had technically fulfilled that obligation already with the other things he'd done for her. Anything more now could be confirmation in her eyes that he…loved her.

He smothered his natural desire to track down the truth and the bad guy. "Isn't that something your agency can find out for you?"

The happiness in her eyes went out as fast as a candle doused with water. "I'm not with them anymore."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, I don't work there anymore." She pushed her shoulders back and glanced away, but she didn't appear to be actually watching the passing visitors. "Well, I put in my two weeks' notice."

"Oh." That was a surprise. He hadn't realized she was unhappy at the agency. Or maybe she was planning to move or do other work? The questions he wanted to ask hopped to the tip of his tongue. But he bit them back. Showing too much interest could be misinterpreted.

"It's for the best." She smiled again, but it didn't quite reach her eyes. "And you know how we can track down the ex-husband anyway. We'll find him…together."

The way she said the last word made his muscles clench. And made him think Nevaeh had been exactly right about Jazz misunderstanding his intentions.

He needed to put a stop to this right now. "It's a great discovery." He forced himself to meet her gaze, though his gut clenched at what he might see there next. "But I really need to focus on solving Sam's murder, so I can fulfill my promise to my sister and get out of here next week." There. He couldn't have been plainer and clearer that he was leaving, so of course she would know he didn't intend to date her or anything close to that.

But the disappointment he'd braced to see on her face didn't show.

Her closed lips shaped into a small smile. Almost a satisfied smile. Did she want him to go?

"I knew you'd have to leave, and I completely understand that." She reached over and covered his hand, resting on the table, with hers. "You're a brilliant writer. You need to travel wherever the ideas take you and do your research like you've always done it. I won't make you choose or pressure you to stay." Her smile beamed full and wide. "That's why I quit the agency. So whenever you need to leave, I'll be ready to go with you."

Go with him? His throat started to close, and her hand felt like the warning alarm for the walls closing in around him from all sides. The walls of a cage.

"You can't." The protest popped out louder than he intended as he yanked his hand away and pulled his legs free to stand behind the bench.

She blinked up at him. "But I can. I'll just finish up my two weeks. If you need to leave before then, I'll follow you right after I'm done."

"No, you don't get it." He tried to tamp down the panicked edge to his voice. "I don't want you."

A visible wince pinched her features.

That had come out harsher than he'd meant. He tried for a calmer tone, but still firm enough that she'd know he was sincere. "I'm sorry if you got the wrong idea about my interest in you. I never meant to mislead you."

She stared at him without moving, as if she was in shock.

"I tried to be clear that I wanted to get to know you only for the purpose of basing my heroine on you. I never meant to imply anything else. And I was always clear I was leaving."

With every word he said, more pain clouded her beautiful eyes.

Guilt pressed hard against his ribs. But it wasn't his fault. "I told you marriage and a family wouldn't fit with my lifestyle."

"But I wouldn't stop you from traveling and moving whenever you want." Her eyebrows scrunched together, her voice taking on a strangled, pleading quality. "We'd do it together."

She would stop him. Stop him from having the freedom to live his life on his terms, without anyone controlling him or owning him.

"I have to do what's best for my life, and you'll see someday that this wouldn't be best for you either."

Moisture shimmered in her eyes.

"I'm sorry." He whirled away and stalked out from under the canopy, into the hot sunlight. If only it would burn away the memory of wreaking pain and devastation on the most amazing woman he'd ever met.