Chapter 39

Butch was the angry ex-husband?

Jazz pressed her hand to her forehead and stared unseeingly through the windshield as the shock faded and the facts became clear. It made so much sense, like at the end of a Carson Steele novel when the truth suddenly seemed so plain, like she should've seen it all before.

Butch had free access to all parts of the fair, all the staff-only areas. He knew the ins and outs of the fair after working there for fifteen years. He could go anywhere without raising suspicions. He could even control which areas would have security when.

Aunt Joan had never said anything negative about Butch, and Jazz didn't remember ever seeing them argue. Didn't seem like Butch had a motive to kill Aunt Joan. But maybe she'd simply been collateral damage like everyone initially thought. The unfortunate victim of bad timing, putting her in the pod that Butch had chosen to explode for sabotage. That he would then blame on Patch.

It would be a very satisfying way to get revenge on the man who'd taken Butch's wife from him. If Butch's plan worked, it would destroy everything Patch had built—his business and the cult. And land Patch himself in prison.

Jazz should call Nev.

The instinct hitched in her heart before her mind caught on. Nevaeh wasn't an option anymore.

Pushing aside the pain of remembering she'd lost her best friend, Jazz naturally jumped to Phoenix K-9 next. Cora would usually be the one she'd call to give information if she didn't go through Nevaeh.

Stupid habits. She'd gotten more used to being at PK-9 than she'd realized. She thought of calling them before the police every time. Because that's the way Pheonix had wanted it.

Well, she didn't answer to Phoenix anymore. Didn't have to earn her approval.

Looked like she'd be calling the pol—

A ringtone sounded, pulling her gaze to her phone where she'd laid it on her lap.

Uncle Pierce's name appeared on the screen.

The first happiness she'd felt in hours surged up inside her as she lifted the cell. She so needed to hear his loving, approving voice right now. "Hi, Uncle Pierce."

"Jazz."

The quiver in the one word sent a chill down her spine. Something was wrong.

"I've been taken hostage. By the head of security at the fair. Butch Klika."

"What?" Not Uncle Pierce. Fear wrenched her stomach. She couldn't lose him. "Where are you?"

"The fair." He paused. "He's watching me right now and has a gun." Uncle Pierce's voice became more rigid and controlled, like he was saying only what Butch told him to say. "He wants you to come right now, if you want me to live."

"I'm on my way." Jazz turned on the ignition and hit the gas almost before the SUV had started.

"He says no weapons and no dog. If he sees either, he'll kill me immediately. Please, Jazz, do as he says." Panic pinched Uncle Pierce's plea.

Jazz's chest pinched, her pulse speeding as she fought back tears. She never cried in dangerous situations. She never even felt nervous. She'd been trained, knew what she could handle. Fear had never been her problem. Why now were her fingers trembling on the steering wheel while her stomach tied itself in knots? "I'll get you free, Uncle Pierce. Don't wo—"

"Go to the east side employee's entrance." Uncle Pierce spoke quickly and robotically, like he'd been prodded to say more. "Enter code six zero six two. Go to the History Center. Jazz, be—"

The line went dead, cutting him off.

Had he been going to tell her to be careful?

Her heart squeezed behind her ribs. His life was in danger, he was being held by a kidnapper, and he still thought of her. If she'd doubted that his change to a loving uncle was possible, she was more than positive now.

A tear escaped and tumbled down her cheek as she raced on the mostly quiet streets to reach the fair. Lucky she hadn't gone far, thanks to not knowing where to go.

Within five minutes, she spotted the east entrance ahead. She pulled into the empty, small parking lot, running through the scenario and options in her mind as she'd done the whole drive there.

Clever of Uncle Pierce to make sure she knew Butch had a gun. Though that would have been safe to assume since he wore one as security personnel.

If that was all he had for weapons, she should be able to beat him without a problem. But if he held the gun on Uncle Pierce in the right way, things could get trickier.

Jazz turned off the ignition and grabbed her Sig that she'd pulled out of the holster so it wouldn't dig into her hip while she sat in the car. She tucked it into her waistband behind her back and pulled the holster off, dropping it onto the floor in front of the passenger seat.

She reached for her backpack on the seat and pulled out the dark green PK-9 windbreaker. Didn't exactly want to show team spirit at the moment, but the jacket would help cover her gun, and the lower nighttime temperature shouldn't make it too sweltering to wear.

Her knife was still strapped to her thigh. A little too obvious.

She took off the sheath and put it on her ankle, hidden under her jeans.

Flash whined, drawing Jazz's gaze to him in the rearview mirror.

She turned toward her partner, and he pushed forward so his head fit between the front seats. "Sorry, bud. You can't go along this time." A lump slid into her throat. "I can hide my other weapons, but I can't hide you."

He whined again and angled his head toward her as he panted heavily, clearly not liking the idea.

"I'm sorry. But I'll be back before you know it." She pushed herself up in the seat to press a quick kiss to his forehead, then swung toward the door and hopped out.

She closed the door as quietly as she could. The east entrance was too far from the enclosed History Center for Butch to hear her arrive, assuming he was in that building, but she didn't want to grab the attention of the other security guards. Their efforts to help, or being seen by Butch if he wasn't at the Center, could cost Uncle Pierce his life.

She couldn't risk that.

She'd handled much tougher assignments and even ambushes on her own. Taking down a single armed opponent by herself wouldn't be a problem.

No sign of movement or flashlights showed through the chain-link fence on this side of the fair as she approached the entrance.

Of course. She should've thought of that before.

Butch wouldn't be able to get away with a kidnapping at the fair if there were other guards around. He must have doctored the duty roster to clear the area where he wanted to play.

Well, it was going to be game over for him very soon.

Jazz punched the security code into the keypad at the small gate and entered.

The fair was eerily quiet. No colorful lights from the midway. No fun sounds and music. No voices or laughter.

Jazz kept an eye out for surprises as she hurried quietly up the path, making her way by the direct route to the History Center.

But once she was close, she veered off the path and cut behind the Skyride building to come around to the side entrance. Hopefully, Butch would expect her to enter the History Center by the main door.

If not, she'd still take him down. It just might be a little messier and take a bit longer.

But she would take him down. Uncle Pierce was not going to get hurt. They were still going to have their future together. The two of them would form the loving family she'd dreamed of.

First, she simply had to free Uncle Pierce from a killer.

Jazz stopped by the side entrance and flexed her fingers, taking in a slow breath to ease the unfamiliar tension between her ribs. She'd leave the gun behind her back in case Butch spotted her first. Didn't want him shooting Uncle Pierce because she hadn't respected his demand for no weapons.

She turned the knob on the metal door and pushed it open.

Didn't squeak or make a sound. Perfect.

The building was dark. The only illumination seemed to come from two large overhead lights attached to each end of the long building. Probably the only lighting that was usually left on overnight.

Shadows and dim light touched the exhibits that interrupted the otherwise open space, providing some cover for Jazz.

She crouched and silently weaved through the exhibits, scanning the open spaces for any sign of Uncle Pierce or Butch.

Her heart beat more erratically the longer she went without seeing anyone. Had Butch moved Uncle Pierce elsewhere?

She stepped around an old sleigh of some kind and checked the shadows beyond.

Something lay on the floor. A thick shape that tapered downward as it lengthened to what looked like legs.

Uncle Pierce? Dead?

The thought nearly choked her. She'd seen plenty of dead bodies. But she was not ready to see his.

She glanced around, making sure no one was there before giving in to the urge to move closer.

The shadows shifted as she approached.

A body for sure. A man's.

No. Grief pushed up her throat. It couldn't be Uncle Pierce.

A sound behind her.

She spun toward it, whipping out her Sig and aiming.

At Uncle Pierce.

Horror collided with disbelief as her brain struggled to make sense of the scene.

A girl, a teenager, whimpered from under the arm Uncle Pierce had wrapped around her neck.

And he held a gun to her temple.