Chapter 6

You've gotta be kidding me. The thought hadn't even finished by the time Jazz escaped the muscled guy's hold with a shoulder slip. She pushed off his body to gain some distance.

But her back slammed into something else. Someone.

Great. Two thugs.

He grabbed her neck from behind, wrapping his arm around her in a sloppy choke.

She clamped down on his arm and dropped her weight, swinging in a pivot to the side. She flung him down with a quick knee thrust.

He grunted as he hit the concrete hard.

She spun to face the other guy just in time to see him lunge at her.

Something flashed in his hand. A knife.

She dodged to the side, narrowly missing an encounter with his blade.

Time to even the odds.

She snatched the knife from her ankle sheath and threw it at the charging man.

He shrieked as it hit her target—his shoulder. He dropped his own knife to yank hers out of his flesh, letting it fall so he could press a hand against his wound.

The other dude managed to get to his feet, holding the back of his head where he'd probably connected with the concrete.

This was her chance. She ran at the guy with the head injury. She'd put him in a choke and use him as a shield against his buddy.

But he yelped and turned to run, his pal fleeing ahead of him.

Oh, no, they didn't. Jazz darted to pick up her knife from the sidewalk on her way after them.

"Ma'am?"

She spun toward the male voice.

The clerk.

"Are you okay?" The twenty-something guy cautiously stuck out his head an inch past the glass door he held open in front of his body. "I've called the police."

She peered into the darkness. No sign of the thugs. She was fast, but probably not fast enough. Especially if the engine she heard revving was their getaway car, parked on the next street over.

Sirens sounded in the distance. Great. Now she'd have to spend the next hour telling the police everything that had happened. Probably multiple times.

Disappointment sagged her shoulders as her gaze fell on the ice cream carton that had tumbled from the plastic bag onto the blacktop.

Her date with Hawthorne Emerson would have to wait.

The aroma of corn dogs, cotton candy, popcorn, and some mystery fried food blended in the morning air, making Hawthorne's mouth water. He'd eaten a full breakfast of eggs and bacon before coming on duty at seven thirty, about an hour ago, but his stomach apparently didn't care.

"Hey, Freddie." Hawthorne paused his patrol route by the food vendor whose stand advertised corn dogs, popcorn, hot dogs, and burgers with colorful illustrated signs. "Slow morning?"

Freddie Blain cracked a grin beneath the shaggy mustache that teased his upper lip. "I guess not everyone wants to put hot dogs and burgers into their stomachs first thing in the morning." He rested his hands on the metal counter just inside the large open window. "Go figure, right?"

"Try selling 'em fried cookie dough before nine." The jolly voice to Hawthorne's left drew his gaze to Molly Dreyer, the friendly and sarcastic owner of the food stand across from Freddie's. Molly crossed her eyes and smashed her lips together.

Hawthorne laughed.

"Though I haven't seen the parent yet who can convince their kid cotton candy doesn't make a good breakfast."

"Hey, my food has plenty of nutrition to start the day off right." Freddie leaned forward toward Molly, a gleam in the brown eyes behind his glasses. "Protein is slow-burn energy and essential for health."

"Uh-huh. My fried butter has dairy fats. They protect against cancer."

"My popcorn offers whole grains."

"Try to soothe your conscience much?" Molly smirked at Freddie before swinging her gaze back to Hawthorne. "How you doing, handsome? Now you, I could get used to seeing anytime of the day." She winked as she propped one fist on her rounded hip.

"Don't go trying to rob the cradle, Molly." Freddie laughed as he shook his head.

Molly gave Freddie an exaggerated glare with a haughty lift to her chin. "Some of us are not as far over the hill as you are, Fred Blain."

"Oh, yeah? How old do you think I am?"

She narrowed her eyes at the man as he shifted to the side so his teenaged employee could serve a customer.

"Fifty-four."

Freddie glanced at Hawthorne, crossing his arms over his red apron. "She's good."

"Ha!" Molly flicked back her tightly curled brown hair, the locks barely long enough to brush her shoulder. "And just how old do you think I am?"

"Old enough to know better." Freddie smirked again.

"Ouch." Hawthorne groaned as he laughed. These two were something else. He'd already enjoyed their banter yesterday when he'd introduced himself. He wanted to get a sense of all aspects of the fair for future research, should he decide to use the setting for a book.

But his performance as a security guard would also be improved by cultivating informants, a neighborhood watch, scattered across the fairgrounds. After a little while, they might come to trust him enough that he could ask them about Sam Ackerman's death, too. See if they were at the fair that year and remembered anything helpful.

"We saw you yesterday, scaling the Ferris wheel like you were Spiderman." Molly gave him a light whack on the arm. "Where'd you learn to do that?"

"Online videos."

She laughed. "Oh, go on."

He chuckled and shrugged. "I enjoy rock climbing."

"And being a hero." Freddie looked at Hawthorne with a more serious set to his mouth. "That was a wonderful thing you did. Not many people risk their lives to help someone else. Especially a stranger."

Discomfort started to creep up Hawthorne's neck. Never did like attention. "Well, I wasn't the only one. You probably saw Jazz Lamont up there, too."

"Oh, yes. Isn't she amazing?" Molly's eyes lit. "I've known Jazzy for years."

"Jazzy?" Hawthorne stared at her.

"That's what we called her when she was just a scrawny little thing, running around here with her best friend, Nevaeh. She's here this year, too. Both of them all grown up." Molly sighed, a bit like a mother missing the days when her children were young.

"Jazz grew up here?"

"Mm-hmm. She was here every year back when I was a young thing."

Freddie cleared his throat.

Molly shot him a glance. "A very young thing." She smiled up at Hawthorne again. "Jazz spent her summers at the fairgrounds. At least that's what it seemed like. I think she and Nevaeh were allowed on the grounds before the fair started because of Jazz's aunt."

"Her aunt?" Hawthorne struggled to put the pieces together.

"Joan Cracklen. The General Manager."

"Oh. I didn't know they were related." That explained the close conversation Mrs. Cracklen and Jazz had after the Ferris wheel disaster.

"Poor Jazz. She must be upset over what happened yesterday." Molly's chin puckered as she looked down. "She loves the fair more than anything. She always called it her home."

Fascinating. What an intriguing background to grow up at a fair. Hawthorne wanted to see Jazz even more now. He'd been looking for her all morning. The duty roster at the Public Safety Center listed her as working starting at eight a.m.

"Do they have any idea how the Ferris wheel car fell like that?" Freddie lowered his tone slightly as he aimed the question at Hawthorne.

"It appeared to be an accident." Best not to spread his own suspicions around. He didn't have any proof it had been intentional. "I understand fair ride accidents are more common than I'd realized before."

"Maybe so." Freddie didn't look or sound convinced. "But they still shouldn't happen. Not at all."

"I'm sure they didn't let it happen on purpose, Freddie." Molly sent him a chastising glance. "No one wants anyone to get hurt, especially Joan and fair management. It wouldn't do their business any good."

"Doesn't do anyone any good, Molly." Freddie shook his head.

"Exactly. It's just one of those things nobody can do anything about. Though I knew."

Hawthorne swung his gaze to her face. "You knew?"

"I most certainly did."

How could she have known? Unless she'd done something to—

"My cotton candy machine stalled."

Hawthorne's flurry of suspicions screeched to a halt. "What?"

"Yep. It just stalled. First morning, twenty minutes before opening. Terrible omen."

Oh, brother. If only leaving the cult behind meant Hawthorne never again had to hear nonsense about omens and superstitions.

"Good grief, Molly." Freddie said the words Hawthorne held back. "You don't think omens are a real thing, do you?"

"Of course I do. They are real. Like two years ago." She looked from Freddie to Hawthorne. "Neither of you were here then, but a boy died. Right on the fairgrounds."

Hawthorne's breath caught. Was she talking about Sam Ackerman? He worked to keep his features still as she shook her head, her hazel eyes darkening.

"Awful thing. He was only seventeen. He died on the Logboat Adventure ride." She lifted her index finger. "And I knew something bad was going to happen that day."

Did she have evidence the police hadn't known about then? Hawthorne chose his words carefully. "How did you know?"

"My oven broke that morning."

"Oh, Molly." Freddie's exasperated tone matched the feeling rising in Hawthorne's chest.

"Really." She glanced back and forth at the men. "It was a brand-new oven. Mint condition. No reason for it to have problems. But it just broke down. I knew something bad was going to happen after that." She stared at them as if the truth in what she said was obvious. And like she wanted some kind of response.

Hawthorne glanced away to think. "I don't—"

A slim woman with a long, dark ponytail caught his attention. Was that Jazz?

She turned from the dart balloons game, giving him a glimpse of her face as she took the hand of a small child. Not Jazz.

Disappointment sank to his stomach. He'd been doing that all morning, thinking he saw her. Which was pretty dumb. All he needed to do was look for the dog. And glossy red hair. And beautiful features.

Not that he knew what he'd say if he did see her. Any way he could think of to explain he wanted to study her, to write about her in his next novel, made him sound like a creep or a guy with the worst pickup line in history. The last thing he needed was for her to think he was interested in her romantically.

But the ideas for stories surrounding her as the heroine of his new series were taking flight. He'd already jotted down several he'd thought of in the shower that morning.

"Honey, are you okay?" Molly's gentle touch on his arm halted the flow of plot ideas rushing through his mind. Another occupational hazard.

"Sorry." He smiled down at the short woman.

"Were you looking for someone?" Her hazel eyes held too much understanding for his liking.

"Uh…"

"Hey, Molly." That voice.

Hawthorne's pulse picked up speed as he turned to see the woman he'd been looking for.

Jazz Lamont. Her fresh face, smooth skin, shiny red hair pulled back in a ponytail, and those big green eyes were more amazing than he'd remembered. Yeah. She was perfect. For his heroine.

"Jazz. We were just talking about you!" Molly gave the taller woman a side hug with her arm around Jazz's waist.

Her Belgian Malinois panted calmly as he watched the gesture, seemingly used to Molly. Hawthorne had met some military dogs that didn't take kindly to people grabbing their handlers. At least not if they were strangers.

"You were?" Jazz lifted a curved eyebrow as she glanced from Hawthorne to Freddie.

"About five minutes ago." Freddie corrected Molly with a sideways look before he gave Jazz a smile. "Freddie Blain. Manager of the most popular food stand at the Tri-City Fair."

Molly sucked in a breath. "It is not. Mrs. Flover's Chocolate Chip Cookies is the top seller every year. And I'm sure mine does better than—"

"It's called salesmanship, Molly." Freddie gave her a smirk.

Jazz glanced from her indignant friend to Freddie. "Jazz Lamont. Looks like you and Molly are already hitting it off." She smiled at the man. "But what happened to Jim? He's owned this stand for years. Or at least he did back when I was a kid. I hope he's okay."

"Oh, he's fine." Freddie waved off the concern with his hand. "I'm his cousin. He wanted to retire from the day-to-day, but not from ownership. So he owns it, and I manage it now."

"I see. I guess he found the right replacement. Molly would be bored to tears if she didn't have neighbors who give back as good as they get." Jazz grinned at Molly as the shorter woman gave her a saucy glare.

Which lasted about a second before Molly glanced up at Hawthorne with a mischievous quirk to her mouth. "Have you met my friend here?" She switched her gaze to Jazz in time to indicate the question was for her.

"Not officially." Jazz turned her brilliant emerald eyes on Hawthorne.

He smiled, nerves tingling in his belly. Still couldn't think of the best way to ask her. Unless he shouldn't ask her. He'd be giving her a chance to say no. He managed to extend his hand as his thoughts raced. "Hawthorne Emerson."

Her mouth widened into an O shape as her eyes grew bigger. And she didn't shake his hand. "You're not a security guard?" Her unexpected question emerged like a strangled accusation.

And he hadn't even gotten to the weird part yet.