Chapter 8

Metal plates. A bit of shredded leather, like remnants of a strap.

Hawthorne crouched as he carefully picked his way across the wreckage beneath the highest point of the slide. Which used to be much higher.

"What are you doing?" The female voice made him startle.

He spun around, a smile relaxing his face at the sight of Jazz and her dog. "Hey." Then he registered her question. And the suspicious edge to it. His smile faltered. "I'm checking out the evidence. Trying to figure out what happened."

"Evidence." She glanced from him to the debris on the ground. "You think this wasn't an accident."

Wasn't that obvious? He held back the question that would probably be rude and nodded.

Her shoulders drooped. "I was afraid of that."

Ah. Denial. Not ignorance.

"Bomb?"

He nodded. "Judging from the type of impact and damage, I'd guess dynamite. A small, controlled explosion."

She looked at him, curiosity and maybe a bit of suspicion glinting in her green eyes. "How do you know that?"

"Well, I could say it's because I'm a writer. I've learned a lot in my research."

She still stared.

"But in this case, I investigated some crimes involving explosives when I was an MP."

"That's right. I read it in your bio. Just like Carson Steele."

He smiled. She really was a fan. That should help when he finally got to ask if he could use her as the main character in his next series. "Sort of. I was in the Marines, Carson is Navy."

"Important distinction." She grinned like someone who knew.

"Did you serve?"

She nodded. "Me and Flash." She glanced down at the Belgian Malinois who strained at his leash to reach the nearest fallen post. "Army."

He cringed, earning a musical laugh and brilliant smile.

"Okay, Marine. What happened here?" At least trust had replaced the suspicion in her eyes from a moment ago.

"I think the dynamite was rigged at the top of the tallest support post, not far below the slide itself." He walked a few feet to the remnants of the massive metal post. "You see, only two of the supports were blown at the top, making the lower portions of them collapse, too."

Jazz stared up toward where he pointed at the remaining posts. "And the other support beams took the weight of the slide when it dropped onto them."

"Thankfully. We'll need a crew or the fire department to fortify the slide with more beams."

"You don't want to climb up and do it with ropes?" Jazz sent him a teasing grin.

"Oh, I would. But my weight would probably topple the slide the rest of the way."

She laughed.

Man, she had a terrific sense of humor. Even in situations that would make other people freeze with fear. He'd seen that yesterday, too. Better jot that in his notes on his new heroine.

Jazz started moving through the debris, Flash smelling the ground as he went with her. "I suppose that's what the bomber did." She glanced at Hawthorne. "Climbed up the supports to place the dynamite."

"Maybe. Unless he lowered himself down from above."

"No way anyone could do that during the day. There are twenty-five employees working at the slide at any given time."

"Are you like a walking fair trivia book?" He infused the question with a teasing note.

"Pretty much, yeah." She flashed a smile. "I spent a lot of my summers here as a kid."

Then Molly's intel had been legitimate, not just fair gossip.

"So trust me when I say the culprit only could've set this up at night, assuming you're right about the IED and where it was." She watched her dog as she talked. "Do you think it was timed or remote activated?"

"Hard to say for sure. I'm sure the police lab techs can find out more with a closer examination. I'd guess timed unless the bomber wanted to watch for some particular reason to set it off just then."

"So the question is, why would s—" She stared down at Flash as he pawed at something. "What've you got, bud?"

She squatted next to the dog. "Leave it." She seemed to be staring at some object in the grass.

"Hey, Hawthorne."

He was already walking closer as she glanced over her shoulder.

"Do you have any idea what this is?"

He crouched beside her, and a scent of mild perfume tickled his nostrils. Or maybe her shampoo. A surprisingly soft and feminine scent. He would've expected something bolder, but the surprise of it, the seeming contradiction, was fascinating.

Forcing his thoughts away from her perfume and to the object she seemed to be looking at, his heartbeat stopped.

Then started again at a rush, fueled by the anger that lived in his memories, always ready to be fanned into flame at the slightest provocation.

A gold pin lay in the grass, the unmistakable design he'd hoped never to see again.

"You recognize it, don't you?" Jazz's question was soft.

He glanced at her, taking in the darkening concern in her eyes. He tried to school his expression, though it was probably too late. "It's from the Best Life cult."

"Should I know what that is?"

"You grew up here, right?"

She shook her head. "No. Just moved here like a year and a half ago."

"But you said you spent your childhood at the fair."

"Oh." She looked at the pin and then returned her gaze to him. "I spent summers here when my dad was overseas. And school years. Sometimes." She glanced away, but her closed-off tone revealed the emotion she was trying to hide. "I wasn't exactly in touch with the community."

Sensing this wasn't the time to delve into a clearly painful part of her background—especially since he didn't want to share his either—he moved on. "Well, you can be glad you missed this. They call themselves the Best Life Community, but it's a cult, pure and simple."

"And that's one of their pins?"

"Yeah." He was tempted to pick it up but knew better than to tamper with what could be evidence. He pointed instead. "See the B and L design, interconnected with the sun and moon? Every member of the cult has this pin and wears it on the uniform."

"Uniform?"

"That's what I call it. A required dress code. Everyone wears a white robe."

"That's…creepy."

"Good word for it." His jaw clenched as he stood.

"How do you know all this?" Jazz also rose, but he didn't look directly at her.

The emotions swirling in his gut were probably too visible in his eyes. "I'm originally from the area."

"You are?" The shock in her voice pulled his gaze to hers and gave him something else to think about—her cute, widened eyes and open mouth.

"Born and raised." He gave her a quick smile. "That's not in most of my bios." He'd better change subjects before he gave away more than he wanted to. "Who has access to this spot below the slide?"

Jazz directed her gaze toward the other side where the visitor staircase climbed. "The ground level on that side is staff access only, closed with a fence and gate locking the path to the storage shed. The other side," she nodded to where the victims had fallen to the grass, "people wouldn't normally be able to access without climbing over the fence along the main path at the front."

Another chain-link fence lined the path behind them about twenty feet away from where he and Jazz stood. Only about four feet high, though. Easy for an adult to hop over.

"None of those fences are tall enough to keep anyone out if they want to get over them." Jazz echoed his thoughts. Knew she was smart. "But they'd have to wait until they wouldn't be seen."

Hawthorne nodded and met her gaze. "At night."

"The cult that pin is from—would someone from there want to do something like this?"

He took a breath, pausing a few seconds to think better of the knee-jerk response he wanted to blurt out. He had to stay objective if the cult might really be tied to a crime like this. "It's not their usual style. They profess to be a pacifist community."

He rubbed a hand along the back of his neck, regretting it when sweat coated his fingers. Man, it was getting hot. "But they are against what they call ‘worldly' entertainment. And I've seen them act contrary to some of their philosophies for the gain of…certain people and their own interests. The pursuit of spiritual and physical utopia sometimes causes collateral damage."

More heat warmed his body from within. Amazing how irritated he could get just thinking about the cult, thirteen years after he'd escaped. Probably because they hadn't all escaped.

He felt Jazz's gaze on him and glanced at her in time to see her swing away. But not before he caught the curiosity in her eyes. Great. She could probably tell this was personal for him. He didn't need that getting out on the fan sites.

"I'll have Flash follow the trail of the pin's owner and see where it leads."

"He's a tracking dog, too?"

"Military Working Dog. Tracking and patrol. Plus search and rescue."

"I'm impressed." Hawthorne found a bit of a smile again.

"Hear that, Flash?" She smoothed a hand over the dog's side before pointing him back to the pin. Once he smelled it for a few seconds, she gave him a command in what sounded like German.

"Mind if I come along?" Hawthorne trotted after them.

Jazz glanced over her shoulder as she kept up with Flash's eager pace. "Suit yourself."

Perfect. Real life observation of how she worked. With a retired military dog who protected and tracked. This was better material than he could invent on his own.

Flash skimmed his nose along the grass until they reached the four-foot fence where the blacktop met the lawn.

Hawthorne opened his mouth to ask if he should lift the dog over.

Flash sprang off the ground and was over the fence before Hawthorne could blink. Hadn't even needed a running start.

Jazz hopped over the fence herself and Hawthorne followed. Looked like Flash was a fitting partner for his impressive handler.

The dog kept his nose hovering over the blacktop as he followed some trail Hawthorne wished he could see.

More people crowded the wide pedestrian path than before, making Flash have to swerve around moving feet and kids who wanted to pet him.

"Keep back." Jazz voiced the command in a strong voice, her arm outstretched as she hurried alongside the dog. "Stand clear." She repeated the warning several times as she cleared the way for the K-9 to work.

Flash didn't break his concentration once. Not even when a child or two managed to put their hands on fur before he slipped from their reach.

But after a few minutes, he slowed. Then stopped. He lifted his nose into the air. Then he looked up at Jazz, his tongue hanging about a mile out of his mouth.

"Okay, Flash. Good boy." She put her hand on the dog's head and lightly scratched his ears.

"Did he lose the scent?"

Jazz turned toward Hawthorne. "Yeah. The heat on the hard surface evaporates the scent. And there's a lot of contamination here. I'm surprised he could follow it this far. Especially when the scent could be from last night, or even earlier."

Hawthorne followed her gaze back to the slide about sixty yards away. "At least we know the culprit must've approached the slide from the back, avoiding the stairs or anything at the front of the slide."

Jazz nodded. "Even with fewer security guards overnight, an unauthorized visitor could easily be noticed if they were on the stairs or the slide itself."

"Coming from behind and underneath would definitely be safer. But still pretty bold." What kind of person would take such a risk? It was the same question Hawthorne often asked when crafting a character for his novels. Someone with a powerful motive. And something worth the risk.

"PT2 to PT3." A woman's voice came over Hawthorne's earpiece.

"This is PT3, go." Jazz glanced at Hawthorne as she answered.

"Mrs. Cracklen wants to see you at the slide. ASAP."

Was it Hawthorne's imagination or did Jazz's flushed skin pale a little?

"PT2, Roger." Jazz started off at a near jog before she'd finished the words. She must really want to see her aunt.

The subtext of Nevaeh's radio call had Jazz booking it back to the slide. She spotted Nev's big hair and red short-sleeved T-shirt at the left of the slide staircase, in the staff area by the shed.

Aunt Joan stood by her, saying something that probably matched her severe expression.

A man in a gray suit way too hot for the temperature waited behind her. Uncle Pierce. Must be there to visit his campaign booth. She'd seen one set up for his campaign for governor, and the sign had said he'd be there today.

So now Jazz would get to face both of them at once. Just like old times.

Maybe Nev would stick around.

"Well?" Joan's curt question prevented the friendly greeting Jazz was going to try.

"We found evidence of a personal effect behind the slide, and we tracked the owner for a distance over the fence and onto the path. But the scent is too old or not surviving the heat."

"Is that supposed to help?" Joan planted a hand on her hip and glared at Jazz as if this was all somehow her fault. Wondered when she'd slip into the old Jazz-is-always-to-blame routine.

"Of course, that helps." Nev's eyes flashed as she boldly stared at Aunt Joan. "Now you know it wasn't an accident. Maybe the Ferris wheel wasn't either." Good old Nev. She'd always jumped to Jazz's defense whenever she could.

It never helped. Aunt Joan had simply barred Nevaeh from setting foot in their house. But it had always made Jazz feel better. Knowing one person cared.

"As if someone sabotaging the fair is good news." Aunt Joan didn't lose a hint of her ire with the retort.

"Now, Joan." Uncle Pierce placed his large hands on her shoulders. "That's wonderful they found some evidence and were able to determine where the culprit gained access. We do want to know the truth so we can stop the perpetrator, don't we?"

Her expression cooled slightly as she pulled her shoulders back. "Of course." She shifted her gaze to Jazz. "You did what you could. But frankly, we hired you people to make the fair safer, and yet it's been our worst year ever. And we're only on day two."

"That's not Phoenix K-9's fault." Jazz jumped in to respond before Nev could this time. "We don't even know when the culprit set up the explosives."

"That's right, ma'am." Hawthorne's confident voice drew Jazz's attention to the tall man who stepped forward and looked fearlessly at Aunt Joan. "The explosives could have been rigged well in advance with a timing device or to be detonated remotely."

"And how do you know that?" Aunt Joan gave him her classic eyebrow arch, intended to freeze everyone into their rightful places—beneath her.

Hawthorne didn't even blink. "I have training in the area. But I'm sure the police will confirm it with the evidence. And we might find something helpful if we examine the overnight security footage."

"Butch should be doing that." Joan jumped her glance away, probably scanning for the head of security. "There he is." She marched off, and Uncle Pierce followed her, heading toward where Butch stood with another security guard beneath the slide. Looked like they were examining the remaining supports.

"There goes your brunch invite." Nev's quip made Jazz's mouth tug with a small smile. Even though the truth it carried stung a little.

But humor had always been the way Nevaeh and Jazz coped with life's troubles. It had worked so far. So Jazz gave Nev a grin. "I was so looking forward to the eggs benedict."

Nev laughed.

"You're family?" Hawthorne's voice surprised Jazz, maybe because he now stood closer, next to her with only Flash between them.

She quirked a wry smile. "Hard to tell, isn't it?"

He tossed his head slightly like shaking off an incorrect idea. "All families have their issues."

"Some more than others. Mine is probably messed up enough to be in one of your books." Jazz smiled, but faltered as she heard what she'd just said. "I don't mean my family's full of criminals and murderers like the families Carson Steele investigates. I just mean…we're not close." And no one in her family had ever liked her. But she wouldn't say that out loud. She was probably sounding pathetic enough as it was.

"I get it." He gave her a friendly, gentle smile like he understood and wasn't judging her. Hopefully.

"Wait, Carson Steele?" Nev stepped in front of Jazz to stare at Hawthorne more directly. "Are you Hawthorne Emerson? The writer?"

"Guilty." He didn't look bothered by the attention. He was probably used to it.

"You're Jazz's favorite author!" Nev's voice grew higher and louder as she grabbed Jazz's arm and squeezed her in close. "Oh, my goodness, girl," Nev looked up at her, "you didn't tell me."

A smile stretched Jazz's face at her BFF's excitement. At least Nev was more coherent than Jazz when she'd learned Hawthorne's identity. "I just found out."

"Well, this is pretty awesome." Nev turned a beaming grin on Hawthorne. "Never met an author before. You're my favorite, too, though I don't go quite as crazy over novels as this girl." She hugged Jazz even tighter. "I have to wait for her to read your novels like three times before she'll give 'em to me to read."

Hawthorne's bright eyes twinkled as he watched them. "I'm honored to have my work read by two such lovely ladies."

"Ooh…" Nev winked at Jazz. "Smooth, too. Just like Carson."

"Oh, stop." Jazz pulled away and gave Nev a shove. "You'll have to forgive Nevaeh. This is how she gets when she's starstruck."

Hawthorne laughed—a rich, masculine sound that sent a tickle of heat to Jazz's belly. "I'm sure you're just being kind." His gaze rested on Jazz. "I wanted—"

"Team Leader to S4." Butch Klika's rough voice sounded over coms. "Report to accident location."

He was calling it an accident? Maybe just in case anyone heard their radio chatter.

"That's me." Hawthorne tossed Jazz a parting glance. "Catch you later."

Was that a hopeful note in his tone? Or maybe it was her imagination conjuring an echo of her own hope.

"He was going to ask you out."

"What?" Heat rushed to Jazz's face as she spun to her bestie.

"Totally." Nev's amused gaze locked on Jazz's face. Probably on the tell-tale blush there. A massive grin spread Nev's mouth as she read the signs, her tone lifting with the discovery. "And you were so hoping he would."

"I don't know what you're talking about." Jazz looked away from Nev, but her eyes seemed determined to search for the man filling her thoughts.

"Uh-huh. That's why you can't stop watching him, and your cheeks are the color of Pops' radishes." A soft punch landed on Jazz's upper arm. "Girl, don't try to con your BFF."

"Okay, fine." Jazz gave up the hopeless attempt. Nev could read her like a book. "But what do you expect? He's my favorite author. A little celebrity crush is normal."

"And the man is super hot."

Jazz arched an eyebrow. "Are you even allowed to notice that anymore, soon-to-be-Mrs. Branson Aaberg?"

"Hey, don't mean I can't admit the facts. He nowhere near as hot as my man, but that goes without saying."

"Not that you're biased or anything." Jazz grinned.

"Don't change the subject. You're single. You can like him. You can go out with him."

"Um, no. He's Hawthorne Emerson."

"So?"

"He's a famous author." Jazz lifted her hands to emphasize the obvious point. "He's a celebrity, New York Times bestseller and all that. He probably only dates supermodels or something."

Nev's features scrunched in her you're-being-weird expression. "I don't think it works like that with writers."

"It does when they look like that." Jazz pointed an exasperated hand in Hawthorne's direction.

"Okay. You might have a point." Nev tilted her head to concede. "But in case you ain't been lookin' in the mirror lately, girl, you fit the bill."

Jazz let out a disbelieving laugh. But her heart warmed at Nev's encouragement. Now might be a good time to tell her about the attempted mugging or assault—whatever it was supposed to be—last night.

Jazz had wanted to call Nev after the attack, almost out of instinct, but she'd held back just in time. She didn't want to be the annoying friend who kept getting in the way of Nev's relationship with Branson. They were having a nice evening without Jazz's drama. Branson was in the picture to stay well into the future, hopefully. And Jazz was happy for her friend. So she needed to get used to handling everything alone again.

All the more reason not to bother telling Nev about the incident now. Wasn't a big deal anyway. The police had agreed it was an attempted mugging or assault. Jazz was just glad the thugs had picked her instead of some less-prepared woman alone.

She took a breath and donned a smile. "Before we get too far down this flattery rabbit hole, we should probably go see what Butch wants us to do next. And maybe I should tell him what Flash found, though Hawthorne will probably mention it."

"Sure." Nev and Alvarez fell in step alongside Jazz and Flash as they headed toward the others gathered under the slide. "And I think we should hold a PK-9 team meeting, even though Phoenix is gone."

Jazz tossed Nev a surprised glance. "You think Sof will want to?" Didn't seem like they ever did team meetings when Phoenix was away on one of her mysterious trips. Or disappearances. Who knew if she even went anywhere. Or where she went if she did.

"Now that it looks like this was intentional sabotage, I think we need to meet. We might have to change our protection strategy or something. I'll ask Sof when she comes on shift at four."

Learning the slide explosion was an intentional attack had already changed everything for Jazz. Maybe the Ferris wheel wasn't an accident either.

And that meant one thing. Someone was trying to wreck the fair.

Why, she didn't know. And she didn't care. The Tri-City Fair was supposed to be a place of happiness, joy, safety, and sweet memories for children and families.

No one was going to destroy that. No one.