Page 103 of Lethal Danger

“Don’t look so surprised.”

As she backed out her SUV and drove off a moment later, he managed to step away and wave.

Trouble was, he was surprised. By how much more her compliment meant to him than any starred review he’d ever received.

And by how his heart lurched as she disappeared into the distance. As if it wanted to follow her wherever she went and never look back.

Twenty-Nine

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.”

---