Page 116 of Lethal Danger

After a while, Marion’s baby awoke and started to fuss. Marion headed inside, telling them to stay as long as they wanted.

But Phoenix told Jazz to leash Flash, and they headed back to their vehicles in the driveway, Joe following along.

“We’ll need a photo of Freddie Blain.” Phoenix startled Jazz by speaking as they neared her white van, and Joe angled away to continue to the house.

“Did Cora find something about him?”

“Not yet. No trail to find.” Phoenix stopped at the rear of the van but didn’t make any move to open the double doors.

“So no criminal record then.”

“No record at all.”

Meaning, Freddie didn’t exist? Or he’d been careful to stay off the grid somehow. Jazz kept the thoughts to herself. Phoenix would probably keep any answers she had secret anyway. “I can get a photo of him tonight when I’m on patrol.”

“Sofia or Nevaeh will attempt to get one in the daylight today.”

Jazz nodded. “He might not come in until noon or after if he takes another late shift.”

“Cora has a narcotics job in the afternoon. Her response to photos may be delayed until she’s finished.”

“Okay. Keep me posted.” The words popped out before she thought. Did Phoenix keep anyone posted? Maybe Cora. But certainly not Jazz.

“I guess I’ll head out.” Jazz gave an awkward wave before she thought about who she was waving to and went to her SUV parked a few feet from Phoenix’s van. As she stopped at the rear and opened the liftgate, she glanced toward the boss.

But she wasn’t by the van anymore.

She and Dag had disappeared.

Jazz pressed her lips together. So creepy how she could do that.

Was she going to talk to the girl, Marnie, like she’d hinted to Marion she would? What could Phoenix say to a young girl that wouldn’t just frighten her?

Jazz shrugged and closed the liftgate after Flash jumped in. She hurried to the driver’s door to start the air conditioning before poor Flash overheated inside the SUV.

Since Phoenix likely wouldn’t keep Jazz informed about Freddie, maybe Jazz should call Cora after her narcotics job was finished to hear what she’d discovered as soon as possible.

A little progress in finding the person trying to destroy the fair would go a long way toward calming the warning in Jazz’s mind that had been growing louder every day. The warning that said the danger to the fair and the threat to her own life were far from over.

Thirty-Two

Excitement pulsed through Hawthorne’s veins as he knocked on the door of apartment number 128. The same buzz he always got when a book’s plot came together or he thought of the perfect twist or hidden clue to throw in.

Two of the names Rebekah had given him for Sam’s friends that had left the cult, the two young men he’d been able to leave voicemails for, had called him back. They had both moved out of state as soon as they’d left the cult and had alibis for the night of Sam’s death. Not that Hawthorne had asked them outright, but the course of conversation had revealed the information he’d needed. Including the address of the elusive other friend.

The second guy Hawthorne had talked to—Kal Fine—explained he had kept in touch with Sam briefly, and he knew Sam had been in contact with their mutual friend, Ezekial Thorston. Kal also knew where Ezekial lived.

Hawthorne knocked again, his pumping pulse slowing. Was Ezekial not home? Maybe he worked mornings.

Shuffling on the other side of the door surged anticipation through Hawthorne.

The door opened a few inches. “Yeah?” A young, thin guy who looked about the right age to be Sam’s now twenty-year-old friend blinked tired eyes at Hawthorne. His neck-length hair was tousled like he’d just rolled out of bed.

At seven in the morning, it was early enough for that to be reasonable. “Hi. My name is Hawthorne Emerson. I got your name from Kal Fine. He said you’d be willing to talk to me about Sam Ackerman?”

The door opened another inch as Ezekial stared at him. “You a reporter?”

“No. I’m Rebekah Emerson’s brother. She asked me to find out what happened to Sam.”

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