Page 17 of Lethal Danger

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.”

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