Page 20 of Lethal Danger

“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.

Seven

Hawthorne Emerson? Jazz’s favorite author was standing in front of her?

But it couldn’t be him. Here, at her fair. In real life. Looking at her. Waiting for…What was he waiting for?

And what had she just said? Something inane about him not being a security guard.

Heat blazed into her cheeks too quickly to douse. But maybe it didn’t matter she’d look like a tomato now. Maybe he wasn’t the Hawthorne Emerson.

“Are—” The word sounded like a croak. She swallowed. “Are you really Hawthorne Emerson?”

A small smile angled his mouth. “That’s what my birth certificate says.”

“I think she means, are you the author?” Molly put her hand under Jazz’s arm as if she thought Jazz might faint. She might not be too far off, though it’d be the first faint of Jazz’s life. “Yes, dear. He is.”

“You’re him?” Jazz heard her own voice lift to a high, airy pitch.

“Yes, ma’am. I write thriller novels.”

“Jefferson Hall and Carson Steele. Carson’s my favorite. I love him. I mean, I love you.” She stuck out her hand. Had he offered his for a handshake before?

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