Page 52 of Lethal Danger

“Okay, sure.” She blurted the response and stepped back in an attempt to halt the mashup of chemicals rushing through her. He was a bestselling author who wanted to feature her in his books. He’d been nothing but professional all night. And sweet and kind…funny, caring. And oh-so easy to look at with his sculpted physique and—

But that wasn’t the point. The point was, he hadn’t shown any personal interest. Not romantic interest. Not the sparks flying, flame-fueling attraction she’d been battling all evening.

At least she didn’t think so.

“Thank you. I’m honored to get to change Jazz Lamont’s tire.”

She reached for a laugh and her sense of humor, her lifesavers tonight. “At least this way, I’ll get to tell everyone the Hawthorne Emerson changed my flat tire.”

His rich laugh lingered as he brushed past her with the spare and jack. “Just no photos on social media, please.”

“Aww, really?” She gave her best disappointed teenager imitation, earning another handsome grin as he crouched to remove the old tire.

Jazz’s eyes lingered on the contoured muscles beneath the sleeves of his slim T-shirt. They flexed and coiled as he loosened the bolts. Even the muscles of his back rippled through the thin material of his shirt.

She cleared her throat and dragged her gaze away. She’d never realized there was more than one benefit to having a guy change her tire. At least when he looked like Hawthorne Emerson.

She stifled a snort at the thought. Nev would get a kick out of this story. Though she’d wonder about the suspicious cut in the tire, too.

Jazz’s humor faded as she scanned the lot again. Eleven cars were parked there. Just Climb It didn’t close until ten, so the vehicles could all belong to climbers inside.

She didn’t see anyone inside the vehicles, but a person could easily hide by sitting low or ducking. If she had Flash with her or was alone, she’d go check them out.

But Hawthorne didn’t need to know about the strange adventures of her life. He already thought she was weird—or unique, as he’d so carefully put it. She didn’t want to risk scaring him off either. He seemed comfortable with danger on the pages, but it was different in real life.

He was a former marine. That said a lot. But most people wanted to leave that kind of danger behind when they left the military.

No, she’d solve this puzzle herself. Beginning with how the would-be shooter—assuming that was the intent of this stunt—had found her there. Since she always checked for tails and didn’t predictably come to Just Climb It at this time on Saturday nights, that left one other option.

A tracker. Hidden on her SUV, probably. Unless someone had gotten to her things in her locker at the fair, but that seemed less likely.

“Must’ve driven over a nail, huh?” Hawthorne’s question drew her attention to the famous author she really couldn’t believe was changing her tire. And especially that he looked so good doing it. His toned forearms dangled over the top of the tire he’d removed and held propped up in front of him.

“Yeah, must have.”

“Weird looking nail, don’t you think?” His electric eyes pierced her with a stare above the tire rubber.

Her mouth dried. Did he suspect something? She tried to hide her swallow. “What else could it be?”

“I don’t know.” His head tilted slightly as he watched her much too closely. “But I get the feeling you do.”

“Look, I’m gonna be honest with you.” Christy Mason threw Hawthorne a glance over her shoulder as she walked on the staff-only path ahead of him. “I don’t remember much about that night. I remember a lot more about the next morning, when the police showed up at my apartment to ask me questions.”

The narrow path along the perimeter of the Logboat Adventure ride’s interior didn’t allow for Hawthorne to walk next to the ride operator as she did her closing inspection. Not very conducive to an interview about the night Sam died. But Hawthorne would take what he could get.

The other people he’d questioned tonight, those who had operated neighboring rides and food stands, hadn’t remembered anything helpful. No one seemed to have noticed Sam or anything unusual. But they’d also pointed out that they never remembered anyone unless there was something unique about the person. They simply saw too many faces to recall.

Given the number of visitors still there when Hawthorne had arrived tonight, just before closing at eleven p.m., he could see why. He’d thought there would be significantly smaller crowds at closing than earlier in the day, but the number of visitors lingering for a last bit of fun was astonishing.

“That makes sense you’d remember the police showing up.” Hawthorne was at least picking up some helpful information watching the young woman’s routine for closing the ride. After shutting down the controls and leaving them locked, she’d headed through the staff entrance into the tunnel, where Hawthorne now trailed her for an interior check.

“Are you looking for garbage or people who didn’t get out like they should have?”

The dyed stripe of blue in her short, bleached-blond hair glimmered in the soft lighting as she looked back at him. “Both, I guess.” She stepped up onto the shoreline display and retrieved something with her gloved hand. Dropping it in the trash bag she carried, she scanned the area.

“Did you do this check the night before Sam Ackerman was found?”

“Of course. It’s required.” She grabbed some more bits off the display.

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