Page 60 of Lethal Danger

“You’re being modest. And besides, I want to do this as a thank-you for changing my flat tire.”

“Which you could’ve done yourself.” He grinned as he followed her and Flash to the trash can.

She shrugged her shoulders and dropped in the garbage. “Like you said, I needed the break.” She met his gaze. “Will you come?”

“Yes. And thank you.”

“Wait until after you taste my cooking to thank me.” She cast him a grin as she hoisted her backpack and slipped her arms through the straps.

He quirked a teasing eyebrow. “Do I need insurance for this?”

“No, but I might require you to sign a waiver.”

He laughed, that warm sound that thrilled her to her toes. “Sounds like my kind of adventure.”

“Perfect. I’ll text you my address.”

“See you then, Jazz Lamont.”

Something in the way he said the parting words, then turned and walked into the crowd, made Jazz feel like she was in a romance novel, willing her dashing hero to return as soon as possible.

But when she headed the other way with Flash, reality hit her. She wasn’t supposed to go to her apartment at all right now. Because of the shooting in the parking lot.

Oh, well. She shrugged off the hindrance and blazed a trail with Flash through the thick humidity and crowding people.

She had to go to the apartment to get the photos for her goodwill visit to Uncle Pierce anyway. She’d just scope it out, clean it up from the way she’d left it, and check all the closets for lurking visitors.

When a girl was going to host the famous Hawthorne Emerson, the last thing she needed was for a hitman to shoot up her dinner.

Eighteen

“Do you remember anything strange that night?”

Dan Harris straightened from pulling a soda can out of the vending machine in the hallway of the Public Safety Center. “No, it was a lot of the usual. Some personal property thefts—phones and things. Lost items. One little girl got separated from her parents, but we found them.” The security guard flipped the tab of the soda can and took a swig.

Hawthorne pretended he wanted a bag of chips from the machine, though he’d only come over to interview Harris. According to the old duty roster he’d gotten from Human Resources, Harris was one of three security guards who were there the night of Sam’s death and were on staff again this year. “What about a group of rowdy, possibly intoxicated young men?”

“A group?” Harris rested a hand on his hip and leveled a curious look at Hawthorne. “You mean like a gang?”

“No. I don’t think so. Just four or five guys who might’ve been particularly noisy and obnoxious.” Hawthorne slipped coins into the machine and pressed the button for the bag of chips. “A ride operator said they gave her a hard time that night. I thought she might not be the only one who had a run in with them.”

“You know…”

Hawthorne nearly snapped his head in the guard’s direction but forced himself to retrieve the chips calmly before looking at Harris.

“I think that was the night there were some punks like that.”

“Less talk, more patrol, men.” Butch’s gruff voice drew Hawthorne’s attention to the head of security. He stood in the doorway of his office, which seemed strategically placed by the vending machine. Perfect way for him to catch any slackers.

“Hey, Butch. You remember that night the Ackerman kid died?”

Hawthorne would have to find a way to thank Harris for the assist. He hadn’t been able to think of a way to casually bring up the incident to Butch. But he was listed as having been the supervisor on duty that night. Given his greater expertise and seniority, Butch might be able to shed more light on the events of the evening than anyone.

“Of course. Nobody here will forget it.” Butch crossed his arms over his thick torso. “Didn’t exactly win our security team any awards.”

Harris winced. “Right.” He aimed his index finger at Hawthorne. “Emerson here was asking about it.”

“Why is that?” Butch turned his dark eyes on Hawthorne, more than a little suspicion housed in them.

---