Page 65 of Lethal Danger

Hawthorne’s gut clenched as he skimmed the rest of the page.

A familiar logo and words crossed the bottom. Best Life Community.

The police would definitely want to see this. Maybe Desmond Patch’s ego had finally driven him far enough for him to be stopped.

Unless they were already too late. Another sabotage or murder could already be set in motion.

Twenty

Jazz scanned the old mansion as she followed the longtime housekeeper, Mrs. Bates, to the study. Some rich people liked new houses with modern décor. Not the Cracklens. They were old school. Nothing but the classics. Classic, old-world opulence and luxury.

And class. Always class.

That taste was reflected in the interior she knew so well. The marble floor that shined in the foyer beneath a large, low-hanging chandelier. The long staircase that curved along one wall and climbed to the balcony that led to the bedrooms.

The housekeeper led Jazz through the parlor, the library, past the billiard room, and to the study where her uncle had spent much of his time when Jazz was a child. The billiard room and study were the least familiar to her since she’d rarely been allowed in them.

Aunt Joan hadn’t wanted Jazz around much either. She’d usually sent Jazz away to her bedroom anytime Jazz dared talk or hang around. But Uncle Pierce had been off-limits completely. Aunt Joan told her never to disturb him. And Jazz had never wanted to. He’d seemed as unapproachable and disapproving as…well, her dad.

The memories of her uncle’s grim demeanor increased, tensing her insides as Mrs. Bates stopped by the closed study door. “You may go in now.”

But did Jazz want to? She looked down at the shoebox in her hands, second-guessing her goodwill gesture. It had seemed like a nice idea to give Uncle Pierce some photos she had of Aunt Joan from years ago, when Jazz had been a kid. Aunt Joan may not have been the loving mother figure Jazz had longed for, but she was still family. And she’d taught Jazz some life lessons along the way. Mostly how to sit up straight and cross her legs when wearing skirts.

Aunt Joan was the only sort of mother Jazz had known. Seemed like she should try to honor her memory somehow.

“He’s expecting you.” Mrs. Bates lifted thin eyebrows above the disapproving gaze Jazz remembered too well. Usually delivered when she’d found Jazz swiping a book from the library or when Jazz had gotten muddy playing in the yard.

“Right.” Though he was only expecting her now because when Jazz had shown up at the front door, Mrs. Bates went to check with him before letting Jazz inside. “Thanks.”

Jazz took in a breath and stepped toward the door. She could do this. She’d faced real-life combat for goodness sakes. And Uncle Pierce had actually defended the PK-9 Agency the other day in front of Aunt Joan. Maybe that meant he was positively inclined toward Jazz and her work now.

She gripped the knob and pushed open the door. “Uncle Pierce?”

The study looked just the way her vague memory recollected. Though maybe not quite so large. Her childhood perspective had remembered the desk that stood toward the back of the room as the size of a large bed, and the floor-to-ceiling shelves had seemed like giants leaning toward her, ready to chase her from the room.

But in reality, the study wasn’t oversized and didn’t seem ominous.

Even with Uncle Pierce sitting at the reasonably large desk. “Jazz.” He stood and walked around the desk.

She instinctively paused, her reflexes prepping for a threat.

But he smiled.

She could count on one hand the times she’d seen him smile at home. And none of them had ever been aimed at her.

He stopped in front of her with the smile that looked genuine. It was almost warm, actually, with a bit of crinkle at the corners of his green eyes.

She’d sometimes wondered as a child if she’d inherited her eye color from him since no one else in her family had green eyes. But Aunt Joan had explained, with no small degree of irritation, that he wasn’t her blood relative and therefore not her real uncle.

“Welcome home.”

A breeze could’ve knocked Jazz over as she stared at him. Had he really said that? And with a kind smile?

The words shot a pulse of warmth through her that ballooned in her heart. If only the sentiment were true.

His smile dimmed slightly as he watched her.

Something in her expression must have shown her surprise or disbelief.

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