Page 3 of Tangled Hearts
Lila watches me, her gaze intense. “Do you have any suspects?”
“Too early to tell,” I reply, straightening up and meeting her eyes. “But we’ll find them. And when we do…”
“We make sure they can’t hurt anyone else,” she finishes, her voice hardening with resolve.
We move through the backstage area, interviewing the crew and performers. Each conversation adds a piece to the puzzle, but it’s clear this won’t be an easy mystery to solve. The tension between Lila and me shifts.
As we work, I can’t help but notice the way she moves, the way her eyes flash with determination. There’s a fire in her, a passion that draws me in even as I try to keep my focus on the task at hand.
“Jasper,” she says, breaking me out of my thoughts. “Look at this.”
I step closer, following her gaze to a set of tools that seem out of place. There’s a small, almost invisible notch in the blade of a cutting tool, a mark that could easily be overlooked. But not byLila. She’s sharp, observant, and damn if that isn’t part of what’s drawing me to her.
“This could be our lead,” I say, my voice low. “Good eye.”
She smiles, a hint of playfulness in her eyes. “I told you I’d be helpful.”
“You’re more than that,” I reply, before I can stop myself. The words hang between us, charged with more than just professional admiration.
Our eyes lock, and for a moment, the world around us fades. There’s just Lila and me, the weight of the investigation, and the unmistakable pull of something more, something deeper that neither of us can ignore. And hell if I’d even want to.
Chapter Three
Lila
The dim light of the lantern flickers, casting dancing shadows across the tent. Jasper and I sit across from each other, papers and photographs of past accidents strewn between us. The air is thick with concentration and the faint scent of sawdust. I adjust my position, my legs brushing against his under the table, a spark of electricity passing between us.
Jasper points to a photo, his brow furrowed in thought. “This one happened two months ago. The support beam for the high wire snapped, just like the trapeze rope. Look at the cut—it’s clean, precise.”
I lean in closer, my eyes narrowing as I study the image. “And this one,” I say, picking up another photo, “the rigging for the aerial silks. It’s the same kind of cut.” I scribble notes furiously, the tip of my pen scratching against the paper.
“You’re right,” Jasper agrees, his voice low and gravelly. “This isn’t random. Someone’s been planning this.”
The occasional murmur of our conversation are the only sounds in the tent. I glance up at Jasper, catching his intense gaze. There’s something about the way he looks at me that sendsa shiver down my spine, a mix of admiration and something darker, something dangerous.
“We need to find who’s behind this,” I say, my voice firm. “Before someone gets seriously hurt.”
Jasper nods, his jaw set in determination. “Let’s check the storage area. Maybe there’s something we missed.”
We make our way to the storage area, the dust motes dancing in the shafts of sunlight filtering through the tent flaps. Jasper rummages through old equipment, while I examine a set of frayed ropes. The sound of clinking metal and soft exclamations of discovery fill the air.
“Look at this,” I call out, holding up a tool with an unusual mark on it. “It matches the cut on the broken trapeze rope.”
Jasper strides over, taking the tool from my hand. His jaw tightens as he studies the mark. “I’ve seen this before,” he mutters, his voice tinged with anger. “It’s a signature. Maybe someone’s trying to send a message.”
Before I can respond, a stagehand passes by, his eyes darting nervously. Jasper and I exchange a glance, a silent agreement passing between us. We corner the stagehand, a kid named Malcolm, the light from a nearby torch casting eerie shadows on his face.
Jasper’s questions are sharp, probing. “What do you know about this?” He holds up the tool, his voice steady and demanding.
The stagehand stammers, his eyes shifting. “I-I don’t know anything. I just do what I’m told.”
I step closer, my gaze piercing. “What your told? Who’s been tampering with the equipment?”
The stagehand swallows hard, sweat beading on his forehead. “I-I can’t say.”
Jasper’s expression hardens. “If you don’t tell us, more people could get hurt. Do you want that on your conscience?”
The faint music of the circus in the background contrasts sharply with the tension of the moment. The stagehand finally breaks, his shoulders sagging in defeat. “It’s...it’s someone from outside. They paid me to look the other way, to keep quiet.”
