Total pages in book: 20
Estimated words: 18406 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 92(@200wpm)___ 74(@250wpm)___ 61(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 18406 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 92(@200wpm)___ 74(@250wpm)___ 61(@300wpm)
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 sends a 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.”
“Names,” Jasper demands, his voice a low growl.
“I don’t know their names,” the stagehand whispers, his voice trembling. “Just that they’re dangerous.”
Jasper and I exchange another look, a mix of frustration and determination. As we turn to leave, Jasper’s hand brushes against mine, the contact sending a jolt of heat through my body.
“Stay close,” he murmurs, his voice soft but firm. “We’re in this together, got it?”
I nod, my heart pounding in my chest. The chemistry between us is untamed, the danger adding an edge of excitement that’s impossible to ignore. As we step back into the bustling heart of the circus, I can’t help but feel a thrill of anticipation. The investigation is far from over, and our partnership is only just beginning.
The security tent is dimly lit, shadows flickering across the canvas walls. Jasper and I sit close together, a map of the circus grounds spread out before us. Our faces are inches apart as we discuss our findings, the intimate atmosphere thick with tension and unspoken emotions.
"Look here," Jasper says, pointing to a spot on the map. His voice is a low murmur. “Every incident happened near the central support structures. It's too precise to be random."
I lean closer, my shoulder brushing against his. The contact sends a jolt through me, but I focus on the map, tracing the pattern with my finger. "It's deliberate," I agree, my voice equally hushed. "Someone's been targeting the main support points to cause maximum damage."
Our conversation grows more intense, our bodies leaning closer as we exchange ideas and theories. The chemistry between us simmers, an undercurrent of desire that neither of us acknowledges but can't ignore. The occasional tap of a pen on the map punctuates our discussion, each sound heightening the intimacy of the moment.
Then, Jasper suddenly gets up, moving to a small workbench where he examines a piece of equipment under a magnifying glass. His brow furrows in concentration, and I watch intently, my breath catching as he finds a small, distinctive mark.
"Look at this," he says, his voice taut with revelation. "It's a signature. The same one I saw on the other tampered equipment."
I step closer, peering over his shoulder. The scrape of metal against metal as he adjusts the magnifying glass seems louder in the quiet night. "What does it mean?" I ask, my heart pounding.
Jasper's expression darkens. "It's the mark of a professional. Someone who specializes in this kind of sabotage." He tips his head to the side. “I think I’ve seen this before.”