People who lied and associated with criminals wouldn’t hesitate to lie to me. She could easily be a part of all this.
And what about Lily’s neighbors? Were they involved? Maybe they’d made up that story about the yellow Ferrari just to throw me off their trail.
Then again, there was Leonard. Was he just on the sidelines, antagonizing me throughout this whole investigation? Or was he involved?
I wanted to bang my head on the pier. It seemed less painful than finding answers in Simon’s murder. In Hollywood this would all be wrapped up right now with a pretty red bow on top.
“You come here often?” someone said behind me.
It wasn’t Giselle. No, this voice was deeper, older, more masculine.
I knew whom it belonged to. My spine cinched.
“Hi, Mr. Corbina,” I said. I remained calm and cool, just like Raven. Mostly because I had no other ideas.
He leaned against the railing, looking out over the water with me like this meeting was casual and nothing out of the ordinary. I had a vision of him tossing me into the icy-cold water below. It wasn’t a pleasant thought.
“What are you doing here?” I asked, still sounding as aloof and unfazed as my alter ego. “I figured you would have your own private pier.”
I couldn’t help but glance at his sleeves for cuff links. Of course, he was wearing a bulky jacket to stay warm. Even though he had an alibi for Simon’s murder, I didn’t buy it. The man had money. He could buy an alibi if he wanted.
He chuckled. “I happen to like this one. I’m a bit of a people watcher. Sometimes the fishermen will pull in sharks or stingrays or sea turtles. It’s all fascinating.”
Did this man know that I’d thrown him under the bus? And what had been on that paper he’d given me, the one that had blown away? I needed to pace myself, or I’d seem overly anxious. Which I was.
“How about you?” he asked. “Are you a secret fisherman like your dad?”
“No, I can’t say I am. I was always too restless to fish.” I wished I’d used those opportunities more. I wanted to hold on to those memories of bonding with my father. As soon as I’d hit the teenage years, I’d bailed on him. It was one more regret I could add to my list.
I glanced around. At least there were other people here, which would discourage him from harming me. If he was the type who would harm me.
Our attention was drawn to a fisherman beside us who pulled in a catch.
“Sometimes you throw a net out and have no idea what you might catch,” he said.
Was that a hint? A threat? I had no idea. I was quite possibly the worst detective ever.
“It’s true,” I finally said.
Lame, Joey. Lame.
“So what did you think about my note?” he asked.
My spine cinched even more. I decided to fake it. “It was . . . interesting.”
“Did you look into it?”
Okay, I couldn’t fake it anymore. I had to know what was on that card. “I actually lost it before I could read it.”
Corbina chuckled long and hard. “I know. I saw you drop it.”
I narrowed my eyes. I only liked to be laughed at when I was purposefully trying to be funny, which wasn’t now. “But you didn’t answer your door when I went back.”
His chuckle faded, and he shrugged. “You only had one chance. I told you not to look at it until you got in your car.”
“So you’re not going to tell me now?”
He shook his head. “Nope. You’ll have to figure it out yourself.”
“What was it about, at least?”
“I can’t tell you that either.”
I turned toward him and leveled my gaze. “Why are you playing games?”
“Games are fun.”
“You owned the house where the murdered man was staying, yet it’s not listed as one of your properties. Why?”
“You do your research.”
“You didn’t answer my question.”
“A man should be allowed to have some secrets.”
“Secrets mean you’re hiding something.”
“But not everything a person hides calls for an investigation.”
He was talking cryptically, and I didn’t like it. I needed answers. “Did you go to Lily Livingston’s house and force her to drink?”
His gaze clouded. “Who’s Lily Livingston?”
“Your yellow Ferrari was at her house the day after she died.”
“I loaned the car to someone.”
“Who’s that?”
He nudged his chin a fraction of an inch higher. “My son.”
I sighed. “And he is?”
“Billy Corbina.”
Billy? Could he be the . . . “Billy from Willie’s?”
He nodded. “He’s the one.”
Twenty-Seven
Giselle didn’t show up at the pier. After an hour, I left. I didn’t know what else to do, and I could no longer feel either my nose or my fingers. It wasn’t a great non-feeling.
I hoped nothing had happened to her. But I couldn’t stay out here all day. It just wasn’t wise.
So I went back to my house. Starla had left a message on my cell about Eric. She’d just heard through the grapevine that Eric was writing a book about our relationship. That announcement had made an already awful day ten times worse.
Despite the cold weather, I stepped out onto my balcony to try and clear my head. As I leaned on the railing, I glanced over and saw Zane. His balcony was right beside mine, separated only by a wall.
“Uh-oh. Where’s my happy Joey?” he asked.
I frowned. “It’s been one of those days.”
“I’m sorry. Look—I’m making some stir-fried vegetables and rice. You want to come over and eat?”
“Actually, that sounds great.” Company might be the best solution.
“Come on over then.”
So I did. I stepped into Zane’s place. He took my coat and made me sit down on the couch while he finished cooking. The savory scent of onions and soy sauce filled the room.
“You want to talk about it?” Zane asked from the kitchen.
“Not really. Not now at least.”
“I totally get that.”
I picked up an album on the table and looked at it. There were tons of pictures inside. Pictures of Zane surfing. I wasn’t going to lie. He looked good shirtless. Really good.
I paused by some later pictures of Zane in the water with some kids. “What’s this?” I asked him, holding up the album.
“Oh, it’s a charity event. We teach kids with disabilities how to surf. It’s awesome. I’ve done it every year for the past four, and I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”
My heart panged at the look of joy on the kids’ faces. It was just beautiful, and it showed me a different side of Zane. A side I really liked.
He put the food right from the cooking pan onto two plates. Then he carried them over to the couch. “May I present your dinner.”
I tucked my legs under me and picked up the fork. “This smells really good, Zane.”
“I aim to please.”
“You’re surprising, you know that?”
He raised his eyebrows. “Am I?”
“You are. You’re fun to hang out with it, but you’re kind also. Thank you. I could use a little kindness lately.”
Something flickered in his gaze. Not the normal sparkle, but something deeper. He quickly looked away. “I think you deserve much kindness, Joey.”
As we ate, Zane told me stories about kiteboarding in hurricanes and kayaking between bioluminescent nightlife and hang gliding off Jockey’s Ridge. His stories were a nice distraction.
“Now do you want to tell me what’s going on with you?” he asked once we’d finished our meals.
So I did. I told him about my day, ending with the voicemail from Starla.
“I’m assuming that having your ex write a book about you is a bad thing?” he asked.
I rubbed my temples at the m
ere thought of it. “Really bad. It’s like someone you once trusted exposing your deepest secrets to the world.”
“Yeah, that sounds super despicable. I’m sorry, Joey.”
“Thanks, Zane.” I sucked in a breath, warding away the memories, and changed the subject. “What do you know about Billy? Are you guys friends?”
“Nah, we don’t really hang together. I just see him at Willie’s sometimes. Seems like a nice enough guy.”
“Did you know that he was Mr. Corbina’s son?”
“I did. I didn’t think it was relevant. I’ve definitely never seen him driving a yellow Ferrari around town. I’d notice that.”
“Is he capable of murder?”
Zane’s eyes widened. “I’d like to think he wasn’t. But he can be a pretty rough dude. He’s been busted for drugs a few times.”
“What else do you know about him? Is he married?”
“Nah, but I think he has a girlfriend. I’ve never seen her. He’s pretty protective of his women.”
“Why do you think he has a girlfriend?”
“I saw him talking to her once.”
“What did she look like?”
“Pretty lady. Dark hair. Olive skin.”
Realization hit me. Giselle. What if Billy was dating Giselle?
Twenty-Eight
“I know the solution to your day,” Zane announced.
I pulled my thoughts from the Giselle and Billy theory and glanced up at him. “What’s that?”
“Turn around.”
I cocked my head to the side, not liking where this was going.
He copied my expression and turned his fingers in a circle. “Trust me, Joey. Just turn around.”
Trusting was so hard for me. Zane couldn’t possibly understand that. But I did it. I turned on the couch until my back faced him.
His hands came down on my shoulders.
“Zane—” My muscles tightened.
“No funny business. I promise.”
I released my breath. No funny business. I supposed this would be okay.
“It would actually be better if you lay down—”
“No!”
“Okay, okay. This is fine then.” His fingers began working the kinks in my neck and shoulders. I hated to admit it, but his hands were kind of magical. All of my tension seemed to fade as my muscles turned to jelly.
“How’s that feel?” he asked softly.
“It feels great.” I wasn’t going to lie. I could get used to this.
He gave my shoulders one last squeeze and then backed away. He was done. And I kind of missed him already.
“Thank you,” I said as I turned back around. When I looked at him, my heart rushed into my throat.
Rushed into my throat? That wasn’t good.
But the room was already dark, with only a corner light on. And Zane’s eyes were mesmerizing. It was almost like . . . something had changed.
I quickly stood. “I should go.”
Zane stood also. “Right. Of course.”
He walked me out, and my heart continued to thump in my ears. At the door, he turned to me. Before I comprehended what was happening, his hands went to my waist. My hands went to his neck.
Our lips found each other’s. There was only a minute of hesitation before the kiss deepened, and we drew even closer together. Close enough that I could feel his rock-hard abs against mine.
The moment swept me away as my whole body came alive. My fingers entangled with his curls. His hands wandered up and down my back.
What are you doing, Joey?
That internal voice snapped me out of my romance-induced stupor. I pulled back, coming up for air. My whole body reeled from that kiss.
“We shouldn’t do that,” I whispered, the words painful as they escaped. Painful because I wanted to do just that. I wanted to drown my sorrow—my problems. I wanted to do anything but face them.
“We shouldn’t?” Zane didn’t move back from me. His hands were still splayed at my waist, his head still bent toward me. I wasn’t sure whose heartbeat it was that I could feel: mine or his. But it was fast with anticipation.
“I have issues,” I told him.
“Don’t we all?”
I should remove my hands from his chest, but I couldn’t. “I really have to resolve some of mine before . . . before any of this can happen.”
I remembered all the girls I’d seen coming and going from Zane’s house. I know he claimed to be a massage therapist. But was that all? Or was this how it always played out?
That thought jolted some of my warm fuzzies from me. I stepped back. “I should go.”
“Are we still okay?”
“You’re my only friend in the area, Zane. I hope we’re okay.”
That got a smile out of him. “Okay, good. Because I kind of like having you around.”
I jabbed my finger into his chest and teased, “Kind of?”
He shrugged dramatically. “Well, you know . . .”
I started to jab him again, when he caught my hand. Our gazes connected, and we seemed to intrinsically draw closer.
Oh no. I couldn’t do that again.
“I’ve got to go, Zane.”
He grinned and opened the door. “Fine. Good night, Joey.”
“Good night.” As I stepped outside, he called to me again, and I turned.
“I’m going snowboarding with some of my buddies tomorrow. You want to go?”
Snowboarding? It sounded like such a good time. Again, another way to escape my problems. But I couldn’t keep doing that. “Maybe another time.”
“I’ll be thinking about you.”
Back at my house, I found Giselle’s number. She hadn’t responded to any of my earlier texts when she’d stood me up at the pier, but that didn’t stop me from texting her now.
Me: Were you and Billy dating?
She didn’t respond until 6:00 a.m. the next morning
Giselle: Yes, but he didn’t kill Simon.
Me: How do you know?
Giselle: Because Billy loves me.
I let out a sigh. Because love could conquer everything, couldn’t it? Not in my life.
I went through another day of muddling through work, but all I could think about was my life and the messes around me. I remembered my kiss with Zane, and my body exploded with warm, fuzzy feelings.
I remembered the moment I’d shared with Jackson and how electricity had crackled between us, drawing us together without ever actually touching. Could I be developing feelings for two men?
Either way I was so far from where I needed to be to have a healthy relationship. I hadn’t dated since I’d left Eric. Part of me never wanted to date again. But another part of me, deep down inside, hoped there could be someone better out there for me.
Could that be Zane? I didn’t know. I didn’t even know if he was the type of guy who looked for forever or if he was the type of guy who always lived for the moment—even when it came to women.
How about Jackson? He’d already found the love of his life and lost her to the beast of breast cancer. I feared how I might turn his life upside down—and not for the better.
I also made a mental decision to give up this investigation. I’d give back Lily’s money and find another way to pay my bills. But I was done. I had enough drama in my life without trying to find a killer.
I was going to focus all of my resources on finding my father.
And that was that.
The day was surprisingly busy, so I didn’t leave work until after five. Unfortunately, since it was January, that meant it was already dark outside. I hated getting home when it was already dark.
I pulled into the driveway and looked at Zane’s dark duplex. A strange part of me missed having him home to chat with.
I was already getting attached, wasn’t I? That wasn’t a good thing.
I walked to my front door and saw a note from my landlord there. I’d forgotten to take the trash cans out again. Just so I wouldn’t forget, I d
ecided to put them on the street right now.
I left my oversized purse near my door and hurried down my front steps and into the space beneath the house. It was dark, and I wished I’d gone inside first to turn the lights on. But it was too late now. I’d just grab the cans and get this over with.
Just as I clutched the handle of the first bin, I sensed movement behind me. A figure sprang from the darkness. Before I could scream, a hand went over my mouth. He pushed me into the shower stall and pressed me against the wall, trapping me in place. Out of sight from anyone else.
Fear shot through me. This was it, wasn’t it? I’d given up investigating, and now this man was going to kill me because I hadn’t lived out his Raven Remington fantasies.
“I thought I made myself clear,” he whispered.
My mind reeled, settling on one thought: Leonard wasn’t this strong. He was wiry, but not big. Those notes had said we. Was Leonard working with someone else?
“The answers are right in front of you. All you have to do is open your eyes.”
He removed his hand from my mouth. I could scream all I wanted, but no one would hear me. The wind was too strong. The waves were too noisy. The heat pumps too loud.
“I’ve been looking,” I said, my cheek pressed into the rough wood. “I just don’t know.”
“Strip away what you think you know and concentrate on what’s confirmed. You’ll figure it out. Do you understand?”
Actually, I didn’t. “I still don’t even know who the real target was: Simon or Giselle.”
“Do I have to spell everything out?” he growled.
“You’re obviously better at this than I am. Until I figure out the real target, I’m not going to find any answers.” I tried to catch a glimpse of the man, but a black ski mask covered his face.
“Exactly. Why did Simon die? Because he got in the way or because he brought danger with him?”
“How am I supposed to figure that out?” And why were we chatting like this was a normal way to have a conversation?
“This is the last help I’ll be to you.” His breath hit my face. “If Simon was the target, the killer would be gone. Make sense?”
Ready to Fumble (The Worst Detective Ever Book 1) Page 17
