But I wanted to.
“So you’re an actress, right?” a guy named Art asked. He apparently owned a hamburger shop down south in Frisco.
“Last time I checked,” I said with a smile.
“I’ve always wanted to ask an actress this question,” he continued.
“What’s that?”
“What are onscreen kisses like?”
I chuckled, halfway relieved that the question was actually answerable. I just never knew what some people were going to ask. “Oh, they’re terribly awkward most of the time.”
“Tell us more,” Phoebe said. “The average person—like all of us—has no idea.”
I thought back to the many onscreen kisses I’d done. Twelve, to be exact. And yes, I’d counted them. Mostly because I got anxiety attacks before each one.
“Well, on the big screen, they look super romantic, right?” I said. “But filming them is a beast. The more romantic the kiss, the more technical it is. You have all these people watching, and lights are on you, and the director is telling you how to kiss. Move your head this way. Turn so that your body’s facing the camera more. It’s horrible. And then there’s the bad breath.”
“The bad breath?” someone else asked.
“That’s the beauty of the big screen. You never smell anything. It makes people seem superhuman. I did this one kiss in Yesterday’s Tomorrow—it was my first onscreen kiss—and it was horrible. Josh Harris, my costar, had just eaten cheese, and I absolutely wanted to gag.”
“Well, that takes some of the mystery out of it,” Phoebe said.
Everyone laughed.
“Believe me—onscreen kisses are far from romantic.”
Jackson said nothing beside me, and I wondered what he was thinking. This wasn’t the time to ask.
Art spoke instead. “So, it’s pretty crazy about Morty, isn’t it?”
“I heard he quit his job at Willie’s,” someone else said.
“I saw Billy trolling around on a new boat,” Art said. “Maybe they came into some moolah together.”
“His dad probably bought it for him,” Phoebe added with a knowing shrug of her eyebrows.
I glanced at Jackson, and I could see him listening to everything. Yet he said nothing. Offered nothing. Gave no indication he knew a thing.
“I heard his dad cut him off,” Robbie said.
Interesting. Robbie didn’t seem like the type who would know something like that. Did he and Billy have some kind of history together? I didn’t know.
But I added one more theory to my list.
Possible windfall.
As darkness settled around us, people began to fade—including Phoebe, who’d taken Ripley back with her.
But Jackson and I remained. I wasn’t complaining. I wanted some time to chat one on one with him.
Before we chatted, we listened to the waves crash. We let the salty air wrap us like a heavy blanket. We enjoyed the feel of the soft sand beneath our feet.
I watched the fire, mesmerized by the flames. By the crackles. By the warmth it provided as the evening had grown chilly.
I shivered, and Jackson grabbed a blanket and draped it around my shoulders. Then he scooted closer and slipped his arm around my waist.
Warmth oozed through every bone in my body at his touch and his nearness and his masculinity . . . well, at nearly everything about him.
“No talk about work, deal?” He stared at the fire, seeming as mesmerized by it as I felt.
That would be disappointing if I’d thought he would actually open up about this investigation. But I knew he wouldn’t, so there was no need to argue. “Deal.”
We said nothing for a while longer. And saying nothing felt perfect.
I used to say that was the ultimate test of a relationship—when you could enjoy simply being together. When there was no urge to fill the silence with meaningless words. When the quiet didn’t feel awkward.
“I feel like I can breathe when I’m out here.” I closed my eyes as the breeze kissed my face.
“Breathing is good.”
I elbowed him. “I know that. You know what I mean.”
Jackson paused, but only for a second. “So I guess onscreen kisses are just a part of your job, huh?”
Surprise rippled through me. He had been listening . . . and possibly even been troubled by that earlier conversation. “I guess you could say that. Does that bother you?”
He shrugged. “I . . . I don’t know. I didn’t think about it much until tonight.”
“I promise there’s nothing romantic about them.”
“Yeah, you said that.”
I heard a touch of doubt in his voice. “You don’t believe me?”
“I didn’t say that.” He released a breath. “But it is a weird thought.”
“I think it would be strange if I saw you kissing someone while you were undercover.”
He let out a half chuckle. “I wouldn’t do that while I was undercover.”
I didn’t know what to say that hadn’t already been stated.
“I have no acting gigs lined up right now, so I guess it’s a nonissue.” I snapped my fingers. “Oh wait—we’re talking about work. You broke your own rule!”
He chuckled, but the sound faded like the dying flames in front of us. “Fair enough. Okay, I have a different question. What are you thinking for the future, Joey? What are your goals? Your plans? Not career wise, per se. Life wise.”
“Thank you for asking me about me and not Hollywood.”
“Really, of all the things I like about you, Hollywood is nowhere near the top. I like you because of you. You make me laugh. You make me want to pull my hair out . . . you make me look forward to each new day.”
I looked up at him—at his face as it glowed orange near the embers of the fire. Before I realized what I was doing, I traced my thumb across his jaw. “Those are the sweetest words ever.”
“Well, what can I say? I’m a sweet kind of guy.”
I laughed. Though Jackson was sweet, that word seemed foreign to attach to him. No, he seemed like all muscles and toughness on the outside, but he had a gentleness beneath all that.
His eyes warmed as he stared at me. My breath caught as I waited, anticipated, longed to feel his mouth against mine. I could see it in his gaze—he wanted it too.
But his lips hit my forehead instead of my mouth.
I sighed.
I was disappointed yet not disappointed. I could appreciate someone with conviction and integrity. I’d appreciate it even more once my heart stopped pounding out of control.
I leaned onto his shoulder and watched the flames flicker, the gentle breeze stirring the blaze. A family down the shore searched with their flashlights for ghost crabs, the kids squealing with delight and running after something with their nets. The stars shined bright overhead, illuminating the darkness.
This place felt like heaven on earth.
“How are things going with Eric?” Jackson asked.
My peaceful feelings faded at the mention of my ex. But this was a good conversation to have. Eric was a major reason Jackson and I were taking things slowly.
“Honestly, things are going better,” I said. “I can’t complain. It helps that I don’t have to see him or talk to him anymore.”
“You did manage to skip your anniversary. I’m pretty impressed by that.”
“Best decision ever. It was very healing, in a strange way. I know I can’t erase that time in my life, but I can definitely learn from it. It’s going to make me stronger—a better person in the end.”
“I’m proud of you, Joey.”
I tried not to glow too much under his compliment. The nice thing about compliments from Jackson was that they were sincere. Most of the time, people were nice to me because they wanted something.
“I find it hard to believe, but Eric’s career very much may be going to pot right now,” I continued. “I didn’t think it could get worse—I thought his actions would give him notoriety. But from what I’ve
heard, no one wants to touch him with a ten-foot pole. We’ll see if that changes.”
“Maybe that will be a wake-up call to him,” Jackson said.
“Maybe.”
Suddenly, that feeling returned. The feeling of being watched.
As my muscles tensed, I looked around. The light from the campfire made it hard to see anything else beyond its glow.
“What is it?” Jackson asked.
Just then, my gaze found the source of my alarm. The outdoor light from a nearby house illuminated a face.
It was the man. My stalker. Leonard Shepherd.
And he was hiding in the sea oats behind us.
Chapter Eleven
Leonard must have had a car tucked away close to the walking path. Because nearly as soon as Jackson disappeared over the sand dune, he returned. He was shaking his head and looking altogether displeased with himself.
I pulled the blanket closer, chilled to the bone at the daunting possibilities facing me. I hadn’t even begun to scratch the surface as to what those might be. “Well?”
Jackson lowered himself beside me. “He got away. By the time I crested the dune, he was already at the end of the street. He was in some kind of truck. It was too dark to make out the details, and the license plate was either gone or covered up. I already called it in, just in case any officers on duty come across it.”
I frowned, already knowing that probably wouldn’t happen. Leonard had been eluding the police for a while now. “Although it’s not a crime to sit on a sand dune. That’s what he’ll argue if he’s caught.”
“It’s not. But the fact that he ran makes it seem suspicious.”
“I agree.”
My soul still felt unsettled. Leonard Shepherd was trouble, and he seemed to be focused on me.
Jackson turned toward me. “You have any idea who that guy was?”
Oh, had I not mentioned that to him? “Maybe.”
“What’s that mean?” Jackson asked.
“Well, I saw someone earlier today—when I left the police station. He reminded me of . . . well, he reminded me of the man I had a restraining order on in California. Leonard Shepherd.”
He blinked with what appeared to be surprise. “You’re just now telling me that you may have seen Leonard Shepherd today?”
I shrugged. “You seemed really busy. Besides, the thought is crazy.”
“For most people, I might agree. For you? It’s not so crazy.” He let out a small sigh. “I’m going to look into it first thing in the morning when I get back to my office.”
“Okay.” I had a feeling this wouldn’t end easily, with a simple arrest. I could feel it in my bones that Leonard was planning something. The man was calculating, which made him even scarier.
I knew a limited amount of facts about him based on my earlier restraining order against him. He was thirty-three and never married. From what I’d heard, he was unable to hold a steady job—and his jobs were usually the minimum-wage type. Mostly fast-food joints.
Despite that, I’d heard that he was amazingly smart. He’d graduated high school at the top of his class and had been offered a place at MIT. But he’d been a socially awkward misfit with a slew of other problems.
“How does this always happen to you, Joey?” Jackson hooked his arm around my neck and pulled me to him.
I didn’t resist. I fell into his warm embrace and rested my head against his chest, tucked under his chin. This was my happy place.
“I have a knack for these things,” I murmured.
“I’d say you do.” He paused.
I listened to his heartbeat. It was comforting and steady and reliable enough to ease my tense muscles. If only every moment of my life felt this easy.
In the silence, Zane popped into my mind. Despite all the questions I had for my friend, I began thinking about him sitting in a jail cell, and my heart panged with compassion.
This had started with him. He’d asked for my help. And now I was wading through murky waters for him. Would I end up sinking or swimming?
After a few minutes, Jackson cleared his throat. “I really wish you’d stay away from this investigation, Joey.”
It was like he’d read my mind and knew exactly what I’d been thinking about. “You say that every time.” Unfortunately, this was a recurring theme in our relationship.
“This time I mean it.”
“You didn’t the other times?”
“I didn’t say that. But this time . . . I don’t want you to get in over your head.”
“You must know something about this that I don’t. Something serious.”
He remained silent.
I figured he would but hoped he wouldn’t.
“Let’s get you home, Joey.”
He took my hand, and we walked across the dune.
At least the day had ended well. Sometimes that was all you could ask for.
It had been so sweet of Jackson to drop me off at my place last night. But this morning, as I grabbed my car keys and stepped outside into the parking lot, I found my space was empty.
My Miata was still at Jackson’s place.
Had that been his grand plan this whole time? If I didn’t have a vehicle, it would be much harder to investigate. And if I didn’t investigate, then I would stay out of trouble—and out of his hair.
That plan was not out of the realm of possibility.
But this was a problem because I had a rock-painting thingamajig to attend.
I stared at my empty parking space and sighed. Should I call Jackson? Uber? Maybe I could just walk, but I’d totally have to change out of these strappy sandals if I did that.
“Problem?” someone said behind me.
I turned around and saw Winston Corbina standing at the base of the stairs.
Winston Corbina owned this entire complex and lived above me. For that matter, he owned a lot of properties and buildings in this area and had his own little real estate empire. And just as a fun fact, he looked like Burt Reynolds’s younger brother.
He also had a connection to my father, who was missing. I suspected he knew more than he was letting on.
And right now he was looking at me, waiting for a response to his one-word question about my problems. Where did I even start? My career, my poor fashion choices, my diet?
I knew none of those things were what he was talking about. Instead, I nodded toward the empty parking space.
“I just realized I left my car somewhere,” I told him. “It was late when I got in, and I wasn’t thinking everything through.”
Story of my life.
He tossed me something, and I miraculously caught it in the air. I glanced at my hand, unsure what exactly I’d just caught, and I saw . . . keys.
“Take one of my cars,” he said. “I have plenty. More than plenty.”
I stared at Winston, wondering if he was serious.
He seemed to read my thoughts and said, “Yes, I’m serious.”
The man obviously had no idea about my accident history. “I couldn’t possibly.”
“Sure you can.” He nodded toward a yellow car in the distance and winked. “Have yourself some fun.”
Without waiting for my response or giving me the chance to hand him his keys back, he climbed into another car—a red Mercedes SUV—and pulled away. That left me staring at those keys. And that yellow car. A Corvette.
Should I?
I didn’t really have much choice if I wanted to go anywhere today. On one hand, I didn’t want Winston Corbina doing me any favors. He might think I owed him something. On the other hand, I wanted to investigate, and this was the easiest solution.
With a shrug, I climbed into Winston’s sports car. I paused once inside and let the soothing smell of leather surround me. This car was nice. Extravagantly nice.
And probably way out of my league when it came to what I could handle. But I’d been handed an opportunity, and I shouldn’t back down.
I cranked the engine, and the vehicle roared to life
. I halfway expected it to morph into a Transformer or something else equally dramatic, but it didn’t. Of course. Because those things only happened in Hollywood.
I drove it around the parking lot a few times to get a feel for how to handle the ride, and then when I felt 25 percent more confident, finally started toward the rock-painting event.
The location was just down the road from my condo, at a little park with a fancy playground and plenty of green space. I’d driven past before but never stopped.
After I found parking—as far away from any other vehicles as I could be—I climbed out, walked toward the crowds and festivities, and soaked everything in with a touch of awe.
This was more than just some people out with their rocks.
There were entire families here, and rows and rows of tables set up on the grass. People gathered there and laughed with paintbrushes in hand. Other kids walked around with snow cones. A man with a guitar played across the lawn.
I hoped I could find some answers here. Because otherwise, I had no idea where to look.
Chapter Twelve
“Joey Darling! I’m so glad you’re here!” someone said behind me.
I turned and saw Mayor Allen standing there with a grin on his face. He was a short man with a rotund build and a bald head. He also talked with a little lisp, and despite the fact that his every move was motivated by how things could add to his political gain, I still liked him.
He loved me. Like loved me loved me. Mostly because I’d brought attention to his little city, which seemed to be the sole purpose of his existence. I didn’t want to know. I didn’t even ask.
As long as he let me tag along on police investigations, I was okay with his exuberance for all things Joey.
“Who doesn’t love painting rocks?” I finally said.
I still had no idea what his was about. I should have done some research, but I’d been so busy yesterday. Then I’d gotten home and fallen in bed, totally exhausted.
And now here I was.
“Exactly!” He nodded toward someone with a camera in the distance. “You mind if we get a few pictures of you here?”
“Not at all.”
He leaned closer and dramatically offered a side glance and half-eyebrow raise. “Have you thought about tweeting the event?”
Blooper Freak (The Worst Detective Ever Book 5) Page 6
