Jackson’s anguished gaze latched on to mine. “Your father is missing now.”
“You’ll be beside me. With me. It will all be fine.” I drew in a deep breath, trying not to dwell on everything that could go wrong. “Speaking of which, let’s talk about the cover story. What do you think of this? I thought I’d stick as close to the truth as possible. We met when you came into my salon for a haircut. It was love at first sight.” At once, I realized what I said and flinched. “That part isn’t close to the truth. Of course.”
His gaze was intense on mine. So intense that I couldn’t think straight. All I wanted to do was stare into his eyes. Reach out and touch him.
He didn’t say anything. I pressed my hands behind me on the counter, desperate to keep them still, and wondered why he was so quiet. What was he thinking? That I was a nut?
“Well?” I finally asked.
The moment broke as he looked away. He reached across the counter and grabbed the coffeepot. “It sounds good.”
I let out a mental sigh of relief. And then I fell back into my natural defense mechanism: humor. “And I was thinking your name could be Sheldon.”
“Sheldon?” He glanced back and raised an eyebrow as he scooped grounds into a filter.
“Yeah, and you work for animal control. That way when you give off the law enforcement vibe, it will make sense.”
“I see.” He actually sounded amused as he pushed the On button and turned his attention back to me.
I swallowed, my throat tight. How was I ever going to pretend he was my boyfriend? I was an actress. This was my jam. Yet something about Jackson threw me all off balance.
“You and me, huh?” He reached up and brushed a hair away from my face.
I sucked in a breath.
“You can’t look like that, Joey,” Jackson murmured.
I closed my eyes, wanting to ignore all the warm fuzzy feelings having a party inside my gut and my bloodstream and my heart. “Like what?”
“Like you want to run.”
The warm fuzzies cooled quickly, and I opened my eyes. “What do you mean?”
“I’m supposed to be your boyfriend, and you look horrified.”
I snorted, the party inside me ending with an abrupt unplugging of the music. “I’m not horrified.”
“Could have fooled me.”
“I’m just not in acting mode yet. It will take me a while to get into character.”
“Of course.”
“No, really. I had an acting coach for years. Yanic. He was ah-mazing. We met before every episode of Relentless, and he helped me get into character. Acting isn’t as easy as you think.”
When someone knocked on the door, Jackson stepped back and smiled.
“Special delivery.”
A woman I’d never seen before stood at the door holding a . . . mermaid costume? She handed it off to him, they exchanged some indecipherable words, and then she was gone, leaving Jackson holding the . . . dry-cleaning bag?
“I didn’t want to mention this in case it didn’t work out,” Jackson said, walking back toward me. “But a lady at church has a daughter who likes to pretend to be a mermaid. I asked if we might borrow the costume for something.”
“How old is this daughter? Please don’t say eight, because there’s no way I’m going to fit.”
“She’s sixteen.”
“Let’s hope I still have my youthful figure.” I jutted a hip out and ran a hand down my silhouette, just being silly.
“I’d say you do.”
Something about Jackson’s words made heat rush to my cheeks. I didn’t even think he’d meant to make that happen. Yet there was still a part of me that held on to my modesty, just as I’d been raised to do. All my years in Hollywood had changed many things, but glimpses of my old value system were still present in my core. I was working to strengthen them.
Jackson handed the bag to me. “Why don’t you go try it out?”
I stared at him. “Now?”
He twisted his head in confusion. “Is there a better time? You’re meeting the photographer tomorrow.”
A million excuses ran through my mind. Excuses about not being ready—physically or mentally—to wear this in public. Yet it wasn’t in public. It was just around Jackson. Which in some ways seemed worse than wearing it in public.
“We need to make sure it will work for you,” Jackson continued. “If you’re more comfortable, we can do this down at the police station.”
I waved a hand in the air. “Oh, no. Of course not. I’m fine doing it here.”
Who wouldn’t want to wear a mermaid tail around an incredibly handsome man who thought she was a fruitcake?
“I’ll just . . . uh, go back here and see if it fits.”
“You want to use the spare bedroom?” Jackson asked, following behind me.
What I really wanted was for him not to be quite as close to me right now. Because something weird was happening inside my brain . . . I felt flustered and nervous, for some reason. Hundreds of men wanted to date me—to date the person they thought I was. And one small-town detective made me feel like the most inexperienced amateur on the planet.
“Yeah, that sounds great.”
He opened a door at the end of the hallway and stepped inside a spare bedroom. My gaze scanned it. The room was pretty masculine. Double bed with a navy-blue comforter. Plain wooden dresser. No knickknacks or pictures.
At once, I realized he’d probably never lived here with Claire. There was absolutely no woman’s touch at this place.
“It’s all yours,” Jackson said.
“Excellent.” I slipped inside and, for good measure, locked the door. I wasn’t sure why I did. It wasn’t because I didn’t trust Jackson. I just felt safer this way.
I stared at the sparkly mermaid costume. Shimmery blue-and-green scales. A lovely translucent tail with extravagant scallops. Fairly full-coverage bikini top with matching scales. It was surprisingly heavy and made from silicon.
This was going to be horrible, I realized. Flat-out horrible. A terrible idea.
But I was in too deep now. Deep enough that if I emerged too quickly I could get the bends.
I took a deep breath and jumped into the task, taking my business suit off and replacing it with this hideous mermaid costume. The last thing I pulled on was the tail. I had to sit on the bed to do so and carefully slip each leg inside what felt like a giant blood pressure cuff. I hoped I didn’t look like a stuffed sausage link in this thing.
When I’d pulled the outfit up to my waist, I tried to stand and nearly fell on the floor. It was like walking with your ankles tied together . . . and an invisible trip line attached. Could I move while remaining upright in this thing? I wasn’t sure. But I knew Jackson had to see this. He had to give his stamp of approval that I wasn’t going to blow this whole sting.
I considered my options. I could do a mermaid pose—either on my side or on my belly with my tail raised. There was no room on the floor, which left the bed, and that didn’t seem appropriate. But that meant I had to somehow make it to the hallway in this getup.
“How’s it going?” Jackson asked through the door.
I glanced down. The costume fit. That was a start. But I definitely needed to do some crunches before my abs would look good in this. All in all, I was feeling self-conscious.
“Joey?”
“Don’t make fun of me,” I called, my fingers digging into the comforter beneath me.
“Of course I’m not going to make fun of you.”
He was right. Jackson wasn’t the type to make fun of me because of body image. He might tease me at times, but he was never mean.
Drawing in a deep breath, I stood and hopped to the door, wishing now that I’d never volunteered for this assignment. But there were no takebacks, not when I considered all the hoops that had been jumped through to get here.
Cora. Remember Cora. And Lexi.
I released my hair from the elastic holding it back and made sure it
cascaded over my shoulders. The long locks made me feel more covered, more mermaidish. I shoved a strand behind my ear, drew in a deep breath, and then opened the door, ready to face my nemesis.
Jackson’s eyes widened when he saw me. He looked me up and down and nodded slowly. “It . . . fits.”
I nodded, unsure what I’d expected him to say. But of course he was keeping this professional. “It will take some getting used to. I’ll wear it around my place tonight so I don’t look awkward tomorrow.”
“Whatever works for you.” He stepped closer. “Lift your hair up for me.”
My heart stammered in my ears, but I did as he asked. He scooted around me, resting his hand on my shoulder. Fire exploded in me at his touch as he inspected the back of the costume.
I felt all too aware of his every movement. Did he feel this tension also? Or was it just me?
“There’s nowhere for a wire.” He frowned and stepped back.
I bit back disappointment. He was all business. Of course. What did I think he was going to do? Make a comment about how good I looked dressed as a fish lady?
“But you’ll be with me, right?” I said. “No need for a wire.”
“We can use a parabolic mic. The officers hiding in the woods will be able to hear everything that way. Plus I’ll have a wire.”
“Sounds like all of our places are covered. I mean, bases. Our bases are covered. Not places . . . like bellies or anything.”
His eyes finally met mine. “Sounds like it.”
I pointed behind me, all too aware of Jackson’s every move still. I was acting ridiculous! “I should go change then.”
“As long as you think this costume will work.”
“Of course. I’ve just got to learn how to move—” As I said the words, I tried to hop forward. But the tail caught behind me, and I lost my balance. I began toppling backward.
I gasped, knowing without a doubt that this wasn’t going to be pretty.
Before I hit the floor, Jackson’s arms encircled me, sending even more heat through every part of me. He scooped me up, and my arms instinctively went to his neck.
Time seemed to slow. We stared at each other. My heart raced as if I’d just run a marathon.
Finally, Jackson cleared his throat and set me back on my feet. Er . . . fin? “You okay?”
I nodded, my cheeks on fire and my hands trembling. “Oh yeah, I’m fine. Great. Just have to get used to this . . . this outfit. Of course. It’s got me off balance.”
“Can you make it to the bed okay?”
More heat rushed to my cheeks, though I knew it was an innocent question. “Definitely.”
No way was I letting him carry me there. I already looked like a bumbling fool as it was.
I grabbed the dresser, determined to save face. “I’ll get changed and be right out.”
Before he could say anything, I closed the door. So hard that it threw me off balance.
And I fell. Onto the floor. My elbows hit the wood, and a moan escaped before I could stop it.
But at least the door was closed.
“Are you okay?” Jackson yelled.
“Just fine!” I called, already feeling an ache in my bones.
And then I promptly buried my head under my arms, wondering how I’d ever managed to play a character on TV who was so skilled and graceful.
Chapter Seven
“I can’t believe the police actually went for it,” Zane said at my place that evening. Splash played in the background—the scene where Daryl Hannah comes ashore at the Statue of Liberty. You know . . . research. One never knew when a mermaid might have only six fun-filled days to be human while the moon was full.
“I know. I can’t believe it either.” I tried to squeeze past him but teetered. As I did, Zane pulled me down onto his lap.
“You’re the prettiest mermaid I’ve ever seen.” Zane’s stare made his approval clear.
Even though I had pulled on a sweatshirt over the bikini top, just to make things feel a little more appropriate, I still felt exposed and silly.
“I feel like an idiot.” I pulled my fin up beside me, and the silicon squealed in an embarrassing whoosh of air.
Zane was hanging out with me. Sometimes we met on our adjoining balconies at the end of the day, and sometimes we met outside. Either way, it usually ended with one or the other of us at one or the other’s place. It was our little routine, and he seemed perfectly content to let me do what I needed to do while he chilled.
“I think we should reenact a scene from The Little Mermaid,” Zane said. “Maybe they’ll do a live action version of it, like they did with Beauty and the Beast, and you can be Ariel.”
“That sounds like a filming nightmare. Especially for me, the queen of bloopers.” I had to stop myself before I started to picture it too much.
I stared at the hummus and pita chips Zane held, really wanting one. But the other part of me didn’t want to eat anything until after my photo op tomorrow. I’d been programmed by Hollywood to think this way. I supposed I’d had a choice in the matter, but undoing stinkin’ thinkin’ was hard.
I’d been judged for every visible inch of my body. My cellulite had been circled, highlighted, and expanded nearly to real-life size. It had been published, and people in grocery stores across the country could see it and revel in my lumpy fat.
One didn’t get over that quickly.
It also didn’t help that Eric had told me on more than one occasion that I was hideous. That makeup artists did wonders with me. That if people could see how I really looked, I’d be laughed at and no one would put me on their “most beautiful” list.
As a hollow feeling formed in my gut, I pushed those thoughts aside. It would do no good to dwell on them.
Since I’d left the police station, I’d spent a considerable amount of time studying various poses I should use tomorrow. I was doing my research, just like any good actress preparing for a role. I really wished Yanic was here to help. But he was a long way from the OBX.
But I was getting nervous also. What if I couldn’t pull this off? What if I tipped the photographer off? What if he did kill Cora? Would he try to kill me also?
I reviewed what I’d learned in my research. Apparently, professional mermaids were hired by aquariums, resorts, movie directors, event planners, corporate companies, fashion designers, and VIP parties. Also, each had her own mersonality, as they called it. Some were seductive. Others perky. Still others were hippie inspired.
Most of them had to be avid swimmers, skilled at free diving. And they could hold their breath five minutes underwater. Five minutes? That was insane.
One lady had even developed a mermaid empire. Not only did she perform, but she had employees who were also professionals. They’d been all over magazines and TV. Sometimes they even performed for eight to twelve hours in tanks.
“What can I do?” Zane asked.
“Well, did you know that professional mermaids actually have people that they pay to cart them around? Some of them use an actual cart, and others use wheelchairs. All because it’s so hard to walk in these things.”
“I hereby volunteer to cart you around,” he said.
“Do you?”
“But I won’t be needing a cart.” He stood with me in his arms. “I prefer to do it the old-fashioned way.”
He twirled me around until my stomach rose and flopped like I was on a roller coaster. And I giggled.
My cell phone started playing “Under the Sea” just then. Yes, I’d programmed the tune to help me get into character. Zane set me down, and I glanced at the screen.
It was my bestie, Starla. I hadn’t talked to her in a few weeks because she was shooting a new movie on an island somewhere in the Pacific.
“Hey, Joey! How are things in Mule’s Bottom?”
I hopped toward the corner for privacy and let out a small sigh. Starla and I had been over this before. “Nags Head.”
“I can never get that right! It’s such a peculiar nam
e.”
“Land pirates would tie lanterns around horse’s necks and walk them up and down the dunes. It gave sea captains the impression that other boats were bobbing on the water. But they weren’t, and the boats would crash on the shoals, and then these land pirates would grab their loot—” I stopped myself. I found all of this very fascinating, but not everyone did. “Anyway, how’s Hollywood treating you?”
“I just finished shooting that romantic comedy. It was so fun, and Ryan Fowler is so cute, not the egomaniac I assumed he’d be. I’ve got a couple weeks off, and then I start shooting an indie film.”
“An indie film?”
“Well, I figured Island Fever was a good business move, but this indie movie is a good heart move, you know? It won’t be as mainstream, but I think it will make people stop pigeonholing me as eye candy and start thinking of me as a serious actress.”
“That’s important.” The corner didn’t quite offer the privacy I wanted, so I hopped out onto my balcony and looked at the stars sparkling overhead. Starla was beautiful and pretty superficial in a Legally Blonde kind of way, so I doubted people would ever take her too seriously. But I had to give her props for trying.
Her tone changed from cheerful to serious faster than a squall blowing in over the Atlantic. “Listen, did you hear that Eric is engaged?”
My throat tightened. I didn’t even care about Eric anymore. But it was still weird hearing her announcement. “No, I hadn’t heard. Tiffany, huh?”
“Yeah, I just found out. I wanted to make sure you heard from me before it showed up in the tabloids. It always shows up in the tabloids.”
Eric had cheated on me with Tiffany. I was pretty sure he’d cheated on Tiffany with a girl he’d met while doing a guest role on Grey’s Anatomy, where he’d played a patient struggling with impotence. I’d tried to tell Tiffany about his cheating ways once and had been accused of being jealous and wanting Eric for myself. Nothing could be further from the truth.
“Well, good for him,” I finally said, closing my eyes and listening to the waves. “I hope Tiffany is happier and safer with him than I was.”
Safety in Blunders (The Worst Detective Ever Book 3) Page 5
