Safety in Blunders (The Worst Detective Ever Book 3)

by Christy Barritt

  “Keep it steady,” he murmured.

  Nothing was steady when his arms were around me. Yet at the same time, everything was steady.

  Finally, the line broke the surf. I held my breath, waiting to see what I’d caught.

  A plastic bag full of water emerged.

  “Would you look at that?” Jackson released me and let out an amused chuckle.

  “At least it wasn’t a boot.” I continued to reel it in.

  “Well, on the bright side, maybe you just saved a sea turtle.”

  “You get sea turtles in the sound?”

  “In the winter they’ll come here for the warmer waters sometimes. If I see one, I usually call the team over at the aquarium, just to make sure the turtle isn’t injured or ill.”

  “That’s so cool . . . that you’ve found sea turtles. Not that they could be ill or injured.”

  “Down on Hatteras, sometimes you can find nests near the dunes, and if you time it right, you’ll see the babies hatch and scramble toward the sea. There’s nothing like it.”

  “I can imagine.” My hands were trembling. And it was all Jackson’s fault. He made me nervous.

  I sighed. Once I unhooked the plastic bag, I put down my rod. “Maybe I’ll take a little break and just watch the sunset.”

  “Sounds like a plan.”

  We pulled out the sandwiches I’d brought and dug in. Quietly we sat side by side and watched the smear of colors on the horizon. The clouds seemed to have coordinated with the sun, and they splayed out, giving an even more robust picture of the sunset. It was a great way to say goodbye to the day.

  Despite everything that had gone wrong, I felt happy at the moment. I actually couldn’t remember the last time I felt happy. I remembered having fun. Being flattered. Feeling excited.

  But I couldn’t truly remember feeling content.

  “You’re rubbing your scar again,” Jackson said quietly.

  I looked down, and sure enough, I was rubbing it. I quickly moved my hand.

  Silence stretched between us. Jackson wasn’t audibly asking what happened. But I could sense he wanted to know.

  I wasn’t sure why my volatile relationship with Eric was on my mind. Unless it was because of Rupert. Rupert, who reminded me of Eric and who’d brought back so many memories. Sometimes it was the unexpected triggers that affected you the most. And in this case, it was definitely true.

  Starla was the only one I’d ever talked to about the events of that day. No one else. Not the police. Not my dad. Not Zane.

  I’d told Jackson before that it was from my car accident, but he didn’t seem to believe me. It was like the man had a built-in lie detector.

  And I didn’t know why, but part of me wanted to tell Jackson the truth. He felt like someone who was safe to share it with.

  “I fell down the stairs,” I blurted before I could second-guess myself.

  “I thought it was from a car accident.”

  My arm began trembling at the memories, and I stroked Ripley to conceal the reaction. “That’s what I always tell people.”

  “Are you ashamed of falling down the stairs? Because it’s happened to the best of us.”

  I continued to stare at the sunset. “Eric pushed me.”

  Jackson released a quick breath. “What?”

  I nodded, unable to make eye contact with him. On the verge of changing my mind and claiming I was just joking. But I couldn’t go back now.

  “Our relationship was pretty volatile toward the end. I tried to talk to him about finances, but he’d been drinking. He wanted to shut me up, so he slapped me. I fell. Hit a vase on the way down. It shattered, and I cut myself.”

  “Joey . . . I had no idea.” His voice sounded hoarse, soft, angry.

  “No one does.”

  “Did you report him?”

  I shook my head. “No.”

  “You should.”

  “It’s water under the bridge now.”

  “Men like that shouldn’t get away with abusing their power.”

  “You’re right.”

  Jackson remained quiet a minute, and I could tell he was ruminating on what I said. He shook his head and said, “Yet you were in a car accident, right?”

  Memories flooded back like a dam that collapsed. “I passed out on the floor. When I woke up, I was in a pool of blood. Eric had taken my phone and left me there to deal with my injuries alone. I tried to drive myself to the hospital. Looking back, I should have probably gone to a neighbor’s. But I was embarrassed. And horrified. And . . . so many other emotions.”

  “You never reported him?”

  I shook my head. “It would have been front-page news. And there’s always a certain amount of shame that comes with something like that. I just wanted to forget it happened. That’s when I left Eric.”

  “Joey . . .” The word was full of emotion.

  I still couldn’t look at Jackson. I didn’t want to see the pity in his eyes.

  “I shouldn’t have shared any of this.” I shook my head again, desperately wishing I could hide. “I don’t know why I did—”

  He grabbed my hand and squeezed. “I’m glad you did. You don’t have anything to be ashamed of. Eric should be in jail.”

  “I just want to put it behind me.”

  Jackson didn’t say anything. He remained quiet, but I could see him thinking. I could sense that he wasn’t happy.

  Almost hesitantly, he stood and walked toward the helm. Instantly I felt alone. Almost as if Jackson recognized that, he turned and extended his arm. “Come stand with me.”

  Intrigue rushed through me. “Are you sure?”

  “Of course I’m sure.”

  I should have known. Jackson didn’t do anything he wasn’t sure about.

  I joined him at the wheel. He placed his hand on my back to steady me.

  And I realized just how appropriate that was. Jackson was always there to keep me grounded.

  He pointed to a boat in the distance. “I can’t be sure, but I think that person is taking pictures.”

  Anger flared in me. Paparazzi or stalkers?

  I didn’t know.

  As if to answer us, gunfire rang out.

  Apparently, it was neither. Also apparently, it was worse.

  Someone was shooting at us.

  Chapter Eighteen

  “Get down!” Jackson yelled.

  I fell to the bottom of the boat. There was little to conceal us out here. Just the thin wood of the boat.

  Jackson jerked the boat to the left, trying to speed away from the other boat. I wished I could tell what was happening, but I didn’t dare raise my head for fear a bullet would go through it.

  Cold water splashed as the boat swerved. The shock of the cool liquid caused me to draw in a deep breath. But that was the least of my concerns at the moment.

  “What are you doing?” I shouted.

  “I’m trying to get us back to land.”

  “You don’t want to find out who’s shooting at us?”

  “I can’t.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because there’s a hole in my boat.”

  My eyes widened as I looked down. Sure enough, water was filling the bottom. I’d assumed it had been from the steep turns, but now I saw a small hole near the bottom.

  I glanced back. We were still a good five hundred yards from land. Though the water wasn’t deep here, it was cold.

  I knew all about the dangers of cold water, and I didn’t want to think about reliving the moment when I’d nearly lost my life at the hands of a crazy criminal a few weeks back.

  Jackson shouted instructions into his phone to someone, one hand still firmly on the steering wheel. The boat moved closer to land. Would we get there in time?

  I risked glancing over at the other boat. It sped away. My heart slowed, but only for a moment.

  We were safe from flying bullets. But would we go under before we reached dry land?

  Water continued to flood the bottom. My shoe
s were now drenched. The edges of my jeans had absorbed water.

  This wasn’t good.

  It was like the Titanic all over again. Only without Leonardo and Kate. And icebergs. And a gigantic, unsinkable cruise ship.

  But still.

  “We’re almost there,” Jackson shouted over the roar of the motor.

  My first real set of nerves swept over me.

  Because someone had just stepped up their game and made it clear that the stakes were deadly.

  As we waited for the police to arrive, Jackson took me back to his place and led me inside. We hadn’t talked all that much on the way here. He’d mostly been on the phone with so many people I’d lost count.

  Inside, he led me to the bathroom. It wasn’t until we reached the door that he slid his phone into his pocket. His hand grazed my back, making each of my nerves come alive.

  “I’ll bring you some sweats and a shirt,” he said, his voice low and concerned enough to make my muscles feel like jelly. “It should get you through until your clothes dry.”

  I nodded, so cold that my bones ached. My teeth wouldn’t stop chattering, and my fingers were so numb that I hoped I’d be able to unbutton my jeans.

  Life seemed determined to kill me with water. Cold water.

  I closed the door, locked it—I wasn’t even sure why I did that—and put the toilet lid down so I’d have a place to sit. The first thing I did was remove my wet tennis shoes and socks. I could barely feel my feet.

  No sooner had I done that did Jackson knock at the door. I unlocked the door and grabbed the clothes he offered. “Thank you.”

  I quickly stripped out of my clothing and pulled on some black sweatpants and an old 5K T-shirt. The items swallowed me and engulfed me in Jackson’s clean scent.

  I decided to wear the sweatshirt he’d offered also and quickly pulled it on, hoping it would alleviate my shivers. As soon as I brought it over my head, I pulled the material to my nose and inhaled.

  I could drink in this scent all day. It was spicy and clean and masculine.

  As soon as I emerged, Jackson thrust some coffee into my hands. To my delight, I saw that he’d added creamer. I’d guess he added sugar also, but I wouldn’t know until I took a sip.

  “I started a fire,” Jackson said. “Why don’t you come get warm?”

  Before I could argue, he led me there. Ripley already lay in front of the flames. I made myself comfortable on an oversized pillow beside him.

  “You’re sure you’re okay?” Jackson had also changed into some dry jeans and a long-sleeved shirt.

  I took a sip of my coffee and nodded. “I’m fine. I promise.” I patted a pillow beside me. “Sit for a moment. Warm up before you get sick.”

  He hesitated before doing just that. The warmth I felt didn’t come just from the fire. It also came from somewhere deep inside me, a place where blissful thoughts entertained the idea of cozy romance and undying affection.

  “Claire used to love this fireplace,” Jackson started.

  My heart lurched. He didn’t talk about her a lot, but when he did, I took notice.

  “What’s there not to love?” I said. “Especially if she was here with you, right?”

  He nodded soberly. “Yeah.”

  “So you lived here?” I’d assumed he bought this place more recently.

  “We bought this when we moved back to the area. But she was so sick by then, she didn’t care about decorating. It was just a place to live. A place to . . .”

  He didn’t finish. He didn’t have to. It had been a place where she’d died.

  The thought gripped me, causing a knot in my throat.

  Before I could second-guess myself, I reached out. Rested my hand on his cheek.

  As soon as I touched him—and electricity darted through me—I realized what I’d done and tried to jerk back. Touching someone’s face was level three of personal intimacy in dating. One didn’t simply lay their hand on a man’s cheek. What had I been thinking?

  Before I could withdraw, Jackson’s hand covered mine. Our gazes met, and I sucked in a breath.

  “Joey, I—”

  Before he could finish, someone knocked at the door.

  “Jackson, it’s Danny!”

  The police were here. Of course.

  We dropped our hands, but Jackson hesitated for a minute.

  “You were going to say?” I started, anticipation sizzling through me.

  He propped a knee up, about to stand. “I was going to say: Do you realize that since I’ve met you, both my truck and boat have been totaled?”

  I released my breath. That hadn’t been what I’d wanted to hear.

  Hashtag: NHPDblueromancestorylinefail.

  After all the craziness that had happened today, I’d figured we were done. But as Jackson wrapped up things after the boat shooting, he got another call.

  “I’ve got to get out to Nags Head Woods again,” he said after he hung up.

  I straightened, still maintaining my place by the fire. “Did you find something about Cora?”

  He shook his head. “No, but there’s some strange activity going on, and they want the police to come check it out. Ordinarily we’d just send a patrol officer, but since the preserve is tied in with this case, I’m going to check it out myself. I hate to tell you that you have to leave but . . .”

  “Then don’t. Let me come.”

  He gave me the what for look.

  “I won’t get in your way. I’ll just observe.” When he didn’t say anything, I decided to try a new tactic. “Mayor Allen would approve. Hashtag: maketheouterbanksgreatagain.”

  “It’s already great.”

  “Okay, but he wants it to be greater. Or something. I’m not really sure what he’s thinking. But as long as he wants me on board, here I am, more than willing to help out.”

  He sighed. “I have a feeling if I say no, you’re just going to show up anyway.”

  “I would never.” I made an expression of mock offense.

  “Mm-hm.” He grabbed his keys. “You don’t have any time to change. You have to wear that.”

  I looked down at the oversized sweatpants and sweatshirt. “If you’re not ashamed to be seen with me in public.”

  “Because of your clothes?”

  “Ouch. You mean you’re ashamed because of who I am?”

  “That’s not what I meant. I meant I’m not the superficial type, Joey.”

  Did that mean he wasn’t the type to tell me that a makeup artist could do wonders with me? Or that the public would never think I was beautiful if they saw what I really looked like? Jackson had no idea just how much his words meant to me. I wanted someone who liked me for me, not because of what I’d done or what I could do for him.

  I cleared my throat. “Then let’s go.”

  Ten minutes later we pulled up to the preserve.

  Jackson talked with a woman at the front office who said there had been complaints that people had been in these woods past open hours. Two hikers had seen some suspicious teens in the woods as they left, and she was afraid the high schoolers might deface the property.

  That said, Jackson took his flashlight, and we started toward the woods.

  I pulled my sweatshirt sleeves down farther over my hands, suddenly wondering if this was a good idea.

  But at least I was with Jackson. When I was with him, I knew he wouldn’t let anything happen to me.

  We stepped off the road onto a narrower trail where the teens had been spotted.

  “Any word from your stalker fan club lately?” Jackson asked.

  “Not since—” I’d almost said since Elrod got the note from them, but I stopped myself. Jackson didn’t know about that, and if he did, he probably wouldn’t let me work this case. “No, not recently. Weird, huh?”

  “I’d say. But I guess that’s good news.”

  “How about my dad?” I asked, feeling as if a rock settled on my chest. “Any updates on that investigation?”

  He shook his head
. “I’d let you know if we heard anything. Don’t give up hope, Joey. I know it doesn’t look like it, but we have several agencies involved in this. We’ll find out what happened.”

  “You mean, you’ll find my dad.” I didn’t miss how he’d worded it. It was almost like he thought he’d find my dad dead. I couldn’t believe that. “Not what happened to my dad, like his life was past tense . . .”

  “That’s not what I meant.”

  I nodded, the rock pressing harder. “Okay.”

  “It really wasn’t, Joey.”

  Just then the beam of his flashlight hit something on the side of the path. “Why is there a hole there?” I asked.

  Jackson paused and knelt next to it. “Good question.”

  The hole was probably only six inches in diameter and looked rather crude.

  All of Zane’s stories about the Goat Man filled my thoughts. Even though I knew the Goat Man wasn’t real, I couldn’t help but feel uneasy. If Jackson found a small dismembered woodland creature in that hole, I was running back to the visitor center and not looking back.

  “It looks fresh,” Jackson said.

  “So teens are sneaking here to dig holes? Teen vandalism has come a long way since I was in high school. The troublemakers in my town used spray paint to get into trouble.”

  “It could have been an animal,” Jackson said, still studying the dirt. “But based on the edges, I don’t think so. I don’t see any claw marks.”

  “Weird.”

  He stood. “I’ll send someone out to look into it tomorrow. For now, let’s keep going.”

  The deeper we went into the woods, the more uncertain I felt about being here. The darkness felt palpable. Animals who called this place home skittered and scattered. The moon was only a sliver, and clouds randomly covered it, reminding me of an enchanted forest.

  I hadn’t been in the woods at night since . . . since I’d watched the horror movie The Blair Witch Project. It had done me in, and I hadn’t watched a scary movie since then.

  If anything rushed from these trees and grabbed me, I was going to lose something. My courage. My dinner. I couldn’t be sure.

  “What if we get lost?” I asked Jackson.

  “We won’t.”

  “How do you know?” Before he answered, I realized the truth. “You were an Eagle Scout, weren’t you?”