“I see. I suppose it all makes sense then.” I shifted, trying to sort out my thoughts. “Have you found Leonard yet?”
He’d been gone by the time the police arrived. Just like a ghost, he’d appeared and then vanished.
Jackson shook his head. “No, not yet. But we’re still looking, although I’m unsure if we have anything to charge him with. We have no proof that he’s broken any laws. However, I doubt you’re going to press charges on that count since he did save your life.”
“True. And we still don’t know who he was working with.”
“No, we don’t. But we’re working on it.”
“You think they sent me those letters? Left me the shoes?”
He nodded. “I do.”
I shifted. “How about Giselle?”
“A new team of US marshals are now in charge. They’re transporting her somewhere safe. Really safe this time.”
“She didn’t meet me at the pier.”
“She got spooked, she said. She thought someone was watching you.”
I heard commotion behind me and turned. Zane walked through the door and rushed toward me. When he did, Jackson released my hand and leaned back.
Zane knelt by my chair. “Are you okay, Joey?”
I nodded, grateful that he’d come and that he was okay. “Yeah, I’m fine. How about you?”
He squeezed my knee. “As long as you’re okay, I’m fine.”
“What . . . what happened?” The last thing I remembered was Zane sinking to the ground and then feeling a prick in my neck.
“I woke up handcuffed to the shower stall. Jackson showed up and found me. Apparently I’d been hit with a tranquilizer dart.”
“I guess Manson knew how to use those also?”
Jackson nodded. “Yes, he did.”
Questions still swirled in my head. “How did you find me at that old fish-processing plant?”
“When I got your text, I had my officers be on the lookout for a car matching Manson’s description. It’s a good thing I did, because we were able to trace you that way.”
“It is a good thing.”
“It was a stupid move, Joey,” Jackson said.
I nodded, unable to argue. “I know.”
“It all worked out this time, but . . .”
“I promise: I’m out of the detective business. It’s only on TV from here on out.”
Jackson nodded and stood, his earlier warmth gone and replaced with stiffness and formality. I missed his warmth.
“You going to take her home?” he asked Zane.
Zane sent an equally stiff and formal nod to Jackson. “Yeah, I got it. Thanks.”
With one more glance at Jackson, I let Zane lead me outside. As soon as we stepped into the darkness, I turned to Zane, desperately wanting the truth, even if it was right here in the middle of the parking lot, at 4:00 a.m. Today would be my day to find answers. At least, some answers.
“So really, what happened between you and Jackson?” I asked.
A shadow crossed his gaze. “You really want to know?”
“I do.”
He pressed his lips together, lighthearted Zane gone and a somber one replacing him. “He stole my girl.”
“Jackson did?”
“Yeah. He married her.”
My lips parted. “You dated his wife? The one who died from breast cancer?”
“Her name was Claire, and she was the love of my life. So be careful what you believe, because sometimes people only let you see the image of them that they want.”
I could understand that. I’d been playing so many roles for the past eight years that I wasn’t sure who the real me was anymore. Half of the people I encountered thought I was really Raven Remington. Soon, when my new movie released, the world would think I was Athena Strong.
Right now all I wanted to be was Lewis Schermerhorn’s daughter.
As we reached Zane’s van, I paused. A white piece of paper was shoved under the windshield wiper.
My heart stuttered a few beats when I saw it. As I picked up and unfolded the letter, my hands trembled uncontrollably. The words came into view, and my blood went cold
“This has been fun,” I read aloud. “Let’s do it again. We’ll make sure you come into your own and that Raven Remington is reborn through you. In the meantime, here’s a picture to hold you over.”
I glanced at the photo. It was of my father. At night. On the docks. He was meeting with someone.
I sucked in a quick breath. He was meeting with Jackson Sullivan.
The date on the bottom of the photo told me this was taken only days before my dad disappeared.
Just what was going on? And how was Jackson involved?
I would become Raven Remington if that’s what it took to find answers. I would figure out what had happened to my dad.
And that was a promise.
Coming Soon
If you enjoyed Ready to Fumble, stay tuned for
Reign of Error, releasing February 2017.
Keep reading for a preview of Joey Darling’s next adventure!
Reign of Error
Sometimes in life, you just want to yell “Take two!”
When a Polar Plunge goes terribly wrong and someone dies in the icy water, former TV detective Joey Darling wants nothing to do with subsequent investigation. But when her picture is found in the dead man’s wallet and witnesses place her as the last person seen with the man, she realizes she’s been cast in a role she never wanted: suspect.
Joey makes the dramatic mistake of challenging the killer on camera, and now it’s a race to find the bad guy before he finds her. Danger abounds and suspects are harder to find than the Lost Colony of Roanoke Island. But when Joey finds a connection with this case and the disappearance of her father, she knows there’s no backing out.
As hard as Joey tries to be like her super detective alter ego, the more things go wrong. Will Joey figure this one out? Or will her reign of error continue?
Reign Of Error
Chapter 1
“I don’t want to do this.” I rubbed my goosebump-freckled arms. I was freezing, and I hadn’t even gone in the ocean yet. Still, the churning water in the distance taunted me as if it knew the pain I was about to endure and delighted in my future suffering.
“This is going to be so much fun.” Zane Oakley, my neighbor and one of my only friends since I’d moved to the area, made peace signs with his fingers and crossed his hands together. “Hashtag: awesome. Hashtag: bucketlist.”
Of course he would say that. He lived for stuff like this. Things that stretched both the limits of the human body and all good sense. “Fun? Do I need to remind you that cold water is what killed Leonardo DiCaprio in Titanic?”
He shot me a lopsided glance. “Is that confirmed? Because I’m pretty sure he drowned.”
“Either way, cold water and the human body are not a good combination.” I shivered again as a gust of wind billowed over the area, sending with it a smattering of sand.
Sand facial, I mentally told myself. If acting and cutting hair didn’t work out, I should start a new business. Sandblasting your skin would certainly make sure it was clean.
“I’ve been practicing for this all week,” I continued, my teeth chattering.
Zane narrowed his eyes, totally unaffected by the jostling crowd all around. “Practicing how?”
“I’ve been jumping in and out of the cold shower.” And it had been painful. More like a practice in futility than preparation for this. But still, I didn’t want to look like an idiot. It was the same reason I’d had my toenails done in the winter. People would see them. Pictures could be taken. I had to be camera ready because old habits died hard.
“Jumping in the shower is dangerous. You could fall and hit and your head.”
I slapped his chest when I saw his smile. “All the things you do, and you’re going to tell me that getting in and out of the shower is dangerous?”
He shrugged. “Just trying to look ou
t for you!”
“Well, I’m glad someone has my back.”
He lowered his gaze, all signs of teasing gone. “Always.”
I swallowed hard when I saw the look in his eyes. Was I reading too much into this or did Zane like me? Like, really like me? I wasn’t sure. But I did know that the possibility both thrilled me and filled me with dread. I loved love and being in love, but I so wasn’t ready for a relationship.
“By the way, the mayor is trying to flag you down over there.” Zane nodded toward an overzealous man on a makeshift stage in the distance.
I’d been trying to avoid eye contact with Mayor Roger Allen. Ever since I’d been accused of interfering with a police investigation, he had been using my dilemma to his advantage. Instead of pressing charges, I instead had to do whatever selective community service Mayor Allen saw fit.
That selective community service always somehow involved capitalizing on my star power and using it to help promote the OBX. Since I’d come here, my goal was to remain low-key. However, that hadn’t really been working out.
Take today, for example. Did I want to host and participate in the Polar Plunge Challenge? No way.
For starters, it was February on the Outer Banks of North Carolina. The temperature outside was forty-nine degrees, and I could only imagine how cold the ocean water was. Someone had told me, but I blocked out that information.
Secondly, all my vegan/raw food/no gluten—it depended on the day—diet goals had been an abysmal failure lately, yet I had to wear a bathing suit. In public. So much for being able to bulk up in the winter, the season of oversized sweaters and forgiving jeans.
Thirdly, crowds bothered me. They had ever since two men—one of whom remained faceless—had decided to stalk me. Even worse than stalking, they’d taunted and threatened me until I played their morbid little let’s-resurrect-Raven-Remington game. I’d portrayed the invincible detective on the hit TV show Relentless for five seasons, and some fans had trouble handling the word “canceled.”
But, since I didn’t want to add jailbird to my illustrious résumé, here I was.
As I walked across the lumpy sand toward the platform where Mayor Allen stood, I glanced toward the foot of the platform and saw Jackson Sullivan standing there. He wore a heavy black jacket with the police emblem on the pocket and his customary scowl. He stood with his arms crossed, daring anyone to defy him.
My stomach turned at the sight.
We hadn’t spoken in three weeks. We hadn’t had a reason to. The last time we had seen each other was when a criminal was on the cusp of sharing information about my father, who had disappeared three months ago. Before Mr. Bad Guy could reveal anything, Jackson shot him. Granted, the man was about to shoot me. But still.
Then I’d found out that Jackson, whom I’d always assumed to be honorable, had stolen Zane’s girlfriend way back when. No honorable man would steal another man’s woman.
Jackson Sullivan was not who I thought he was, and I had two good reasons to believe that. His intense green eyes, sexy stubble, and solid, stare-worthy build wouldn’t persuade me otherwise.
I looked away from him as I greeted the mayor with a nod. “Yes, Mayor Allen?”
I was utilizing my acting skills in every way because I didn’t feel pleasant or agreeable at the moment. I nearly clasped my hands beneath my chin and fluttered my eyelashes, but I figured that would be overkill.
The jolly man grinned at me. “You ready for this? Everyone is anxious to get their plunge on.”
Get their plunge on? Oh my. It sounded even funnier because he had a lisp that reminded me of Sicilian Vizzini from The Princess Bride.
Best. Movie. Ever.
Even better, the mayor kind of looked like the character also with his short, round build and bald head.
“I’m ready.” My voice was accented with fake enthusiasm. I did not want to do this. At all.
I hated being too cold. Or too hot.
I really just liked being comfortable. But didn’t everyone? Except Zane maybe.
The mayor tapped the microphone and got the crowd’s attention. There were probably three hundred people here. Three hundred people who wanted to raise money for the local police fraternity. Which was ironic, since this was the very police department I wasn’t sure I trusted.
The mayor did an introduction before saying, “Everyone, here’s the incredible Joey Darling, star of the hit series Relentless. Let’s give her a warm Outer Banks welcome!”
I stepped up to the microphone and everyone cheered. The attention-loving side of me ate it up. Every minute. Every hand clap. Every moment of approval.
And that was what always got in me in trouble. That, and my love affair with love itself.
I offered my most camera-worthy smile to the crowd. “It’s my honor to be here today and to be able to call the Outer Banks home for the past month. The local police are a vital part of a healthy community. Even though I didn’t play an official investigator on Relentless, I did learn to appreciate the work the police do. Our local department is in need of new equipment and new vehicles, and I’m excited to say we’re freezing for a reason today. Thanks to all of you, we’ve met our fundraising goal, and it’s all because of your outstanding efforts. Without further ado, let’s . . .” I stared at the notecards that had been prepared for me by the city’s PR department. “Let’s . . . get our plunge on!”
It hurt me to say the words. But I did it anyway. Mostly because Mayor Allen was staring over my shoulder, waiting with child-like giddiness for me to read the prepared script.
Another super fortunate (not!) thing I got to do for this was to be the leader of the pack. I, like a Viking going into battle, would be the first into the bitterly frigid waters of the Atlantic Ocean. And, just like a skirmish, there would be pain involved for at least one of the parties involved. My bets were on me and not the ocean.
I removed my winter coat and revealed the one-piece bathing suit and swim shorts underneath. Immediately, I regretted all the cheeseburgers I’d been indulging in recently. I’d probably put on ten pounds. Not good.
Especially when I saw the cameras appear. The National Instigator would have a ball with this! I could see the headlines now. Joey Darling lets herself go. Joey Darling dying of mysterious illness: medication makes her look bloated. Could Joey Darling be pregnant? At the thought, my hand went to my stomach. As it did, a camera flashed.
Stupid camera.
Putting my own personal feelings aside, I tapped into my inner showman. I ran toward the crowd, giving people high fives as I did so, just like that time I’d been on Live with Kelly! Zane waited for me at the front of the pack. He would be my moral support during this. He grabbed my hand, ensuring I couldn’t escape this torture . . . er, humbling experience in fundraising?
I had to wait for everyone to disrobe. And by disrobe I meant take off their sweatshirts or coats. Some had written messages in body paint on their chest and arms. Others wore wigs and crazy hats and snorkels. Whatever floated their boat.
“Do we have to go under?” the man on the other side of me yelled over the noise of the crowd and the pulsating music in the background.
I glanced over, my teeth already chattering as another gust swept over the beach. Seagulls squawked overhead, warning us to go back before it was too late. It was true. I’d seen it once in a Disney movie.
“I’m not sure,” I told the man.
I did a double take. I recognized this man . . . from somewhere. I tried to place him. Short—probably my height of five foot six or an inch taller—with a stocky build and a buzzed haircut. Probably in his forties, he reminded me a bit of a younger Mark Hamill.
I drew a blank as to where I’d seen him before, though.
“You cut my hair two days ago,” he reminded me.
“Oh, that’s right! Fancy seeing you here!” I did remember him coming in. But business at the salon had been booming, once word had spread that I was here researching a role.
Yes, r
esearching a role. I supposed in some ways I was researching the role of a lifetime. It was a handy excuse that stopped people from asking too many questions about my true intentions for moving here and cutting hair. I didn’t want people to know the truth. No one.
He shivered. “I’m ready to get this over with.”
“You and me both. May the force be with you.”
He lowered his voice. “Be careful out there.”
His words stunned me a moment. Be careful out there? Was that a warning? Or was he simply telling me that because I was about to immerse myself in ice cold water?
I didn’t have time to think about it now. It was time for me to get started.
“Is everyone ready?” I shouted with enough fake enthusiasm that my acting coach would be so proud. Hollywood might even give me an Oscar.
Everyone cheered back.
“Then let’s do this,” I yelled. “In three. Two. One!”
I charged forward. Toward the ocean. The cold, cold ocean.
As soon as my foot hit the Atlantic, the rest of my body rebelled. It was like stepping into ice water. Or purposefully falling into a frozen pond. Or having a death wish. In Antarctica.
Why had I ever agreed to this? My dad had taught me better. If everyone else is jumping off a bridge, would you do it? Apparently, the answer was yes.
But adrenaline pushed me onward. First, my foot. Then my calf. Then my entire leg, waist, and chest. I moved as quickly as possible, even though time felt frozen.
Zane didn’t let go of my hand. It was almost as if he knew I might change my mind and run for my life. . . or at least run to Sunset Coffee Co., where anyone with good sense would be instead of here.
“This is awesome!” he yelled, like only an adrenaline junky might. Then he took a breath and dove into the water.
I could no longer feel my legs. People surrounded me. Totally surrounded me. Diving in. Screaming with elation. Shivering like mad.
Ready to Fumble (The Worst Detective Ever Book 1) Page 19