by R. T. Wolfe
It made her smile.
"How did you get that scar?" he asked, lifting his arm to her forearm as if he might touch it, then dropping his hand.
She looked up at him again. This close, she noticed his hair truly was the color of hers, minus the gray, of course. "I was doing some pontoon repairs, turned and smacked the corner of the storage compartment with my arm. You sound like my father again."
He let out a sigh and lowered his brows. "That's a problem since I plan on kissing you tomorrow after dinner." His gaze dropped to her mouth.
Dane liked to gaze at her mouth. Bad thought. Bad thought.
"Or maybe before dinner," he added without taking his eyes from her lips.
When she pulled away he looked like he was analyzing her as if she was a crime scene. She smiled, and that seemed to reassure him.
"I should call Chief Roberts."
She nodded, although she thought calling the Ibis Island Chief of Police was useless.
"But keep looking around, will you?" he asked, then took out a pair of plastic gloves from a compartment on his belt. "Here. Wear these and look through your drawers. Check to see if anything is missing, but try not to disturb anything."
* * *
Dane convinced himself driving by Zoe's for the third time this week wasn't stalking her, and it couldn't be classified under Peeping Tom. She lived alone, was female, and was attacked a few short weeks ago. He could check on the house as he drove. It was a public street.
Borderline pathetic, was what it was.
Turning the corner, he let the humid evening air blow from the open sides of his Jeep. He dodged a few potholes before slowing down.
The dance. Damned woman. It had him messed up in the head. When had she turned into such a damned sexy woman? Damned sexy, smart, screwed-up woman?
There was a car. There was a black car parked in the street in front of her house. That was a first, and like hell if he wouldn't check on her, now. Tomorrow was one of her days to walk the beach. She should be in bed soon, and yet her lights were on. All of them.
The front door was cracked open. Her windows were closed. Walking up to her house, he heard a man's voice. It didn't sound agitated, but he wasn't taking any chances. Slowly pushing the door, he stepped softly into her living room.
His shoulders relaxed when he heard her voice. And it wasn't hysterical. Except now he was standing in her living room, uninvited, and unannounced when she had a guy over.
She had a guy over?
Before he had a chance to retreat, Matt Osborne came from a back room. "I thought I heard something. It's Dane. Dane Corbin, right?"
"The door was open," Dane explained weakly. "What are you doing here, Detective? I mean, is everything okay? Is it something about the skull?"
"No, the skull case is coming along," he answered as Zoe followed him into the living room.
Dane suddenly had a bad feeling about other reasons the detective might be in Zoe's house at this hour.
Osborne kept on. "Forensics is nearly finished with it. We're hoping to go public with their findings early next week. Excuse me for being forward, but since I have a date with Zoe tomorrow night and you've walked into her house at this hour without knocking, I feel like I should ask... is there something..." He waved his hand between Zoe and Dane.
They have a frigging date?
"No!" Zoe interrupted. "I work for him."
Osborne smiled like a cop.
"Your boss comes over at this hour and walks in unannounced?"
It was a rude, arrogant smile.
Flashing red lights spun through Zoe's windows and tires crunched her drive.
"It's the IIPD, Dane," Osborne told him. "Zoe's had a break in."
"You what? Is that why he's here? Are you hurt?"
"I'm not hurt." Zoe looked to the ceiling, around, and back to him. "I don't know when it happened, honestly. It could have been anytime within the past three days."
"Your folks, now this? What are the chances of getting you to stay with Raine? Willow might need some help with Chloe. Better yet, stay at my place. I can sleep on the couch." She turned three shades of red, but she didn't answer him. The hell if he could figure out this woman.
* * *
Dane sat with Lucky at an outside table at Show Me's. It was supposed to be a quick lunch, but nothing was quick when it came to Lucky. Not quick or without a reason that would pertain to Lucky and only Lucky.
Dane didn't eat here often, but he swore every time he did, Blake Eaton had moved his outdoor seating further onto the beach. Large tile squares, set on the sand, were covered with plastic, white tables that sat four each. For the price of the food, Dane thought Eaton should spring for better seats, but it wasn't Dane's business.
The restaurant sat at the opposite end of the Island from Sun Trips. It was a favorite of the tourists, especially at sunset. Not many cared about getting sand in their shoes when they could eat with the gulf breeze and sounds of the waves providing nature's best background music.
"You can't stay holed up in this fucking prison much longer, buddy. You'll lose your touch." Six empty bottles sat in front of a large pile of shrimp skins. Lucky peeled them—heads, legs, and all—in one, swift motion, downing each enormous shrimp in one bite.
Facing the beach, Dane propped his feet on the nearest empty chair. "I've got some things to take care of."
"There's nothing left in the Gulf, dumbass. And even if there was, the state's got this water locked up so tight, you'd never get a penny."
Dane flagged their waitress, asking for their ticket as Lucky ordered another Corona.
"You're not going soft on me, are you?" Lucky asked as the waitress cleared his empties. "That sweet spot outside of Australia has more possibilities than a hundred-dollar whore. Come on, man. Days of diving and getting rich, nights of getting laid."
The shorebirds ran in and out with the waves, eating what they could before the water caught them. It was a dance between animal and water and made Dane think of dancing with Zoe.
"This wouldn't have anything to do with a cute little brunette gift shop cashier, would it?" Lucky asked as he rubbed a shrimp around in the beer sauce that oozed on his plate.
It was complicated. Lucky wouldn't understand. "It's good to see you, man, but I've got some things. Go without me."
"What the fuck, Corbin? We've been talking about that spot for years, man. What's up with you? You pussy whipped? Need permission?"
"Fuck you. I go where I please."
Lucky leaned back and took a long swig from his fresh beer. His eyes squinted as he slouched down in his chair. "You're onto something local."
Dane shook his head. "You're drunk, Lucky. You already said it. The state's got these waters tied up tighter than a docking pier in a hurricane."
"Never stopped you before."
A commotion broke out just north of them. Children squealed and half-cocked adults whooped. Then, he saw it. It happened every so often. A full-grown female loggerhead crawled its straight line from the water to deep up the beach. Shit. They were supposed to do this at night.
No one grows up on Ibis Island without knowing what to do when a turtle crawls up to lay its eggs in broad daylight. He had Ibis Island Turtle Conservation on speed dial. Which really just meant Raine's cell. She was the Principal Permit Holder for the island. In theory, she ran this beach.
She answered on the first ring. "Raine Clearwater."
"It's Dane. You've got a girl crawling up on the beach just north of Show Me's."
"Shit. I'm at the other end of the island. Get the people away from her. I'll call Zoe."
"Hello, folks!" He yelled as he jogged over to them. "I'm part of Island Turtle Patrol," he lied. It amused him the way people backed off when he used that title. He wanted to threaten them with his 9mm police issue bucket if they moved a muscle.
"What a treat we have today. Would you look at her? Now, let's all give her some room. Further, now. That's it. Keep going." He would ha
ve preferred they kept going all the way back to their condos, so he could plop down next to her and watch. But tourists were completely mesmerized with sea turtles, and who wasn't? So instead, he kept his eyes on the people, doing his best to keep the creeping feet of the crowd from getting in her way. "She might crawl pretty far, there. So, leave some headway. If we give her room, she might just lay some eggs for us."
The turtle maneuvered her flippers along the sand. Possibly, this could be her first time on land in thirty-some years.
He waved his arms and stepped in front of the few parents with unruly children. Zoe arrived on the scene not five minutes behind him. She had the t-shirt that actually read, 'Island Turtle Patrol' on the front and back. The first thing she did was assess the situation. Her expression said she approved. Kudos for him.
The second was to look at him and frown. "What are you wearing?" she asked.
Wearing? It was embarrassing when she asked it like that. He had on a pair of pants, loafers and linen shirt. "I'm working on my professional look."
"You look better in your leather necklace and khaki shorts." She turned around and dug her knees in the sand in front of the group.
He had no idea why, but it was the nicest compliment/cut-down he could remember getting. He hated wearing this shit. If he admitted it, it was because of seeing the frigging realtor, Richard Beckett, and definitely the detective with their date-that-night bullshit.
He sat back with Lucky who had switched to whiskey on ice by this time. They watched as Zoe animatedly distracted the group away from the turtle.
She pulled out some of the tiny wooden sea turtle tokens she carried with her everywhere she went and wrote on them with magic marker before passing them out to the children. The distraction was perfect.
As he watched her with all those people around her, his mind wandered to the break in. Nothing had come of it. Zoe said she noticed someone had looked through her things but swore nothing was taken. Each year the island became more and more of a tourist destination. More strangers. More rentals built where he swore nothing else could fit. The Clearwaters had better get used to changing with the times and locking their windows and doors.
Their waitress came with their check. "Isn't it fun?" she commented as she nodded her head toward the commotion. "Those tortoises bring us so much business. In July, when the babies start coming out of the ground, our boss says our lights draw them to us so the customers can pick them up. They are the cutest things you've ever seen."
Oh boy. He cringed at the thought of Raine's reaction when he told her this. And he would tell her. It made him remember her comment about the lights she'd come out here to check the other week. Ducking his head under them, he saw. No turtle-friendly amber bulbs, no cover for the tops of each, and they weren't pointing toward the restaurant but outward. What a prick.
Dane paid their bill and left before the commotion was over, although he would have preferred acting as one of the tourists, listening to Zoe's impromptu presentation. His draw to Zoe Clearwater seemed to get stronger every day. The date-that-night thing was a problem, and he needed to do something about it. Except what right did he have? Did he ever ask her out? Really ask her, not pretend by cornering her on one of his boats or making a joke about dating the help?
He needed a plan.
Chapter 9
Matt was a nice guy, Zoe reminded herself. He was attractive. He was smart, caring, and a grown up. A grown up who was an adult in more ways than just the date on his birth certificate. It was nice. There was that word again. Nice. She blamed it on her sex moratorium. Her mother was right. It wasn't healthy. She could fix that problem. Maybe even that night. Yeah, right.
They were driving to her parents' restaurant in his four-door sedan. Right up her alley. It was a Fusion. Not an obnoxious turquoise blue off-road vehicle, yet not a car that screamed, 'I live with my mother.' Zoe had been two full hours late, but it hadn't seemed to bother Matt.
Raine had called her in for an emergency. And if Raine called Zoe, it was a big emergency. Willow held more sea turtle conservation permits than Zoe did. Zoe still needed to take the classes on handling the eggs, the one for nest relocations and nest excavations, and the class for handling the hatchlings. But if Willow was working, Raine called Zoe.
It had been an adult male green turtle that the Coast Guard noticed bobbing irrationally. Greens were highly endangered, even more so than loggerheads, and Zoe wasn't about to let the little guy down. That is, the three hundred pound little guy.
The Coast Guard driver had hauled it into the back of Raine's truck, and she and Zoe drove it all the way to the Aquarium. The biologists thanked them, and Raine kept the small talk small so Zoe could get back in time to rinse the turtle smell off of her before her date.
Matt picked her up at her house like a nice—like a gentleman. "This is my parents' restaurant," Zoe said as they entered the parking lot. "My sister, Willow, works here." She remembered his mention of kissing her after dinner. Where were the butterflies of anticipation? She was turning into a prude.
"I know," he said politely.
"You know this is my parents' restaurant. You knew about the break in at my parents' home. You must be a detective."
It made him laugh. He had a great smile and a better laugh. This was turning out to be more than she expected.
They sat outside. The solid hardwood floor had a bleached tint to it. Her father said it was pickled. Her mother insisted on the linen napkins and china during dinner hours. The fresh flowers on the tables topped the atmosphere, and the amazing food made the cost worth it.
"Did you know the restaurant is called the Beachfront because when it was built, there was nothing between here and the beach?" She gestured over the white painted handrail toward the houses across the street.
"That I did not know."
"Since then, all the tree-themed streets were built; Palm Street, Pine Street, Beech Street. And then, all the rentals that line them. They're damaging the structure of the beach. Which is why the city agreed to allow the government to come in for beach restoration. Most realtors have been good about informing renters to stay off the sea oats and grasses that keep the sand from erosion... and I'm rambling."
"It's interesting. I guess we're too populated at St. Petersburg for much of this."
Willow arrived and plopped right down with them. "Phew." She wiped her forehead more due to theatrics than sweat. "Busy night. In fact, didn't you say you're planning to hit Show Me's after this?"
"I didn't say that," Zoe said, although they had, in fact, discussed it.
"It's the spot you always go. You know, the six times a year we get you out."
Yeah, because Willow never wanted to go to her place.
"Don't you have a restaurant to host?" Shoo fly.
"I'm just sayin'. I think you should hit my place. The addition is coming along nicely. It's gorgeous."
"Have you been drinking?"
"Me? Of course not. But here, let me take your empties and get you a third round. It's on me."
Zoe's second beer had only been half empty.
* * *
Three beers down—or maybe two and a half—and Zoe's lightweight self had a buzz going. Which was good, because it was officially after dinner and she truly needed to get the kissing thing out of the way.
She turned down his offer to get the car and pick her up. It was less than a block away. He held out his elbow, inviting her to curl her arm in his. How nice. Offering, but not pushing. She accepted and found it served as a stabilizer to her lightweight self's balance.
When they got to his car, he walked her to the passenger side and unlocked the door. She'd had enough. As he tried to open it for her—nice again—she plopped her butt against it and crossed her arms.
He lifted his brows and smiled. Nice smile.
She looked up to him. Way up. "You're tall."
"True."
Still nothing.
Shrugging, she grabbed him by the shirt
and pulled him down. He put his hands on her shoulders as their lips met. He closed his eyes. She wasn't about to. His lips were warm and nice. In an effort to improve this, she turned her head for a better angle. Nothing.
He pulled away first and half-squinted one eye before asking. "So, what do you think?"
Who asked what a person thought after he kissed her?
"It was nice." An honest statement.
"I thought so."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"I like you."
Uh oh.
"Don't look like that. I really like you. I can talk to you. You're smart. You know a lot about things I don't and enough about what I'm interested in I could talk to you for hours."
"You have but face."
"Excuse me?"
"You're about to say, 'but'."
His expression said she was right. "The kiss."
"It wasn't there."
"It was nice," he repeated.
"I know!" she couldn't believe he used the word. "But it wasn't—"
"Exactly. It wasn't."
"Should we call it a night?" she asked. This should feel awkward. It should be awkward, but she wasn't feeling that either.
"I'd really like to talk some more and another beer sounds even better."
"Friends?"
He held out his hand, they shook on it, and he opened the car door for her.
* * *
Dane called Willow's cell for the third time. He'd waited at the bar for two hours before graduating to the parking lot. "They're not here yet. I ran out of things to talk about with the bartender."
"I'm in the middle of clean up, Dane. They just left."
"Are you sure they're coming here?"
"No. I told them what you wanted me to say. And I'm a terrible liar. She'll know something's up."
"As long as she shows up. How did they look at dinner?"
"The same as the last time you called. Happy. Friendly. Not flirty."
"They're here. I owe you. Bye." He hung up and staged himself against his Jeep. He'd made sure not to park in new car parking so he was mostly in front of the entrance to Luciana's.
She didn't seem to notice when they pulled in the lot. It killed him not to follow Osborne's geek car to the spot where he parked. Which was in new car parking. What if they were making out before they got out of the car? A twitch started in the leg that wasn't holding up his body weight. He'd give them ten more seconds... tops.