On The Edge (9 page)

Watkins simply stared at him.

“I guess not. You see, I'm trying to figure out who the brains are behind
Save Our Wildlife
. They stand to inherit a bundle if something happens to Joss—Miss Wheeler. Of course, I intend to see that nothing happens to her.”

“Of course.”
The lawyer stood, extended his hand. “Good luck, Detective. If I can be of further help, just call.”

Jake took his time leaving. He stood, shook hands with Watkins, and slowly exited the office. Watkins watched him impatiently, which caused Jake to move even slower.

In the outer office, he stopped in front of the secretary's desk. “Betty, do you know Eugene Tuttle? The directory in the hall says he has an office on this floor.”

She squinted and thought about it. “I don't believe I do. I know most of the people on the floor. We share the elevator several times a day.”

Exactly as I suspected.
They'd become familiar with faces, then names, and would eventually know most of the people in offices around them.

“Some folks rent offices, but never move in,” Betty continued. “I've seen that several times in this building. Not sure why, though.”

“Who would I talk to, to find out if Mr. Tuttle ever moved in?”

She rifled through her desk drawer and pulled out a business card. “MDP Management handles the leases and maintenance on this building. Ask for Susie, she's a friend of mine. Tell her I sent you.”

“Thanks, Betty.” Jake smiled at her. He took the card and headed for the door. In the hallway, he punched the phone number from the card into his cell phone.

“MDP Management, Renee speaking,” a woman answered.

“May I speak with Susie, please?”

“One moment.”
While she placed him on hold, he paced the hallway, looking at suite names and numbers. The directory indicated Tuttle's office in
suite
415
, but the door there had no sign. Not that the man was even the same Eugene Tuttle as on the
Wildlife
website, but Jake suspected one hell of a coincidence.

“This is Susie,” announced a voice on the line.

“Susie, hi.
This is Detective Jake Gilford with the Kansas City Police Department. I got your number from Betty, at the law offices of Roland Watkins and Associates.”

“Sure! What can I do for you, Detective?”

“I see the name of Eugene Tuttle on the directory here, same floor as Watkins. What can you tell me about him?”

“Eugene Tuttle,” she repeated. “Let me check.”

He heard computer clicks and beeps.

“Tuttle signed the lease six months ago, for two years.”

“
Suite
415
?”

“Yes.”

He moved down the hall. “That's what the directory says, but I don't see any signs of life in 415. I'm in front of the door now. There's no name or anything.”

“Evidently, he hasn't moved in yet.”

“After six months? Isn't that strange? I can't imagine the rent is cheap here.”

She chuckled. “No, it's not. But it's not that strange. Sometimes people start a business, which doesn't work out. Then there are people who rent space to have an address, but never actually move in. We don't like that, but it happens.”

“Tuttle hasn't contacted you to get out of his lease?”

“Not that I'm aware of. I'm sure I'd know. I handle the accounts.”

“Do you know if he gets mail here?”

“I don't. We wouldn't know that. The post office might be able to help you.”

“Okay, thanks, Susie. I appreciate it.”

“You bet, anytime.”

He snapped his phone shut, shoved it in his pocket.
Next stop—post office
.

The post office clerk was not as forthcoming with information as she could have been, Jake decided. He tossed a few names around, and had to mention getting a subpoena before the woman agreed to look up the address. Mail for Eugene Tuttle's office had indeed been forwarded to a post office box, number 272, located in the substation where they stood. Security cameras covered all the boxes, but to see the tapes would require a court order.

Jake hummed as he returned to the department. He could get a court order. A long shot, but a risk he felt worth taking. Something about
Save Our Wildlife
smelled fishy. He smiled at his own pun.

He arranged for the court order, then touched base with the members of the surveillance unit scheduled to meet him at the mansion for the night. Confident their plan was in place, he signed out mid-afternoon. He'd be working all night; he wanted to take some time off before then.

He found Joss asleep on the sofa when he arrived home. He sat on the edge next to her hip, ran a hand over her hair. “Hey, sleeping beauty. I'm home.”

She stretched, yawned, but didn't open her eyes.
“Prince Charming?”

“Yep, that's me. If you keep your eyes closed, that is.”

She smiled and opened them.
“No way.
I love looking at you. I could look at you all day long.”

He leaned in, pressing a light kiss to her lips. “Gee, that sounds boring. I could think of many more interesting ways to pass the time.”

Joss slid her arms around his neck. “Tell me some.”

His mouth moved to her neck. “Do you really want to talk? Cause I can talk, if you like.”

She covered his mouth with her hand. “Don't talk. Kiss. Keep kissing, don't stop.”

He smirked and kissed his way around her neck until he reached her other ear. “Why don't we move this party to the bedroom? We can spread out, get more comfortable.”

“I'd love that, Jake, but I'm so tired. I'm not sure I can move.”

Pulling back to look at her, he frowned. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah.”
She smiled, caressing his face lovingly.

Jake gazed into her eyes. She'd been lucid since he brought her here, but now, something wasn't right.

She hiccupped and grabbed her mouth, eyes widening.

“You okay?”

“No!” Still holding her mouth, Joss made a gagging sound, and Jake rolled off in an instant. “Oh, God!” she muttered, running for the bathroom.

Right behind her, he watched her kneel in front of the toilet and throw up. She retched twice more,
then
sat on the floor. Jake grabbed a washcloth, wet it, and pressed it to her forehead.

“I'm sorry.” She sat back, clutching the washcloth to her mouth.

“No, I'm the one who should be sorry. I didn't realize kissing me might make you sick.”

“Would you stop with the teasing, already?” she muttered crankily.

“I'm sorry, Joss.
Just trying to make you feel better.”

“I need sleep. That's all it is. I'm so tired.”

“I wish you'd said something.” His voice sounded irritable now, and he knew it. “If you felt that tired, I would have never started anything.”

“Don't snap at me!” She stood, washed her face at the sink,
then
rinsed her mouth.

“I wasn't snapping. What the fuck is up with you?”

“That's not snapping?” Joss marched from the bedroom to the kitchen. She threw open the refrigerator and pulled out a pitcher.

“What is that?” He followed, even more irritated.

“What the fuck do you think it is? Sweet tea, same as I always drink.” She grabbed a glass and poured the tea into it. She downed half of it.

His mind raced. When he'd removed the tea bag to take it to the lab, he thought it'd been the last one. She must have had another.
Damn it!
Apparently, she'd brought it with her at the same time she picked up her car and a suitcase full of clothes. “Take it easy on that stuff. I think it's making you sick.”

“You're full of shit. I've been drinking my mama's sweet tea since I was a baby.” She eyed him defiantly and drained her glass.

“Okay, you know best.” He raised his hands, turned, and strolled off to the bedroom. He changed and glanced at his watch. He had some time to kill before meeting the team at seven. He'd see if Joss was hungry, and grab a bite to eat before going back to the mansion.

Joss crawled into his bed and burrowed under the covers.

He stood beside her, wanted to reach out, but didn't. “Will you be okay?”

“Yes. Go away, Jake.”

“I assume you don't want anything to eat.”

“Go away!” She covered her head with a pillow.

Frustration washed over him, but he held his tongue. Unsure what to say, he headed for the door, grabbed his jacket and keys, then left.

“Jake,” she called after him.

He stopped and looked back.
“Yeah?”

Joss peered at him with glassy, frightened eyes. “Fix this.”

“I will,” he assured her with more confidence than he felt. Positive he could fix the house, praying he could fix her.

Chapter Eight

The surveillance team arrived sharply at seven p.m. They wanted some daylight to search the house before the show started. Jake watched them enter, man after man, carrying briefcases loaded with special equipment. “Christ,” he muttered to Roy, the group leader, shaking his head. “You have more shit than those
Ocean's
Thirteen
guys.”

“Of course, we do.”
Roy
grinned, teeth pearly gleamed white against his dark skin. He opened his briefcase, lined with techno-gadgets. “We're the good guys. We've got digital recorders, heat sensors, infrared lights, sound receivers…you name it. The only thing they got going for them is Julia Roberts.”

“And George Clooney,” one of
Roy
's team commented, stopping to give an exaggerated shake of his hips before moving on.

“Depends which way your door swings, I guess,”
Roy
replied, winking at Jake.

“Hey, I like George Clooney,” Jake joked.

Shaking his head,
Roy
shoved a box into Jake's hands. “Take this to Timmy upstairs.”

“Which one is Timmy?”

“Walk up the stairs and say, 'Timmy?' He'll let you know.”

“Yes, Boss.” Jake did as
Roy
advised, and a big, burly fellow poked his head around the corner.

“Yep?”

“Here you go.” He handed the box over.

“Thanks.” Timmy disappeared.

Jake wandered from room to room.
These guys know their stuff.
Each of them went to work. They seemed to know exactly what to do, which impressed him. If this team didn't find something, there was nothing to be found.

They settled into position by eight-thirty, with Jake and Roy pacing the front room. “Who lived here?” the tall man asked, touching the head of the stuffed bobcat.

“Edward Cooper. Some big shot insurance investigator in his day. Apparently he loved hunting big game animals and spent his vacations on safaris in
Africa
and various places.”

“His daughter inherited the place?”

“That's right.”

Roy
gave another glance around.
“She as kooky as her old man?”

“Joss?”
Merely mentioning her name caused Jake to smile. “No, she's great.”

“Uh oh.
I know that look. You're falling for her.”

Jake scanned the room; they were alone. He lowered his voice. “Well, sort of.”

“Sly dog.”
Roy
chuckled. “This place is worth a bundle. You're making nice with the rich woman.”

“No!” Jake muttered, shocked. That hadn't occurred to him. Of course, Joss would inherit money. That had nothing to do with how he felt about her. Obviously, it didn't appear that way from the outside. He tried to explain. “It's not like that. Joss is special. She's beautiful, smart,
funny
—”

Roy
's radio
crackled,
and he held up a finger. “
Roy
here,” he spoke into his collar microphone.

“Team
One
, checking in.” Another voice followed, “Team Two, checking in.”
Then a third, “Team Three, all clear up here.”

“Roger that. Out,”
Roy
responded and looked at Jake. “It's eight-forty-five. We touch base on the quarter hour.”