Disengaged (Terms of Engagement Book 3)

by Melissa R. L. Simonin

ROB carried the two steaming mugs of coffee to the cabin’s sitting area, and set them on the coffee table. Samantha was silent, intent on listening to the person on the other end of the phone she held in her hand, so he returned to the kitchen and took stock of their food stores.

  The rest of the cabins didn’t provide the bountiful supply he was expecting, which gave pause for aggravation, as well as alarm.

  He watched the whirling snow on the other side of the kitchen window, and his forehead creased with concern.

  How many feet did the sky intend to drop? At this rate, even if the storm passed, no ordinary vehicle would be able to get through and rescue them. Not until the snow melted significantly. While that was a guarantee of more time alone with the wife he was desperate to win back… it also meant their food supply would be exhausted before help could arrive.

  He sighed quietly, then retrieved the box of sugar cookies and a couple of packages of trail mix. Between his early start and the exertion, he was starving. In spite of the need to ration, he couldn’t afford to lose his strength. He had to be ready to hike to the lodge, if the opportunity arose.

  There were no foodstuffs in its kitchen, but in the lobby and on each landing, there were vending machines, fully loaded. There was a pro-shop, stocked with protein mixes, trail mixes, and granola bars. It also had snowshoes, skis, snow boots, and other cold weather gear. He glanced at Samantha as he considered that. Even if the storm ended, and a rescue copter landed in the future parking lot of the lodge… Samantha would need adequate clothing in order to make it there. She’d need more than the robe she was wearing, no matter how they were rescued.

  Rob carried the packages of food and set them on the coffee table, then joined Samantha on the couch.

  “Thank you for your help,” she said, then tapped the screen of Jess Stilton’s phone, to end her call. She looked up, and accepted the coffee Rob offered her. “Thanks, this smells really good.”

  “The creamer is instant,” he warned her, as she took a sip.

  “It’s wonderful,” she assured him. “I just spoke with a girl at Granite Solutions, that was their number. She said Jess Stilton works for Amos Burns.”

  “Now we’re getting somewhere,” Rob said, his eyes lighting with interest.

  “She also said Amos Burns works for Robert Sherman, and Andrew Whitman.”

  “Both are on the list Grampa came up with. This is great! I’m sure we’re on the right track,” he enthused.

  “So am I, even though we know from the call log that Jess Stilton isn’t the one who called and cancelled orders.”

  “The other guy, Randall Jerome, could’ve done that. Or Burns. We’re on the right track.”

  “So, on to email?” she asked.

  “On to email,” Rob agreed.

  AMBER opened the door to the model home, and waved to Erik. He waved back, so she made a face, and shooed him away. He smiled and pulled out of the driveway, and onto the street. Satisfied, she turned back to the house.

  Warm, cinnamon-scented air greeted her as she stepped inside. She stomped her feet to rid her boots of snow, then removed her coat and gloves, as she took in her surroundings.

  Despite the vaulted ceiling and open floorplan, the gas-logs which burned in the fireplace at the other end of the living room, and the autumn-inspired hues with which the house was predominantly decorated, made for a cozy atmosphere.

  A rusty orange, overstuffed couch, and two red and gold striped chairs, faced the dark wood armoire centered on the left wall of the main room. A hall, and several doors, occupied space on both sides. Beyond the breakfast bar on the right, a sunny kitchen was visible. Through the French doors at the opposite end of the room, she caught a glimpse of a snow-covered porch and yard.

  Amber draped her coat over her arm, and stepped off the tile and onto the thick Berber carpet.

  “Hello?” she called, as she slowly wandered through the living room.

  She heard a door swing open, and rapid footsteps approaching. Amber turned and looked down the brief hall to the left of the front door. A girl who didn’t look any older than herself, smiled apologetically as she hurried to join her.

  “I’m so sorry, I was on the phone… I knew someone was here, I heard you pull up,” the girl said, as she ran out of breath. She seemed eager to please, and anxious not to inconvenience. This, Amber could work with.

  “Do you always go out in the garage to talk on the phone?” Amber queried.

  “What? Oh, no,” the girl laughed. “It’s not really a garage. Not yet. I mean, it will be, someday, when all the houses are built, and the models are listed… It’s the office. For now.”

  “Really? That seems like awfully harsh working conditions, for anyone other than a mechanic,” Amber grimaced.

  “No, it’s a real office,” the girl insisted brightly. “It even has windows. You’d never know you were in a garage at all, if it wasn’t for the garage doors. And those are insulated.”

  “I’m sure you’re glad of that, on a day like this,” Amber commented.

  “Yes, I am,” the girl replied, her gaze following Amber’s to the window-framed view of the snow-covered outdoors.

  “Why not a home office, if it’s really necessary to have one. It doesn’t seem like there’d be enough paperwork to justify more than space at the kitchen table,” Amber remarked.

  “Oh, but it is necessary,” the girl said, her eyebrows knitting with sincerity. “The office has to be at least a little quiet, with some privacy. You wouldn’t want to be interrupted when going over the terms of a contract. The files have to be stored somewhere, and the builder needs a place to hold meetings, sometimes.”

  “That’s interesting, I assumed the builder would have a real office in an office building, somewhere,” Amber commented. If she didn’t change the subject soon, the other girl might start to wonder why she was so fixated on the office. But for now, her only concern seemed to be in answering Amber’s questions.

  “It wouldn’t make sense to rent space and set up an office in a building, since the builder’s never in one place for long,” the girl reasoned.

  Amber knew why. She wondered if this girl did.

  “That’s rough. So when he up and leaves, you’re out of a job?”

  Concern shadowed the girl’s eyes briefly, then she tossed it aside.

  “I’ll find another. Or maybe I’ll have my real estate license by then.”

  “I thought you were the realtor.”

  “I wish! But no, I work in the office. Answer phone calls, schedule meetings, do the filing, and listen for visitors when there’s no one else here. I’m Brooke, by the way.”

  “It’s nice to meet you. I’m Amber,” she smiled, then her forehead furrowed slightly. But not too much, she didn’t want to look overly concerned. “So there are no realtors? What do people do when they want to look at houses? Or buy one?”

  Brooke glanced at her watch, and her eyebrows knit.

  “We’ve got realtors, but I don’t know when they’ll be in…”

  Amber glanced at her watch, and bit her lip.

  “I could wait, I guess. For a while, anyway.”

  “Okay… or maybe I can show you around,” Brooke said hopefully.

  “Alright, sure,” Amber replied pleasantly, and not at all as if what she really wanted, was a chance to search through the files in the office.

  “Great!” Brooke beamed. She cleared her throat, stood taller, and assumed a professional demeanor. “La Centerra is the best of both worlds. Situated in a peaceful neighborhood, it’s also conveniently located within minutes of a variety of shopping and dining opportunities. La Centerra is part of the Sierra School District, and within walking distance of Grady Elementary. We offer three spacious floorplans. What are you looking for in a home, Amber?”

  What was she looking for in a home?

  “A yard would be great,” Amber replied, seizing on the first thought that came to her.

  “All of the houses in the La
Centerra subdivision come with yards,” Brooke said with enthusiasm. “How many bedrooms are you looking for?”

  “Two, for sure. Maybe three,” Amber answered glibly.

  “Two of our models are three-bedroom. This is one of them,” Brooke assured her. She motioned for Amber to follow. “Over here, we have the kitchen…”

  ERIK listened, as Brooke led Amber on a tour of the home. He glanced at his watch, and settled back in his seat. From the sounds of it, this might take a while. He wondered if Amber thought the girl had information relevant to the sabotage at Pine Mountain, or if she was waiting in the hopes that someone else would show up.

  All he was sure of, was that she did have a plan, and he had nothing else to do but wait for a call from the woman at the railway storage facility business office.

  He watched as the door to the model home opened, and a young woman walked out, followed by Amber. He watched, and listened, as they followed the walkway to the next model. Amber didn’t so much as glance in his direction, which didn’t surprise him. The other woman, Brooke, opened the door, and she and Amber disappeared inside the house.

  A tone alerted Erik that he had an incoming call. The number for the storage facility’s business office was displayed on his screen. He glanced at the door of the second model, and answered.

  “This is Erik.”

  “Hello, Erik, this is Amanda Beverly with Railway Storage, returning your call.”

  “Hi Amanda, thanks for calling me back. I was told you were the woman to talk to about Railway Storage’s bins. I’m specifically interested in number seventeen. Is it currently available?”

  Erik heard the tap of a keyboard.

  “I’m afraid not… seventeen is being leased at this time. If you can do with a slightly smaller unit, we do have number twelve available.”

  “Thank you, I’ll keep that in mind. What I’m more concerned with at the moment, is determining who seventeen is leased to, how many keys there are to the unit, and where those keys are. It was discovered last night that an order of granite belonging to Davison Construction was taken there, and left inside.”

  “How… do you know this?” Amanda Beverly asked slowly.

  “Eli and Albert from Allied Security were on duty last night. They’ll confirm what I’ve told you. Davison Construction is my company, and the granite is back in my possession. Now I’d like to know who intercepted it, and left it in bin seventeen.”

  “Other than our office, and security—one moment, please,” she said.

  The dubiously easy listening music on the other end of the phone, signaled to Erik that he was on hold. He gave the door of the model home another glance, and tapped the screen of his phone to return to Amber.

  “—can always do upgrades later, but the space, you either start out with it or you don’t,” Brooke said earnestly.

  “You’ve got a good point,” Amber contemplated.

  “So if it was me, then I’d choose the bigger lot—”

  Erik switched back to his call with Amanda Beverly, and prepared to wait.

  ROB selected Erik’s number from his contacts list, and held the phone to his ear. He listened for a moment, then tapped to end his call. He tried a second time, then set his phone aside.

  “It’s busy.”

  “Oh,” Samantha said, frowning a little. “Have we lost phone service?”

  “We’ve still got internet, so it’s more likely that he’s on the phone with one person, and has another on hold,” Rob replied. “I’ll try again in a couple of minutes.”

  “Should you leave a message? Or send a text?” Samantha asked in concern. “This could be important.”

  “It is. It would simplify Erik’s investigation if he knew what we know, and that he should focus on Burns and Whitman. But I wouldn’t call it an emergency. He may waste a few minutes in unnecessary phone calls, but that’s the worst that can happen.”

  AMBER took in the details of the two-story home, as she followed Brooke up the stairs to the second floor.

  “The washer and dryer are located on the same floor as the bedrooms and the two full baths,” Brooke pointed out, as they walked past. “That’s a lot more convenient than having to cart all the laundry up and down the stairs.”

  “Yeah, it would be. So who actually builds the houses? How does this work, exactly?” Amber asked, pausing to look out the window.

  Behind the house, four others were in various stages of completion. A couple of trucks were parked in one of the driveways. Two men carried a ladder through the front door, while another followed with a piece of equipment Amber was unfamiliar with. In spite of the closed windows and the distance, she heard the ring of a hammer, and the voices of the workmen as they spoke rapidly to one another. The buzz of a power tool erupted, drowning out the rest.

  Brooke followed her gaze.

  “First of all, there’s the builder. He’s the one in charge. Then there are different crews responsible for the various aspects of construction, such as plumbing, and electrical. Flooring, roofing, painting, heating, cooling… there are a lot.”

  “With that many people involved, how do you ensure the work is done right? It seems like there would be a lot of room for slacking off, without anyone knowing.”

  “I suppose, but each crew has a foreman. He oversees the work. And then Mr. Whitman, he oversees everything.”

  “Mr. Whitman? Who’s Mr. Whitman?” Amber asked, as if she didn’t know.

  “Oh, why Mr. Whitman is the developer. The builder,” Brooke answered.

  “Mr. Whitman…” Amber said thoughtfully, then her eyebrows knit. “You don’t mean Andrew Whitman… do you?”

  “Yes, that’s right,” Brooke nodded, her own eyebrows knitting. “Do you know Mr. Whitman?”

  Amber’s eyebrows rose, as if distancing herself from the subject.

  “Uh, yeah. Andrew Whitman is known for starting a building project, then pocketing payment, and leaving the bills for materials and services rendered, unpaid.”

  “Oh… no, I can’t imagine Mr. Whitman doing such a thing,” Brooke frowned, but her eyes held more concern than they did certainty.

  “Do a search on him, and you’ll see for yourself. Do a search on the name of his current business, and you won’t find a thing. After going bankrupt in one location, he moves to greener pastures, starts a new company, and does the same thing all over again.”

  “That’s terrible,” Brooke said, her concern deepening. She looked as though she was reviewing the past in light of this revelation.

  “It is. It’s crazy the kinds of things that go on. There was one guy, he bought off a city inspector, so he would grant permits for substandard work. Then there are the people who do substandard work.”

  “No wonder buying a house is so stressful!” Brooke declared. She glanced out the window again, and her eyes widened at the sight of the man approaching the backdoor.

  “Who is that?” Amber wondered.

  “That’s Mr. Whitman.”

  ERIK watched the front door of the model home. There was no sign of Amber, but it was a decent size house. It would take several minutes to view the entire thing.

  The strains of music emitted by his phone were replaced by static, then a click.

  “I’m sorry to keep you waiting,” Amanda Beverly said. She sounded tense, harried, and apologetic.

  “That’s quite alright. I’m sure you’re as anxious to get to the bottom of this as I am,” Erik replied.

  “Yes. Aside from the key assigned to security, and the key in the main office, only the bin lessee has access to either bin, or key. I spoke with the men on duty yesterday. The man who stored your granite in bin seventeen, had a key. Since it was not security’s, and it was not the one here in my hand, it could only be the lessee’s key.”

  “And who is the lessee?” Erik asked.

  AMBER watched Andrew Whitman with interest, as he approached the back of the house. Tall, dark-hair, he was probably in his late forties, or early fif
ties. He looked cocky, self-assured, and arrogant.

  She felt like taking the man down a few notches. But, then she remembered Erik was on the other end of the line. She’d rather jump out the window, than give him a reason to be disappointed in her again. She didn’t want to worry him, either.

  But, that didn’t mean she couldn’t talk to the guy.

  Andrew Whitman reached the back steps.

  Amber turned to Brooke.

  “I’d like to meet the builder. I can’t feel comfortable considering a purchase, otherwise.”

  Brooke looked worried.

  “You’re not an investigative reporter, are you?” she asked quietly. Amber laughed.

  “No, I’m not a reporter,” she replied. Although she was investigating.

  “Oh… okay,” Brooke said.

  Downstairs, the door opened.

  Amber led the way back to the first floor. As they descended the gradually curving staircase, the back of the house came into view.

  Andrew Whitman paused and looked up.

  “Mr. Whitman…” Brooke said, hurrying past Amber. “Hi, I’m, uh—this is Amber, she wanted to look at the houses. She’s in the market for a home, I mean, and all the realtors were out…”

  “Hello, Mr. Whitman,” Amber spoke with confidence, which was something poor Brooke seemed to have lost. “I’m Amber Fields, and as Brooke said, I am looking into the purchase of a house. She’s been kind enough to show me around the models.”

  Andrew Whitman gave her a look that was curious, condescending, and not at all appreciated. Amber tilted her chin, and countered. The level of condescension in her blue eyes was enough to drop most mortal men to peasant status. Andrew Whitman had far more self-assurance than was befitting a mere mortal. She didn’t entirely scorn it out of him, but he felt decidedly challenged.

  Andrew Whitman smiled. He did love a challenge.

  “How do you do, Miss Fields,” he stepped forward and offered her his hand.

  Amber reached out and gave it a firm shake. She was thankful she still wore her gloves, she’d as soon touch a snake with her bare skin.

  “I do very well, Mr. Whitman,” Amber replied. She beat Whitman to the punch and chose one of the family room chairs, then motioned for him to take the other.