On The Edge

by Hill, Jamie

  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.”

  Jake nodded, still trying to defend himself. “It's really not like that, Roy.”

  The detective shrugged. “If you say so, man. No skin off my back.”

  “Tell me something,” Jake said, his mind running through scenarios. “Maybe I'm being naïve, but I just keep wondering. Why would a wealthy white man have an affair with a black woman and, once he discovered she was pregnant, abandon her?”

  Roy laughed. “Why wouldn't he? Did you hear yourself? Wealthy white man thinks he can do whatever the hell he pleases—he can do whomever the hell he pleases, for that matter. Black woman, probably poor, some type of service worker—”

  “A waitress at the time, now she's a nurse.”

  Roy nodded. “Think about it, man. Most people are assholes.”

  “I just don't get it. How could a man ignore a kid he created?” Jake shook his head. “I could never do that, not in a million years.”

  “What do you see when you look at me?” Roy asked.

  Jake shrugged. “A nice guy. Good cop. Hair's a little thin, so you shave it for that Michael Jordan look…” He grinned, and Roy laughed.

  “Son-of-a-bitch,” the man joked, then got serious. “That's just you, Jake. Most people see a black man. Lots of folks are scared of me before they find out I'm a cop. They see a big, bald, black dude. But you just see the dude, don't you?”

  He shrugged again. “I've always been that way. Make's a rat's ass to me what color your skin is. Treat me right, and I'll treat you right.”

  Roy nodded, then said, “This Joss, she a dark-skinned girl?”

  “Fairly. Her old man was white, so you know, medium.”

  “If you're going to be with her, you gotta expect prejudice. Some people aren't going to like her, or accept her...or her little nappy-headed kids. Cause even though they're half yours, the African-American in them is going to shine through. Count on it. There'll be people who won't like it. That's just the way life is.”

  “Not my life,” Jake said simply.

  Roy smiled. “She's a lucky woman.”

  The sound of a freight train barreled through the living room, and the men jumped. “Here we go!” Jake shouted.

  “Stay close, but outta my way!” Roy bounded to the stairs.

  Jake followed, and they tracked the source, ending up in Joss's room.

  “It's in the ceiling!” one of the men shouted. The team focused their equipment there, all in agreement.

  Jake watched each man test for something different. He recognized the sound receivers, heat sensors, and infrared lights, but many more of the devices, he didn't know.

  Roy turned to him, yelling, “There might be an easier way to get to it, but the fastest way is to take out the ceiling. It'll be messy.”

  “Do it!” Jake yelled back.

  As men moved into place and swung axes, Jake looked up at the ceiling. Sheetrock and dust poured down around them. Something white floated down the hallway. Jake caught a glimpse in his peripheral vision.

  He ran to the doorway in time to see the white filmy vision ascend the stairs. Jake was torn—he glanced back to where the men had hoisted themselves up, searching the ceiling, and decided they could manage without him.

  The train whistle sounded, almost piercing his eardrums. He raced for the stairs, took them by twos, and glanced around. He spotted one open bedroom door and decided to start there.

  At the doorway, a blast of cold air hit him in the chest. He immediately saw that the third-floor window stood open. Rushing to it, he skidded to a stop as he noticed the apparition through the window. He rubbed his eyes and looked again.

  Joss teetered on the edge of the sloped roof, three stories above the ground. She wore a billowy white nightgown that wafted around her ankles and bare feet. Her hands covered her ears.

  “Jocelyn,” he called carefully, anxious not to startle her. The concrete driveway circled in a wide span below, a long way down. If she fell, she couldn't miss it. She won't fall. He couldn't let her.

  Leaning out the window, he shouted, “Hey!” The rumbling racket of the train made normal speech impossible.

  She didn't face him. Standing on the slanted, uneven shingles of the old roof, Joss wavered. She wobbled, and his heart clutched.

  “Joss!” he yelled at the same time the house went silent.

  She whirled around, startled, and stared at him with sunken, glassy eyes. “What the—”

  “Don't move!” he called, reaching for
her.

  “Jake!” She screamed, took a step, and fell.

  He lunged out of the window in a desperate grab. He made contact with a handful of soft fabric—her nightgown. Hanging on with all his strength, he inched closer as the fabric made small ripping sounds. “Joss!” He didn't recognize the voice as his own. He froze, terrified—more frightened than he'd ever been in his life.

  He couldn't see her. All he had was one handful of cotton. He reached over the windowsill, struggling to grab any body parts, an arm, a leg, anything. There was nothing.

  The gown split, making another tearing sound—a noise much worse than anything the mansion had thrown at him so far. He inhaled, focused his energy and dove forward, capturing her foot.

  “Joss!” Relief washed through him. He had her. They both might go out the window, but he would not let go.

  “What the hell?” Roy hollered from behind him, and suddenly three men filled the space of the window.

  Someone pulled Jake back into the room, while he still held her foot. Two officers lifted an unconscious Joss through the window.

  He could have wept with relief. “Joss!” He scooped her into his arms, laying her gently on the bed. “Sweetie, wake up.”

  She didn't respond.

  “Timmy, call an ambulance,” Roy ordered. “Tell them her breathing is erratic, we don't know much else.”

  Jake dropped to the bed next to her, feeling her pulse, checking her airway.

  “She's breathing on her own, that's a good thing,” Roy observed. “We'll keep her warm until the paramedics get here.”

  “Yeah,” Jake agreed, pulling the coverlet off the opposite side of the bed and throwing it over her. He stared at her for a minute, remembering how frightened and disheveled she'd looked standing on the roof.

  “What the hell was she doing?” Roy asked.

  “She's sick.” It was the only answer he could offer. The only justification he could find. The tea bags. He'd taken one to the lab yesterday. They told him it would take forty-eight hours for the results. He'd call them and put a rush on it. The goddamned Chief would call them if necessary. He needed to know the contents of that tea bag.

  “You saved her life.”

  “I don't know about that.” Jake hesitated. He couldn't allow himself to imagine what might have happened.

  “You did.” Roy put a hand on his shoulder. “I still say she's a lucky woman.”

  “Thanks.” Jake stroked her forehead. In the distance, a siren wailed. It reminded him, and he glanced up. “Did you find anything in the ceiling?”

  “Oh yeah!” Roy's face lit up. “The most sophisticated piece of sound equipment I've seen in a long time. It plays thirty tracks of music, or in this case, noise and sounds. A person can set the schedule, duration, whatever they want.”

  “Son-of-a-bitch!” Jake marveled. Thrilled they discovered it, the why still loomed over him. “What's a piece of equipment like that normally used for?”

  “It's essentially a programmable PA board. There are plenty of reasons someone would use one of these things. It might be used in a recording studio, or making the soundtrack to a movie. Hell, I can even see a DJ using it to set up a string of tunes at a dance.”

  “A DJ,” Jake repeated, setting his jaw. Devon Watkins, the lawyer's son, worked for Starlight Music, a business that provided DJs for various events. Isn't that an interesting coincidence?

  Two paramedics carried a gurney through the door, and Jake stood.

  “Any change?” the female emergency technician asked, assessing Joss.

  “No.” He watched them move her, strap her to the back board, and take off.

  “Which hospital are you taking her to?” He followed them to the ambulance.

  “Mercy is closest,” the woman replied as they climbed in.

  He nodded. “I'll meet you there.” Jake closed the big metal door and slapped it. The driver took off, lights and sirens blaring.

  “I hope she's all right,” Roy said.

  “Thanks.” Jake glanced around. “I need to get to the hospital.”

  “I'll handle the house. I'm taking the digital PA board to the station to test for fingerprints and anything else we might find.”

  “Sounds good. Thanks, Roy.” Jake shook his hand. He made a dash for his car, tossed a portable, magnetic beacon light on top, then sped off. Joss will be okay, he repeated, over and over to himself. She has to be okay.

  Chapter Nine

  While doctors examined Joss at the hospital, Jake filled out the obligatory forms. Embarrassed, he realized how little he knew about her. He paced the halls for an hour, sipped coffee, and prayed to a God that hadn't heard much from him recently.

  Finally, a doctor in scrubs entered the waiting room. “Jocelyn Wheeler?”

  “Yes.” Jake sprang from his chair.

  “You family?”

  He hesitated. “I'm her, uh, boyfriend.”

  The doctor glanced around. “No family here?”

  Jake set his jaw. “I'm also a police detective, and she's a witness in a case we're working. You can tell me her condition.”

  The doctor frowned.

  “I could make a phone call. Wake up a judge and get him to sign a court order. They're pretty friendly when we wake them in the middle of the night.”

  “I couldn't care less about your threats, Detective. But if you're close to the woman—”

  He sighed. “I am. I'm sorry, Doc. It's been a long night. I'm extremely worried about her.”

  The doctor's face softened. “She's unresponsive. Her vitals are stable; we're not too concerned there. But it's why she's unconscious that's a mystery. We're running some tests to find out.”

  “She was drugged,” Jake said without thinking. He had no proof, nothing to back up the statement, but he believed in his heart it was true. “She's acted strangely this past week, sometimes tired, sometimes almost manic. I took a special homemade tea bag of hers to the lab to be tested. I should get the results tomorrow.”

  “You really think that's it?”

  “I'm convinced of it. She drank that tea nonstop, morning to evening.”

  “We need to know what the lab finds, the sooner the better. Any way to get those results sooner?”

  “I'll call when the lab opens at eight.”

  “Make sure they realize it's a matter of life and death.”

  Jake's heart froze and he gulped. “I will. Can I see her?”

  “For a few minutes. She's in the intensive care unit; visitors are allowed ten minutes every hour.”

  “Thank you.” Jake followed the doctor to where Joss lay. Hooked up to monitors and machines, she looked small in a bed that really wasn't that large, her skin unnaturally pale. He sat beside her, grasped her hand, and held it to his cheek. “I'm here, baby. I know you can hear me. You've got to hang in there, Joss. Be strong. We'll figure out what's wrong; the doctors will make it better. I promised you I'd fix this. I promised…” He broke down, tears streaming down his face.

  He couldn't remember the last time he'd cried, but at that moment, he didn't care. Jake buried his face in the bed, squeezing her hand. I let you down. She'd almost died because he hadn't handled things. He closed his eyes and sobbed.

  * * * *

  Someone touched his shoulder, and he jumped.

  “Time to wake up,” a nurse said gently.

  “Wake up?” Jake bolted upright. His back kinked. How long have I been leaning over the bed like that? Morning sun streamed through the window. He glanced at Joss. She looked the same.

  “Her condition is unchanged,” the nurse offered.

  Jake stood up and stretched his back.

  “Sorry if your back is stiff, we let you sleep. We figured it was the best thing for both of you.”

  “I thought you had rules about ICU visitors.”

  “We do. But it was the middle of the night. The doctor went home. Besides, nurses run the hospital.”

  “Thank you.” Jake smiled at her. “So,
no change?”

  “Nothing yet.”

  He checked his watch—seven-thirty—the lab opened at eight. He pulled a business card from his wallet and circled his cell number. “I'm going to leave for a while. If she wakes, or there's any change, could you please call me?”

  “Sure, Detective. Does she have any family we can get in touch with?”

  “Her mother's in New Orleans. I'll track down her number and call.” He placed a kiss on Joss's forehead then headed home to shower and change.

  His mind in a fog, he hoped a shower would help. It at least gave him time to make a mental list of things to do. He always worked better with a list.

  With half a bagel and a cup of coffee in him, he dressed and searched the house for her cell phone, assuming her mother's number would be in it. He couldn't find Joss's purse, or her phone. They could be in her car, probably parked at the mansion. He hadn't noticed it last night, but it had to be there.

  Jake drove to the house and found her car, unlocked. He rifled through it until he found her purse under the passenger's seat. The phone was there, and he searched through it for her mother's number. When he found it he hesitated then shut the phone off. He needed to call the lab and put a rush on the test results first. It'd be better to have something concrete to tell her mother, rather than the fact that Joss was simply unconscious for no reason. Hoping he'd made the right choice, he decided to wait and call her when he knew something.