relieved. He liked to see her happy, not melancholy.
Joss wiped her hands on a napkin and moved behind him, slipping her arms around his neck. She laid her head on the back of his shoulder. “I'm not going to ask about your last girlfriend. I might not like it. I should warn you, I have this little jealous streak.”
He leaned back into her. “Good to know. You've got nothing to worry about, beautiful. I'm faithful to the core, a real one-woman man. And it excites the hell out of me to think that you're my one woman.”
“Me too, baby,” she said softly, rocking against him. “I just wish that other stuff was behind us. I'm afraid to go back to the house, Jake. Something's not right there. It frightens—no, terrifies me.”
He moved one hand to cover hers. “You don't have to go back. I've decided to enlist some help from the department, to get things over with faster. I'll make arrangements tomorrow. But you should stay here. Don't go back, Joss.”
“I won't,” she agreed, hugging him. “I'll stay right here.”
Chapter Seven
Jake tugged uncomfortably at the collar of his shirt. Even after eight years on the police force, he'd never gotten used to wearing neckties. There was no getting around it in the uniformed division, but once he became a detective, he saved ties for special, or necessary, occasions.
He always wore a suit coat and kept a tie stuffed in the pocket just in case. A sharply dressed detective with a badge clipped to his jacket usually achieved better results than a laid-back one. Jake fidgeted with the tie again. Roland Watkins hadn't sounded pleased to take his phone call, even less thrilled to make an appointment to meet. The lawyer seemed to be playing head games, making him wait.
From his seat in the outer office, Jake could see through the glass window panel beside the front door. In the hallway hung a plaque with a directory of people who had office space on that floor. Of the twenty names listed, one jumped out at him. Eugene Tuttle.
Where have I heard that name? The memory escaped him. It was an unusual last name. Jake chuckled, remembering Tuttle on the old TV series M*A*S*H . Trapper and Hawkeye had invented the man as a lark. He never existed, but everyone insisted they knew him. Captain Tuttle, the invisible man.
“Mr. Gilford? Mr. Watkins will see you now.” The buxom brunette behind the desk rose, leading the way to the inner sanctum of the office.
“Thank you.” Jake tried to ignore the woman's tight fitting skirt, but each sway of her hips made it difficult. He estimated that she poured her ample figure into clothing two sizes too small for her. In previous times, he might have enjoyed easing her discomfort by helping her out of the garments—he'd always thought bigger girls had more to love.
Since he'd met Joss, he wanted to stop mentally undressing every woman he met. He'd been truthful when he told her he was a one-woman man. He'd never be unfaithful to her. But it didn't hurt to look, did it?
The secretary opened the main office door and held it, requiring Jake to squeeze past her. She smelled sweet, like bubble gum mixed with a rose-scented perfume. Her gaze seemed to admire him as she said, “Here you go. Mr. Watkins, this is Mr. Gilford.”
Jake smiled, letting his gaze roam over her quickly. “Thanks again, uh—”
“Betty,” she supplied, batting her lashes.
“Thanks, Betty.” She appeared to appreciate his attention, and he hoped he boosted her morale. If it made her feel good… Hell, it made him feel good, too. Besides, he might need her help in the future.
She slipped out, and he turned to the lawyer seated behind the desk. Roland Watkins signed paper after paper, apparently hoping Jake would go away.
He cleared his throat and stepped forward, trying tact first. “Mr. Watkins, I'm Jake Gilford, a detective with the KCPD. We spoke on the phone, and I mentioned that I'm helping Jocelyn Wheeler settle her father's estate.”
The
Joss wiped her hands on a napkin and moved behind him, slipping her arms around his neck. She laid her head on the back of his shoulder. “I'm not going to ask about your last girlfriend. I might not like it. I should warn you, I have this little jealous streak.”
He leaned back into her. “Good to know. You've got nothing to worry about, beautiful. I'm faithful to the core, a real one-woman man. And it excites the hell out of me to think that you're my one woman.”
“Me too, baby,” she said softly, rocking against him. “I just wish that other stuff was behind us. I'm afraid to go back to the house, Jake. Something's not right there. It frightens—no, terrifies me.”
He moved one hand to cover hers. “You don't have to go back. I've decided to enlist some help from the department, to get things over with faster. I'll make arrangements tomorrow. But you should stay here. Don't go back, Joss.”
“I won't,” she agreed, hugging him. “I'll stay right here.”
Chapter Seven
Jake tugged uncomfortably at the collar of his shirt. Even after eight years on the police force, he'd never gotten used to wearing neckties. There was no getting around it in the uniformed division, but once he became a detective, he saved ties for special, or necessary, occasions.
He always wore a suit coat and kept a tie stuffed in the pocket just in case. A sharply dressed detective with a badge clipped to his jacket usually achieved better results than a laid-back one. Jake fidgeted with the tie again. Roland Watkins hadn't sounded pleased to take his phone call, even less thrilled to make an appointment to meet. The lawyer seemed to be playing head games, making him wait.
From his seat in the outer office, Jake could see through the glass window panel beside the front door. In the hallway hung a plaque with a directory of people who had office space on that floor. Of the twenty names listed, one jumped out at him. Eugene Tuttle.
Where have I heard that name? The memory escaped him. It was an unusual last name. Jake chuckled, remembering Tuttle on the old TV series M*A*S*H . Trapper and Hawkeye had invented the man as a lark. He never existed, but everyone insisted they knew him. Captain Tuttle, the invisible man.
“Mr. Gilford? Mr. Watkins will see you now.” The buxom brunette behind the desk rose, leading the way to the inner sanctum of the office.
“Thank you.” Jake tried to ignore the woman's tight fitting skirt, but each sway of her hips made it difficult. He estimated that she poured her ample figure into clothing two sizes too small for her. In previous times, he might have enjoyed easing her discomfort by helping her out of the garments—he'd always thought bigger girls had more to love.
Since he'd met Joss, he wanted to stop mentally undressing every woman he met. He'd been truthful when he told her he was a one-woman man. He'd never be unfaithful to her. But it didn't hurt to look, did it?
The secretary opened the main office door and held it, requiring Jake to squeeze past her. She smelled sweet, like bubble gum mixed with a rose-scented perfume. Her gaze seemed to admire him as she said, “Here you go. Mr. Watkins, this is Mr. Gilford.”
Jake smiled, letting his gaze roam over her quickly. “Thanks again, uh—”
“Betty,” she supplied, batting her lashes.
“Thanks, Betty.” She appeared to appreciate his attention, and he hoped he boosted her morale. If it made her feel good… Hell, it made him feel good, too. Besides, he might need her help in the future.
She slipped out, and he turned to the lawyer seated behind the desk. Roland Watkins signed paper after paper, apparently hoping Jake would go away.
He cleared his throat and stepped forward, trying tact first. “Mr. Watkins, I'm Jake Gilford, a detective with the KCPD. We spoke on the phone, and I mentioned that I'm helping Jocelyn Wheeler settle her father's estate.”
The
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