Free On The Edge by Jamie Hill

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