Page 37 of Paternal Instincts
“Oh, him. Yep. He’s a top dog around here. Biggest office on the third floor. Southeast side. Right near the back. Can’t miss it. Officious, if you know what I mean. All glass walls and windows overlooking the street. You know how the bureaucratic types are. Mr. Davis is on the fourth floor. There’s a better view from his window. He could see the lake if there weren’t so many other buildings in the way. That’s what you get in the big city though. Buildings. Tall and lots of them.”
“Thank you.” Quaid shook the man’s hand.
When the elevator arrived, the security guard scanned his badge and punched the number three. He screwed up his face in thought. “You know, now that you mention it, I haven’t seen Mr. Marigold today. Doesn’t mean he’s not here. People slip by all the time.”
The door tried to close, and the man caught it with his foot. “He’s quiet. Don’t think he much likes me, not like his partner. Mr. Davis always stops for coffee in the mornings. Chatty bugger.” The man chuckled. “I swear he plays hooky more than he works. Always downhere, entertaining clients in the food court and telling me about his kids or that gorgeous wife of his. Not like Marigold. No, sir. Marigold hustles in and out like he’s always late. That man seems perpetually stressed.”
Again, the door tried to close. “Ah, well. I should let you go. Name’s Dontrel, by the way. If you need me, I’ll be wandering down here until two o’clock.”
“Thank you, sir,” I said, smiling pleasantly.
Dontrel tipped an imaginary hat and backed up, letting the doors slide shut.
We didn’t find Jude in his officious office, but we found the door unlocked, the lights on, and his cell phone on the desk. A framed picture of his family—wife, baby, and toddler—told us we were in the right spot.
I tapped the abandoned cell phone and arched a brow at the lock screen alerts. “As we suspected. Mr. Jude Marigold has three missed texts from his wife.”
“Do you think he got them and ran off?”
“Doubt it. He would have taken his phone. He’s here somewhere.”
Three cubicle-working administrators, catching up on work, confirmed he had stepped out about twenty-five minutes before we arrived. One of them gave us access to the fourth floor, saying he could have gone to Mr. Davis’s office.
It was exactly where we found him. The fourth floor was vacant, with no overhead lights on. We were greeted by empty cubicles, dark computer screens, and an unnatural silence unbefitting a space that appeared to ordinarily buzz with activity.
The fourth-floor layout was a reflection of the third. Nixon Davis’s office took up space at the far corner, directly above Jude’s office andsurrounded by the same fishbowl walls that offered no privacy. It meant we saw Jude long before he saw us.
Sunlight streamed through a bank of windows, highlighting his stylish sandy-blond hair and the high points of color riding the crests of his pale cheeks. He wasn’t dressed for the office and instead wore a fitted Henley that accentuated a trim physique. Jude’s entire focus was on a laptop. One hand scrolled using a mouse, and the other tapped and fluttered against the desk’s surface with what appeared to be nervous energy.
We stilled our approach to observe from the shadows.
Tone hushed, I leaned into Quaid and whispered, “I bet Nixon wouldn’t be too pleased to see his partner rummaging through his computer.”
“I’d love to know what he’s doing. Back me up?”
“Always.” Before Quaid could walk away, I snagged a handful of his ass cheek, making him jump and squeak. “Shh…” I chuckled. “Man, you’ve got a killer ass, Valor. Did I ever tell you that before? Makes me want to duck into an empty cubicle and absolutely fucking wreck it.”
He shivered before nudging me back a step. “Behave.”
I pecked a kiss on his earlobe, exhaling a heated breath. “Never. You’re sexy as fuck, and I’ll want you until I’m old and gray.”
A flush danced up his neck, erasing any attempt he made at staying professional.
Giving him mercy, I patted his ass and encouraged him onward.
At first, he didn’t move. When he cleared his throat and subtly adjusted himself, I chuckled, earning a sneer.
“You’re such a bastard,” he said over his shoulder.
I blew him a kiss, not denying his claim.
Quaid marched toward the office with authority and a surly cop vibe. His hardened demeanor when dealing with suspects never failed to turn me on.
Quaid rapped on the doorframe as he said, “Jude Marigold?”
Jude jerked back from the desk, hands flying away from the keyboard on a gasp. His gaze darted from Quaid to me before quickly scanning the fourth-floor office space behind us.
When he spoke, his voice came out with a slight hitch. “Can I help you? Who are you? How did you get up here?” A frown darkened his features.
