by Karen Leabo
It was Terry’s voice she’d heard. Had this confrontation with Kevin been carefully orchestrated to put another nail in her coffin? To wear her down, give her hope and then dash it to the ground?
Interrupting her thoughts, Kyle climbed into the Toyota’s passenger seat without invitation. He dominated the car’s tiny interior. Jess felt as if she could almost swoon from his sheer presence, his heat, even the scent of excitement and anger that came off his skin.
And, she made no mistake, he was angry.
“Thanks for taking care of that for me,” she murmured. “Where were you and that car hiding? I never saw you, and I looked around pretty carefully.”
“Never mind me. What did you think you were doing just now? How many times do I have to remind you that we’re dealing with dangerous people here?”
“I needed to see who it was,” Jess said, her arms folded defensively across her chest. They didn’t ward off either the cold or Kyle’s penetrating stare. “I knew the car was Kevin’s. I thought for sure Terry was the one driving. I had to know, even if it meant scaring him away before anyone else saw him. I had to know if he was alive.”
“You still have doubts?” Kyle’s anger escalated another notch. Could she blame him? He’d stuck his neck out for her on the basis of this theory she had about Terry’s framing her for murder.
She didn’t answer his question for a long time. Finally, in a voice that was barely there, she said, “Sometimes. When I’m lying in bed late at night, I worry that I’m wrong. I know it was Terry’s voice I heard on the phone. But then I start wondering about the blood. The police said that at one time there was a lot of it in the sink, in the washing machine. Where did it come from?”
“That’s what we’d all like to know. The sixty-four-thousand-dollar question.”
Something about Kyle’s tone of voice hit her the wrong way. Over the past few days she’d been viciously interrogated, harassed, maligned in the newspaper and attacked by a dog. The slender hope she’d been clinging to—that she would catch Terry making the calls—had been blown to smithereens.
And now Kyle, who seemingly on a whim alternated between her champion and her accuser, was doubting her again.
She’d had enough. She longed to simply tell him to get out of her car. But she couldn’t quite bring herself to do it. Standing up to someone like Kyle required more brass than she could muster at the moment.
“I want to go home now,” she said instead, her voice thick with unshed tears. She despised the weakness in her that made her cry when she was angry.
“What? I don’t even get a thank-you for saving your—”
“No. I didn’t invite you to this party.”
“You could have been hurt,” he said with quiet authority.
“I’m already hurt. My friends have deserted me, my business is practically dead, my bank account is empty, my father’s blood pressure is through the roof from worrying about me. Frankly, it couldn’t get a whole lot worse. Physical injury would be...a step up, I think.” She couldn’t hold back anymore. The tears spilled out of her eyes and the sobs erupted from her throat.
“Aw, Jess, don’t.” Somehow he managed to pull her against him in the awkward confines of the car. She didn’t resist. She didn’t have the strength or the will. It was preposterous that she should accept comfort from the very person who’d made her cry in the first place, but it seemed easier than fighting him.
“I was worried about you,” he said in a low, soothing voice. “That’s why I came tonight. Not so I could spy on you or torment you. I didn’t mean to get mad.” He stroked her hair and brushed the tears off her cheek with an infinitely gentle thumb. “Can’t you trust me? I’m on your side.”
“You’re a cop. You’re on their side,” she said even as her hand crept up to cling to the lapel of his leather jacket. She also clung to the faint hope that she was wrong about him.
“I don’t think you killed Terry Rodin,” he said quietly. “That puts me closer to your camp than Clewis’s.”
She felt herself wavering. Oh, God, she wanted to believe in him. She reminded herself that Kyle Branson was a quick thinker and a smooth talker, and he had way too much persuasive power over her vulnerable mind. In no time he could have her eating out of his hand.
She thought out her next question carefully. “If you believe I’m innocent, why did you insinuate just now that I’m lying about the blood in the sink?”
“I wasn’t insinuating anything.” He continued stroking her the way he might try to calm a skittish cat. “You misread me, sweetheart. I am purely frustrated at the confusing evidence we’re dealing with. Someone’s hiding something. That’s not the same as accusing you of lying.”
Amazingly, she did relax. She had to force herself not to be too complacent. “What about when you followed me?”
“I have a job to do. Lieutenant Easley thinks you’re guilty. Right now, he’s my superior. I do what he tells me to do. Today he told me to follow you. I figured you were better off with me tailing you than someone else.”
“So you’re entirely altruistic in all this?” She tried to inject suspicion and skepticism into her voice, but instead the question came out sounding hopeful.
He sighed. “My number one priority is solving the case. I happen to believe finding out the truth—that Terry’s still alive, or uncovering his murderer—will clear you. If that makes me altruistic, fine. I’m not some bleeding heart taking you on as a charity case, if that’s what you think.”
He sure knew how to say all the right things.
All at once she became excruciatingly aware of the myriad physical sensations brought on by her closeness to him—the feel of his smooth cotton shirt against her cheek, the smell of leather and faint aftershave, the sound of his heartbeat, oddly accelerated.
And his hands, one rubbing her back, the other sifting through her hair. Needing even closer contact, she reached up with her left hand to touch his face. It was warm and rough with a full day’s growth of beard. She touched his stitched-up cut with one featherlight finger.
He enveloped her small hand in his and pulled it away from his face. “Honey, right now I’m confused and tired, running on caffeine and adrenaline. I’m trying like hell to fight a strong physical attraction to you, and you’re not helping a whole lot. I’m not that strong.”
The atmosphere inside the car altered dramatically. An electricity filled the air, making Jess’s skin prickle with awareness. Her heartbeat doubled in tempo and her mouth went dry.
She knew what she ought to say, what she ought to feel. She should pull away, disengage before things really did get out of hand. She should politely thank him for looking after her, then ask him to get out of her car so she could get home.
She didn’t. The plain truth was that her body craved the simple comfort of touch—Kyle’s touch. His hands had already tangled themselves in her hair. She could so easily imagine what those hands would feel like caressing her breasts or stroking bare flesh. She sensed his readiness, the thin thread of control threatening to snap. All it would take was for her to turn her face toward his....
But that would be insanity. If it became known that she’d involved herself with a cop investigating her case, the D.A.’s office would have a field day. So when she felt the urge to take that next step, she instead imagined Marva’s disapproving scowl.
“I think it would be best if we said good-night.” She tried to keep her tone casual, as if the possibility of sex didn’t concern her much. But her voice quavered, which irritated her. At least she’d stopped crying.
“Jess. You’re not afraid of me, are you?”
“Shouldn’t I be? You just admitted you’re close to losing control.” She’d be crazy not to fear him. He was so damn powerful, and at the moment she felt weak. She hated to be at the mercy of her fears and her hormones. But her free will, her intelligent decision-making powers, seemed to have taken a hike to another planet. Some men, like Kyle, simply turned her to mush.
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“I may want you, but I’ve never pushed myself on a woman who didn’t want me.”
Should she have been reassured? Part of her wished the decision could be taken out of her hands. “Regardless of who wants whom, it would be crazy for us to give in to lust,” she said sensibly, though she felt anything but sensible right now. “What if the press found out? The district attorney?”
“If we were stupid enough to sleep together, we would both deserve the consequences. I wouldn’t take it that far. I know better.”
“Oh.” She should have been overwhelmed with relief. She wasn’t.
“How about you? How far were you willing to take it?” The slight note of amusement in his voice somehow broke the tension.
“I don’t dare answer that question.” She almost laughed, but she couldn’t, not when laughter could so easily turn into hysteria.
“What about when the charges are dropped?” He threw the question out casually. It hung in the air between them, glittering, inviting.
She grabbed on to the first easy answer that came to mind. “I can’t think that far ahead.” Then she forced herself to pull away from him. Her tears were dried. She didn’t need his comforting anymore.
“I’ll take that as a maybe.” He released her, reluctantly it seemed. He reached for the door handle, then paused. “Sure you’re okay? Not too shaky to drive home?”
“No, I’m fine.” Please, she thought, don’t leave me alone. Surprised by the errant thought, she grabbed on to the steering wheel to keep her hands from reaching for him. She was nuts, crazy, bonkers, to want a man whom she didn’t completely trust. A man who, if he turned on her, could send her to jail with a few well-placed words.
She was proving, once again, that she had appalling judgment when it came to men.
Although she thought she should have been immune to surprises by then, when he leaned over to kiss her cheek, she jumped. This wasn’t like the other night, when he’d merely brushed her lips with his. This time she turned her head and he took full possession of her mouth. He didn’t try to hold her. In fact, he didn’t even touch her with his hands, giving her every opportunity to pull back.
She didn’t. She leaned into the kiss, opening her mouth against his, meeting his tongue with hers.
He abruptly broke the kiss. “Something to think about, for later,” he said with a wicked smile. He was gone, the car door slamming behind him, before she could formulate a suitable response.
Kyle thought about that kiss all during the drive home. And even though he desperately needed sleep, images of Jess’s welcoming mouth kept him awake even later.
What had he been thinking? He was reasonably sure no one had been watching them. But what if he was wrong? She was right about the D.A.’s office going nuts if they caught her sleeping with a cop. If they saw her even kissing a cop, they would assume the rest.
She would land in jail. And Easley would probably give him a pat on the back for orchestrating the whole thing—after he was brought up on disciplinary charges.
He had to forestall that chain of events at any cost. And that meant no more kissing—no more touching, period, no matter how bad he had it for her. No matter how receptive she appeared to be. To let it go any further could seriously damage Jess’s standing.
Again after catching only a few hours’ sleep, he stumbled into work, feeling like a zombie. The first thing he had to do was report the results of his unsanctioned stakeout. Even though Jess hadn’t caught Terry in the act, the fact that there really was a crank caller, and that he was someone connected to the case, was intriguing information.
Not that Clewis, the Neanderthal, would do anything with it.
Clewis, sitting behind his desk with his attention focused on a ham-and-cheese breakfast sandwich from 7-Eleven, seemed to pay scant attention to Kyle’s report. Eventually, however, he did look up. “So the babe didn’t press charges?”
“What for? Even if he was found guilty, Gilpatrick would get a little slap on the wrist at most. She didn’t want to mess with that.”
“Or,” Clewis said thoughtfully, “she and Gilpatrick are in cahoots somehow. I hadn’t thought of that. You know, maybe they had a little thing going on the side, and Rodin was in the way?”
It was the most moronic conclusion Kyle had ever heard anyone draw, but he resisted the temptation to say so. “Gilpatrick’s statement was very damaging to Jess’s case. If he was in cahoots with her, he would have tried to draw suspicion away from her.”
Clewis thought for a minute. “Yeah, I hate to say it, but I think you’re right.”
“On the other hand,” Kyle said, taking advantage of this rare open-mindedness on Clewis’s part, “what’s to say Gilpatrick didn’t kill Rodin on his own and try to frame Jess? Have we even considered him as a bona fide suspect? He is the one who first reported his friend missing, and you know the statistics as well as I do.”
Clewis threw down his sandwich. “Oh, for God’s sake, Branson, will you stop thinking with your private parts? Jess Robinson is guilty. How much evidence do you need?”
“A body and a murder weapon, for starters.” Kyle fought for control, won it. “I want to do some more checking on Gilpatrick.”
“Already done. He’s clean,” Clewis said, showing renewed interest in his sandwich. He took another bite and washed it down with coffee. “Unless you want to count parking tickets.”
“I want to stake out his house.”
“No way. Jeez, you and your stakeouts.”
“I think he might be hiding Terry Rodin there.”
Clewis’s only response was to roll his eyes.
“Dammit, Clewis, are you doing anything on this case?”
“The D.A. is happy with what I’ve turned over so far. They can try her without a body, you know. It’s been done.”
“Have you even tried to find a body?”
“Chances are she put it in a Dumpster and it’s at the landfill by now. No way to find a body in that mess. Or she dumped it in the river, and it’s hundreds of miles downstream by now. The body won’t be found,” Clewis said with annoying confidence.
“Have you made any phone calls to see if a body has been found?” Kyle asked, thinking of how he would run the investigation if it were his.
“Bodies are found all the time in the river,” Clewis said boredly.
“So maybe one of them is our guy.”
Clewis flashed an evil grin. “Then why don’t you make the phone calls?”
“I thought I was supposed to tail Jess today.”
“I’m canceling the surveillance,” Clewis flatly announced. “She knows we’re there and she’s not about to do anything incriminating. After a few days, when she’s convinced we’ve given up, we’ll try again. Meanwhile, you’re back in missing persons.” Where you belong, his hostile gaze seemed to add.
“Fine.” Kyle spun around on the toes of his boots, intending to get as far from Clewis as possible—before he resorted to violence. The sound of the other detective’s phone ringing stopped him in his tracks.
“Clewis here...yeah? Who is this? Look, buddy, I don’t take no statements without a name...yeah, no foolin’? She as good as she looks?”
At that, Kyle drew closer, blatantly eavesdropping. Clewis swiveled in his chair so that his back was to Kyle, but the man apparently didn’t know how to talk in an undertone, because the one-sided conversation continued in perfect clarity.
“Uh-huh. Under the front-porch steps. Yeah, we’ll check it out, all right. Although, you know, it’s kinda hard to get a search warrant on the basis of an anonymous tip....” Clewis cursed and slammed down the receiver. “Jerk.” Then he shook off his momentary anger, swiveled in his chair again to face Kyle and grinned that awful, evil grin that made Kyle’s skin crawl.
“You wanted a murder weapon?” he said to Kyle. “Well, I think we’re about to get one. That was a man claiming to be—oh, how shall I put it delicately?—intimate with Jess Robinson. She told him where she stash
ed the bloody knife.”
Kyle was dumfounded for a moment. Jess had been recently intimate with another man? She’d confided in him, shared her secrets—
Then reason took over. “An anonymous tip, Clewis? You buy that?”
“Not entirely, but it’s worth checking out. I may not even need a warrant, if the old one hasn’t expired. You remember what day that other one was issued?”
The fifth. “Not offhand. Don’t you think this is just a bit too convenient?”
“I’ll take convenient, if it gets me a murder weapon.”
“But under the front-porch steps? In the first place, why there? That’s utterly stupid, and we both know she isn’t that. In the second place, our evidence guys went over the exterior of the house with a microscope. They wouldn’t have missed a knife under the front steps.”
“Evidence guys miss all kinds of things. You never know.” He picked up the phone and began making preparations for the search, making sure everything was legal.
Kyle left. He returned to his own desk in missing persons and dialed Jess’s number.
He hung up before the connection was made. For God’s sake, he couldn’t warn Jess about an impending search. He couldn’t give her time to move or dispose of evidence before the search team got there.
Not that he believed, for one minute, that she knew about any knife under her porch steps. But suppose the evidence had been planted? If he told her where to look, she might remove it, hide it, out of sheer fear. If someone saw her do it, that would be more evidence against her.
And if the department found out he’d called her—an easy chore with that caller-ID box he’d installed on her phone—he’d be hit with an internal-affairs investigation so fast his head would spin.
So he couldn’t call her. But he could sure as hell be there when the search team arrived. He would watch those guys, make sure the search was conducted fairly and that nothing was “discovered” that hadn’t previously been there.