by Karen Leabo
Kyle pulled up to the huge house at Lake Weatherby and whistled softly. Finding a rental house, even this time of year, had been tricky. Finding one with a clear view of the Gilpatricks’ house had been even trickier. Finding one that didn’t cost a month’s salary had been impossible, because the shortest rental they would allow was two weeks.
So here he was, spending his vacation in a four-bedroom three-bath lake house by himself. Just him, a pair of binoculars, and a video camera. So much for that camping trip to Colorado he’d been planning for this summer.
The weather was horrible, too—thirty-six degrees and pouring rain. He sure hoped this place had a good furnace and plenty of blankets.
The rental agent had given him a key and a garage-door opener. The opener didn’t work, so he was forced to run through the downpour to the front porch. The key, at least, did work. Fifteen minutes later, he had all his gear inside, along with three bags of groceries and a stack of firewood he’d brought in from the back porch. He cranked up the furnace, which emitted a stale, natural-gas odor but otherwise appeared to be functional.
While he waited for the place to heat up, he made a tour. He’d taken the house sight unseen, paid for it in advance, so this was his first good look at his new digs.
Even he was impressed.
Ultramodern in design, the living room featured a huge, two-sided fireplace that dominated everything else. The enclosed chimney rose at least thirty feet to the top of the vaulted ceiling. The plush carpets were snow white, the enormous leather couches jet black. The white walls were sparsely decorated with abstract oil paintings and textile hangings. The kitchen was large enough to accommodate several professional chefs and all of their equipment; Kyle’s pitiful TV dinners, frozen pizzas and microwave popcorn seemed a travesty in such a facility.
The first floor was amazing enough, but upstairs he found the piece de resistance—a loft bedroom with a bed that had to be bigger than king-size, custom-made for an orgy, perhaps. And a bathroom like something he would expect to find in a decadent Hollywood mansion, with bloodred tile and three—count ’em, three—shower heads feeding into a Roman-bath sort of thing.
And no one to share with.
Kyle couldn’t help thinking about Jess. He would love to pamper her here, scrub her back, shampoo her hair, rub her body with scented lotions. And then he would carry her to that football field of a bed and make love to her, slowly, as if they had all the time in the world....
But time was the one thing neither of them had, he thought, shaking off the delicious fantasy. The D.A.’s office was pressing to get a date set for the trial. Rumor had it that they wouldn’t seek the death penalty—that, at least, was a relief. But locking Jess up for the rest of her life in some windowless cubicle might be tantamount to killing her.
Terry simply had to turn up before then, Kyle reasoned. No question the guy was a sick puppy, but would he actually disappear forever and leave Jess to wither away in prison? He might, Kyle conceded. Exhaustive background checks had revealed nothing about Terry’s past prior to four years ago, when he’d shown up in Kansas City. Kyle suspected the man had already been a fugitive from some other crime when he and Jess had met. If he could invent a new life that easily once, he could do it again.
So the pressure was back on Kyle. He had to produce Rodin or lose Jess forever. Hell, even if they found Rodin and cleared Jess, would she want anything to do with him? She’d probably had her fill of cops.
The fact that Jess was sitting in a compact car freezing her buns off, peering out the window across a lake at a house that appeared to be completely unoccupied, was evidence of just how desperate she was, she mused grimly as she drained her last sip of coffee. She’d finished off the hot chocolate long ago. She had plenty of sustenance available in the form of juice boxes, nuts, apples and granola bars, but nothing that could warm her up.
This was the worst stakeout so far. She’d been here for four hours, with a cardboard sun protector in the windshield, clothes hung over the windows on the sides that faced the road, and boxes piled in back so someone would have to make a concerted effort to see inside. She had a small peephole through the passenger window, through which she could watch the Gilpatricks’ lake house.
Not that she really expected to see anything. The house appeared to be locked up tight—no cars in the driveway, the window shades pulled shut, no smoke coming out of the chimney. But since Marva had gone to the trouble of ferreting out the existence of the house and its address yesterday, Jess had felt compelled to do something with the lead.
What else did she have to do? She’d completely run out of work, and though sitting in Lynn’s tiny Toyota was less than comfortable, it still beat reading about herself in the paper or poring over the law books Lynn continually handed to her.
She watched until her teeth were chattering and her eyes burning. If Terry were by chance hiding in that house, he wouldn’t advertise the fact. But sooner or later he would have to come out or someone would have to visit—to replenish his groceries if nothing else. She couldn’t imagine Terry surviving on dried fruits and rice. He would need pizza, and fettuccini Alfredo, and spinach artichoke enchiladas, not to mention designer beer.
The solitude would get to him.
The solitude was Certainly getting to her. She had way too much time to think, and unfortunately her thoughts weren’t good company. They vacillated between the horror of being locked up for the rest of her life...and the fact that she missed Kyle.
With the disaster her life had become, it seemed silly to waste even one thought on a man, especially given the hell the various men in her life had put her through. But she couldn’t help it. Time and again she found herself dwelling on memories of their brief but intense times together, the way she’d felt so secure sleeping against him, his breathing like a lullaby. And the way his kisses felt—thrilling, dangerous.
She’d picked a helluva time to fall and a helluva man to fall for. Oh, not that it was love, she hastily reminded herself, even if it felt like it. She was simply at a vulnerable period in her life, and Kyle had come along, offering protection, security, hope. How could a woman in her position resist?
But in real life, he wasn’t the right type of man for her. He was too strong and authoritative—dictatorial, even. Sure, when he was on her side he was a dream come true, St. George slaying all her dragons. But what about when he decided to oppose her? With a delicate shiver she remembered all too clearly those first few days of their acquaintance, when he’d hammered at her with his confusing questions, scowled at her until she wanted to dissolve into tears, arrested her, accused her of lying.
He was a formidable opponent, and she simply wasn’t in his league. If she had to have a man at all, better to find a malleable one, an easygoing, flexible, nonargumentative, gentle one...like Terry? Egad, what a horrible thought. She’d believed that Terry had all the qualities she was looking for, and what a monster he’d turned out to be.
Okay, so she didn’t know what she wanted or needed in a man. Her judgment was appalling. Better for her to go without.
Certainly better than facing criminal charges every time she turned around.
With that decision made, she vowed to banish all thoughts of Detective Kyle Branson. Any time he popped into her head, she would instead think of...ducks. Little yellow, fuzzy ducklings, something safe and comforting.
An hour later, as she thought of her hundred-and-nineteenth duckling, she decided she despised the creatures. She would think of jack-o’-lanterns instead. It was, after all, only a couple of weeks until Halloween. Oh, Lord, she was going stir crazy. Was this what prisoners in solitary confinement went through? Would they put her in solitary?
A tap on the driver’s window nearly sent her through the roof. Don’t panic, she cautioned herself. The doors were locked, the keys in the ignition. If the bogeyman was outside, all she had to do was slide into the driver’s seat, start the car—oh. God, what if it didn’t start? Lynn had been having t
rouble with the battery lately.
The knock sounded again, more insistent, and she ventured a peek. Kyle peered at her through the window around the sleeve of a blouse she’d hung there. Relief flooded through her, then fury on its heels. She clambered over the console, threw the blouse in the back seat and cranked open the window.
“I can’t believe it. You were following me again!”
“No, no,” he quickly denied. “I was here first, since early this morning. Unlock the door, huh? It’s freezing out here.” He had his hands in the pockets of his leather jacket, and he stamped his feet against the cold.
With a sigh, she unlocked the door. “It’s not much better in here,” she muttered. “Hurry up, get in before someone see you. I’m trying to be unobtrusive here.”
“Hah! This car is about as unobtrusive as a hand grenade in a silverware drawer.”
“Why do you say that? It’s brown. It’s anonymous.”
“It also has a cardboard sun-shield thingy in the windshield, at a time of year when no one would think of using one.”
“Oh.” She concentrated on the droplets of moisture rolling around on the black leather of his jacket. Kyle smelled good, like leather and wood smoke. His presence filled the small car, much more potent than her imaginings had been. She couldn’t think of ducks or jack-o’-lanterns right now...only him. Thank goodness she was tangled up in her blanket so she couldn’t reach out to touch him.
“How did you find out about the Gilpatricks’ house?” Kyle asked, sounding exasperated.
“Marva dug it up for me. I know it’s a long shot, but...” Maybe not, if Kyle was here. “How did you know about it?”
“I found out the same way Marva did, I imagine. I told you I would check it out.”
“I know, but I was afraid that you’d reached the end of your rope where I was concerned. Helping me out almost got you in a lot of trouble.”
“You don’t have to remind me,” he said, grimacing.
“You’re not in trouble, are you?”
“I still have a job. That’s about the best I can say.”
“But they okayed a stakeout?” she asked hopefully.
He shook his head. “I tried for a search warrant. The judge laughed in my face. Couldn’t get anyone to okay a stakeout, either. I’m on my own.”
Jess was so touched that she didn’t know what to say. He was really going out of his way for her. She swallowed back tears, unwilling for him to know how much his caring meant to her. It was duty, not anything more personal, that drove him. Still, her voice betrayed her with a quaver when she asked, “How long will you be here? I mean, maybe we shouldn’t duplicate efforts. I can watch the house while you’re at work—”
“I don’t have to go to work. I’m on vacation.”
“Really? I... Thank you, Kyle.”
“I’m not doing it just for you, you know,” he said gruffly. “Now that I’ve gone and made a big issue of the fact that I believe you’re innocent, I’ve got to prove it or I’ll never live it down. Either Clewis or me is going to be the butt of a lot of jokes, and I’d prefer it to be Clewis.”
Exactly as she’d just figured out for herself. Then why did she feel so disappointed? Had she expected him to say something along the lines of, I can’t bear the thought of any harm coming to you? I can’t bear the thought of your being locked away from me forever? In her dreams.
She forced herself to be practical, returning her attention to the view of the house across the lake through her field glasses. “Okay, you’re the stakeout expert. Are we wasting our time?”
“I don’t know yet.”
“How pan I be less obvious, blend into the woodwork, so to speak?”
Long moments of tense silence passed before he answered her question. “You can’t. This old car looks out of place in an upscale area like this, parked on the street, no matter what you do to it.”
“And I suppose a fire-engine-red Mustang is less obvious? C’mon, if the residents notice any strange cars in the neighborhood, they’ll notice yours first.”
“Not if mine’s in a garage.”
It took a few moments for that to sink in. “You have a garage out here? You have a house out here?” She was dripping with envy. He had a kitchen to heat things up in...no, he had actual heat. And a bathroom—something she hadn’t thought much about until recently.
He nodded in the direction straight ahead of them. “That third house down the way, with the black roof and tall windows. The patio door affords a perfectly unobstructed view of the Gilpatricks’ house.”
And she was squinting through tree branches. Well, that couldn’t be helped. She would work with what she had. “Given the fact that I don’t have a garage, how can I do this job more effectively?”
“You can’t,” he said flatly. “In fact, your mere presence here puts the operation at risk. If Terry is in there and he sees a suspicious vehicle, he might get nervous. He could smuggle himself out of that house as easily as I smuggled you out of mine the other day. We would never be able to drive around to the other side of the lake before he could get away clean, and we’d have nothing.”
“So you’re suggesting—”
“That you go home. I’ve got things covered.”
“Oh? And I suppose you won’t have to sleep? Who’ll be watching then? If Terry’s going to move around, he’ll probably do it at night.”
“I don’t need much sleep. Anyway, if Clewis can’t get hold of you, he’s liable to call out the National Guard.”
“I thought of that. I gave Clewis the number for my cellular phone so there wouldn’t be any more communications gaffes.”
Kyle threw his hands up. “Great. Now he’ll assume you’re with me.”
“Why should he? He thinks he was wrong about his previous assumption.” When Kyle merely looked at her as if she were hopelessly naive, she sighed. All right, he wasn’t going to let her participate. Whether it was male ego or protectiveness for her or some self-preservation instinct that drove him, she didn’t know. All she knew was that his decision to shut her out infuriated her.
And it hurt.
“If you have no advice for me,” she said coolly, “then I’ll just stay here.”
“You’ll freeze to death. And don’t run the engine just to crank up the heater. You’ll asphyxiate yourself.”
“I’m not crazy. Besides, I’m dressed warmly—”
“I know. In thermal underwear.”
Heavens. He remembered that totally embarrassing moment from their first stakeout. She would have bet he hadn’t been paying attention.
“If I can’t talk you into going home where it’s warm—and safe—then I’ll leave you,” Kyle said. “I have work to do. But you have to promise me something, Jess.”
“What?” she asked suspiciously.
“If you see anything—anything at all—you don’t make a move without consulting me first.”
Oh! Of all the typically egotistically male chauvinist moronic—
“I mean it, Jess. Promise me, cross your heart, or I’ll arrest you for interfering with a police investigation.”
“You would not. Besides, this isn’t even a real police investigation.”
“I’ll let them sort that out at the station.”
Damn, he wasn’t bluffing. “All right, I promise,” she ground out.
He didn’t bother with a triumphant smile. He was seemingly in too big a hurry to get out of her presence. “You can call me if you need to. I’ve got a cell phone, too.” He scribbled the number on the back of a hamburger wrapper and left it on the dash.
“Wait, Kyle?” she said as he opened the door.
He stopped. “Yeah?”
“What do cops normally do on. a stakeout when they have to...you know, use the facilities?”
He laughed out loud. “We use—Never mind. In your case I’d make a run to the nearest gas station. There’s one just up the road, by the highway exit. And if I were you, I would just keep on driving.�
� With that he left the car and slammed the door.
Chapter 13
Kyle watched out the kitchen window with relief as the brown Toyota pulled away a few minutes later. His satisfaction was short-lived. In fifteen minutes Jess was back, parked in the same spot. That damn car of hers might as well have had a loudspeaker on it, proclaiming, Here I am, suspicious character. Anyone who saw her would think she was a homeless person, living out of her car. She would be lucky if one of the neighbors didn’t call the cops on her.
He would have done it himself, just to get her out of the way, if it hadn’t meant she might get arrested for loitering or trespassing, then dragged to some police station. He couldn’t do that to her again.
He spent the next two hours staring intently through the binoculars at the Gilpatricks’ house. The video camera hummed next to him, recording constantly just in case. Kyle studied every brick, every carefully shuttered window, every overgrown shrub. He could see the electric meter, but not clearly enough to know how fast it was moving. Might be interesting to find out.
When he checked out the kitchen window again, the Toyota was still in place. The windows were thoroughly fogged, which shielded Jess from view. But fogged windows were another dead giveaway that a person was inside the car, breathing.
The temperature was dropping steadily. According to the forecast, they were in for an early freeze tonight, with windchills in the teens. Rain was a possibility, too. He could only hope that the worsening weather would drive Jess to shelter—and that it wouldn’t drive her to do something stupid, like storm the Gilpatricks’ house. She was just desperate and foolhardy enough to try something like that.
He took a short break about seven for dinner, abandoning his vigil by the patio door just long enough to make himself some instant soup in the microwave. He hated putting down his binoculars even for that short period of time. Criminals made mistakes, and he was confident that Terry would make his. But it might happen in the blink of an eye.