Framed

by Karen Leabo

  He let go. “That’s how much I trust you.”

  She stared at him, and for one horrendous moment he thought she might be mad enough at him to use the knife. Then sanity returned with a rush. She wouldn’t. Of course she wouldn’t. She was Jess, the woman who’d made love to him last night with such gentleness, such feeling.

  That’s when he knew how deep he was into this thing. The knife clattered to the floor and she was in his arms, their mouths locked in a sensual duel. Kyle reached over to turn off the stove, then pulled her into his arms.

  “The stakeout—” she started to protest feebly.

  He cut her off with another kiss. “It’ll keep,” he growled. He was out of his mind, and he knew it, but he didn’t care. Nothing mattered but staking his claim on this woman, making sure she knew that their being together wasn’t some accident, some matter of mutual convenience or availability or a need for comfort. This was meant to be, and not just for an hour or a day or a week.

  The realization that he was thinking in terms of the future should have been alarming but wasn’t—not when he knew he wanted Jess as part of that future.

  He could sense her animal hunger matching his. She sighed when he roughly slid her jeans and panties down her legs in one motion, steadying herself with one hand on the counter so she could step out of them.

  Instead of standing back up, Kyle pressed his face against her abdomen and ran his hands up the back of her thighs, finally grasping her firm buttocks. He hadn’t seen her—really seen her—last night, and he was astounded at the perfection of her form. He shuddered at the realization that he’d been primed to abuse that perfection, to sink himself deeply inside her in a desperate quest to satisfy some impossible-to-define desire.

  Such beauty didn’t deserve that. He kissed her, burying his face in the soft black curls that guarded her femininity, seeking his prize with his tongue.

  But instead of meekly accepting his ministrations, she collapsed, and all at once they were both on the floor in a tangle of arms and legs. They kissed passionately once again, almost as if they were trying to devour each other.

  “For God’s sake, Kyle,” she said, panting between each word, “how long does it take you to undress?” She yanked at the buttons of his shirt.

  Her urgency ignited him as nothing else could have. He tensed with each touch as she worked with buttons and zippers, pulling this way and that. In her haste she was more hindrance than help, but he didn’t stop her, so great was his pleasure in the process.

  It wasn’t until he was buck naked that he realized how hideously cold the floor was. “If the bed would be more comfortable—”

  “Undoubtedly it would,” she said. Then she wrapped her arms around him and pulled him down on top of her, obviously with no intentions of changing venue.

  So be it. But he did roll over so that his back, not hers, would be against the uncompromising quarry-tile surface.

  He had little control over what happened after that. He was rock hard, had been since the moment he’d touched her. She poised herself above him. He felt a momentary concern that it was too soon, that she wouldn’t be ready, that he would hurt her, and he couldn’t bear the thought. But when she sheathed him, it became apparent that she was more than ready.

  Enveloped in her warmth, with her moving atop him, he could do little more than grasp her around the waist and join in.

  Like last night, it ended quickly. The experience was too intense to linger over, he realized in his cloudy mind as he iost what iittie control he had.

  With a series of high-pitched moans, Jess found what she was looking for, too. They moved together through the final, erotic dance of completion, and then she collapsed on top of him, her hair forming a riotous curtain of soft brown curls all over his face and shoulders.

  He blew one curl away from his mouth. “Jess.”

  “Don’t talk,” she said.

  “Why not?”

  “I’m not sure I can stand even acknowledging what just happened. I’ve never...I mean...oh, never mind!” She clung to him, her face buried against his shoulder.

  He realized then that she was embarrassed. “It’s okay, Jess.”

  “On the kitchen floor, for God’s sake!”

  Kyle laughed, low and wicked. “You’re not the one with tile imprints on your backside.”

  She raised her head and looked at him with tear-bright eyes. “Oh, Kyle, I’m—”

  He cut off her apology with a quick, hard kiss. “Don’t you dare say you’re sorry. You were magnificent, the most passionate woman I’ve ever known. I guarantee I’ll never forget this if I live to be a thousand. Anyway, I’m the one who should be apologizing.”

  She eased herself away from him and sat up. He immediately felt the cold, and he raised himself, too, finding his shirt to sit on. He pulled her into his lap. She resisted only a little.

  “All that crap about not wanting a relationship,” he continued. “We’ve got a relationship, whether I want it or not. Now it’s just a question of what to do with it.” Immediately upon speaking the words, he felt his guilt ease. In fact, it actually felt right, admitting to Jess that he didn’t want to throw what they had out the window once her ordeal was over.

  She sniffed. “I’m sure you’d like to have a girlfriend on death row.”

  “That’s not going to happen. We’re closing in on Terry. I can feel it. It’ll be a miracle if I don’t kill the son of a bitch when we find him.”

  “I’d visit you in prison,” she quipped. But her casual words didn’t mask the very real fear in her voice. “Seriously, Kyle. I can’t even think about... I mean, it’s not fair to you to even talk about...us...until I’m acquitted or the charges are dropped. I don’t have any problem with living for the here and now.”

  He wrapped his arms around her and squeezed her tightly until he forced her to relax. “No matter what we plan for, Jess—no matter what we think we ought to do—this thing between us isn’t going to go away. Even if we’re dealing with a worst-case scenario, God forbid, I’m with you.”

  He could hardly believe the words he heard himself saying. But it was true, every bit of it. He wouldn’t walk away from Jess.

  “Even if...” she started to say, then trailed off.

  “What?”

  “Oh, nothing.” She laughed nervously. “Just scaring myself with worst-case scenarios. Stupid, really. You need to get back to that stakeout.”

  She was right. He eased her off his lap and climbed to his feet, then helped her up. He gave her one last kiss before grabbing up his clothes. Nothing between them could be settled until they found Terry.

  Jess shivered as she dressed, but she was warm inside. Crazy. She had to be crazy to fall in love with someone like Kyle Branson. He was as powerful a man as she’d ever been involved with—not just physically strong, but powerful in terms of his position. He could say anything about her, and who would believe her if she contradicted him? He could claim she’d confessed to Terry’s murder. He could manufacture evidence.

  Not that she could imagine Kyle doing any of those things. Yet she’d never imagined that sweet, gentle Phil would stalk her and eventually try to rape and kill her. Or that the unambitious Terry would plot such a cunning revenge against her. All because a relationship had turned sour.

  Involving herself in another relationship under the current circumstances was just plain stupid. But, as Kyle had pointed out, neither of them seemed to have much choice about it. The bond between them had formed despite their best efforts to avoid it.

  “Well, if I can’t do anything about it, might as well enjoy it,” she murmured as she tried to remember where she’d been in her pasta primavera recipe.

  “Did you say something?” Kyle called to her from the recliner, where he’d taken up watch.

  “Nothing important,” she called back.

  She smiled as she chopped the rest of the vegetables. The dish went together quickly, and she served dinner on an end table she’d dragged
close to the recliner so she and Kyle could eat together. It was a cozy, companionable meal, and Jess found herself smiling for no reason.

  That night they again took four-hour shifts watching out the patio door so they could take turns sleeping, but Jess moved her things back into the master bedroom. Whenever they changed shifts, they lay in bed together for a few minutes, relishing those brief moments of intimacy before parting again. And when it was time for her shift, Jess stared through the binoculars and daydreamed about Kyle, about what kind of relationship they might form after they’d found Terry.

  Finding Terry had taken on a new urgency, and Jess renewed her vigilance, never taking her eyes off the house across the lake. If he didn’t show himself soon, they would have to flush him out. With tear gas, if necessary. She didn’t care how many laws she had to break to get to him.

  “How long do we keep this up?” Jess asked impatiently as she and Kyle shared a breakfast of toasted bagels the next morning.

  “As long as it takes. Whoever’s in there has to leave eventually.”

  “Realistically?”

  Kyle sighed. “Another couple of days. If nothing happens by then, we’ll have to resort to something more provocative. But not breaking and entering,” he hastened to add. “You almost gave me heart failure the last time you did that.”

  Jess could laugh now about her failed career as a burglar, and she did. “Not to mention put you on crutches. How is your knee, by the way?”

  “Nicely recovered. I mean, if crawling around on that freezing kitchen floor didn’t bother it, I guess it’s okay.” He reached over and tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear. For a few moments his touch lingered on her face, and the look he gave her was hot enough to melt her fillings.

  Oh, for a couple of weeks of lazy vacation with this man! Under the circumstances she was grateful for the few minutes they could spend together. But this stakeout was hardly conducive to the kind of leisurely exploration she craved.

  The sound of a phone ringing startled them both, and they looked toward a lamp table near the fireplace, where both of their cellular phones were plugged in. “Is that yours or mine?” she asked.

  “Definitely mine,” Kyle answered, pushing himself out of the recliner. “Damn. I wonder what they want? I told ’em to leave me be unless it was important.”

  Jess had initially been relieved that it wasn’t her phone ringing. She didn’t want to hear from the outside world, didn’t want anything to intrude on the intimate world she and Kyle had created at quiet Lake Weatherby. When she saw the worried look on Kyle’s face her apprehension returned.

  Maybe it was news about her case—good news, for a change, she thought hopefully. Maybe they’d analyzed the blood on the so-called murder weapon and found it to be chicken’s blood, which was what she was hoping.

  “Oh, hey, Blayney,” Kyle said into the phone. “What’s up?” Jess recognized the name as that of Kyle’s partner in missing persons. He’d mentioned the name a time or two. He lowered his voice. “Uh-huh...uh-huh. Okay, I’ll call him.” He felt around in his pockets.

  Jess realized he was looking for a pen. She jumped up and brought him one from her purse, along with a scrap of paper to write on. He nodded his thanks. His face, so pleasantly relaxed a few minutes ago, was now wreathed with tension.

  “What was that area code again?” Kyle asked. “Six-one-seven. Got it.”

  Six-one-seven? That was Boston. Who would be calling Kyle from Boston? Jess felt a chill work its way up her spine. All right, she lectured herself, no reason to jump to conclusions. That phone call could be about anything. Kyle worked on lots of cases, not just hers. Maybe it was a lead on a missing person.

  Then why was he wearing that dreadful frown as he glanced her way?

  “Jess, can you take over at the window for a few minutes? I have a phone call to make.”

  “Sure, no problem.” And why was he unplugging the cellular from its charger and taking it upstairs?

  She sat in the recliner and gazed through the binoculars, but the Gilpatricks’ house could have been razed by a nuclear bomb and she probably wouldn’t have noticed. Her mind was upstairs with Kyle. Who was he talking to? More important, what was he finding out?

  She should have told him. She’d wanted to tell him and had, in fact, been on the verge of doing so a number of times, most recently last night after their encounter in the kitchen. But it was so hard to find the words. How did she tell the man who’d put so much on the line banking on her innocence that she really had stabbed a man, almost fatally?

  No matter how she explained it, the fact that she was capable of violence looked bad.

  Minutes stretched by. After a while, Jess gave up looking out the window. Her vision was blurred with tears, anyway. It was all over. Once the district attorney’s office found out about the attempted-murder charge, their case was made. It wouldn’t matter that she’d been found innocent because she’d stabbed Phil in self-defense. It would matter that she’d not come clean about the Massachusetts trial from the very beginning.

  Marva might be able to have the evidence suppressed, but she doubted it. The fact that the stabbing had taken place had never been questioned. Her trial was a matter of public record. But it wasn’t the ultimate damage to her case that had her stomach tied up in knots. It was Kyle, and what he would think of her. She should have trusted him with the information.

  She heard the stairs creak and knew Kyle had returned. She almost couldn’t bear to turn around and look at him, because she knew what she would see—the pain of betrayal. She did turn, because she had to face this. And what she saw stole the breath right out of her body. He wasn’t just disappointed in her for concealing the truth from him. He was angry—nail-spitting, flame-spewing furious. And for the first time since Jess had met Kyle, she was honestly frightened of him.

  “Why the hell didn’t you tell me you’d stood trial for attempted murder?” he ground out, his rage on a tight leash.

  Jess got up from the recliner and stood to face him, trying not to flinch. “Because I was afraid to. Because I knew how it would look. Because I was hoping no one would find out about it.” Suddenly she felt a thread of her own anger. Why had this source in Boston called Kyle and not Clewis?

  “You acted so damn innocent, so damn bewildered that anyone would think you could commit a violent crime. When all the while you were hiding—”

  “I wasn’t hiding anything,” she snapped back. “I never lied about it. I just didn’t go out of my way to enlighten the police. I was only following Marva’s advice. She told me not to discuss it unless I was forced to.”

  “Don’t try to shift the blame to your lawyer. I’m not talking about some minor incident that might reflect badly on you. I’m talking about you stabbing a man. With a butcher knife from your kitchen. Sliding it right between his ribs and nicking his heart. He could have just as easily died as lived.”

  “It was self-defense!” she cried. “How was I supposed to know that years later I’d be charged with another crime, and the fact that I once blindly stabbed at someone to protect myself would make me look guilty now?”

  “You should have told me,” he said, lowering his voice. “I would have understood if you’d just explained it to me—”

  “Oh, sure. And you wouldn’t have run right back to Clewis and Easley with the news that ‘Guess what? Our prime suspect stabbed another guy!’”

  He appeared stunned that she would make such an accusation. “After what we shared, after all we’ve been through together, you really think that’s what I would have done?”

  “You’re a cop first,” she said. “No matter what your personal feelings for me, you wouldn’t have withheld evidence that has a bearing on the case. I know that much about you.”

  He opened his mouth as if to object, then halted, merely staring at her, his breathing coming in great gasps.

  “Can’t deny it, can you? You and your holier-than-thou, you-should-have-trusted-me routine. Am
I still supposed to believe that you were strictly trying to help me? I guess that person who called from Boston was just a friend, and by chance you happened to start talking about old cases?”

  She could see she’d scored a point by the way he flinched. And she should have stopped there. But she didn’t.

  “It’s all clear now. You were working me over even while you were digging around in my background. Good cop, bad cop—that’s what Marva called it. Pretending to side with me against Clewis, all the while hoping I’d drop my guard and give you some juicy tidbit you could use to hang me. The free sex was an added bonus.”

  Kyle’s mouth became a tense white line on his anger-reddened face. He shoved down the antenna on his cellular phone with so much force that it broke off in his hand. He threw the whole mess down into a chair. It bounced onto the carpet.

  Without another word, he turned on his heel and marched toward the kitchen and ultimately the garage.

  “Where are you going?” she demanded.

  “Out. Before I’m the one who has to be brought up on murder charges.”

  Chapter 15

  Jess was numb for the first few minutes after Kyle left. She sank to the floor where she stood, hugging her knees to her chest. Gradually, however, the numbness receded and an almost incomprehensible pain took its place.

  Kyle had betrayed her. Kyle, the man she’d fallen in love with. She sure knew how to pick ’em.

  All right, maybe she’d made the wrong decision to withhold information about Phil Cattrone. But that was a calculated risk she’d taken, and it had backfired. She would suffer the consequences.

  Oddly, the fact that the D.A.’s office now had a juicy bit of ammunition didn’t bother her nearly as much as Kyle’s part in providing it. He’d been investigating her all along, even when he pretended to want to help her. He’d obviously been lying when he’d said he was off the case. What else had he lied about?

  Was it all a lie? Did he feel anything for her at all, or had the whole thing been an act designed to lull her into trusting him? Had he ever believed her innocent?