Framed Read online

  “Oh, we slept together, all right,”

  Letter to Reader

  Title Page

  Books by Karen Leabo

  About the Author

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Copyright

  “Oh, we slept together, all right,”

  Kyle said. “For a few hours, anyway. I wouldn’t forget something like that.”

  “I wish I’d been awake to enjoy it,” Jess quipped.

  Finally he smiled. “I’m sorry you missed it, too. It wasn’t half-bad.”

  Jess relaxed slightly. “I really wasn’t myself last night. And now I feel like I’ve taken advantage of you. You offer help, and I’m all over you like a rash.”

  “Taken advantage? Honey, there’s something you ought to know about men. When you ask them to sleep with you, it’s not taking advantage. When they get in bed with you when you’re half-unconscious, that’s taking advantage. You have nothing to apologize for, okay?”

  Jess looked him in the eye. “It helped me sleep, to have you there, because I knew I was safe”

  Kyle took a long draw of coffee. “You weren’t that safe.”

  Dear Reader,

  Welcome to another month of powerhouse reading here at Silhouette Intimate Moments. Start yourself off with Lindsay Longford’s Renegade’s Redemption. Who doesn’t love to read about a rough, tough loner who’s saved by the power of a woman’s love?

  Move on to Susan Mallery’s Surrender in Silk. This sensuous read takes a heroine whose steely exterior hides the vulnerable woman beneath and matches her with the only man who’s ever reached that feminine core—the one man she’s sure she shouldn’t love. Alexandra Sellers plays with one of the most powerful of the traditional romantic fantasies in Bride of the Sheikh. Watch as heroine Alinor Brooke is kidnapped from her own wedding—by none other than the desert lord who’s still her legal husband! In Framed, Karen Leabo makes her heroine the prime suspect in an apparent murder, but her hero quickly learns to look beneath the surface of this complicated case—and this fascinating woman. Nancy Morse returns with A Child of His Own, a powerfully emotional tale of what it really means to be a parent. And finally, welcome new author Debra Cowan. In Dare To Remember she spins a romantic web around the ever-popular concept of amnesia.

  Read and enjoy them all—and then come back next month for more of the most exciting romantic reading around, here at Silhouette Intimate Momems.

  Yours.

  Leslie Wainger

  Senior Editor and Editorial Coordinator

  * * *

  Please address questions and book requests to:

  Silhouette Reader Service

  U.S.: 3010 Walden Ave., P.O. Box 1325. Buffalo, NY 14269

  Canadian: P.O. Box 609, Fort Erie, Ont. L2A 5X3

  * * *

  FRAMED

  KAREN LEABO

  Books by Karen Leabo

  Silhouette Intimate Moments

  Into Thin Air #619

  Midnight Confessions #734

  Framed #772

  Silhouette Romance

  Roses Have Thorns #648

  Ten Days in Paradise #692

  Domestic Bliss #707

  Full Bloom #731

  Smart Stuff #764

  Runaway Bride #797

  The Housewarming #848

  A Changed Man #886

  Silhouette Desire

  Close Quarters #629

  Lindy and the Law #676

  Unearthly Delights #704

  The Cop #767

  Ben #794

  Feathers and Lace #824

  Twilight Man #838

  Megan’s Miracle #880

  Beach Baby #922

  Man Overboard #946

  The Prodigal Groom #1007

  KAREN LEABO

  credits her fourth-grade teacher with initially sparking her interest in creative writing. She was determined at an early age to have her work published. When she was in the eighth grade she wrote a children’s book and convinced her school yearbook publisher to put it in print.

  Karen was born and raised in Dallas. She has worked as a magazine art director, a free-lance writer and a textbook editor, but now she keeps herself busy full-time writing about romance.

  Chapter 1

  “What am I going to do with all this junk?” Jess Robinson said on a moan as she sifted through a drawer full of expensive men’s socks, some of them never worn. She had already inventoried a drawer full of designer underwear, a closet full of Calvin Klein jeans, shelves full of law books that had hardly been cracked, a cabinet full of men’s toiletries.

  “I say you pitch all this stuff,” said her sister, Lynn, who at the ripe age of twenty, and with half of a university education, knew everything there was to know about the world and human nature. “Better yet, burn it. We could have a cleansing ritual. Maybe even a party.”

  “No, this stuff is too nice to destroy. Think a women’s shelter could use it?”

  “What is a women’s shelter going to do with men’s clothes? C’mon, Jess, just box it up and call the Salvation Army. I’m ready to move in.”

  “But what if he decides he wants it back?”

  “Tough toenails. He told you to do whatever you wanted with his stuff. If it turns out he made a bad decision, that’s his problem, not yours.”

  Jess sank onto the king-size bed. “I just don’t understand why he would leave here with only the clothes on his back. Lord knows his things were a lot more important than his education or his relationships. It doesn’t make sense.”

  “It doesn’t have to make sense. You know what your basic character flaw is, Jess?”

  “No, but I’m dying to find out,” Jess said dryly.

  “You take on everyone’s problems as your own. I learned about people like you in psychology class. You’re called enablers. You enable people to be helpless and dependent because you encourage them to drop all their problems in your lap.”

  This was just what Jess needed, to be psychoanalyzed by her baby sister. Of course, Lynn wasn’t completely wrong. Jess did tend to take on the world’s problems, and she’d done so ever since she was a kid. That was why she’d agreed to let Lynn live with her while she finished her degree at University of Missouri at Kansas City.

  “Do you have boxes?” Lynn asked.

  “In the basement. Does this mean you’re going to help?”

  Lynn wrinkled her nose. “I’ll pack up his jeans and stuff, but I’m not touching his underwear. Honestly, Jess, how could you stand that guy? He’s such a dweeb.”

  Lately, Jess had often wondered that herself. At one time a law student with a bright future, Terry had seemed perfect for her. He’d harbored grand dreams, and she’d been eager for him to fulfill those dreams as quickly as possible. She hadn’t even questioned it when he’d asked to move into her midtown duplex with her. He would save rent, he could quit his job and concentrate on school, thus becoming a lawyer that much sooner.

  Hell, she’d been crazy in love, maybe for the first time. But something had gone wrong. He never seemed to graduate. He claimed to spend a lot of time studying in the library, but Jess could sometimes smell beer and cigarettes on him when he came home. When her suspicions had become overwhelming, she’d begun investigating.

  Terry was not enrolled at the UMKC law school. He hadn’t been for at least two years.

  At that point Jess had recognized that Te
rry was seriously flawed. He was just one of those people, she’d decided, who would never take responsibility for his own life. He blamed everyone but himself for his lack of success.

  She’d politely asked him to move out. Caught, chagrined, he’d said he would be gone by the end of the month.

  But that month had turned to two and then three. It became obvious that Terry wasn’t even trying to find alternative living arrangements. He didn’t pretend to look for work or enroll in school. He watched soap operas, drank beer and raided the refrigerator.

  She’d put up with it far too long.

  The doorbell interrupted her self-castigation, and her stomach tightened. Was he back? Did he want his things? She didn’t want to see him again. The past few days she’d prayed he would stay out of her life forever. He needed psychological intervention.

  He scared her a little. She didn’t believe he was completely nuts, but he wasn’t entirely rational, either. She wasn’t quite sure where he would draw the line.

  “Coming,” she called as she trotted down the stairs to the door. But it wasn’t Terry standing on her front porch. It was a man she didn’t know, with black hair and midnight blue eyes and the squarest, most determined jaw she’d ever seen. Although it was only midaftemoon, his face was shadowed with new beard.

  “Ms. Robinson?”

  “Yes?” Her mouth was suddenly dry. It wasn’t that the man was movie-star handsome. His features were too sharp, too startling, for that. But he definitely had presence.

  He studied her for a few heartbeats, giving her a casual but unmistakable once-over. “I’m Detective Kyle Branson with the Kansas City Police Department. May I come in?”

  “Sure.” Just let a complete stranger waltz into your living room, she scolded herself. “Wait a minute. Um, can I see a badge or something?”

  He dutifully pulled his wallet from his back pocket and flipped it open, revealing a policeman’s shield and a photo ID. Jess studied them briefly. Looked good to her, but then what did she know? With a mental shrug, she opened the door wider to allow the detective inside.

  “Is something wrong?” she asked. “Oh, no, someone’s died, I know it. If they have, tell me now. I can take it.”

  “I hope no one’s died,” the detective said. Rather than reassuring, his words seemed ominous.

  Jess perched on the edge of her sofa, leaving available the recliner she’d bought for Terry’s bad back. Instead the cop sat next to her, a proper distance away but still close enough to be intimidating. She felt an illogical need to put more distance between them so she couldn’t be snared and held by his potent aura of power and masculinity. She resisted the urge to scoot farther away, instead folding her hands in her lap.

  “Do you know a Terry Rodin?” he asked.

  “Terry? Yes, I do. Has something happened?” Although Jess was positive she had no feelings left for Terry, she felt uneasy at the idea of any harm befalling him. She’d kicked him out, after all, when he had no job and no place to live. What if he’d become suicidal or something?

  “That’s what I’d like to know. He’s missing. This is his last known address.”

  “He moved out,” Jess said immediately. “He said he was going to stay with his friend Kevin.” She started to rise. “I’ve got his address and phone number if you—”

  “We’ve talked with Kevin,” the detective said, halting her with his searing blue gaze. “He’s the one who alerted us. He said that two nights ago Terry was supposed to move in with him, and he never showed up.”

  “That’s...that’s weird.”

  “You were here when he left?”

  “Yes. He took a taxi.”

  Branson produced a notebook from the inside pocket of his jacket, opened it and propped it on one knee to make notes. “Did he often take taxis?”

  “Well, no. He usually took my car, or I drove him, or one of his friends drove him.”

  “But he took a taxi this time.”

  “Yes. I offered to drive him over to Kevin’s, but he said he didn’t...well, he didn’t want anything from me. We’d previously been sort of involved, but I’d asked him to move out.”

  “Sort of involved?” A trace of humor lifted the corners of the detective’s mouth. Once again she sensed him appraising her. Did he find her lacking? For some reason, she didn’t think so. Branson behaved in a perfectly professional manner, but she couldn’t miss the flicker of interest in his eyes.

  Jess could feel heat rising in her face. “Very involved, but the relationship disintegrated months ago.”

  “And he only just now got around to moving out?”

  Jess folded her arms. “I couldn’t just kick him out into the street. He had nowhere to go, no money of his own. I gave him a few months to pull things together, but he never did. So finally I lowered the boom.” And it had been one of the hardest things she’d ever done. Even though she’d come to truly dislike the man, she’d also felt sorry for him. He was majorly dysfunctional.

  “Hey, Jess,” Lynn called from upstairs, “can I keep Terry’s CD player?”

  Detective Branson’s left eyebrow lifted by a fraction of an inch.

  “He left his stuff here,” Jess said with a shrug. “I assumed he would come back for it, but he hasn’t.”

  “Obviously.”

  Jess wasn’t sure she liked the look Branson gave her now, as if he was sizing her up for something.

  “Jess, did you hear me?” Lynn yelled.

  “Not now, Lynn,” Jess called back impatiently.

  “It’s funny that Kevin didn’t call here looking for Terry,” Jess said, thinking aloud. “Then again, I wasn’t Kevin’s favorite person. Maybe he didn’t want to talk to me.”

  “He says he tried to call you several times, but you never answered.”

  “He did? That’s odd. Why didn’t he leave a message?”

  “Apparently your machine wasn’t on.”

  “Well, of course it was on. I never leave without turning it on.”

  “Never?”

  “Well, hardly ever.” She didn’t push the matter. Perhaps Kevin had tried to call, and she had stepped outside or something without turning on the answering machine. He must not have tried very hard.

  “Tell me, Ms. Robinson, where do you think Terry might be?”

  “I have absolutely no idea. He has lots of friends and he might have crashed with one of them. Maybe he forgot he was supposed to stay with Kevin. You can never tell with Terry.”

  “He’s unpredictable?”

  “Predictably unpredictable. He had a unique way of looking at life, like everyone and everything owed him something, that it was his divine right to be happy, that his needs were more important than anyone else’s—” Abruptly Jess cut herself off. Good heavens, where had all that animosity come from?

  “Please go on,” Branson said with blatant interest.

  “I’m sorry. I guess I still have some residual anger to deal with. I started out trying to explain something, which is that only one thing matters to Terry, and that’s Terry. If he suddenly decided to bunk with someone else, he would probably arrive at their house unannounced and never bother to tell Kevin he’d changed his plans. That’s how Terry operates.”

  “And you were involved with him?” Branson asked, incredulous. He spoke again before she could answer. “I’m sorry, that was unprofessional and uncalled for.”

  She answered the impertinent question, anyway. “Terry’s also an excellent con artist. I confess he had me fooled for quite a while. Oh, and he loves practical jokes to an unhealthy point. It wouldn’t surprise me if he’d disappeared on purpose, just so I would worry.”

  “And are you worried?”

  “No,” she said too quickly. “I refuse to be worried.” When Branson continued to stare at her, causing a tremor of awareness along her spine, she added, “Well, maybe a little worried. It’s strange that he didn’t take his prized possessions.”

  “Such as?”

  “His CD player,�
� Jess said, nodding toward the stairs. “His clothes. The only way I can see that he would abandon those things is if someone else is providing them. And I’ll bet you dollars to doughnuts that’s exactly what happened.”

  “You mean you think he found him a sugar mama?”

  “It wouldn’t surprise me.”

  “Do you mind if I take a look around?” Branson asked.

  “Sure, no problem. I might even be able to scare up Terry’s address book, if that would help.”

  “That might help a lot.” Branson rose and allowed her to lead him upstairs. Silly as it was, she couldn’t shake the feeling that he was looking at her rear end as she walked ahead of him.

  She stepped aside and indicated that he should enter Terry’s room ahead of her. She followed him in, and there was Lynn, sitting on the floor, sorting through Terry’s CDs.

  “No, Lynn, you cannot keep anything of Terry’s, including his CD player. We’re going to box it all up and store it in the basement. Sooner or later, he’ll be back. Count on it.”

  Lynn made a face—until she laid eyes on Detective Branson. Then she scrambled up off the floor and smiled like a beauty queen as she glided across the room. “Oh, hi. Didn’t know we had company.”

  “Lynn, this is Detective Branson. Detective Branson, this is my sister, Lynn.”

  Lynn held out her hand as if she expected him to kiss it. “Charmed.”

  Oh, brother, Jess thought. Lynn had only recently overcome her teenager gawkiness, and she was fond of demonstrating her feminine charms to any male within range, just to see how they worked.

  Fortunately, Branson seemed to be immune. He smiled politely and murmured, “Nice to meet you.” Then he turned to Jess. His polite interest vanished, replaced by a more-than-healthy curiosity. “Did you share the room with him?”

  She opened her mouth, but no words came out. How dared he, and right in front of her little sister! What business was it of his whether she and Terry slept—