Framed Page 8

  The investigator had been wrong to discount her worries.

  If she’d been so worried about Phil based on nothing but vague threats—worried enough to ask the police for protection—why wasn’t she more concerned about Terry being a physical threat?

  “Jess?”

  “All right, I won’t go over to Kevin’s house. What else can be done?”

  “I have an idea...but you might not like it.”

  “I’m desperate. I’ll do anything.”

  Kyle didn’t respond right away, causing Jess to wonder exactly what possibilities he might be considering.

  “A stakeout,” he finally said. “Find the phone booth, hide your car and watch with binoculars to see who shows up at two in the morning.”

  “Oh, yes, that’s a great idea,” Jess said, her enthusiasm immediate. “But what should I do if he shows up? You seem to think it might be dangerous to confront Terry—”

  “I’ll confront him.”

  “So...I’ll bring a cellular phone with me on this stakeout? And if Terry shows up, I call you? What if you can’t get there in time?”

  “No, Jess, that’s not the plan at all. I’ll do the stakeout with you.”

  “Okay, so you think she’s really getting phone calls in the middle of the night,” Clewis said between bites of a corned-beef sandwich. He paused to wipe a smear of mustard off his chin. “What does that prove? It’s just a crank.”

  They were in the tiny enclosure of Lieutenant Easley’s office. The smell of corned beef permeated every molecule of air—and there hadn’t been that many to start with.

  “If nothing else, it’s harassment,” Kyle pointed out. “She’s got enough problems without losing sleep because of some fanatic.”

  “And that’s supposed to be a good enough reason to do a stakeout?” Clewis said. “Since when does the department okay stakeouts to catch a crank phone caller?”

  “When the crank caller is connected to a possible murder,” Kyle said, his voice rising on every word. Clewis’s continuing closed-mindedness was getting on his nerves. The guy had big-time tunnel vision.

  “Possible murder?” Clewis retorted, then shook his head at Kyle’s obvious naivete. “You are either soft in the head or hard in the—”

  “All right,” Easley broke in. “That’s enough, Clewis. Branson, you know as well as anyone this stakeout business is a long shot. Who’s to say the caller will strike again?”

  “He’s called three nights in a row.”

  “Who’s to say he’ll use the same phone?”

  “Criminals develop habits. Besides, the pay phone is within walking distance of Kevin Gilpatrick’s house, and Jess thinks he might be involved. She says she and Kevin were never on good terms.” Kyle didn’t go so far as to suggest that Gilpatrick was hiding Terry Rodin. He didn’t figure Easley or Clewis would go for a conspiracy theory.

  Easley gnawed thoughtfully on his pen. The thing was mangled so badly that Kyle doubted it was still functional.

  “Okay, here’s the deal,” Easley said. “I’ll okay this stakeout for one night, and one night only.”

  “But—” Clewis started to object, but Easley held up a hand to forestall him.

  “Hold on, Bill. Let me finish. The only reason I’m agreeing to your idea, Branson, is so you can legitimately spend some time with our suspect without arousing her suspicions. If she sits in a cramped car with you for hours on end, maybe she’ll let her guard drop. Maybe she’ll slip and reveal something.”

  “Or maybe she’ll break from the torture,” Clewis interjected. “I sure as hell wouldn’t want to spend the night in a car with you, Branson.”

  Kyle bit his tongue to keep from replying.

  “If this thing drags on for more than one night,” Easley said, “you’re on your own time.”

  Kyle nodded. “Fair enough.” It was a compromise he could five with. Maybe one night would be enough. Or maybe one night spent with Jess Robinson would never be enough. Surprised by the errant thought, he stared out the window until he could banish all thoughts of his hands tangled in thick brown hair, and pale thighs wrapped around his hips.

  Clewis shot a sour look at Kyle before tossing the remains of his sandwich into Easley’s trash can and exiting the room.

  Kyle started to follow when Easley stopped him. “Branson. Just one more thing.”

  Kyle turned back. “Yes?”

  “You’re a smart guy, a good investigator. I wouldn’t mind having you in my department on a permanent basis. But you’ve got a lot to learn when it comes to suspects. Some of them can charm the socks right off you. A few tears, a catch in the voice, a little prolonged eye contact, and it’s easy to fall.”

  Kyle nodded stiffly. There was no point in arguing with Easley. But Kyle’s belief in Jess’s innocence went far beyond a good acting job. He was looking at the facts, too, facts that didn’t add up to a simple conviction.

  “One other thing,” Easley said, and for once he threw down his chew stick. “I’m not advocating that you sleep with the woman. That would be unethical.” He stopped there, leaving Kyle with the impression that should an opportunity present itself, Easley would look the other way.

  Anything for the cause, Kyle caught himself thinking with a half smile as he left the room. Immediately he was flooded with guilt.

  Chapter 6

  “He’s late,” Lynn said, pointedly checking her watch. She sat on the living-room floor, the law books that had become her constant companions spread out on the coffee table. “Are you sure this is such a good idea?”

  “Why wouldn’t it be?” Jess shot back defensively. “I want to catch the crank caller, and this appears to be the only way.”

  “But why do you have to go? Why can’t Kyle do it by himself?”

  “He might need me to identify the caller,” she explained. “Anyway, it’s not like he’s getting paid to do this. He’s losing sleep on his own time. Since he’s doing it for my benefit, it’s only fair that I come along and keep him company.”

  “Hmm,” Lynn said.

  “Also, he said if our caller ‘makes’ him, having a woman along would look less suspicious.”

  “Makes him?” Lynn rolled her eyes.

  “You know, if he notices Kyle hanging around.”

  “I know what you mean. I just wondered when you’d started using police jargon. And when Detective Branson turned into Kyle.”

  Jess felt her face warming. All right, so what if she was a little bit fascinated with the detective? He gave her something interesting to focus on besides her own miserable situation. He gave her hope.

  “Anyway,” Lynn continued, apparently not expecting an explanation from Jess, “if he’s any good at what he does, no one will spot him.”

  “And how did you get to be such an expert on police work?” Jess asked, hoping to turn attention away from herself.

  “By reading all these books! All right, maybe I don’t know that much about police procedure. But from reading these briefs, I can tell you one thing. The police aren’t on your side. And I’m not sure it’s such a good idea for you to get chummy with a cop.”

  “But he really is on my side,” Jess said softly. Or was she being incredibly naive? Recalling how Kyle had interrogated her that day she was arrested, she winced. He sure as hell hadn’t been on her side then. “He at least wants to find out the truth. That other detective just wants to nail me, and to hell with truth.”

  “That’s not unusual, from what I can tell,” Lynn said. “The casebooks are full of instances where an innocent person was prosecuted because the police jumped to conclusions and went after the wrong guy. I’m making a list for Marva.”

  “You’re kind of enjoying this,” Jess concluded.

  Lynn looked up sharply. “Enjoying the fact that my sister has been charged with murder? Hardly.”

  “But you like the research. Ever thought of going to law school?”

  Lynn shrugged. “Marva said if I did, I could clerk for her anyt
ime.”

  Jess couldn’t help smiling. At least some good might come of this whole mess. Maybe her baby sister had found a calling—finally.

  The pealing doorbell chased the smile away. Oh, Lord, he was here. It was almost midnight, and she was going out the door with a man who made her insides go hot and liquid. And she was taking along a blanket.

  With some effort, she reestablished the smile and opened the door. “Hello, Kyle.”

  “Evening, ladies,” he said as he stepped inside.

  Jess had never seen him in casual clothes, and the effect was devastating—worn, snug jeans that delineated every muscle in his thighs, a gray wool sweater that made her think of warming her hands beneath it, an open shearling jacket that added to the daunting size of his upper body. She mumbled a pleasantry and took a step backward, nearly clipping herself on the coffee table.

  “It’s getting cold out,” he said as his gaze took in the women, the room, the law books, as if he was looking for something. Clues, maybe. The man was first and foremost a cop, and Jess couldn’t lose sight of that fact. He could take anything she said and twist it to his advantage. He’d already proved that he could.

  Then why did she find it so easy to believe in his honorable intentions now? Maybe she was as naive as her sister accused her of being. She already knew she was a lousy judge of character. Why should this be any different?

  “I’m wearing thermal underwear,” she said in response to his weather report.

  He quirked one eyebrow, perhaps thinking her discussion of underthings was inappropriate.

  She quickly continued. “And I have a thermos of coffee. And gloves, and even a blanket.” Realizing how that sounded, she added, “Maybe two blankets would be better.”

  Lynn smirked. Kyle looked up at the ceiling as if he found her acoustical tiles fascinating. Jess realized she was digging herself deeper.

  “I’ll get another blanket,” she said firmly, heading for the stairs.

  “Don’t bother,” Kyle said, his voice rife with amusement. Her heart thumped wildly until he said, “I have an extra in the trunk. I think we’ll be plenty warm.”

  Why was she so darn easy to flummox? Men knew it. Everyone knew it, and it seemed as if they all delighted in embarrassing her.

  Damn, now she was getting paranoid.

  “We should be going,” Kyle said. “Lynn, you know what to do?”

  She nodded. “I let the phone ring twice, I pick it up, and I pretend to be Jess and get all flustered.”

  “That’s it. And lock the door behind us. Never know who might be lurking around.”

  Not wanting to alarm Lynn, Jess waited until she and Kyle were outside before voicing yet another of her doubts. “You don’t think Lynn could be in any danger, do you?”

  “Not any more than the average citizen.”

  “I thought I noticed someone following us today when we went to the grocery store.”

  “Wouldn’t surprise me, but it probably wasn’t a bad guy.”

  She had to think a moment. “Oh. The police are following me?”

  He was slow in answering. “I’m not involved with the investigation, so I don’t know exactly what they’re doing, but having you followed would make sense.”

  Jess shivered. “No wonder Marva warned me to watch my p’s and q’s.” It wasn’t the first time Jess had lived in a fishbowl. Back in Massachusetts, she’d been a hot media topic and a favorite feminist cause for several weeks. Phil Cattrone’s family had hired private investigators to shadow her every move, trying to dig up dirt—any kind of dirt—that would strengthen the state’s case against her.

  Thank goodness her life was so staid. The P.I. hadn’t been able to find any skeletons in her closet. Not back then.

  Kyle opened the passenger door of a white LeBaron, and she climbed in. “Wait a minute, where’s your Mustang?” Moments later she spotted the elaborate radio equipment on the dash and console. “This is a cop car.”

  “Yeah,” Kyle drawled as he slid behind the steering wheel. “The fire-engine red Mustang is a little too obvious for a stakeout.”

  “But how did you get this one? Do they let you take cars home overnight?”

  “No. I went and picked it up just now.”

  “You mean the police know about the stakeout? Detective Clewis, I mean,” she clarified, since Kyle was the police, too.

  “Of course. I wouldn’t undertake this on my own without telling someone. If we actually find Terry, we’ll need backup.”

  “I see.” Somehow, this revelation disappointed her. She’d taken comfort in the thought that Kyle was on her side, not Clewis’s. “Are you getting paid?”

  Another long pause. “Yeah. Does that bother you? I’ve convinced Clewis and Lieutenant Easley, his superior, to give this plan a shot.”

  “Then I guess it shouldn’t bother me.” But it did.

  “Even if they hadn’t approved the overtime, I’d be here,” he added.

  She wanted to take comfort in his loyalty. But in the back of her mind she could hear what Lynn would say to that: Loyalty? What makes you think he owes you any loyalty? Get a grip, sis. He’s got an angle.

  She didn’t want to believe that. Couldn’t he just be a nice guy who wanted her to have a fair chance? Couldn’t he?

  They drove in almost total silence toward staunchly middle-class Raytown, about twenty minutes. As the LeBaron’s energetic heater warmed the car’s interior, Jess thawed a bit, too.

  She had to take Kyle at face value. It wasn’t in her nature to be suspicious of kindness, of good deeds, no matter about her past. She saw the worst of people every day in her work as she transcribed tapes from trials of every description—people suing anybody and everybody for the almighty dollar, criminals lying through their teeth, con artists ripping off old ladies. Yet she’d never lost her belief that people were basically good until proven otherwise.

  She needed that faith. Without it, what would be the point?

  “This is the place,” Kyle said as he drove slowly past a darkened discount store. A duo of phones sat against the brick wall near the front entrance, with only a small Plexiglas shield between them for privacy.

  “Looks quiet enough,” Jess said.

  “Too quiet. No place for us to hide.” He drove around the block twice before settling on a parking spot on a side street. They had a full view of the parking lot and the phones—from several hundred feet away.

  “How will we recognize Terry from this distance?” Jess asked.

  “I’ll admit it’s not an ideal situation. But the way I figure, anyone who stops to make a phone call here this late at night is suspicious.” He pulled out a pair of binoculars from under the seat. “We can get a license plate, if he’s driving, and you might be able to ID him with these.”

  “Let me try.” She held the binoculars up to her face and twiddled with the focus for a few moments. “Goodness, I think I could ID a gnat with these things. Okay, I’m convinced. This’ll work. Now what?”

  “We wait. And we freeze. That pretty much describes a stakeout. Waiting and freezing. Or frying, in the summer.” He turned off the ignition. Without the constant blast of the heater, the air inside the car quickly cooled.

  Jess resisted reaching for the blanket in the back seat. She didn’t want to wimp out this early in the game. She needed something to get her mind off the cold, off the tension, off the feel of her own nerves grating against each other. “So what made you decide to become a cop?”

  “My dad was a cop,” he answered. “It was pretty much preordained that I would follow in his footsteps.” His voice was casual, but his gaze remained riveted on the phones across the street. He seemed to be taking his job very seriously.

  “Do you ever wish you’d done something else?”

  He paused before answering. “Nah. I like the work.”

  “Don’t you worry about the danger?”

  “Not anymore. Missing-persons work isn’t all that hazardous. Not like when I used
to patrol on the east side. Now that was dicey.”

  “Were you ever hurt?”

  “Not bad.”

  His answer made her wonder exactly what “not bad” entailed, but she decided it was really none of her business. Or maybe she didn’t want to know. She didn’t like thinking of Kyle’s handsome face being bruised or his strong bones broken. Now that he was on her side, she didn’t want to think of him as anything but invincible.

  She found herself wanting to touch him, to reassure herself he was real, solid muscle. “Want some coffee?” she asked overbrightly.

  “Sure.”

  It was something to do, something to keep her hands busy. She poured them each a paper cupful. “I forgot to bring sugar or creamer.”

  “I take it black. Thanks.” He took a long sip, despite the fact that the coffee had to be still scalding. “Good.”

  Jess blew on hers. She struggled for another avenue of conversation—not that she didn’t have a million questions she wanted to ask him, but she didn’t want to be tediously curious. So she remained quiet, cautiously sipping her coffee, watching the parking lot, stealing glances at Kyle’s strong profile and experimenting with fantasies about whether his lips were firm or soft, whether he closed his eyes when he kissed, what that thick, black hair might feel like between her fingers.

  When she became aware what she was doing, she almost choked. Granted, she’d been fascinated with Kyle Branson from the moment he’d arrived on her front porch—fascinated, intimidated, a little frightened. When had those feelings intensified to blatant desire?

  There had to be a logical explanation. Lynn—the selfproclaimed psychology expert—would know. It was probably some transference thing, gratitude transformed into lust, something like that. The assurance that a logical explanation could be found didn’t help one bit. Her imagination continued to wander with abandon into dangerous territory.

  She stared determinedly out the windshield. That’s when she spotted the man strolling at a leisurely pace across the empty parking lot.

  “Hey, look—”

  “I see,” Kyle said, the words clipped. He handed her the binoculars. “Look familiar?”