by Lisa Jackson
She was here with Zane, making love, and that was all that mattered. They moved together, fusing, loving, spiraling upward and soaring above the clouds. Heaven and earth seemed to splinter before her eyes and she cried his name as she tumbled on a slow, heated cloud back to earth. “Zane, oh, Zane!”
“I’m here, love,” he murmured into her hair. “I always will be.”
“I know,” she whispered, more content than she’d ever been, snuggling deep in his arms, resting her head against the soft mat of hair on his chest, listening to the loud cadence of his heart. This seemed so right, so perfect.
As afterglow finally faded, his lips found hers again and they made love—more slowly this time—exploring and touching, rekindling old fires that flamed and sizzled, becoming intimate as naturally as if they’d never separated.
Afterward, Kaylie sighed contentedly against him as he drifted into a deep sleep. Closing her eyes, she knew that she loved him. It was that simple. And that complicated.
Moaning, he rolled away from her, then sighed, still sleeping. His face, in slumber, was carefree, his mouth a soft line, his lashes dark against his cheek.
Kaylie touched his hair, and her heart nearly broke. Why was she doomed to love a man who was so smothering? Pressing a soft kiss to his lips, she rolled over, intending to fall asleep and deal with her feelings in the morning with a clear head. Maybe she and Zane could work things out. He was a reasonable man, and she was now a mature woman. If she only explained….
She noticed a reflection of moonlight on the floor—a dazzling flash of silver in the dark pile of his clothes. Her heart stopped when she realized that she was staring at his keys as they poked from the pocket of his jeans.
She closed her eyes for a second, wishing the vision away, but when she lifted her lids, the keys still lay there. Beckoning. Offering escape and freedom.
Her mouth turned to cotton.
Oh, God, she thought, shaking inside. Could she leave him? She glanced at his peaceful, trusting profile, tanned skin in relief against the white pillow, and her heart felt as if it were tearing in two.
She had no choice. She had to control her own life. She couldn’t allow him to manipulate her.
Holding her breath and fighting tears, she slipped slowly from the bedcovers and silently picked up his keys. As her fingers closed around the cool metal, she hardly dared breathe. They jangled softly, but Zane just snorted and turned over.
For a few precious seconds Kaylie stood silently in the room, staring longingly down at Zane. If only they could love each other again—if only…but it would never work. Wasn’t the fact that he kidnapped her proof enough that he always intended to force her will to his?
She couldn’t let him control her! Her heart in her throat, she grabbed her clothes and sneaked out of the room.
She dressed quickly on the landing and fought the overpowering urge to run back to him.
Instead she slipped silently downstairs and outside. The air was fresh from the rain, and the first streaks of dawn illuminated the eastern sky.
Kaylie braced herself, then strode off the porch.
The Jeep waited for her.
Chapter Nine
Rick Taylor jabbed at a broken piece of pottery with his broom. Rolling his eyes, he cocked his head toward the patient. “He’s been this way ever since Friday.”
Dr. Anthony Henshaw rubbed his chin as he surveyed the damage in the small room. Books were thrown haphazardly on the floor, the desk chair was overturned, a bulletin board ripped from the wall, papers scattered on the floor and the pieces of clay pottery and dirt smashed against one corner. “What’s the matter, Lee?” Henshaw asked the patient with the flaming red hair.
“He won’t talk about it,” Rick said, tossing the trash into a plastic bag. “But it started the other day during that show he watches, West Coast Morning. The woman who usually does the interviews—Kaylie whatever-her-nameis—wasn’t on that day; out for ‘personal reasons’ the other guy said, and ol’ Lee, here—” he cocked his head toward the patient again “—went ’round the bend. I’ve been cleaning up this room once a day.”
Henshaw frowned. This didn’t sound good. He’d just returned from a symposium in Chicago and discovered from Dr. Jones that Lee Johnston had relapsed. “You miss Kaylie, Lee?” he asked, but the patient, sitting on the end of the unmade bed, didn’t reply, just stared blankly ahead, hands clasped prayerlike on his lap.
Dr. Henshaw scratched his chin. Lee was a difficult case; always had been. He sat next to the patient. “Does it bother you when Kaylie isn’t on the show?”
No reply, just a slight movement of Johnston’s thin lips.
“Even people who work on television take vacations. They need time off, too.”
“He’s not talkin’ today,” Rick said, shaking his head as he restacked books and magazines in the bookcase. “Won’t say a word. Not one. Not to me, nor to Jeff or Pam, either. If you ask me, he’s waitin’ for the show.” Shoving the last book on the bottom shelf, he glanced over his shoulder at the doctor. “Let’s just hope she’s back. Then maybe Lee here will calm down.”
Rick left the room, and Henshaw tried communicating with Lee, but to no avail. Quiet, but obviously still upset, Lee refused to acknowledge the doctor’s presence. After ten minutes, Henshaw gave up. He had other patients to see and a staff meeting in half an hour.
Ramming his hands deep into his pockets, he walked down the long hallway, rounded a couple of corners to the administrative offices. His own cubicle was near the back, with one window and a view of the gardens.
Dropping into his chair, he scowled to himself. Johnston obviously still had problems. Henshaw doubted if the man would ever fit into society. Yet there was talk that he might be released soon. Aside from a few incidents like the trashing of the room, Lee had been a model patient.
Henshaw picked up a pen and clicked it several times. Then there was the matter of Johnston’s privacy. Several people were interested in his case and wondered about his freedom. Henshaw had been called by Kaylie Melville’s ex-husband often enough. The man was obviously still hung up on her. As, apparently, was Lee. And then there was Kaylie’s costar, Alan Bently, a man who seemed always linked with her. There were even rumors of their engagement. Not that Henshaw cared. What she did with her life was her business—until it involved his patient.
Henshaw had met Kaylie a couple of times and even he, happily married for twenty-seven years, a proud father and grandfather twice over, understood a man’s fascination with Ms. Melville. Whether she knew it or not, she had a way of stirring up a man.
The doctor shoved thin strands of hair from his face and set his glasses on the table. He rubbed his eyes and wondered how he could get through to Lee. With a long sigh, he decided convincing Johnston that his obsession was pure fantasy and in no way reciprocated would take a miracle. Lee had been obsessed with Kaylie for over seven years. Making Johnston believe that Kaylie had no interest in him would be no easier than walking on water.
* * *
Returning to San Francisco took hours. During the long drive through the mountains as the sun climbed higher in the sky, Kaylie felt more than one twinge of guilt. Gritting her teeth, she shoved the ridiculous feeling aside. She couldn’t start second-guessing herself. Not now. Not after seven years of living without Zane.
Her throat grew tight at the thought of the love they’d shared, the passion that had rocked her to her very soul. She could still remember his whispered words of endearment, smell the scent of him clinging to her skin, see in her mind’s eye his body lying across the bed.
Glancing into the rearview mirror, she noticed shadows in her eyes. “Oh, Kaylie,” she said with a sigh, “forget him.” Then, her lips twisting at the irony of it all, she murmured, “He asked to be left up there alone—he deserves it for barreling back into your life again!”
But she couldn’t forget the fire of their lovemaking, the tenderness with which he kissed her, the passion he used to try and keep her saf
e.
He was wonderful and horrible, and she didn’t want him out of her life. To forget about him, she flipped on the radio and tried to catch up on the news, yet she couldn’t shrug off the guilt of leaving him high and dry. “Remember,” she told herself, “he kidnapped you. You owe him nothing!” But the guilt remained.
She followed the highway signs west toward San Francisco. She’d have to return Zane’s keys and Jeep to the headquarters of his security firm. When she squared off with Brad Hastings, Zane’s right-hand man, she’d tell him where to look for his boss.
At that thought, she grinned sadly. Zane would be furious! But at least she’d finally gotten the better of him, even if her victory seemed somehow hollow.
Kaylie’s fingers tightened around the steering wheel just as the deep green waters of the bay came into view. Sunlight spangled the surface, and the San Francisco skyline stretched to the sky.
Once in the city, traffic slowed and clogged the main arterials. Pedestrians crowded the sidewalk.
The Jeep climbed the city’s hills easily, and she parked in the lot of her apartment building. She yanked on the emergency brake, then switched off the ignition. The parking lot was quiet save for the ticking of the engine as it cooled, and Kaylie was left with the empty feeling that she’d left something important—something vital—back at the log house in the forest.
“Don’t be a fool,” she snapped, locking Zane’s Jeep and making her way to the elevator that would take her to her third-floor flat.
Inside, her apartment looked the same as it had when she’d left it last week, but the atmosphere in the rooms was different—cooler, somehow. Vacant. Though Zane had never lived here.
“You’re imagining things,” she chided herself, stripping off her clothes and heading for the shower. She needed to clear her mind, make a few calls, and then, when she was refreshed, tackle the issue of Zane again.
Smiling at the irony of it all, she imagined returning the Jeep and explaining to Brad Hastings that Zane was stranded. She stepped under the shower’s steamy spray and relaxed. Yes, she decided, Zane, for his high-handedness, deserved everything she’d given him and more.
So why, as she washed, did she still feel regrets that their idyllic time together had come to an abrupt end?
As she dressed and dried her hair, images of Zane flitted through her mind. She listened to her answering machine. Several people had called including Alan, Tracy and Dr. Henshaw. Dialing Whispering Hills, she waited, her stomach knotting, for the receptionist to put her through to Lee Johnston’s psychiatrist.
Eventually he picked up. “I’m sorry it took so long to get back to you,” he said, explaining that he’d been out of town. Kaylie asked him point-blank about Johnston, and there was a pause on the other end of the line.
“You shouldn’t have to worry about him for a long while,” Henshaw said slowly.
The relief she should have felt didn’t wash over her. In fact, Henshaw’s pregnant pause caused her mind to race in a thousand questions. Zane was right—Henshaw seemed to be holding back. “How long?”
“That’s for the courts to decide.”
“Upon recommendation from you and the other doctors at the hospital.”
“Don’t worry, Ms. Melville. Lee’s not going anywhere. Not for a long, long time, I’m afraid.”
“Well, I think you should know someone is saying differently,” she said, deciding that confiding in him wouldn’t hurt. But he already knew about the two calls from Ted and he dismissed them as a “twisted petty prank.”
By the time she replaced the receiver, she was reasonably certain that Johnston would remain at the hospital for a while, and yet she wasn’t satisfied.
It’s because Zane isn’t here, a voice inside her head insisted as she punched out the number for the station.
The receptionist answered and put her through to the producer of West Coast Morning. “Kaylie!” Jim shouted, bringing a smile to her face. “About time we heard from you! How’s that aunt of yours?”
Kaylie’s face fell. How was she going to deal with Zane’s intricate web of lies? “She’s—uh, improving,” Kaylie finally replied, deciding to keep Zane’s kidnapping to herself—at least for a while. “Incredible recovery,” Kaylie forced herself to say, inwardly cursing Zane. “I’m sorry I didn’t call you myself—everything got really crazy….” At least that wasn’t a lie.
“Not to worry. Margot explained everything.”
Not quite everything. In Kaylie’s estimation, Margot had a lot of questions to answer.
“We’ve missed you around here,” Jim joked good-naturedly. “The show just hasn’t been the same without you. And we’ve been getting a lot of calls. People wondering how you and your aunt are doing. You might have to bring it up on the show tomorrow. Viewers really get off on all that personal stuff.”
The thought of lying on the air curled Kaylie’s stomach. But Jim was right. “About those calls,” Kaylie asked. “Did I get any from a guy named Ted?”
“I don’t think so. What is it with that guy? Someone else called about him. Tracy took the call.” She heard a muffled noise as Jim placed his hand over the receiver and talked to his assistant. “She says that a guy named Hastings called—a guy who works for your ex. Is something going on?”
“Just a crank call,” Kaylie said, quickly explaining to Jim about the threats, though he didn’t seem overly concerned when she explained that Lee Johnston was still locked up.
“Another nut. I tell ya, this town is full of ’em,” Jim said before the conversation ended.
She hung up the phone, grabbed her jacket and purse and headed out the door.
* * *
The offices of Flannery Security were located on the fifth floor of a building not far from the waterfront. Bracing herself, Kaylie pushed open glass doors and recognized the receptionist. Peggy Wagner was a plump woman, somewhere near fifty, with tight gray curls and wirerimmed glasses. Peggy had worked for Zane forever.
“Mrs. Flannery!” Peggy cried, a smile gracing her soft features as she glanced up from her word processor. “Are you here to see Mr.—”
“Hastings. The executive vice president,” Kaylie replied, hoping that the couple waiting on a low-slung couch in the reception area hadn’t overheard. Peggy never had been able to use Kaylie’s maiden name. Apparently she still thought of Kaylie as Zane’s wife.
“You’re in luck. He’s in,” Peggy said, flipping a switch on an intercom and announcing Kaylie. “I’ll walk you back.” She ripped off her headgear and motioned to another woman at a nearby desk. “I’ll be right back,” she said, then guided Kaylie through a labyrinth of corridors.
At the end of one hall, Peggy knocked, then opened a door to a small office. The floor was hardwood, the desk oak and the rest of the furniture was expensive and neat, but far from opulent.
Peggy motioned to a pair of leather couches. “Just have a seat and he’ll be with you in a moment. Would you like anything while you wait? Coffee or tea?”
“I’m fine,” Kaylie replied, wishing Hastings would suddenly appear so she could explain how he could find Zane, then get out.
Peggy crossed the room again. “It’ll just be a little while,” she assured Kaylie as she closed the doors behind her.
Kaylie, rather than sit anxiously twiddling her thumbs, walked to the windows and stared through the glass to the city beyond. Skyscrapers knifed upward against a hazy blue sky, and a jet circled over the bay. Below, traffic twisted and pedestrians bustled along sidewalks.
The door clicked softly behind her.
Finally! Grinning to herself, Kaylie reached into her purse for Zane’s keys. “I’m so glad you could see me,” she said, turning, only to wish she could drop through the floor.
Zane was locking the door behind him.
Her heart slammed against her ribs as she stood face-to-face with him. The keys fell from her hand, and her mouth went suddenly bone-dry.
“Me, too,” he replied with more
than a trace of sarcasm. His expression was dark and murderous, and every exposed muscle contracted tightly. His eyes were the cold gray of the barrel of a gun, and his lips were razor thin. He looked dangerous and coiled—like a whip ready to crack.
Kaylie gulped, but stood her ground.
“Surprised?”
“I think the word is thunderstruck,” she said, hoping to make light of the tension crackling through the room.
“Well, I’ve got to hand it to you, Kaylie. You fooled me.” His jaw slid to one side, and he shot her a glance from the corner of his eye. “I thought we were making progress, but you decided to take one last gamble. And it worked. Almost.” He tossed his leather jacket into his chair and shoved the sleeves of his blue sweater up his forearms. His hair was still wind-tossed and wild, and his pallor had darkened with the quietly repressed fury burning in his gaze. “I guess I should offer you a job. You’re the only person who’s been able to pull one over on me in a long while.”
Slowly he advanced upon her. “You lifted my keys, then stole my car—”
“I warned you, Zane,” she said, refusing to back up, though she wanted to retreat desperately.
“Warned me?” He shook his head, and he was so close that the movement fanned her face. “That’s a good one.” The skin over the bridge of his nose was stretched taut, and his nostrils flared. Little white lines etched the corners of his mouth. He was furious—his eyes flared with savage fire, but she couldn’t let him know that he frightened her at all.
“I trusted you,” he said quietly.
“So that’s why you had to keep me prisoner? Because of your ‘trust’?” she tossed back at him.
His lips compressed. “We made love, damn it!”
“I—I know.”
“And it meant nothing to you!” he charged, his rage exploding.
“No, Zane, I—”
“You slept with me, toyed with me, then the minute I let down my guard, you took off in the night, like some cheap…” He let the sentenced dangle between them—unspoken accusations cutting deep.
“Like some cheap what?” she threw back at him.
