Obsession

by Lisa Jackson

  Kaylie didn’t know what to say. Alan was flying so high, he was so exhilarated that she didn’t want to burst his bubble by saying she wasn’t interested. “What about West Coast Morning? she asked quietly.

  “Oh, who knows! It would only be for a few months… Jim would understand.”

  “I don’t know,” Kaylie began.

  “You don’t know? You don’t know? What’s to know? This is the opportunity of a lifetime and you don’t know? What is this? Are you already trying to squeeze a little more money—”

  “Of course not.”

  “Then you’re afraid, right? Afraid of failure? Or afraid of some loony taking after you again? Or is it something else?” he said, thinking aloud as he closed the distance to her desk. “Don’t tell me, it’s Flannery, isn’t it? You’re afraid of him—of what he’ll say, aren’t you?”

  Kaylie’s temper got the better of her tongue. “I don’t think it’s even worth discussing. I haven’t heard anything concrete yet. No one’s offered me a part and so, as far as I can see, it’s a moot point.”

  Alan threw his hands into the air. “God, Kaylie! We are talking major motion picture here! And you’re not even willing to pursue it? What’s gotten into you?”

  “Maybe she’s just using her head.” Zane was standing in the doorway, and his face was a mask of slow-burning fury. Something was wrong. Kaylie could read it in the set of his jaw. Slowly, he reached into his jacket pocket, withdrew a tape and flipped the tape onto Kaylie’s desk. “How about explaining this?” he suggested to Alan.

  “What—a tape? Music? Rap? What?” Alan shrugged and lifted his palms. “What’s going on, Flannery?”

  But Kaylie knew. On the tape was the voice of “Ted.” The warning. But Alan? No way. Her gaze flew to Zane’s, but he was concentrating on Alan.

  “Nope. Just a conversation with a friend of mine. His name’s Ted,” Zane said, crossing his arms over his chest.

  “Ted who?” Alan asked, sending Kaylie a glance that insinuated Zane was walking around with more than one screw loose.

  “I don’t know his last name. Maybe you can fill that part in.”

  “Me?”

  Zane slipped the tape into the radio/cassette player on Kaylie’s credenza.

  “Zane, I don’t think…” Kaylie began, but the tape started to play and the conversation between Zane and Ted filled the room.

  Alan stared at the tape player as if he couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Zane swung one leg over the corner of Kaylie’s desk and leaned closer to the other man. “The voice on this tape is that of a woman—I don’t know her real name—but I think you do.”

  “A woman? But—”

  “It’s disguised of course, but it’s probably someone you know—maybe someone you date. And no, I’m not talking about Kaylie, because you’ve never dated her, but have led all the tabloids to believe it.”

  “Are you out of your mind?”

  “I don’t think so.” Zane let the words sink in, then once he was certain he had Alan’s undivided attention, continued. “I talked to the phone company, and it seems there are several long-distance phone calls on your bill. Calls to the Carmel Police Department on the night that Kaylie was attacked by Johnston and calls to reporters for The Insider and a couple of other tabloids. Unfortunately there aren’t any calls from your phone to my agency when ‘Ted’ rang me up. But we have the general vicinity in which the calls were made. My guess is that one of your girlfriends made the call. My men are checking into that right now.”

  “That’s ridiculous,” Alan said, but the lines around the corners of his mouth were tightening, and the glare he sent Zane was pure hatred.

  Kaylie couldn’t believe her ears. Not Alan. He couldn’t, wouldn’t put her life in danger!

  “It only makes sense, Bently,” Zane continued, rewinding the tape and playing it again, letting Ted’s warning bounce off the corners of the room. Sweat dotted Alan’s upper lip.

  Zane motioned toward the recorder. “You’ve been pushing for more publicity for the past year and a half. You’ve moved behind the scenes to make people aware of you—and my wife.”

  “You’re wrong, Flannery.”

  “Am I?” Zane clucked his tongue, and his foot swung slowly as he turned to Kaylie. “You know why Henshaw agreed to come onto this program, don’t you?”

  “Because of his book,” Kaylie said.

  Zane nodded. “And the movie rights tied into that book—rights dealing with Lee Johnston, rights to your story, our story and Alan’s story.”

  Alan’s face drained of color. “You’re jumping to conclusions.”

  “Am I?” Zane demanded, his eyes narrowing on the shorter man. “I don’t think so. In fact, I’ve already had a conversation with the good doctor. He seems to remember placing a call on the night of Johnston’s escape attempt, and not just a call to the police. He called you, Alan. So that you could milk this for all it was worth.”

  “That’s ridiculous!”

  “At first I thought Henshaw might have been in on Johnston’s escape—helped him along a little. But he convinced me and—” he stared pointedly at his watch “—right now he’s convincing the police that you and he only took advantage of a situation that had already occurred. So, when Johnston escaped, he called you and you eventually called the Carmel police. Why?”

  “I didn’t—”

  “There are telephone records, Bently.”

  Kaylie’s stomach lurched. Surely Alan wouldn’t have done anything to hurt her—to put her life in danger.

  Alan turned to Kaylie, and all of his bravado escaped in a defeated rush. He fell into a chair and buried his face in his hands. “I didn’t mean to hurt anyone,” he whispered, his voice muffled.

  “Oh, Alan, no!” Kaylie cried, tears of anger building behind her eyes. “You couldn’t have!”

  “You got it backward,” Alan admitted, his voice barely a whisper as he looked up, his eyes filled with regret. “That night—the night he escaped. Johnston called here, asking for Kaylie. I didn’t know who he was…but by the tone of his voice I guessed. And later, Henshaw called with the news.”

  “Oh, God,” Kaylie whispered.

  “So you gave him her address in Carmel,” Zane said, not letting up for a second.

  “But I called the police—almost immediately! I—I…” The look he sent Kaylie was pathetic. “I just didn’t know that he was already over halfway there, that he’d been hitchhiking and so…I called Henshaw back and told him I’d already taken care of everything and that Kaylie was all right and that I thought he and I should do some business together. I’d talked to him before—about a movie on Johnston’s life and now, together, I thought we could put something together. Viewer interest would already be high,” he said, as if the American public’s wishes erased all of his mistakes.

  “And that’s why he agreed to appear on your show?” Zane persisted.

  “Yes—to promote his book and to get people interested in Lee Johnston’s story.”

  “You’d better call an attorney, Bently,” Zane suggested, his voice filled with loathing. “A good one. You’re up to your neck in this, and the police are bound to show up any minute. I gave them a full report.” He reached across the desk and grabbed Kaylie’s hand. “Let’s get out of here.”

  She picked up her purse from habit, but her entire world seemed to be turned upside down. Alan? A man she’d worked with forever had used her, betrayed her, felt so little concern for her life? Lord, how had she been so blind?

  “Kaylie,” Alan said, his features set and grim. His voice broke. “I—I’m sorry. I never—”

  “So am I,” she managed to say as she let Zane guide her out of the television station. The police were already in the reception area, two squad cars parked outside, four officers charging through the connecting room.

  News cameras, some from the station itself, others from rivals, whirred, and reporters were already gathering information for their nightly reports.
Microphones were thrust at Kaylie, and cameras chased them as Zane and Kaylie, arms linked, dashed across the parking lot.

  “Ms. Melville—can you give us some insight on the reports that Alan Bently was involved in Lee Johnston’s escape?”

  Kaylie refused to answer that one.

  “How do you feel—”

  Zane spun around. “No comment,” he growled, glaring at the reporters.

  “Mr. Flannery—you’re Ms. Melville’s husband and—”

  “Right now I’m her bodyguard,” he clarified, his face thrust within bare inches of the slim man who was wielding his microphone like some jousting lance. “And, if you don’t want me to get physical, you’d better back off!”

  With that, he turned, helped Kaylie into the Jeep and climbed behind the wheel. He roared off, leaving the cameras still whirring.

  “My bodyguard?” Kaylie repeated, sagging against the seat and lolling her head back as she looked at her husband. “Oh, boy, I can hardly wait. ‘Talk-show hostess demotes husband to bodyguard. Film at eleven.’”

  “That little jerk deserved it,” Zane insisted, cranking on the wheel hard to round a corner.

  “I work with that ‘little jerk.’”

  “You have my sympathy.”

  “My bodyguard?” she asked again, chuckling at the ludicrous title.

  “That’s right. Your bodyguard, your husband, your lover, your spouse, your fantasy and hopefully the father of your unborn children!”

  He touched her hand, and tears blurred her vision. Yes, Zane was all of the above, and much, much more. He was her life. “I should wring your neck,” she whispered without much conviction.

  “I think you can be more imaginative than that,” he said, slanting her a sexy grin. “My body parts are willingly at your disposal….”

  “You know what I mean,” she replied, unable to smother a smile. “You’re supposed to be letting me live my life.”

  “I just don’t like to leave any loose ends dangling.” Downshifting, he wheeled into the parking lot of their apartment building. “‘Ted’ was a loose end. The call to the police was a loose end. Those Insider lies about your relationship with Alan were loose ends!”

  They rode up the elevator together, and Franklin, whining, greeted them. While Zane took the shepherd for a short walk, Kaylie dug through the pantry and found a bottle of champagne they’d never opened—the bottle from the chapel where they were married.

  She should be furious with him, she supposed, but she wasn’t. In fact, she liked the fact that he’d wrapped up all the loose ends. He hadn’t stopped her from working, hadn’t even objected when she’d mentioned that she might consider another movie. He was trying…and so was she.

  She popped open the champagne and poured two glasses. Then, on a whim, she poured a little bit into a bowl. When Zane and Franklin returned, she set the bowl on the floor for the dog and handed Zane a glass.

  “What’s this?” he asked, but his gray eyes glinted.

  “A celebration.”

  “Of what?”

  “Kaylie Flannery’s new independence.” Without any more ado, Franklin began lapping from his bowl.

  “This is sounding dangerous,” he said, but he wrapped one arm around her waist, and she giggled, as they both sipped from their glasses.

  “Well, I’ve become so independent, you see, that my husband’s meddling in my life doesn’t even bother me.”

  “I never meddle,” Zane argued.

  Franklin sneezed.

  Kaylie laughed and, while balancing her glass, wrapped her arms around Zane’s neck. “Don’t ever stop caring, Zane Flannery,” she said, her eyes crinkling at the corners.

  “I never did,” he vowed, and pressed champagne-laced kisses upon her waiting lips. “And I never will.”

  * * * * *

  ISBN: 978-1-474-04687-9

  OBSESSION

  © 1991 Lisa Jackson

  Published in Great Britain 2015

  by Mills & Boon, an imprint of Harlequin (UK) Limited

  Eton House, 18-24 Paradise Road, Richmond, Surrey TW9 1SR

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