Obsession

“Oh, my God,” Kaylie whispered, her hand to her mouth. She listened to the tape twice, her insides wrenching as the warning was repeated. Zane, though he attempted to appear calm, was coiled tightly, his features tense, his eyes flicking from her to the corners of the room, as if he half expected someone to jump out and attack her.

Why now? she wondered frantically. Why ever?

She bit her lower lip, then thinking it a sign of weakness, stopped just as the tape clicked off. “Why did this ‘Ted’ guy call you? Why not me?”

“Beats me,” Zane admitted, sipping amber liquor from a short glass, his jaw sliding pensively to the side. “None of this is official. At least not yet.” Zane’s features were hard, and a quiet fury burned in his eyes. “So far we’ve only got this guy’s—whoever he is—word for it. I talked with Johnston’s psychiatrist and I didn’t like what he said.”

“But he didn’t say Johnston would be released.” She turned pleading eyes up at him.

“No, but I’ve got a gut feeling on this one. Henshaw was being too careful. My bet is that the man’s going to walk, Kaylie. Whoever called me had a reason.”

“Oh, God.” Her whole body shook. Stark moments of terror returned—memories of a deranged man who’d sworn he’d kill for her. “They can’t let him go. He’s sick! Beyond sick!”

Zane lifted a shoulder. “He’s been locked up a long time. Model patient. It wouldn’t surprise me if the courts decide he got better.”

Her world spun back to that horrible night when Johnston had threatened her, waved a knife in front of her eyes, his other arm hard against her stomach as he’d dragged her from the theater. He’d sworn then that he would kill for her and he wanted her to witness the sacrifice….

In her mind’s eye, she could still see his crazed smile, feel him tremble excitedly against her, smell the scent of his stale breath.

She sagged against the wall and felt the rough texture of plaster against her bare back. Think, Kaylie, she told herself, refusing to appear weak. Swallowing back her fear, she straightened and squared her shoulders. She couldn’t fall apart—she wouldn’t! Forcing her gaze to Zane’s, she silently prayed she didn’t betray any of the panic surging through her veins. “I think I’d better talk to Henshaw myself.”

“Be my guest.”

On weak legs she walked into the kitchen, looked up the number of the mental hospital, and dialed with shaky fingers. A receptionist answered on the fourth ring. “Whispering Hills.”

“Yes, oh, I’d like to talk to Dr. Henshaw, please. This is Kaylie Melville—I, um, I know one of his patients.”

“Oh, Miss Melville! Of course. I see you on television every morning,” the voice exclaimed excitedly. “But I’m sorry, Dr. Henshaw isn’t in right now.”

“Then maybe I could speak to someone else.” Kaylie tried to explain her predicament, but she couldn’t get past square one with the cheery voice on the other end of the line. No other doctor would talk to her, nor a nurse for that matter. On impulse she asked to talk to Ted and was informed that no one named Ted was employed by the hospital. Before the receptionist could hang up, Kaylie asked, “Please, just tell me, is Mr. Lee Johnston still a patient there?”

“Yes, he is,” she said, whispering a little. “But I really can’t tell you anything else. I’m sorry, but we have rules about discussing patients, you know. If you’ll leave your number, I’ll ask Dr. Henshaw to call you.”

“Thanks,” Kaylie whispered, replacing the receiver. She poured herself a glass of water and tried to quiet the raging fear. Think, Kaylie, think! Don’t fall apart! She drank the water, then made fists of her hands, willing herself to be calm.

When she walked back into the living room, Zane still sat on the couch, his elbows propped on his knees, his silvery eyes dark with concern. A part of her loved him for the fact that he cared, another part despised him for shoving his way back into her life when she’d just about convinced herself that she was over him.

“Well?”

“I didn’t get very far. Henshaw’s out. He’ll call back.”

The furrow in Zane’s brow deepened.

Kaylie, trying to take control of the situation, said, “I’ll—I’ll talk to my lawyer.”

“I already did.”

“You what?” she demanded, surprised that Zane would call her attorney, the very man who had drawn up the papers for their divorce.

“I called Blake. His hands are tied.”

She was already ahead of him. “Then I’ll talk to Detective Montello. He was the arresting officer. Surely he’d…” Her voice faded as she saw him shake his head, his dark hair rubbing across the back of his collar. “Unless you’ve already called him, too.”

“Montello’s not with the force any longer. The guy who took his place says he’ll look into it.”

“But you don’t believe him,” she said, guessing, her heart beginning to pound at the thought of Lee Johnston on the loose. Icy sweat collected between her shoulder blades.

“I just don’t want to take any chances.”

For the first time, she thought about him being in the house—waiting for her when she finished her swim. “Wait a minute, how did you get in here?”

Zane glanced away, avoiding her eyes. “I still have my keys.”

“You what?” she demanded, astounded at his audacity. He hadn’t seemed to age in the past seven years. His hair was still a rich, coffee brown, his features rough hewn and handsome. His eyes, erotic gray, were set deep behind thick black brows and long, spiky lashes. “But you gave them to me,” she said.

He offered her that same, off-center smile she’d found so disconcerting and sexy in the past. “I had an extra set.”

“And you kept them. So that seven years later you could break and enter? Of all the low, despicable… You have no right, no right to barge in here and make yourself at home—”

“I still care about you, Kaylie.”

All further protests died on her lips. Emotions, long buried, enveloped her, blinded her. Love and hate, anger and fear, joy and sorrow all tore at her as she remembered how much he had meant to her. Her breath was suddenly trapped tight in her lungs, and she had to swallow before she could speak. She shook her head. “Don’t, okay? Just… don’t.” She willfully controlled the traitorous part of her that wanted to trust him, to believe him, to love him again. Instead she concentrated on the truth. She couldn’t allow herself to feel anything for him. What they’d shared was long over. And their marriage hadn’t been a partnership. It had been a prison—a beautiful but painful fortress where their fragile love hadn’t had a ghost of a chance.

“Look, Kaylie, I just thought you should know that Johnston’s about to become a free man—”

“Oh, Lord.” Her knees went weak again, and her insides turned cold.

Zane sighed, offering her a tender look that once would have soothed her. But he didn’t cross the room, didn’t hold her as he once would have. Instead he rubbed impatiently at the back of his neck and glanced at a picture on the mantel—the small snapshot of their honeymoon. “Johnston was obsessed with you before, and I doubt that’s changed.”

“I haven’t heard from him in a long while.”

“No letters?”

She shook her head, trying to convince herself that Lee Johnston had forgotten her. After all, it had been years since that terrifying encounter, and the man had been in a mental hospital, receiving treatment. Maybe he’d changed….

“Don’t even think it,” Zane warned, as if reading the expressions on her face. “He’s a maniac. A psycho. He always will be.”

Deep down, Kaylie knew Zane was right. But what could she do? Live her life in terrified paranoia that Lee Johnston might come after her again? No way. She glanced down and noticed that she was wearing only her bathing suit still. “Your information could be wrong,” she said, walking to the laundry room, where she snagged her cover-up off a brass hook near the door. Standing half-naked in front of him only made the situation worse. She struggled into the peach-colored oversized top and pulled her hair through the neck hole only to find that Zane had followed her and was standing in the arch between the kitchen and laundry room, one shoulder propped against the wall. His gaze flicked down her body to her thighs, where the hem of her cover-up brushed against her bare skin.

“And the call?”

“A crank call.”

“You really think so?” he asked.

“I—I don’t know.” Kaylie cleared her throat and tried to concentrate on the conversation. “But I think you overreacted by driving all the way down here—”

“I called, damn it,” he snapped, his patience obviously in shreds as his eyes flashed back to hers. “But you didn’t bother to call me back.”