Obsession

“Take me home, Zane,” she said more softly. In the shadows she thought she saw him hesitate, and that flicker of doubt gave her hope. Maybe he’d change his mind. She touched his arm and watched his jaw clench. “This is insane. We both know it. Johnston’s still under lock and key and I’ve got to get back. Come on, Zane, this…this…stunt of yours is just no good and I’m—I’m not moving until you assure me we’re going back to Carmel!”

“Have it your way,” he said softly. His hands circled her waist. “But don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

“No, Zane, don’t—” she cried, mortified, as he lifted her easily and her feet left the ground.

“I didn’t bring you up here so that you could kill yourself by catching pneumonia.” He swung her over his shoulder and hauled her, as a fireman would, toward the house. Her hair fell over her face. All the blood rushed to her pounding head.

“Zane, this is ridiculous!” she cried, clinging to his sweater, feeling his muscles ripple beneath the knit. “Let me down, damn you. Stop! Zane, please!”

Up the porch stairs and into the house. He kicked the door shut behind him and set her, sputtering and furious, on the floor. “You bastard!” she barked, throwing her hair out of her eyes and tugging at her dress.

“Kaylie—”

“This is America, Zane. You can’t take the law into your own hands!”

He winced a little at that, and storm clouds gathered in his eyes.

“Just because you’re a private detective you don’t have the right to go around…around…abducting helpless women!”

“Helpless? You?” he flung back at her, shaking his head as he strode through a pitch-ceilinged living room and beyond. “I’m the one taking my life in my hands by bringing you here!”

“Damn right,” she agreed, right on his heels. “All I’ll give you is grief.”

“Amen.” He flipped on the wall switch and walked briskly into the kitchen.

“So you may as well give me the keys—”

“Forget it!” He turned and clamped big, angry hands over her bare shoulders. “Now, listen, Kaylie, this is the way it is. I know what I’ve done by bringing you here. I don’t need a lecture on kidnapping, abduction, the rights of the American people or women’s lib! All I’m trying to do is make sure that you’re safe.”

“Spare me—”

“I have. For seven years.” His fingers tightened over her shoulders and his eyes searched her face. She felt his anger, but in his eyes she saw deeper emotions brewing. “Just try to understand,” he said quietly. “You’ve got this job where every morning anyone west of the Rockies can switch on his television and see you and Alan Bently on the tube.”

“So?”

“So what’s to prevent your personal nut case, Lee Johnston, from trying to do another number on you?”

“The law! The courts! Henshaw.”

Zane snorted, then shoved a hand through his hair in frustration. “I deal with the law and the courts every day. Things don’t always turn out like they’re supposed to. As for Henshaw and Whispering Hills, I’ve got my doubts about that setup, too.”

“Johnston’s been there seven years.”

“Then he’s probably due for reevaluation,” Zane said. “We’ll know in a few days.”

“A few days?” she echoed. He expected her to stay up here that long?

“That’s how long it will take to check out the rumor. Maybe this Ted guy knows what he’s talking about. Then again, maybe he doesn’t. Believe it or not, I didn’t bring you up here just to get you angry. I’m scared, damn it. Scared for you. When I think of what Johnston could have done to you—what he’s still capable of…” Zane shuddered. Rubbing his arms, he strode to the window and, leaning his palms on the counter, stared through the glass to the black night beyond.

Kaylie’s heart softened a little. Though she was furious with him for abducting her, she couldn’t help but feel a kindness toward him, a thawing of that cold part of her heart where she’d kept her memories of their short marriage. She had loved him with all of her young, naive heart, and no other man had ever taken his place. No man could. But she forced all those long-buried thoughts of love aside.

“You have no right to do this,” she said quietly.

“I have every right.”

“Why?”

“Because I care, damn it.” He whirled on her, and his gaze, flinty gray, drilled deep into hers. “I care more about you than anyone else on this planet—even more than your precious Alan Bently. If you haven’t figured it out yet, that man’s a leech. He only cares about you because he thinks a public romance with you will further his career.”

“Oh, save me—”

“It’s true.”

“How do you know? Have you ever talked to Alan?”

He snorted derisively. “Of course not.”

“Well, if you had, you might have found out that I’ve never been involved with him.”

“That’s not what the tabloids say.”

“You read the tabloids?” she repeated, amused.

“No, but where there’s smoke, there’s fire.”

“And you care?”

His lips twisted downward. “I told you—I care about you. As for Bently, the man’s the worst kind of opportunist. All those rumors that link you to Alan, I can just imagine what they do to the ratings.”

“Wh-what?” she demanded, getting a glimmer of what he was alluding to.

“It’s a ratings thing, isn’t it? Your morning talk show is pitted against a couple of other shows, isn’t it? I’ll bet your network thought it would boost viewership if you and Alan got married.”

“That’s absurd!” she gasped.

“Is it?” He opened a cupboard and found a brand-new bottle of Scotch. With a hard twist of his wrist, he snapped open the cap, breaking the label, and after locating a small glass, poured himself a stiff shot.

He took a slow swallow, and her gaze traveled from his firm chin to the silky way his Adam’s apple moved in his neck. God, he could reach her as no other man could. There was an irresistible male force surrounding him, and she was oh, so susceptible. She dragged her gaze away.

“I know you never believed it, Kaylie, but I loved you. More than any man should love a woman. I was the one who was obsessed.”

“And now?” she asked, her voice trembling. They were wading in hazardous water. “Did you bring me up here because of Johnston? Or was there another reason?”

His gaze locked with hers for a second. Then he tossed back his drink. “And now I’m protecting you. Period. If you think this is some kind of exotic seduction, guess again. I don’t have to go to so much trouble.”

“I’d hope not,” she said evenly, though emotions were tearing through her, “because if you did, you would’ve lived a very celibate life in the past seven years!”

“Maybe I have,” he said, but he had to have been joking. Dear Lord, when she thought of his passion, his wild lovemaking, his wanton sense of adventure in the bedroom, delicious chills still skittered down her spine. No, Zane Flannery might have gone seven days without a woman, possibly even a month or two, but seven years—never! His sexual appetite was too primal, too instinctive. She studied the rock-hard jut of his chin, the angle of his cheeks, the authority in the curve of his thin lips.