Читать книгу: «Obsession», страница 3

Chapter Three

“This will never work,” Kaylie predicted as Zane cut the engine.

“It already has.” He walked out to the back of the vehicle, opened the hatchback, unrolled a trap and yanked out two suitcases. Franklin scrambled over the back seat and bounded onto the gravel road.

Thunderstruck, Kaylie didn’t move. His suitcases, for crying out loud! Her heart dropped to her knees. Zane had planned this kidnapping before they left Carmel. And she’d been played for a fool!

“Let’s go inside,” he said.

“You’re not serious. This is a colossal joke, right?” But she knew from the rigid thrust of his chin that he wasn’t joking.

To his credit, he did seem concerned. The lines around the edges of his mouth were harsh, and he actually looked disconcerted by her outrage. “Look,” he finally said, glaring down at her. “Are you planning to stay out here and freeze?”

“No, I’m going to wait for common sense to strike you so that you’ll drive me back home!”

“It’s gonna be a long wait.”

That did it. She hopped out of the Jeep. Her sandaled feet crunched in gravel as she marched up to him. “This is crazy, Zane, just plain crazy.”

“Maybe.” He strode up the plank steps, fumbled with a key in the dark and shoved hard on a heavy oak door.

“If you think I’m going in there with you, you’ve got another think coming!”

He ignored her outburst. A few seconds later, the house lights blazed cozily from paned windows. “Come on, Kaylie,” he called from deep in the interior. “You’re here now. You may as well make the best of it.”

But she wasn’t done fighting yet. Crossing her arms over her chest, she waited. She’d be damned if she’d walk into this…this prison for God’s sake! She had no intention—

He clicked on the porch lights and stood on the threshold of the log house. Kaylie didn’t budge. As if rooted to the gravel drive, she tried to ignore the fact that he nearly filled the doorway, his shoulders almost touching each side of the doorjamb. And she refused to be swayed by the handsome sight of his long, lean frame, thrown in relief by the interior light behind him. She was just too damned mad.

“It’s gonna get cold out here.”

“I’m not going inside.”

“Oh, yes, you are.”

“No way, Flannery,” she argued, her head pounding from too much wine, her pride deflated. “What’s going to happen is that you’re going back into the house for your keys, then you’re going to climb back into this damned Jeep and take me home. Maybe I’ll forget about pressing charges for breaking and entering and kidnapping and you’ll be a free man!”

He shook his head and rolled his eyes to the night-darkened heavens. “Don’t you know you can’t bully me, Kaylie?”

“And here I thought you were the one doing the bullying!” she snapped back. It didn’t matter what his reasons for bringing her here were. Whether Lee Johnston was in the hospital or on the loose, Zane had no right, no right, to force his will on her. The fact that he’d purposely planned to shanghai her was more than she could take.

Slowly, his face knotted in frustration, he started back down the steps. His eyes were trained on her face. “Come on, Kaylie.”

“Out of the question.”

“Look, you’re getting into that house if I have to carry you in there myself!”

“No way.” Her throat went dry as he advanced on her. She had the urge to run as fast as her legs would carry her, but she didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of seeing her flee. No, by God, she’d stand up to him. And hold her ground she did, not moving an inch when he strode up so close that his shoes nudged the toes of her sandals.

“We can do this the hard way, or you can make it easy.”

“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.

He eyed her just as speculatively. “And what about you, Kaylie?” he asked suddenly, his eyes darkening to the color of a winter storm. “What about your sex life?”

She hadn’t blushed in years, but now a red heat stole steadily up her neck and face, stinging her cheeks. “I don’t think we should be discussing this!”

“It’s just one question. A pretty straightforward question.”

She swallowed back the urge to lie and tell him that she’d had a dozen or so lovers. “My work keeps me pretty busy,” she hedged. “I haven’t had time for too many relationships.”

“Neither have I,” he replied, his gaze finding hers. The silent seconds stretched between them. Kaylie heard only the rapid cadence of her heartbeat, the air whispering through his lungs. “I wasn’t lying when I said I loved you, Kaylie,” he added, staring into the amber depths of his glass. “You can deny it all you want, you can even pretend that you didn’t love me, but there it is. I handled it badly, I admit. But I just loved you too much.” Drawing in a deep breath, he finished his drink, dropped his empty glass into the sink, then started out of the room. “Your bedroom is upstairs to the right. I’m next door. But don’t worry about your virtue tonight. I’m just too damned tired from arguing with you to do anything about it.”

Her throat closed in on itself as she watched him saunter out of the room, the dog at his heels. The faded fabric of Zane’s jeans clung to his hips, and his buttocks moved fluidly, though his shoulders and back were ramrod stiff.

“Good night, Kaylie,” he called over his shoulder as he mounted the stairs. “Turn out the lights when you go to bed.”

“And what makes you think I’ll stay here?” she replied, following him to the stairs, but remaining at the bottom of the steps.

He paused at the landing, one hand resting on the banister. Turning, he towered over her, and again she noticed the torment in his eyes. “It’s dark, and the nearest house is over ten miles away. The main road is even farther. Now, if you want to start making tracks through the wilderness, there’s nothing I can do to stop you, but I will catch up to you.”

“You have no right to do this! No right!” she screamed.

He suddenly looked tired. “That’s a difference of opinion,” he said, then mounted the rest of the steps, leaving her, fists clenched in fury, to stare after him. She felt a twinge of regret for the fleeting, giddy love they’d shared, but she shoved those old emotions into a shadowy corner of her heart. Loving Zane had been a mistake; marrying him had nearly stripped her of her own personality, and she wasn’t about to fall into that trap again.

She glanced down at her hands and slowly uncoiled her fingers. Though she remembered her love with Zane as being unique, it was based on all the wrong emotions.

And now she was scared—frightened that the ominous warning on the tape was true. If only she could call someone—anyone—and find out the truth about Lee Johnston. Once she knew where she stood, she could face the rage of emotions Zane provoked in her.

Shivering, she walked outside and made her way to the Jeep. It was locked; the keys were not in the ignition and, of course, there was no mobile phone. Though she suspected he had a phone somewhere. But where? Miserably, she stared at the darkened dashboard. She didn’t know the first thing about hot-wiring a Jeep—or any other car for that matter. Hot-wiring, as well as breaking into a car were among those valuable high school lessons she’d missed while growing up on a Hollywood back lot.

She kicked at the gravel in disgust and felt the breath of a mountain breeze touch her bare shoulders. Rubbing her arms, she stared dismally at the black woods looming all around her. If she left now, she wouldn’t get far in sandals and a thin cotton dress. Nope. Zane had made sure escape was impossible. At least for tonight.

Turning on her heel, she started back up the steps. There had to be a way, she thought, refusing to give up. If she couldn’t leave tonight, she’d find a way tomorrow.

Back in the house, she searched all the downstairs’ rooms for a telephone, but though she found phone jacks, there wasn’t one telephone in sight. She clenched her teeth in frustration. Damn the man. He’d made sure to thwart her. In the living room, hidden behind panels, she discovered a television, and she worried about her job. What would happen when she didn’t show up tomorrow morning?

She turned on the power to the set but nothing happened. Then she noticed that the connecting cables swung free. Obviously the cable had been switched off.

She tried not to think of her position as cohostess of West Coast Morning. There was time enough to worry later. First she had to find a means of escape. And then, once back in the city, she’d check out Ted’s warning personally, even drive to Whispering Hills to see Dr. Henshaw in person. With renewed purpose, she continued her quick search. In the pantry she found a flashlight and an old army jacket—not the most elegant or comfortable, but something to protect her from the elements, should she have to walk any distance. But taking off in the woods alone at night was too intimidating, even though it would serve Zane right to discover her gone come morning.

Leaving the jacket and flashlight untouched, she padded upstairs and noted that the lamp in Zane’s room was still burning—a sliver of light showed beneath his closed door. She didn’t bother knocking, but twisted the knob and found Zane, wearing only the worn Levi’s, leaning back on the bed, almost as if he were waiting for her.

His head was supported by two pillows, and his eyes were the color of slate. His chest was covered with a mat of dark, swirling hair that covered a tanned skin and a washboard of rigid abdominal muscles before disappearing enticingly beneath his waistband.

The back of Kaylie’s throat went dry. She forced her gaze back to his face. His lazy smile flashed white against a day’s growth of beard.

“Your room’s to the right, remember?” His lips curved speculatively. “Unless of course you want to stay with me.”

The shepherd, lying on the floor near the foot of the bed, lifted his head and cocked it to one side, as if he were sizing up Kaylie.

Kaylie turned her attention back to Zane. “I just want control of my life again.”

Reaching over to the lamp, his shoulder muscles gliding with easy, corded strength, he clicked off the light. “Your choice,” he said in the darkness. “Here—” he thumped on the bed “—or down the hall.”

“I have a job to get to—”

“Forget it.”

“They’ll miss me.”

He chuckled, as if he knew something she didn’t. “Alan will be thrilled to have a chance to show the whole world he doesn’t need you.”

“You’ll regret this, Zane,” she muttered as she fumbled in the dark, then finding the door, walked quickly out of the room, slamming the door behind her.

What had she been thinking of? She’d been out of her mind to walk into his room and see him half-naked on the bed. A warmth in the pit of her stomach curled invitingly, and she remembered how lying next to him had been safe, secure, loving. The scent of his body lingering on the bedsheets, the feel of a strong arm wrapped around her waist.

“Stop it,” she told herself as she marched to the room designated as hers and closed the door behind her. She surveyed her surroundings with a critical eye. The bedside lamps were lit, and golden light glowed warmly against the pine-paneled walls. The hand-stitched quilt on the double bed had been turned down. “How thoughtful,” she grumbled, as if he could hear her as she stared at the plumped pillows. “But you forgot the mints!” She kicked off her sandals and padded barefoot against the smooth floor. The room was inviting, in an elemental sort of way, but she couldn’t forget that she had been shanghaied here against her will, even if, as Zane so emphatically insisted, her life were in danger.

She groaned at the thought of what would happen tomorrow morning when she didn’t arrive on the set of West Coast Morning. There would be chaos; her boss would be furious, and the phones at her apartment in San Francisco as well as at the beach house, would be ringing off the hook. Someone would call her sister, and Margot would worry herself sick.

“Oh, Lord, what a mess!” She grabbed a handful of hair and flung it over her shoulders as she padded to the closet and, out of curiosity, opened the door. An array of clothes—women’s clothes—filled every available space. Skirts, sweaters, jeans and slacks were draped on hangers or folded neatly on the shelves. So she hadn’t been the first, she thought cynically. Disappointment welled up in her, and she slammed the door shut. No time for sentimentality.

So Zane had a woman—or women. So what? She didn’t really believe that he’d lived the life of a monk, did she? It was only surprising that he would expect her to buy that whacked-out story, what with this closet chock-full of women’s things.

Flopping onto the mattress, she tossed one arm over her eyes, trying to relieve the headache that was pounding at her temples. Too much wine, too much fear and way too much Zane Flannery, she thought. But tomorrow she’d find a way to force him to take her back to Carmel or straight to San Francisco, back to her home, her job, her life without him.

She only had to get through one night of sleeping under the same roof with him. One night with him lying, stripped bare to the waist, on a king-size bed only a dozen feet away.

Stop it! she thought, squeezing her eyes shut against the pure, sensual vision of him sprawled lazily across the smooth eiderdown quilt.

She didn’t want him! She didn’t! And yet there was something so provocatively male and charming about him, that she wondered, just for a fleeting moment, what it would be like to love Zane again.

Tossing the quilt over her shoulders, she started counting slowly, hoping that sleep would envelop her and that by morning Zane would come to his senses!

* * *

Zane climbed out of bed and stared out the window. He wondered if he’d made a big mistake. He’d known she’d be angry, of course, even expected her temper to boil. But he hadn’t been prepared for her accusations cutting so close to the bone. Nor had he expected to want her so badly. Already he ached for her, and the thought of a night alone in the bed, with Kaylie only a few steps down the hall, would be torture.

From the foot of the bed, Franklin whined.

“Shh.” Zane patted the big dog’s head, then resumed his stance at the window, his thoughts drawn, as ever, to the only woman he’d ever loved.

She’d changed in the past seven years, he realized, placing one hand high on the window casing and leaning the side of his head against his arm. She’d grown up.

Gone was any trace of the naive young woman he’d married—the teenager who had made a string of semi-successful movies before Obsession.

No, this new woman was strong, forceful and well able to control her own life. He’d have to be on his toes, he thought as he stared moodily into the dense, inky forest, because if he let down his guard for a second, she’d find a way to escape and throw her life in jeopardy. She didn’t really believe that Johnston would be set free soon.

But Zane did.

He knew what it was like to have death take those he loved, and he was bound and determined that this time he’d thwart the grim reaper. Even if he had to keep Kaylie locked away for the next six months!