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It was as if she’d finally gotten through to him and he was going to leave her alone.
“That’s what you wanted, wasn’t it?” she asked herself one evening. It was Friday and had been raining all day. Alan had been in a bad mood on the set, and the taping hadn’t gone well. By the time Kaylie reached the beach house, she’d acquired a thundering headache and her shoes were soaked from her walk across the television station parking lot. All she could think about was a hot shower, a cup of tea and a good book.
And Zane of course. She let herself in with her key and smiled sadly. She never had bothered to change the locks; she hadn’t had the heart to lock Zane out. And yet he’d never so much as tried any of her doors since the night he’d spirited her away.
And now he wanted to marry her. She was warmed by the thought. Her only hesitation was the thought of failing again, of the pain of divorce. She would never put herself, nor Zane for that matter, through all that pain again. Stripping off her clothes, she continued toward the bathroom.
The phone rang and she grabbed the bedroom extension, half expecting the caller to be Zane. “Hello?” she answered, smiling.
No answer.
“Hello?” she asked again, and there was still silence on the line. “Zane—is that you?” She waited, but heard nothing, and her nerves stretched taut. “Is anyone there? Look, I can’t hear you. Why don’t you try again?” She hung up slowly and waited, staring at the rain sheeting against her bedroom window and the dark, threatening clouds rolling in from the sea.
The only sounds were the distant rumble of thunder, the rain peppering the roof and the sound of her own heartbeat. The minutes ticked slowly by. “It was probably just a wrong number,” she thought aloud, then continued toward the bathroom. She’d hoped the caller had been Zane, and her heart tripped at the thought that he’d tried to reach her.
Maybe Margot had been right, she finally decided, maybe it was her turn to reach out to Zane. Maybe there was a chance that they might start over again. If given the chance, surely Zane would treat her as an intelligent, mature woman.
He had to.
&n
bsp; Because she loved him. With all her heart, she loved him and always would. There was no other man for her—no white knight lurking in the wings ready to dash up and carry her away. Zane was the only man in her life—always had been, always would be and she’d been a fool not to realize it before.
Wrenching off the faucets, she heard the phone ring again. She barely took the time to wrap a bath sheet around her before she dashed into the bedroom, leaving a trail of water behind her.
“Hello?” she called into the phone, her voice breathless, just as the caller hung up. “No! I’m here!” she yelled, feeling in her bones that the caller had been Zane. “Well, there’s only one way to find out,” she decided, throwing open her dresser drawers and yanking on her underwear. Tonight she was going to drive all the way back to the city, back to Zane’s apartment and tell him she loved him. They’d have a chance to start over again.
* * *
Rick Taylor groaned. His hand went to his head and he felt something sticky and wet on the floor where he lay. Blinking hard, he forced his eyelids open only to close them again at the glare from the single shaft of light near the floor. He slipped back out of consciousness before jerking awake. His skull pounded, the pain creating orbs of light behind his closed lids.
“Wha-what the hell?” he muttered, licking his lips. He remembered walking into that loony patient Johnston’s room. But Johnston had not been in his bed. Turning to sound an alarm, Rick had felt the hot flash of pain in his abdomen and, doubling over, the crash of something against the back of his head.
Now he propped himself on one elbow, feeling the wound in his side tearing open. “Help,” he tried to cry, but the sound was barely a rattling whisper. How long had he been here? Seconds? Minutes? Hours?
But surely he’d be missed. Trying to push himself upright, he fell back and attempted to call for help again. The narrow sliver of light, coming from the hall outside the door, wavered in front of his eyes.
“Help me! Please!”
Using all his strength, he pulled himself toward the door and the hallway. Pain ripped through his body, pounding at his temple. The room, barely ten foot square, seemed to stretch on forever as he inched his way to the door.
With each agonizing tug, his muscles shuddered and sweat poured over his bleeding head. “Somebody help me!” he said again and again until he reached the door. His bloody fingers surrounded the knob and he tugged. But the door didn’t budge. He tried again, then realized that the door was locked from the outside.
Swearing, Rick fumbled on his belt for his keys only to discover that his entire key ring—the keys to the hospital, his apartment and his car—was missing.
“Oh, God,” he cried, using his last ounce of strength to pound on the door before slipping into unconsciousness again.
* * *
“Answer, Kaylie, answer!” Zane whispered, before giving up. “Damn it all to hell!” He swore violently as he slammed the receiver into the phone cradle. His heart was thudding, his palms sweating as he stared at the phone message stating that Lee Johnston had escaped from Whispering Hills Psychiatric Hospital.
Zane’s hands were shaking as he walked into the reception area where Peggy was bent over her word processor. “Dial 911. Ask for the police. Tell them that a patient who escaped from Whispering Hills threatened Kaylie once before and give them Kaylie’s address—her apartment in the city as well as the house in Carmel.” Uncapping his pen with his teeth, he scribbled out the information for her. “But first order the company helicopter to stand by,” he commanded. “Tell Dave I want him to take me to Carmel and drop me off at the Buxton building.”
“He’s already waiting,” Peggy said. “He was going to fly Hastings to—”
“Cancel that and have him wait for me.”
“Will do.” Peggy turned to the telephone and Zane raced out of the office. Heart thumping with fear, he took the stairs two at a time.
