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On the roof the helicopter was waiting, its gigantic blades churning in the night. Rain and wind lashed at Zane’s face as he dashed across the wet concrete to the pad where Brad Hastings was climbing out of the passenger seat.
Covering his head with his briefcase Hastings yelled over the whir of the helicopter blades, “You just about missed us!”
“Emergency,” Zane yelled back as he climbed into the copter and Brad dashed for cover. Glancing at the pilot, he said, “Carmel, on the double. Radio ahead for a company car—a fast one. And get me a backup.”
“You got it,” Dave replied, talking into his headset as Zane strapped himself in. The helicopter lifted off and Zane sent up a silent prayer. Fear tore at his guts as his worst nightmare played through his mind. He only hoped they weren’t too late.
* * *
Kaylie grabbed her purse and squared her shoulders. She wasn’t very good at eating humble pie, but Zane was worth it. This time, she decided, her pride wouldn’t get in her way. Snatching a raincoat and umbrella from the hall closet, she headed through the kitchen and slung the strap of her purse over her shoulder.
She punched the answer button on her answering machine and locked the door behind her. In the garage, she heard the phone ring, but ignored the call. Even if the caller were Zane, she found the idea of surprising him in person appealing. If only she had a set of keys to his apartment, she’d turn the tables on him and wait for him in the dark… maybe in his bed with champagne?
She smiled to herself and reached for the button to open the garage door when she heard the sound—a small sound—like the scrape of leather on concrete.
Kaylie froze. Her skin crawled. Telling herself the noise was only her imagination, she strained to listen. Maybe she heard the scurry of a mouse or the neighbor’s tabby cat. He was always hanging around when she stayed here. He could have been locked in the garage.
She punched the button but the door didn’t open. Nothing happened. When she flicked on the light switch next to the opener, the garage remained dark.
Fear cut a swath into her heart, and she fumbled in her purse for her keys. She glanced nervously around the garage, to the shadowed corners. “Who’s there?” she called, but heard nothing. “It’s just your nerves,” she told herself. Something moved in her peripheral vision.
Kaylie didn’t wait. She shoved open the door to the house, letting the interior lights illuminate the darkened garage. Two steps inside a cold hand grabbed hold of her arm. Kaylie screamed.
Lee Johnston, his icy blue eyes blank, stared straight through her.
“Kaylie.” His voice was rough and gritty. His flamered hair was plastered to his head and the drip of rain ran down his neck and beneath the wet collar of his blue shirt.
Her knees went weak, but she pulled hard, intending to escape.
“Leave me alone,” she screamed, but the words were only in her mind. Her throat was frozen. Light from the kitchen refracted off the knife in his hand.
Dizziness overwhelmed her. The premiere of Obsession. Her life flashed to a series of stills. Zane, oh, Zane, I’m so sorry, she thought.
“Kay-lee,” her assailant mumbled and she tried vainly to wrench herself free. But he was strong and compact and determined. Thoughts ran through her mind. She needed a weapon. Tools in the garage. Knives in the kitchen. Anything!
“Kay-lee,” he said again, his voice as chilling as the howl of a wolf. She backed up, stumbling over the edge of rakes and shovels. Lee kept up with her, his fingers biting into her arm, the knife’s blade somewhere in the dark beside her.
“Let—let me go,” she demanded, trying to stay calm, to hold at bay the panic that surged through her brain. Maybe she could talk him out of this! He’d never hurt anyone before—not really. But then, as he passed by the window, she saw the dark smudges on his shirt and knew the stains were blood. Not his, certainly. But whose?
Zane’s? Her thoughts rambled crazily, and she thought for a blinding moment that Johnston might have sought his revenge on the man who had captured him years before. The only man she’d ever loved. Oh, Zane. No, please, God, let him be alive. Why hadn’t she listened to him? Why?
Her knees threatened to buckle. If Zane were dead or lying hurt and wounded…
“No!” she wailed, throwing her body hard against Johnston. He tripped on a rake or shovel, and his fingers slackened. She leaped forward, and he lost his balance. The kitchen! If she could just get into the kitchen and run outside.
“Help!” she screamed, and scrambled past her car.
She rounded the trunk, moving slowly backward, listening to Johnston’s movements in the dim light. Was he following her or trying to cut her off by rounding the front of the car? If only the garage door weren’t locked! Think, Kaylie, think! There was an ax—Oh, God, where was it? Or a crowbar. Anything to protect herself. And the garage door opener—by the back door.
Heart pounding, she inched toward the door.
She heard voices—or was it her imagination? No, there were voices. Johnston heard them, too. He quit moving, though his breathing sounded close—between her and the kitchen. But where?
She stopped, listening, trying to focus. Moments passed. Tense, terrible moments.
Footsteps outside. “Kaylie! Kaylie!” Zane’s voice rang through the house. “Oh, God, where are you?” He was alive! Kaylie’s heart soared.
From a shadowy corner, Johnston lunged at her.
