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.”
She felt another guilty pang, but ignored it. She’d considered returning his call and had even reached for the phone once or twice, but each time she’d stopped, unsure that she could deal with him and unwilling to complicate her life again.
“You didn’t say anything about Johnston—”
“Of course not! I didn’t want to freak you out with a message on your recorder.”
“Well, you’re doing a damn good job of it now,” she snapped, her own composure hanging by a thread. Just seeing Zane again sent all her emotions reeling, and now this…this talk about Johnston. It was just too much. Her nerves were stretched to the breaking point.
Zane’s voice was softer. “Look, Kaylie, I think you should take some precautions—go low profile.”
“Low profile?” she repeated, trying to get a grip on herself as she walked past him into the kitchen. She couldn’t let him see her falling apart; she’d fought hard for her independence and she had to prove to him—and to herself—that she was able to take care of herself. She picked up a small pitcher and began watering the small pots of African violets behind her sink. But as she moved the glass pitcher from one small blossom to the next, the stream of water spilled on the blue tiles. She mopped up the mess with a towel and felt Zane’s eyes watching her, taking stock of her nervousness. “And what do you think I should do?” she asked, glancing over her shoulder.
His gaze, so rock steady it was maddening, met hers. “First of all, install new locks—a couple of dead bolts and a security system. State-of-the-art equipment.”
“With lasers and sirens and a secret code?” she mocked, trying to break the tension.
“With motion detectors and alarms. But that won’t be enough. If Johnston’s released, you’ll need me, Kaylie. It’s as simple as that.”
Desperate now, she tried to joke. “You? As what? My bodyguard again?” She watched him flinch. “I don’t think so—”
His hand shot out and he caught her wrist, spinning her around. She dropped her dish towel. “I’m serious, Kaylie,” he assured her, his voice low, nearly threatening. “This is nothing to joke about!”
Was he out of his mind? The inside of her wrist felt hot, and she fought the urge to lick her lips.
“And I think it would be best if you took some time off—”
“Now, wait a minute, I can’t leave the station high and dry!”
“Your career just about did you in before,” he reminded her, then glanced down to where his fingers were wrapped around her arm. Slowly he withdrew his hand. “You need a less visible job.” Then, as if realizing his request bordered on the ridiculous, he wiped his palms on his jeans and added, “Why don’t you just ask for a leave of absence until this mess with Johnston is straightened out?”
“No way. I’m not going to live the rest of my life in high anxiety—especially over some stupid call.” Though she was afraid, she couldn’t give in to the fear that had numbed her after Johnston’s last attack. And the man was still locked away.
Tossing her damp curls over her shoulder, she reached down and grabbed the towel from the floor. Her wrist, where Zane had held it so possessively only seconds before, still burned, but she ignored the sensation, refused to rub the sensitive spot where the pads of his fingers had left their impressions.
“Look, Kaylie,” he said, his voice edged with exasperation. “I’m just trying to help you.”
“And I appreciate it,” she replied, though they both knew she was lying, that the question of her independence had been a determining factor in their divorce. “I—I’ll take care of myself, Zane. Thanks for the warning,” she heard herself say, though a part of her screamed that she was crazy to let him go—that she needed him to keep her safe. She extended her hand, palm up. “Now, I think you have something of mine?” When he didn’t move, she prodded him again. “The keys?”
Zane’s eyes darkened to the shade of storm clouds.
Her heart began to pound. He wasn’t giving up. She could see his determination in the set of his jaw.
“How about a deal?” he suggested, not moving.
“Believe me, I’m not in the mood.”
“The keys for a date.”
“For a date? Get real—”
“I am, Kaylie. You go out with me, just for old times’ sake, and I’ll turn the keys over to you.”
“And in the meantime you won’t make an extra set?”
“We’ll go tonight. I won’t have time to do anything so devious.”
Kaylie wasn’t so sure. And she was tempted, far more than she wanted to be. Standing so close to Zane, seeing the shading of his eyes, feeling the raw masculinity that was so uniquely his, she was lured into the prospect of spending some time with him again. There had been a time in her life when he’d been everything. From bodyguard to lover to husband. Her life with him had seemed so natural, so right…until the horrid night when their safe little world was thrown upside down. All because of Lee Johnston.
Kaylie had fallen in love with Zane, trusted him, relied upon him. Now her throat grew dry, and she shook all the happy memories aside. She couldn’t trust herself when she thought of the first magic moments they’d shared—when their love had been new and fresh, before Zane had become so intolerably overprotective and domineering. No. Her dependence on him was long over. Now she was older, and wiser, and on to his tricks. She wouldn’t repeat past mistakes. “I don’t think a date would be such a good idea.”
“Come on, Kaylie, what’ve you got to lose?” he asked, his voice low and disturbingly familiar.
Everything she thought, her palms beginning to sweat.
“You’ve got other plans tonight?” he asked.
“No—”
“No date with Alan?” he mocked, obviously referring
