LITMIR.BIZ

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across the back of his collar. “Unless you’ve already called him, too.”

      “Montello’s not with the force any longer. The guy who took his place says he’ll look into it.”

      “But you don’t believe him,” she said, guessing, her heart beginning to pound at the thought of Lee Johnston on the loose. Icy sweat collected between her shoulder blades.

      “I just don’t want to take any chances.”

      For the first time, she thought about him being in the house—waiting for her when she finished her swim. “Wait a minute, how did you get in here?”

      Zane glanced away, avoiding her eyes. “I still have my keys.”

      “You what?” she demanded, astounded at his audacity. He hadn’t seemed to age in the past seven years. His hair was still a rich, coffee brown, his features rough hewn and handsome. His eyes, erotic gray, were set deep behind thick black brows and long, spiky lashes. “But you gave them to me,” she said.

      He offered her that same, off-center smile she’d found so disconcerting and sexy in the past. “I had an extra set.”

      “And you kept them. So that seven years later you could break and enter? Of all the low, despicable… You have no right, no right to barge in here and make yourself at home—”

      “I still care about you, Kaylie.”

      All further protests died on her lips. Emotions, long buried, enveloped her, blinded her. Love and hate, anger and fear, joy and sorrow all tore at her as she remembered how much he had meant to her. Her breath was suddenly trapped tight in her lungs, and she had to swallow before she could speak. She shook her head. “Don’t, okay? Just… don’t.” She willfully controlled the traitorous part of her that wanted to trust him, to believe him, to love him again. Instead she concentrated on the truth. She couldn’t allow herself to feel anything for him. What they’d shared was long over. And their marriage hadn’t been a partnership. It had been a prison—a beautiful but painful fortress where their fragile love hadn’t had a ghost of a chance.

      “Look, Kaylie, I just thought you should know that Johnston’s about to become a free man—”

      “Oh, Lord.” Her knees went weak again, and her insides turned cold.

      Zane sighed, offering her a tender look that once would have soothed her. But he didn’t cross the room, didn’t hold her as he once would have. Instead he rubbed impatiently at the back of his neck and glanced at a picture on the mantel—the small snapshot of their honeymoon. “Johnston was obsessed with you before, and I doubt that’s changed.”

      “I haven’t heard from him in a long while.”

      “No letters?”

      She shook her head, trying to convince herself that Lee Johnston had forgotten her. After all, it had been years since that terrifying encounter, and the man had been in a mental hospital, receiving treatment. Maybe he’d changed….

      “Don’t even think it,” Zane warned, as if reading the expressions on her face. “He’s a maniac. A psycho. He always will be.”

      Deep down, Kaylie knew Zane was right. But what could she do? Live her life in terrified paranoia that Lee Johnston might come after her again? No way. She glanced down and noticed 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

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