She screamed. “Zane! Don’t come in here!” she cried. “He’s got a knife—” But Zane came flying through the door, and in one quick motion, he threw himself into the darkness.
“Oh, please, no!” Kaylie cried as Zane propelled himself through the air and landed on Johnston and his raised knife. The blade flashed up, then swiftly down, landing with a thud in Zane’s back before being torn out with a hideous sucking sound.
The two men struggled, and Johnston freed himself, struggling to his feet. Zane pulled himself upright, but swayed.
Kaylie thought she’d be sick. “No!” she screamed as Johnston raised his bloody knife again. She fell back against a shovel. Without thinking, she picked up the rusted tool and using all her strength, swung it, catching Johnston’s knees. He dropped like a stone.
Zane sprang, quick as a cat. Blood o
ozed from the sleeve of his shirt. He rolled on top of the flailing man.
“Freeze!” A strong male voice yelled from the doorway, and Kaylie looked up to see a man in jeans and a sweater training a gun on Zane and Johnston.
“No!”
“Kay-lee, Kay-lee!” Johnston cried.
Kaylie shuddered.
“Back off!” the man in the doorway ordered, his face contorted in rage, his revolver aimed at Johnston’s chest. “You okay?” he asked Zane.
“I thought you’d never get here.”
“I radioed the police. Now, come on, let’s get this lowlife out of here.”
Sirens screamed outside. As Zane struggled to restrain Johnston, two policemen ran through the house and, pistols drawn, charged into the garage.
“Police! Everybody hold it!” the taller man said, his gun trained on Johnston and Zane.
“Call for an ambulance!” Kaylie cried, watching in horror as a scarlet stain spread across the back of Zane’s shirt.
“Already done. Okay, someone called in about an escapee from Whispering Hills. What’s going on here?”
Zane, his face white and drained, tried to explain, but Kaylie, frantic for his life, told the police that she’d answer all their questions once Zane was in the hospital. She wouldn’t listen to the officers when they demanded answers. Instead she climbed into the back of the ambulance and held Zane’s hand all the way to the hospital. He tried to smile, but failed, and his eyes closed wearily.
“You’re okay,” she said, her voice trembling as she assured herself more than him.
But he didn’t respond, and she knew that he’d lost consciousness.
“Don’t die, Zane,” she whispered, clinging to his fingers as if she could will the life to remain in his body. She heard the whine of ambulance tires spinning against the rain-washed streets. She only wished she’d told him how much she loved him—how much he meant to her.
Lord, she’d been stupid; she knew now. Because of her stubbornness, Zane had nearly been killed. If only she’d listened to him, trusted him, relied upon him, leaned on him! If only she’d loved him enough to work with him to save their marriage. Oh, Lord, she’d been such a fool, she thought, tears tracking down her cheeks.
Now it was too late. Too late. Maybe much too late….
Chapter Thirteen
Kaylie didn’t leave Zane’s bedside. The doctors assured her that Zane was fine, that the wound was shallow. The blade of Johnston’s knife had only penetrated Zane’s shoulder muscle. Though he would be sore for a while, the team of experts at Bayside Hospital were convinced that Zane would be “good as new” in no time. Nonetheless, she camped out at the hospital that night.
“He’s sedated. He won’t wake up for hours,” Dr. Ripley predicted. “You can’t do anything for him now. Tomorrow, unless he takes a turn for the worse, I’ll release him.”
“I want to be here when he wakes up.”
“I’ll have the nurse call you.” Ripley was a thin man in his early fifties with freckles splashed all over his face, neck and arms. His once-red hair was turning to gray, but he seemed as fit as most thirty-year-olds.
“I’d rather wait. It’s important,” Kaylie insisted.
The doctor slanted a brow. Motioning toward Zane, he said, “He might not be in the greatest mood when he wakes up.”