Julie gaped at the bearded face on the screen, caught between disbelief and hilarity at the pompous generalities being used in discussing her. Plunking her hands on her hips she advised Dr. Everhardt aloud, "You're lucky you aren't on Larry King's show! He'd never let you get away with such sweeping assumptions!" The only thing Everhardt had gotten right so far was that Zack was intelligent and charming. She couldn't believe Everhardt hadn't stopped to consider that, since she hadn't been taken hostage by crazed terrorists in a foreign country, she probably wouldn't be going through that "predictable sequence."
"She is going to need intensive psychological counseling in order to fully recover from this ordeal, and it will take considerable time, but the prognosis is good if she will seek help."
Julie could not believe the nerve of the man—now he was telling the world she was going to be a mental case! She ought to have Ted sue him!
"Of course," the moderator interjected smoothly, "this is all presupposing that Julie Mathison was actually taken hostage rather than being Benedict's accomplice, as some people believe she is."
Dr. Everhardt pondered that, stroking his beard. "In my opinion, based on what I've been able to learn about the young woman, I do not subscribe to that theory."
"Thank you," Julie told him aloud. "That remark just saved you from my megalawsuit."
She was so engrossed that she didn't register the unmistakable sound of helicopter blades until they were hovering directly overhead. Even when she heard the sound, it was so out of place in this quiet, mountain wilderness that she looked out of the window with surprise, not fear, and then it hit her. "Zack!" she screamed, turning and running. "There's a helicopter out there! It's low—" she cried, nearly mowing him down as he ran from the bedroom. "It's hovering!" She stopped cold at the sight of the gun in his hand.
"Get outside and stay in the woods!" he commanded, shoving her down the hall toward the back door, yanking a jacket out of the closet as he passed it and thrusting it at her. "Don't come near this house until I tell you to or until they take me out of here!" He racked a shell into the gun's chamber, moving down the hall with her, holding the weapon high, muzzle up, with the deadly skill of someone who knew how to handle it and was prepared to use it. When she started to open the door, he shoved her out of the way, stepped into the doorway alone, looked up, listening, then he pulled her forward. "Run!"
"For the love of God!" Julie cried stopping just outside the door. "You can't mean to shoot that thing down! There must be—"
"MOVE!" he thundered.
Julie obeyed, her heart hammering with terror as she raced around the side of the house, stumbling in the deep snow, stopping beneath the trees, then moving through them, working her way around the house until she could see Zack inside the front windows. The helicopter had circled and banked to the left, then it flew over again, and for one terror-filled moment, she thought he was raising his gun, intending to shoot through the window. And then she saw he was holding binoculars, watching the helicopter fly overhead and slowly disappear. Her knees gave out and she slid to the ground in relief, the vision of Zack holding that gun as he shoved her down the hall indelibly imprinted on her mind. It was right out of a violent movie, except this was real. She felt her stomach heave and leaned back against the tree, swallowing, trying to keep her lunch—and her fear—down.
"It's all right," Zack said, walking toward her, but she noticed the butt of the gun sticking out from the waist of his pants. "They were skiers swigging wine and circling too low."
She looked up at him but couldn't seem to move.
"Here," he said quietly. "Give me your hand."
Julie shook her head, trying to shake off her paralyzed terror with the movement and reassure him. "That's okay, I don't need any help. I'm fine."
"You're not fine!" he said savagely and leaned down, grabbing her by the arms and starting to pick her up. "You're one second from fainting."
The sickness and dizziness receded and she managed a shaky smile as she stopped him from swinging her into her arms. "My brother's a cop, remember? I've seen guns before. I just wasn't … prepared."
By the time they got back into the house, she was so relieved that the helicopter had been harmless that she was almost giddy. "Ted used to practice stakeouts in our backyard when he was going through police academy," she tried to joke, hanging up her jacket. "It was very funny to see. I mean, how can you practice something like that?"
"Drink this," he said, walking out of the kitchen and shoving a glass of brandy into her hand. "All of it," he instructed when she took a sip and tried to hand it back to him. She took another swallow and put the glass down on the counter. "I don't want any more."
"Fine," Zack said curtly. "Now get in there and take a long, hot bath."
"But—"
"Do it. Don't argue with me. The next time I—" He started to order her to do exactly as he said the next time something like this happened, but he knew there could never be a next time. This had been a false alarm, but it had forced him to see the risk he was taking with her life and the terror he was subjecting her to. God, the terror. He'd never seen anyone look like she had when he found her out there, huddled in the snow.
* * *
It was dark when Julie walked into the living room, bathed and dressed again in a sweater and slacks. Zack was standing in front of the fire, staring into it, his jaw as rigid as granite.
Judging from his expression and his actions earlier, she correctly assumed that much of what was bothering him was probably guilt for what he'd just put her through, but the experience had affected her in a much different way, now that it was over. She was furious that people were forcing him to live like this and determined to find out what he intended to do to put an end to it. Whatever he intended, she was adamantly resolved to convince him to let her help in any way she could.
Rather than broaching the subject immediately, she decided to wait until after they'd eaten dinner. Given Zack's amazing ability to shove his worries into the background, she assumed an hour or two would be plenty of time for him to get over what appeared to be an extremely black mood. Walking forward, she said lightly, "Are you going to cook the steaks tonight on that fancy stove-top grill, or do you intend for me to do all the cooking?"
He turned and looked at her for several seconds, his face preoccupied and stony. "I'm sorry. What did you say?"
"She is going to need intensive psychological counseling in order to fully recover from this ordeal, and it will take considerable time, but the prognosis is good if she will seek help."
Julie could not believe the nerve of the man—now he was telling the world she was going to be a mental case! She ought to have Ted sue him!
"Of course," the moderator interjected smoothly, "this is all presupposing that Julie Mathison was actually taken hostage rather than being Benedict's accomplice, as some people believe she is."
Dr. Everhardt pondered that, stroking his beard. "In my opinion, based on what I've been able to learn about the young woman, I do not subscribe to that theory."
"Thank you," Julie told him aloud. "That remark just saved you from my megalawsuit."
She was so engrossed that she didn't register the unmistakable sound of helicopter blades until they were hovering directly overhead. Even when she heard the sound, it was so out of place in this quiet, mountain wilderness that she looked out of the window with surprise, not fear, and then it hit her. "Zack!" she screamed, turning and running. "There's a helicopter out there! It's low—" she cried, nearly mowing him down as he ran from the bedroom. "It's hovering!" She stopped cold at the sight of the gun in his hand.
"Get outside and stay in the woods!" he commanded, shoving her down the hall toward the back door, yanking a jacket out of the closet as he passed it and thrusting it at her. "Don't come near this house until I tell you to or until they take me out of here!" He racked a shell into the gun's chamber, moving down the hall with her, holding the weapon high, muzzle up, with the deadly skill of someone who knew how to handle it and was prepared to use it. When she started to open the door, he shoved her out of the way, stepped into the doorway alone, looked up, listening, then he pulled her forward. "Run!"
"For the love of God!" Julie cried stopping just outside the door. "You can't mean to shoot that thing down! There must be—"
"MOVE!" he thundered.
Julie obeyed, her heart hammering with terror as she raced around the side of the house, stumbling in the deep snow, stopping beneath the trees, then moving through them, working her way around the house until she could see Zack inside the front windows. The helicopter had circled and banked to the left, then it flew over again, and for one terror-filled moment, she thought he was raising his gun, intending to shoot through the window. And then she saw he was holding binoculars, watching the helicopter fly overhead and slowly disappear. Her knees gave out and she slid to the ground in relief, the vision of Zack holding that gun as he shoved her down the hall indelibly imprinted on her mind. It was right out of a violent movie, except this was real. She felt her stomach heave and leaned back against the tree, swallowing, trying to keep her lunch—and her fear—down.
"It's all right," Zack said, walking toward her, but she noticed the butt of the gun sticking out from the waist of his pants. "They were skiers swigging wine and circling too low."
She looked up at him but couldn't seem to move.
"Here," he said quietly. "Give me your hand."
Julie shook her head, trying to shake off her paralyzed terror with the movement and reassure him. "That's okay, I don't need any help. I'm fine."
"You're not fine!" he said savagely and leaned down, grabbing her by the arms and starting to pick her up. "You're one second from fainting."
The sickness and dizziness receded and she managed a shaky smile as she stopped him from swinging her into her arms. "My brother's a cop, remember? I've seen guns before. I just wasn't … prepared."
By the time they got back into the house, she was so relieved that the helicopter had been harmless that she was almost giddy. "Ted used to practice stakeouts in our backyard when he was going through police academy," she tried to joke, hanging up her jacket. "It was very funny to see. I mean, how can you practice something like that?"
"Drink this," he said, walking out of the kitchen and shoving a glass of brandy into her hand. "All of it," he instructed when she took a sip and tried to hand it back to him. She took another swallow and put the glass down on the counter. "I don't want any more."
"Fine," Zack said curtly. "Now get in there and take a long, hot bath."
"But—"
"Do it. Don't argue with me. The next time I—" He started to order her to do exactly as he said the next time something like this happened, but he knew there could never be a next time. This had been a false alarm, but it had forced him to see the risk he was taking with her life and the terror he was subjecting her to. God, the terror. He'd never seen anyone look like she had when he found her out there, huddled in the snow.
* * *
It was dark when Julie walked into the living room, bathed and dressed again in a sweater and slacks. Zack was standing in front of the fire, staring into it, his jaw as rigid as granite.
Judging from his expression and his actions earlier, she correctly assumed that much of what was bothering him was probably guilt for what he'd just put her through, but the experience had affected her in a much different way, now that it was over. She was furious that people were forcing him to live like this and determined to find out what he intended to do to put an end to it. Whatever he intended, she was adamantly resolved to convince him to let her help in any way she could.
Rather than broaching the subject immediately, she decided to wait until after they'd eaten dinner. Given Zack's amazing ability to shove his worries into the background, she assumed an hour or two would be plenty of time for him to get over what appeared to be an extremely black mood. Walking forward, she said lightly, "Are you going to cook the steaks tonight on that fancy stove-top grill, or do you intend for me to do all the cooking?"
He turned and looked at her for several seconds, his face preoccupied and stony. "I'm sorry. What did you say?"
