Page 78 of Bedroom Therapy

“It’s all right. You’re all right. He won’t hurt you again,” he murmured, as he stroked his hands over her back and into her hair.

She continued to cry, but he felt her nod against his shoulder. He wanted her out of the house—away from the horror of what had happened and away from Anderson’s body.

Picking her up, he cradled her tenderly in his arms, then carried her out the door and to his car. He opened the passenger door and eased her into the seat, careful of her head as he held her to him and rocked her in his arms, stroked her, giving himself over to a profound sense of relief. And also regret. Because he’d screwed up again. He’d let this happen to her.

“You’re all right,” he repeated, hoping to God it was true.

She was trembling in his arms, but he could tell she was trying to get herself under control. Finally she sucked in a shaky breath. “I’m all right because you got here in time.”

“You kept yourself alive.”

“I didn’t do much. He was horribly angry. He wouldn’t listen to anything I had to say.”

All Zack could do was hold her, comfort her, pray that she was going to recover quickly from the trauma.

Raising her face, she looked into his eyes, and he braced for a barrage of accusations. He felt like he’d been given a reprieve when she said, “I thought I was on my own. How did you know where to find me?”

“I put a tracker on your watch.”

“A what?”

“A transponder that sent out a signal. At the time I thought I was being overcautious. Then I was damn glad I did it.”

“Yes. And I’m damn glad I put it on.”

His fingers closed around her shoulders. “Are you all right?”

“Yes.”

She was still shaking, and he knew she was contemplating her close call. But she was alive, and he knew she was resilient. She’d recover—better than Mindy had. At least he could content himself with that.

“He . . . he killed Esther.”

“I know. You had a phone message from Beth Cantro, warning you about him.”

“Beth called?”

“Yes, that was the phone call we didn’t answer,” he said, his voice tight. Another bad mistake he’d made.

Amanda gave a quick nod. “He told me why he killed her. His girlfriend wrote Esther a letter about her boyfriend, and Esther advised her to ditch him. She did, and he was out for revenge. When he found the column was still continuing, he went after the person who was writing it now.” She shuddered.

He pulled her closer. “It’s all over. But I’ve got to call the cops.”

She blinked, then looked down at her chest. “I’m half naked.”

“You can wear my jacket.” Glad he could do something else for her, he eased away, shrugged out of the garment, and helped her get her arms through the sleeves. Then he pulled the front over her breasts and zipped the zipper.

“Better?” he asked.

“A little.”

He cleared his throat. “When the cops come, you’ll need to tell them what happened. How he took you away. And . . . uh . . . you saw that he fired first, right?”

She nodded, then sat up straighter. “Yes, I’m perfectly clear on that. You made a noise at the door and drew his fire. He started shooting, and you fired back.”

“Yes.”

Still holding her, he got out his cell phone and called the local cops and told them what had happened.

Then he sat back and hugged her to him, thinking how lucky he was to still have her in his arms. When she got over the shock, she was going to remember that she’d gotten captured by Anderson because Zachary Grant had walked out of the house and left her alone.

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