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  Julie walked slowly forward, her feet sinking into the deep wool pile of the pale green carpeting. On her left she saw brass handles on two of the mirrored panels and she gingerly pushed them open then drew in a startled breath at the sight of a vast marble-floored sky-lit bath that was divided precisely down the center by two long marble vanities with double sinks and a mirrored half wall above them. Each half of the bathroom had its own enormous shower stall enclosed in clear glass and its own marble tub with gold fittings.

  Although the rest of the house could have been furnished to suit a man or a woman, there was no mistaking the feminine touches that had given this suite an aura of inviting opulence that would surely make a man feel as if he’d been invited into a woman’s private boudoir. Julie had read in some home furnishing magazine that married men who were confident of their own masculinity rarely objected to their wives’ desires for feminine bedrooms and, in fact, rather enjoyed the implied illicitness of invading a formerly “forbidden” domain. Until that moment, she’d thought the notion odd, but as she noted the subtle touches designed for a man like the huge bed and comfortable, overstuffed chairs by the hot tub, she decided the theory had definite merit.

  She headed for the door to the walk-in closet that opened off the right half of the bathroom and went inside to look for the telephone. After a thorough and fruitless search of both closets and all the drawers in the bedroom, Julie yielded to temptation and borrowed a red silk Japanese kimono embroidered in gold threads from the woman’s closet. She chose that partly because it was sure to fit and partly because she had a helpless urge to look nice if Zack woke up before morning. She was tying the belt around her waist wondering where on earth he’d hidden the phone when she remembered the small closet in the hall, the one with a deadlock on it. She went straight to it and tried the knob, and when it proved to be locked tight, she tiptoed into her own bedroom. She found the key where she expected it to be—in the pocket of his soaked trousers.

  The locked closet contained an enormous stock of wine and liquor and four telephones, which she found on the floor behind a case of Dom Perignon champagne, where Zack had hidden them.

  Stifling an unexpected attack of nervousness, Julie took one of the phones into the living room, plugged it in, and sat down on the sofa, her legs curled beneath her, the phone in her lap. She’d already dialed half the long distance number when she realized the enormous mistake she was probably making, and she hastily slapped the receiver onto its cradle to disconnect the call. Since kidnapping was a federal offense—and Zack was an escaped murderer—it stood to reason that the FBI would probably be at her parents’ house, waiting for her to phone, so they could trace the call. At least, that’s what always happened in the movies. She’d already made her decision to stay here with Zack and to let God handle whatever came along, but she absolutely had to talk to her family and reassure them. Idly tracing the flamboyant gold peacock embroidered on the lap of her red kimono, she concentrated on how to accomplish her goal. Since she didn’t dare call family members, she had to reach someone else first, someone she could trust implicitly, someone who wouldn’t be flustered by the errand she was going to give them.

  Julie ruled out the other teachers. They were terrific women, but they were more timid than daring, and they didn’t have the kind of panache required for the task. Suddenly she burst into a beaming smile and went for the little address book she carried in her purse. Opening it to C, she pulled the phone onto her lap and checked the home number she’d had for Katherine Cahill before Katherine had become Mrs. Ted Mathison. Earlier that month, Katherine had sent her a note asking if they could get together when she was in Keaton this week. With a satisfied chuckle, Julie decided Ted was going to be furious at her for sending Katherine back into the Mathison family’s midst, where he couldn’t avoid or ignore her . . . and Katherine was going to thank her for doing just that. “Katherine?” Julie said quickly as soon as the other woman answered the phone at her family’s house, “This is Julie. Don’t say anything unless you’re alone.”

  “Julie! My God! Yes, I’m alone. My-my parents are in the Bahamas. Where are you? Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine. I swear I’m completely safe.” She paused to steady her nerves and then said, “Do you know if there are people—police or FBI agents, I mean—at my parents’ house?”

  “They’re at your parents’ and asking questions all over town, too.”

  “Look, I need to ask you a very important favor. You won’t be breaking the law, but you’ll have to agree to keep this call a secret from them.”

  Katherine’s voice dropped to a teary whisper. “Julie, I’d do anything for you. I’m—I’m honored you called me— that you’re giving me a chance to repay you for all the things you did to try to stop Ted from divorcing me, for the way you’ve always stood by—” She brought herself up short just as Julie was about to interrupt her. “What do you want me to do?”

  “I’d like you to get word to my parents and my brothers right away that I’m going to call you back in an hour so I can talk to them. Katherine, make absolutely certain you don’t do or say anything to alert the FBI. Act natural, get my family off alone, give them my message. You aren’t going to be intimidated by meeting FBI agents, are you?”

  Katherine gave a sad little laugh. “As Ted used to very correctly point out—I was a spoiled little princess whose daddy made her believe she could do as she damned well pleased. Now, there is no way,” she finished with more humor, “that a few lowly FBI agents could possibly fluster a former princess like me. If they try,” she joked, “I’ll have Daddy call Senator Wilkins.”

  “All right, great,” Julie said, smiling at the tone of reckless daring in Katherine’s voice, then she sobered, trying to phrase a warning that would deter Katherine as well as Julie’s family from possibly deciding it might be in Julie’s best interests to alert the FBI about Julie’s next call, regardless. “There’s one more thing: Make certain my family understands that I’m completely safe right now, but that if anyone traces this call, I’ll be in terrible danger. I—I can’t explain exactly what I mean—I don’t have time, and even if I did—”

  “You don’t have to explain anything to me. I can tell from your voice that you’re all right, and that’s all that matters to me. As far as where you are . . . and who you’re with . . . I know that whatever you’re doing, you’re doing what you believe is the right thing. You are the best person I’ve ever known, Julie. I’d better get going. Call back in an hour.”

  Julie lit the fire in the living room fireplace, then she paced back and forth in front of it, checking her watch, waiting impatiently for one hour to pass. Because of Katherine’s calm, unquestioning acceptance of everything Julie said, Julie wasn’t at all prepared for what happened when she made her second phone call. Her normally stoic father snatched up the Cahills’ phone on the first ring. “Yes? Who is this?”

  “This is Julie, Dad,” she said, squeezing the telephone hard, “I’m okay. I’m fine—”

  “Thank God!” he said, his voice hoarse and gruff with emotion, then he called out, “Mary, it’s Julie, and she’s okay. Ted, Carl—Julie’s on the phone, and she’s fine. Julie, we did what you said, we didn’t tell the FBI about this.”

  Over a thousand miles away, Julie could hear several extension telephones being snatched off their cradles and a jumble of relieved, panicked voices, but over them all was Ted’s voice—calming, authoritative. “Quiet, everyone,” he ordered. “Julie, are you alone? Can you talk?” Before she could answer, he added, “That student of yours with the deep voice—Joe Bob Artis—he’s worried sick about you.”

  For a split second Julie gaped in confusion at his opening topic and his use of a name she’d never heard of, then she muffled a nervous laugh as she understood that he’d used the wrong name intentionally. “You mean Willie,” she corrected. “And I really am alone, at least for the moment.”

  “Thank God! Where are you, honey?”

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