Family (2 page)

x Thanks to Katie Johnson, who runs a large part of my business life-everything from my accounting to my calendar. God brought you to me, Katie, and I’ll be grateful as long as I’m writing for Him. Don’t ever leave, okay? And to Ofga Kalachik, whose hard work helping me prepare for events allows me to operate a significant part of my business from my home. The personal touch you both bring to my ministry is precious to me, priceless to me… . Thank you with all my heart.

And thanks to my friends and family who continue to surround me with love and prayer and support. 1 could list you by name, but you know who you are. Thank you for believing in me and for seeing who 1 really am. A true friend stands by through the changing seasons of life and cheers you on not for your successes but for staying true to what matters most. You are the ones who know-me that way, and f’m grateful for everyone of you.

Of course, the greatest thanks goes to God Almighty, the most wonderful author of all-the Author of life. The gift is Yours, f pray I might have the incredible opportunity and responsibility to use it for You all the days of my life.

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Katy Hart couldn’t find her way to daylight, couldn’t draw herself from the strange deep sleep that held her in its grip.

She was holding Dayne Matthews’ hand, lost in the feel of his skin against hers.

But something wasn’t right. Dayne felt more like a stranger than a friend, and even though the sun had set, the sand beneath them felt hot. Too hot. Dayne was looking at her, losing himself in her eyes, making her forget how strange it was to be sitting on a private beach in Los Angeles next to one of Hollywood’s biggest heartthrobs, and he was saying, “I never planned on being a star.”

The air grew colder, and snowflakes mixed in the wind. Snowflakes big enough to hold in her hands, with designs and intricacies that took her breath away. Dayne was saying it was time; they should get going, get her back to the hotel.

When they stood, the snow disappeared and sand stretched out as far as they could see. Sand and a large clump of dense bushes, and suddenly there was a click. And another. Four more. Dozens at the same time. Cameras. Everywhere she 2

looked there were cameras and lots of people. Thousands of people, all of them whispering, This is the price for fame … the price for fame … the price for fame… . And Dayne was leading her toward the bushes, closer …

closer.

In a rush of motion a yellow-haired woman jumped from the clump of green and grabbed Katy from behind, holding her by the arms.

Katy screamed, loud and shrill, but before Dayne could do anything to help, the woman whipped out a knife. No, not a knife, a sword. A long, curved sword.

“Don’t move or I’ll kill you,” the woman hissed at Katy. She pressed the blade hard against Katy’s throat. Harder and harder still, until Katy couldn’t swallow or yell for help or utter even the slightest whisper.

Dayne … she wanted to shout at him, but she couldn’t. Dayne, help me! Katy’s body trembled and stiffened.

And he was coming closer, closer. He didn’t speak, but his expression said he wanted to help Katy, was desperate to help her.

If only Katy could catch her breath. But the blade pressed even tighter against her throat, tight enough that her windpipe was closing off. Stay back, Dayne!

She’s going to kill me. … I can feel the knife on my throat. The words built in her mind, her heart, but she couldn’t speak them, couldn’t squeeze them past the pressure of the shiny blade.

“Hussy!” the hissing voice spat at Katy’s cheek. “You’ll feel the knife more than that in a few minutes.”

Dayne was whispering something, and suddenly a yellow Honda Civic came tearing down the sand straight for them, its engine revving louder, louder as it came.

Behind her, Katy could feel the woman’s anger turn to rage, sense her shaking with hatred.

Dayne reached out his hand, but something sliced down the length of her arm and blood began to drip down her fingers.

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Dear God, where are You? Help me, please! Dayne… she’s going to kill me! Her screams echoed in her soul and clambered for a way out, but there was none.

The people with cameras grew in number, clicking, clicking, clicking. Every lens focused directly on Katy. There were so many now that Katy couldn’t see past them or around them. They formed a tight circle, and inside the circle the drama continued to escalate.

That’s when it happened. The waves grew still. Utterly still. Katy felt the insane woman lower the knife a few inches. Dayne was running toward them in slow motion, but it was as fast as he could go, and Katy knew-she knew with every heartbeat-that he wouldn’t reach her in time. The cameras caught every step, every movement. The clicking grew louder … louder than her own heartbeat.

Dayne kicked the knife with all his strength, and it went flying and became a seagull, squawking and flapping its wings and soaring fast and far over the Pacific Ocean.

Dayne landed hard against the woman, knocking her to the ground and planting himself firmly on her back. The yellow Honda was ten feet away, its engine howling, its presence menacing. Dayne shouted, “Run, Katy … run for your life.”

But it was too late. The woman’s eyes became dark and flinty. The seagull fell from the sky and became a knife once more, and the witch grabbed it and plunged it straight into”Ma’am.” The voice was calm, kind.

Katy felt something cold against her face, and she jolted back from it. She blinked twice, and everything disappeared-the woman, the knife, even Dayne. She wasn’t on a beach, on the hot sand, or being attacked by a witch with a sword.

The cold against her cheek was the window of the 757.

“Ma’am, you need to put your seat up.” The voice belonged to a flight attendant.

Katy looked past the two businessmen in the seats beside her 4

to the flight attendant. She felt a rush of heat in her cheeks. “I’m sorry. I … I was asleep.”

“That’s fine.” The woman gave her a polite smile. “I just need you to put your seat back up.”

“Yes … okay.” She did as she was told, and only then did she realize that she was out of breath, the palms of her hands damp and clammy. She blew the air from her lungs. Relax, Katy … relax.

The entire ordeal had only been a dream-a dream that, except for the snow and the wild driverless Honda Civic, was exactly what had happened a year earlier.

Katy felt her heart rate slow, felt her breathing even out. Everything was going to be okay. The trial against the insane fan was set for this week, and Dayne had warned her that the media scrutiny would be intense. But she would survive it. Her testimony wouldn’t take more than a day or so on the witness stand.

Maybe less.

She looked out the window, through the smoggy sunset, and in the time it took her to inhale she was back again. Back to the week when she had actually considered taking a starring role opposite Dayne Matthews. There on the beach, walking hand in hand with Dayne, the ocean breeze stirring her hair and her senses. The reality was as wild a scenario as the nightmare she’d just woken from.

Katy shuddered. She brought her fingers to her throat and lightly massaged the place where the knife had pressed against her all those terrifying minutes. The blade had left lines on her that she had had to cover with makeup for two weeks.

The stalker would’ve killed her. If Dayne hadn’t caught her off guard, Katy wouldn’t be on the plane now, wouldn’t be on her way to testify. She’d merely be another Los Angeles homicide statistic. Goose bumps rose on her arms. How long had the woman been watching them that night? Using two voices, two personalities, she was both Chloe and Anna during those fright 5

ening minutes, but the police had told them her real name since then.

Margie Madden.

The moment Dayne had thrown himself on Margie, Katy pulled herself free. In the seconds after that, Dayne made a mistake that nearly cost him his life. Katy had watched it happen, watched him twist around and find her, shouting for her to call 911, his eyes desperate to know if she was okay. And in the time it took him to do that, Margie had grabbed the knife and reached back. She raised it, intent on sinking the blade into Dayne.

Katy felt sick as she relived the scene. The knife glistened in the moonlight, and she screamed his name. Just in time, Dayne whipped around, and in quick, fluid movements, he kicked the knife out of Margie’s hand and wrenched her away from Katy. Only then was Katy sure that they were out of danger.

Even as Dayne held the attacker facedown on the ground, the woman continued to spout death threats. “I’ll have to kill you too, Dayne … have to kill you too. …”

Katy inhaled and settled back against the seat. Enough. She’d have to relive the terror on the witness stand in a couple days. No sense making herself sick by replaying it now. She turned toward the window. The setting sun shone a brilliant splash of light against her side of the plane, and the warmth felt good.

Temperatures in the nineties were forecast for LA. Katy wore a white sleeveless blouse and jeans. Absently, she turned her left arm so she could see the fine scar, the single threadlike line that ran three inches along her upper arm. The place where Margie had cut her, proving that she was willing to use the knife, anxious to kill.

The dream was no surprise. It was the same one she’d had three times in the past two weeks. In the daylight, during long conversations with Jenny and Jim Flanigan-the couple whose house she lived in-she was ready to face the trial straight-on. So what if she had to look Margie Madden in the eyes and testify 6

against her? Never mind that-she would have to relive the attack in front of a jury and a sea of media members from around the world.

Margie was behind bars, where she most certainly would stay. Nothing about the woman was a threat; at least that’s what Katy told herself. But her nightmares betrayed her confidence. And the cameras-there were always cameras-reminded her that another danger lay just ahead. A danger that threatened her privacy, every bit as much as Margie had threatened her life.

The danger of the paparazzi.

Once the trial began tomorrow morning, they would be out for every morsel of story they could find. Most certainly they would learn her identity, and it would be nothing for them to figure out that she-Katy Hart, small-town Christian drama instructor-was the mystery woman who had kissed Dayne Matthews on the beach just moments before the attack.

Katy stared at the city, at the mountains that framed the San Fernando Valley.

Back home her theater group was headlong into rehearsals for Narnia-the Christian Kids Theater production that would close out their season. Rhonda Sanders, Katy’s friend and choreographer, would take over supervising the kids, keeping things on track until she returned. Good thing. The show was set to open the first week of June-in just one month.

A ripple of fear tightened her stomach. What would her reputation be by then?

Dayne had already reminded her two days ago when they last talked that they had to steer clear of the press as much as possible. “We can’t be seen together outside court, Katy. Your reputation is on the line.”

She had mulled that over. “Wouldn’t it be normal for us to be together like that?” The whole media game was still so new to her. She had tightened her grip on the phone and tried to understand. “As long as they don’t think I’m the one you kissed, couldn’t we be okay?”

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“My new agent’s working on that. He’s talking to my attorney Joe Morris.” Dayne gave a sad chuckle. “The agent’s been busy all week coming up with a plausible story to tell the press. Something they might believe so we can keep the spotlight off you.”

Not that any story would really work. Once Katy took the witness stand sometime this week, the entire truth was bound to come out. The reason she had been on the beach with Dayne, what they had been discussing, and what they’d been doing prior to the attack. The prosecuting attorney had promised to object any time a question came up that didn’t pertain directly to the attack. But still …

She narrowed her eyes and stared at the sea of homes and roadways spread out below her. God, go with me, please. Let me keep my privacy, my reputation. I need Your protection, Lord.

There was no answer, no soft whispering in her soul. But two verses from the book of Matthew came to mind. “Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls.”

Katy let the words roll around in her heart, soothing her fears, removing the images of a thousand cameras trained on her. Rest for her soul. Yes, that’s exactly what she wanted to take with her as she stepped off the plane in Burbank. If she allowed God to give her rest and peace, then her time in California would go quickly and without incident.

But what about the other part of the passage? “Take my yoke upon you and learn from me.” What did that mean? Was it a matter of putting God first, the way she’d tried to do since she met Dayne Matthews? And how would that affect their downtime this week? Especially in light of how she and Dayne had grown closer over the last few weeks.

They had talked on the phone nearly every night lately. He spoke about his newfound faith, his determination that he would live out his days the way his adoptive parents had, the

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way his biological family apparently still did. He was reading his Bible and growing, sharing bits of discovered truth every time they spoke.

“I read something today,” he told her last time they talked. “The Bible says our bodies are not our own. We were bought with a price.” He’d stopped for a moment.

“It makes me sick, Katy. All those years when I did whatever I wanted, slept with whoever wound up in my bed. No wonder I felt like something was missing.”

His tone grew soft, thoughtful. “Sometimes I can’t believe God could ever love someone like me.”

Katy had refused the strange jealousies his confession stirred in her. Instead she closed her eyes and told him what he needed to hear. “God’s forgiven you.