The straightforward question and the harsh expression on his face sent chills up her spine. "Not stalked," she replied, opting for the least ominous interpretation. "Watched. At least that's what my instincts say. But I'm not sure those instincts are objective—not in this case."
"Why?"
She paused before answering. "Let's say I have a heightened sensitivity when it comes to this issue."
"A heightened sensitivity. That means it relates to Gordon's assault."
She nodded.
"Go on."
"Okay. When Gordon left that day, he promised me he'd be back. He said we'd finish what we started. He cautioned me to be patient, to be good, and to be mindful. And, at the very end, he warned me that he'd be watching me. Those words, the brutal look in his eyes—those memories just won't go away."
A muscle flexed in Reed's jaw. "I can understand why—"
"There's more." Taylor met his gaze head-on. "I was pretty messed up by what happened. But I told myself that it was one sick, spontaneous incident, exacerbated by the fact that Gordon had been drinking. Then the holidays came. With them came two e-cards."
She went on to describe the creepy e-cards to Reed, keeping her tone as impassive as possible, although she was unable to keep the tremor out of her voice. "Even though I canceled my e-mail account, I still dread every holiday, wondering if there's some ominous e-card floating around in cyberspace. The
feeling of violation never seems to go away."
Reed's jaw tightened another fraction. "So between the premeditated attack and the e-cards, it's no leap
to assume he was fixated on you."
Taylor lowered her gaze and gave a humorless laugh. "Yes, but these past few days I find myself making a one-eighty. Given what's been going on, I'm actually praying Gordon did send those cards, and that we had proof to that effect. A leftover sense of violation beats the hell out of an ongoing sense of fear and vulnerability. What if those cards weren't from Gordon? What if his sexual assault wasn't a fixation, but just a one-shot deal? What if someone else sent those e-cards—someone who's alive, and still out there watching me and stalking me? It's happened to other on-air personalities. What if this time it's me? What if whoever's doing this is the one who was at the cemetery and the one who called me last night?"
"Hey." Reed cut off her escalating outburst, pulling her against him and wrapping her in a fierce, comforting embrace. He rubbed his chin slowly across the top of her head and frowned as he felt her tremble. As he stared out the window, his thoughts took a turn in an unpalatable direction—one he'd hoped never again to revisit. But he couldn't ignore it. The pattern was there.
The fixation. The mind games. The egocentric determination. The sense of imperviousness.
He couldn't say a word to Taylor. He had to check things out on his own first. Hopefully, what he
learned would put his nagging concerns to rest.
If not, he'd be screwed. Talk about being crammed between the proverbial rock and the hard place.
He turned his attention back to Taylor and the challenge of doing what he could for her. "No wonder you're at the end of your rope," he murmured. "You're coping with a hell of a lot—and you're doing it alone."
Taylor didn't reply. She squeezed her eyes shut, breathing deeply. She was half relieved that she'd
blurted out the whole twisted scenario, half appalled that she'd done so with a man she'd known less
than a month— a man who had a much longer, stronger relationship with those closest to Gordon
Mallory than he had with her.
Well, it was too late for regrets.
"That emotional outburst I just subjected you to was far more than I planned on," she mumbled into Reed's shirt.
"Yeah, I figured as much." He drew back, framed her face between his palms, his expression dead serious. He had to buy himself time. Just a day to poke around for his answers. After that, he'd know how to proceed. In the meantime, he had to keep her safe, calm, and in control.
"You trusted me to listen," he said. "Now trust my advice. Don't let your imagination run wild—not yet. Like you said, the weirdo at the cemetery and the intimidating phone call could be two isolated incidents. As for your gut instinct that someone's watching you, I'm all for listening to gut instincts. Still, even if yours are dead-on, this person could be someone as innocuous as an overzealous fan. So, yeah, take
extra precautions. Double-lock the door of your apartment. Use the inside chain. When you leave, stay among crowds. That means no solitary strolls on Seventh Avenue at eleven o'clock at night. Keep your eyes open and your pepper spray on hand. If anything else happens—another phone call, a stranger you spot hanging around your apartment, school, or radio station—anything suspicious, then you'll take action."
"What action?" Taylor demanded. "The police won't be interested without evidence. They're not big
fans of gut feelings."
"Fine. Then you'll hire a PI. I'll call my brother out in San Francisco. He has a bunch of contacts in Manhattan. We'll get someone. Till then, hang tight. Go about your life. Build your confidence by improving your self-defense skills. On Saturday, we'll have our next lesson. And right now, we'll have
our next glass of wine."
Taylor blinked at the change in subject. "Our wine?"
"Yup. Relaxing your mind and body, staying calm—all that's part of the process. That's where the Cabernet comes in." He gripped her hand and led her back to the sofa. "Sit. I'll refill our glasses."
She complied, sinking into the sofa as Reed took the goblets over to the sideboard and refilled them.
"Not too much," she reminded him. "I told you, two's my limit. Otherwise, I'll be a headachy zombie
at school tomorrow."
"Not to worry," he assured her, slowly completing his task. "I won't ruin the school counselor's
reputation by letting her stagger in with a hangover. I'm only giving you half a glass—just enough to
take the edge off. While you're nursing your wine, I'll give you a neck-and-shoulder massage. Then
I'll send you off to bed. How does that sound?"
How did that sound? Spectacular.
Taylor felt herself smile. "You know, if you're trying to charm me by playing knight in shining armor, you're doing a damned good job."
"Glad to hear it." He winked as he walked over with their drinks. "Knights in shining armor are very trustworthy."
"So I hear."
He sat down beside her, savoring his wine for a few minutes and watching her do the same. When he
saw her begin to visibly relax, he set down his goblet and turned her around so her back was facing him. "Keep sipping," he directed, settling his palms on her shoulders. "And shut your eyes."
Taylor didn't need a second invitation. She was drained from the day, from their conversation, from her own apprehension and emotional outburst. All she wanted to do was slip into mental oblivion.
She took another sip of wine and let out a soft sigh as Reed began massaging the tension from her shoulders. He found the knots in her muscles and worked them away, his fingers gliding up her neck, massaging each vertebra, then shifting back down so his thumbs could knead the tight spots in her upper back.
"Feel good?" he murmured.
"Beyond good. Unbelievable." She moved her neck from side to side, leaning into the pressure of his hands. "Do they teach this in law school?"
"Nope. At least not at Harvard. There, they you teach you to kill yourself in order to succeed. Over the summers, I signed up for a few stress management courses. One of them was in massage."
"Lucky me." Taylor's words were muffled, and she didn't resist when Reed leaned forward, took the goblet from her hand, and set it down on the coffee table.
"That was about to hit the floor," he observed, making no move to ease away from her and return to his original position. "Besides, I think you've had enough."
"Yes, Counselor." The wine was swirling through her, dul
ling some senses, heightening others. She shivered as Reed's breath brushed her neck. "About that decision you made for us to go slow—are you sure I can't change your mind?"
"I'm positive." He gathered up her hair, moved it aside so he could kiss the nape of her neck.
"Frustrated, but positive."
She turned, angling her face up to his, her gaze open, if slightly cloudy. "You don't have to be
frustrated."
Tiny sparks burned in his midnight eyes. "Yeah, I'm afraid I do."
"Why?"
"Because right now you're vulnerable." He kissed her, tasting her mouth in a way that made her heart slam against her ribs. "You're also not completely sure you can trust me—not yet." Another kiss, this
one deeper than the last, his hands kneading her back simultaneously. "And you're also a little too drunk." He felt her slump against him, and he smiled, supporting her weight with his. "But, most of all, because you're asleep."
He scooped her up in his arms and headed down the hall, peeking into each of the two bedrooms. It wasn't hard to figure out which was Taylor's. Stephanie's was stark, almost bare. All that was left were
a few pieces of furniture and, on the dresser, a few funky knickknacks and some Broadway-show CDs.
The adjacent bedroom was definitely Taylor's. Reed could smell her perfume as he carried her inside. The beveled cherry furniture and touches of beechwood were as classy and understated as she, and the bookcase on the far wall was filled with psychology texts. On the nightstand, a neat pile of paperwork with the Dellinger letterhead was stacked—probably for Taylor to review before going to sleep.
Gently, he stretched her out on the bed, studying her elegant features and delicately curved body,
thinking that he'd never wanted a woman as much as he wanted this one. Maybe that explained the painstaking care he was taking with his timing. Either that, or he was insane for putting off something
he wanted so badly he was throbbing with it.
But something told him that whatever was happening between him and Taylor was significant.
So he'd take a cold shower. Hell, he'd take as many of them as he had to. The wait would be worth it.
He leaned over and tucked the pillow beneath Taylor's head and covered her.with the afghan blanket
that was draped across her rocking chair, pulling it way up to her chin. He threaded his fingers through her hair, smiling at her almost inaudible murmur of pleasure at the contact. Then, with a soft sigh, she snuggled into the blanket.
Reed stood up, pausing only to set the alarm on Taylor's clock radio. She'd kill him if she was late for school. That done, he tiptoed out of the room. He stopped in the kitchen, glancing at the telephone and jotting down the unlisted number that was printed there. He'd call her tomorrow before her radio show, make sure she was all right.
Scooping up his coat, Reed left the apartment. He spent a good couple of minutes making sure the front door was securely locked. Confident that it was, he took the stairway down to the lobby. He turned up
his collar, nodding at the doorman before stepping outside.
He flipped open his cell phone as he walked to the parking lot. The message had to be left. It would precipitate a very unpleasant meeting. But there wasn't any other choice.
Reed left a succinct voice mail, then snapped the phone shut.
He'd have his answers soon enough.
CHAPTER 12
FEBRUARY 4
12:30 P.M.
MONTEBELLO RESTAURANT
120 EAST FIFTY-SIXTH STREET, NEW YORK CITY
The lunch crowd was already in full swing when Jonathan Mallory walked in. He brushed the snowflakes off his cashmere overcoat, then shrugged out of it, handing it to the coat-check girl and taking his ticket. Glancing around, he waited for the maitre d' to seat him.
A minute later he was escorted to his table.
Reed was already there. He looked up from the menu when Jonathan approached. "Glad you could
make it on such short notice."
"I got the distinct feeling I didn't have a choice." Jonathan settled himself in his chair, taking the menu
and waiting until he and Reed were alone before continuing. "Your message sounded more like a subpoena than an invitation to lunch. You announced you needed to see me ASAP. You told me where and when, but not why. And your voice mail was left at one-ten a.m. Very ominous. So, tell me, did my dead brother put Douglas in the hot seat again?"
Reed didn't answer right away. He was studying Jonathan, checking out the subtle signs of apprehension. Jonathan's tone was flippant, and his expression was merely inquisitive, but there was a fine tension emanating from him that Reed could feel. The question was, why?
"Let's order," Reed suggested as the waiter approached the table. "Then we can talk without being interrupted."
"Okay, Reed," Jonathan said as soon as the waiter had brought over his Scotch and Reed's sparkling water, and left the table with their lunch order. "It's obvious that this time Gordon's mess is a big one.
So let's get into the specifics and figure out how to make it go away."
"It's not that cut-and-dried." Reed took a deep swallow of water. "This particular mess concerns more than just Gordon. It concerns Taylor Halstead and what Gordon did to her."
"Taylor Halstead." There was a definite edge to Jonathan's tone. "That's a name I didn't expect to hear.
I had no idea you'd been in touch with her again since that meeting a few weeks ago."
"Yes, you did. Remember? I told you and Douglas I was giving her self-defense lessons."
"Right. I'd forgotten."
Sure you had, Reed thought, watching the muscle work in Jonathan's jaw. "Anyway, Taylor and I are seeing each other. She's opened up to me. She shared some additional, disturbing details about Gordon's assault—and afterward. There are implications that I need to bring to your attention."
Vigorously, Jonathan ripped off a piece of bread. "Seeing each other," he repeated, his words clipped.
If that didn't speak volumes, nothing did.
As if realizing how transparent he was being, Jonathan turned his attention to buttering his bread. "Are you saying the two of you are dating?" he inquired casually, in an effort to downplay his interest in
Reed's private life.
Reed wasn't buying it for a minute.
"That's what I'm saying," he confirmed. "And don't tell me it comes as a surprise. We both know otherwise."
Jonathan's chin came up, and there was a wary look in his eyes. "Why do you say that?"
Reed paused just long enough to make him squirm. "Because you got my message loud and clear that
day in my office. You knew I intended to pursue Taylor."
"Right. The day you announced I was out of the running because I was physically indistinguishable from Gordon." Despite the biting quality of Jonathan's words, there was also an unmistakable flash of relief in his eyes. Had he thought Reed was referring to another, more direct reason for his knowing Reed was seeing Taylor? Like maybe because he'd watched him come or go from her apartment?
"As luck would have it, the attraction is mutual," Reed continued, purposely provoking Jonathan in the hopes of eliciting a reaction. "Actually, attraction is an understatement. It's more than that. Even
though it's new, it's already pretty intense."
He knew he was pushing it. But he got the reaction he sought.
Jonathan put down his knife with a thud. "Congratulations. You're charming Taylor Halstead into bed. Terrific. Wonderful. Let's get back to the subject at hand. What did she tell you about Gordon?"
Reed leaned forward. "It bothers you that Taylor and I are involved."
"Why would it?"
"Because you have a thing for her. It was pretty obvious from the way you described her that first time
in my office, the way you looked at her in the lobby, and the way you're looking at me right now."
One of Jonathan's brows rose. "How observant o
f you. Is that why you went after her?"
"You know me better than that." Reed didn't like what he was seeing and hearing. Or what he was feeling. "I don't play games. But I'm also not blind. You want Taylor. You're not getting her. So
where does that leave you—lying in wait or moving on?"
There was a moment of dead silence.
"What exactly are you getting at?" Jonathan asked at last.
"It's a straightforward question. Are you cutting your losses, or holding out for the impossible?"
Anger tightened Jonathan's features. "Let me understand this correctly. Did you arrange this impromptu lunch so you could order me to back off of Taylor—a woman I've met exactly once? Or do we actually have some business to discuss?"