"We know." Taylor cut him off gently. "Tell you what. We have a little time before we go on the air.
Get comfortable at the control panel. I'll get us all some coffee. Then you can tell us a little bit about yourself so we can get to know you better."
He looked startled. "Are you sure you want to do that tonight?"
Taylor nodded. Under circumstances such as these, one sound psychological strategy was to inject an element of normalcy into everyone's interactions. It worked wonders toward upping the group comfort level, and toward getting some normalcy to actually sink in. "Very sure. Frankly, if I look at the notes I jotted down about Rick one more time, I'm going to lose it. I'd rather sit and talk with you guys. It'll
ease all of us into pulling off a regular show."
"I agree." Kevin sounded relieved. "I'll get Dennis set up while you grab the coffee."
Ten minutes later, they sat, sipping their coffee, Kevin at his desk, Dennis at the control panel, and Taylor sitting in a chair she'd pulled up across from them.
"So, are you a long-term radio buff like everyone else here?" Taylor asked.
She could actually see Dennis relax a tad. "Big-time. I always wanted to work at a radio station. I just wasn't sure what I'd end up doing there. I've always been good with electronics and computers, and I
was an audio-phile in my teens. Still am. After that, I dabbled at some hole-in-the-wall stations. I learned a lot—including how much I like handling the tech aspects of the business."
"Yeah, I hear you about the dabbling." Kevin grinned. "What hole-in-the-wall towns did you hit?"
"You name it. I'm from a hick town in Nebraska. I got out of there when I was sixteen. I backpacked around the country for a couple of years, stopping here and there to do radio stints. I was everything
from a gofer to an audio tech."
"What made you come east?"
"The Big Apple. It was a risk. I knew I was trying to break into the big league. But Manhattan's filled
with radio stations. I just wanted to get a foot in the door at one of them. I'd do it without pay if I had
to, just to learn and show them what I could do. I got lucky. Jack gave me a break."
"Jack's got a good eye for talent," Taylor said. "So it's not just luck." She switched gears, going for a lighter, more personal touch in case Dennis felt like he was in the hot seat. She wanted him to thaw,
not tense up. "Since there are no secrets in this place, you might as well give us some insight into your personal life. You know, family, hobbies, interests—that kind of thing."
"Don't forget significant others," Kevin added quickly.
Dennis looked startled, but not offended. In fact, he actually started to grin. "Let's see, my family's
pretty much gone. My hobby is trying to win the lottery. I buy ten tickets twice a week and keep my fingers crossed. My interests are reading computer magazines and tinkering with anything electronic.
Oh, and yeah, I've got a girlfriend."
"Details," Kevin pressed. "Name? Serious?"
The grin widened, accompanied by a flush. "Her name's Ally. I guess it's serious. We'll see. She's easy
to be with. And she doesn't think I'm a geek."
"How long have you been together?"
"Four or five months."
"Geez, Kev, you're like a tabloid reporter," Taylor teased. "I said we should talk, not interrogate." She turned to Dennis. "Pay no attention to him. He likes getting the lowdown on everyone else's love life."
A twinkle. "Maybe for comparison's sake."
"Nope. Not necessary. I'm the champ, hands down." Kevin was grinning now, too, and looked a lot
more like himself. "Oh, Taylor, speaking of love lives—"
"Forget it," she interrupted. "I'm not going there."
"Ah. So there is something going on."
"Kevin, cut it out." Taylor rose, glancing at her watch. "Just look at the time. I'd better get into my
studio and get myself settled." She turned to go.
"Taylor." Kevin's voice stopped her. It was sober, not teasing, and she turned back, shooting him an inquisitive look. "Whether or not it's turning into something serious, I'm glad you weren't alone last
night."
She nodded. "Yeah. Me, too. The same goes for you. I'm glad Phyllis was with you when I called." Slowly, she sucked in her breath. "I'm not using the index cards," she announced. "I'm just talking
from the heart."
Kevin didn't look surprised. "Wise choice. That's where your best stuff comes from."
"I hope so."
8:03 P.M.
CHRYSLER BUILDING
Jonathan listened very carefully as Taylor issued a warm, glowing tribute to her now-deceased audio engineer. It was just right, like everything she did, filled with friendship, high regard, and sorrow. Her voice quavered a few times. But, in the end, she held it together. That's who Taylor was. Still, she sounded so fragile.
He had to reach out to her.
He'd call her at a little past ten, when she was out of the limelight but not out of the building. That
way, he could have her undivided attention—and make the most of it.
If he wanted to win Taylor over, and fast, he'd better take some powerful, concrete steps. He could
feel Reed's presence in her life looming over him like a dark, suffocating cloud.
Speaking of Reed, he wondered if the son of a bitch had spoken to Douglas yet. Doubtful. Douglas
would have mentioned it on the phone, when they'd talked to set up tomorrow night's dinner. That
didn't mean Reed wouldn't speak to him, if he thought it over and decided to voice his suspicions to Douglas. Let's face it, Jonathan wasn't taking Reed's silence to the bank. He planned on signing those damned papers with Douglas before any monkey wrenches were tossed in the works.
On the other hand, he wasn't all that worried. Even if Reed opened his mouth before the papers were signed, it wouldn't ruin things, just slow them down.
No, Reed wouldn't be the main thorn in his side. That distinct honor belonged to the same person
who'd held it for years.
Adrienne.
Well, he'd worked out a way to pluck that thorn as well.
Jonathan's mind drifted back to Taylor, and he warmed to the sound of her voice, now reassuring the mother of a teenage son that their relationship wasn't hopeless, that she was doing all the right things
to let him know she cared.
He could visualize her as she spoke, all understated beauty and refine' tnent. With her classic breeding, keen mind, and warm heart, she'd be the perfect complement to him when he stepped in as CEO of Berkley & Company. The perfect asset, the perfect wife, the perfect mother.
Idly, he wondered if she'd pass that luxurious dark red hair on to their kids.
10:15 P.M.
WVNY
Laura poked her head into Taylor's office, a worried frown knitting her brows. "Taylor, this is the
third time that guy's called in the past fifteen minutes, demanding to speak with you. And all caller
ID says is 'private.' Do you want me to call the police?"
Taylor folded her hands on her desk. She wasn't going to overreact. Not this time.
"He still won't give you his name?"
"No. He just keeps saying it's personal. He doesn't sound like he's drunk or high. He just sounds unreasonably urgent."
"Fine." Taylor's chin came up. "Tell him I'm on another line. Ask him to try again in five minutes.
Then hang up and dial star fifty-seven."
"You want me to initiate call trace?"
"You bet. When he calls back, tell him that I'm still tied up, then do the same thing. Tell him to give
me five minutes before he tries again, then hang up and do the call trace. That should do it for the
police. Two phone calls are enough to substantiate harassment."
"If that's what he plans on doing," Laura reminded her.
"He could just be some persistent fan."
"I'll risk it."
Laura nodded. "Ultimately, how do you want me to get rid of him?"
"When he calls the third time, tell him you're sorry, but you just found out that my other call was an emergency. Tell him I just left— escorted by security," Taylor added quickly, thinking that just in case the guy was near her building and decided to hang around and try getting her alone, hearing that she
had an armed escort would deter him.
"Okay. I'll also ask one of the security guys to wait for you downstairs and put you in a taxi home."
"Thanks. You read my mind."
With a grim expression, Laura went to comply.
Taylor's heart was pounding. She forced her mind under control. There was plenty of time for speculation. Laura had to finish the call trace, and then the police had to take it from there. But,
one way or the other, she'd find out who tonight's caller was.
She found out sooner than expected.
Seven minutes later, Laura walked in. "The guy's not stupid. He obviously figured out what we were doing. So he caved. He just gave me his name."
Taylor sank into her seat, weak with relief. "I guess that means you were right. He must be harmless."
"You tell me. It's Jonathan Mallory."
CHAPTER 19
10:45 P.M.
CHRYSLER BUILDING
Jonathan was ripping mad.
Taylor wouldn't talk to him. Not even after he'd supplied her assistant with his name. He'd done that
to save time. Laura what's-her-name was clearly implementing a call trace on him at Taylor's request.
So he saved her the trouble.
And what was his reward?
The snotty little bitch had blown him off—also, no doubt, at Taylor's request. He hadn't gotten through
to exchange so much as one personal word. Taylor simply wouldn't pick up the phone.
Why, dammit? This couldn't be about Gordon anymore. Not after all this time. The shock must have worn off. Besides, even if she was still jittery about being face-to-face with him, that didn't explain why she wouldn't even speak to him. They'd had a perfectly civil conversation at Harter, Randolph & Collins, once she'd realized who he was, or rather wasn't. And, although she'd still been on edge when they ran into each other at Dellinger, she'd hadn't been unpleasant.
No, this had to be prompted by something more extensive than Gordon. Correction: not something. Someone.
Reed.
What the hell had he said to her? Had he found some clever way to get around attorney-client privilege? Had he dropped a hint about Jonathan's "thing" for redheaded women without divulging the ugly details
of his past? If so, had he planted a seed in her mind—a seed that would destroy Jonathan's chances of getting what he wanted?
Shit.
He poured himself a Scotch, downed it in one gulp, then poured another.
There was only one way to get at the truth. He wasn't wasting time on speculation. He had to find out.
He polished off the second Scotch, got halfway through a third, then groped for the telephone receiver
till he managed to pick it up and prop it under his chin. Leaning forward, he squinted at the touch-tone pad until it came into focus. Then he punched in Reed's cell number.
Reed answered on the third ring. He sounded distracted. "Hello?" In the background was a staticlike
hum. Road noise. Reed was driving.
"H'llo. Where're you? En route to get your lady?"
For a moment, there was silence. Then Reed made a disgusted sound. "Jonathan? How much have you had? You sound pretty messed up."
A hard swallow of Scotch. "If I am, I owe it to you."
"I asked you a question. Are you drunk?"
"I'm getting there. Fast, I hope."
"Are you home or at the office ?"
"The office. I just spent thirty fucking minutes trying to get through to Taylor."
Reed's tone changed entirely. "What are you talking about? Get through to Taylor how?"
"Jealous?"
"Jonathan, I'm warning you . . ."
"You're warning me?" Something inside Jonathan snapped. "You, who broke the cardinal bar-association rule? You told her, you son of a bitch, didn't you?"
"What the hell are you talking about? Told her what—about you? No, as much as I wanted to, I didn't.
I didn't say a word."
"Then why won't she take my calls?"
"You really need to ask that?"
Jonathan swore loudly. "Don't bring up that Gordon crap again. It's old. We were twins. We looked
alike. He was a screwed-up, manipulative bastard. I'm a respected businessman on his way to the top. He's dead. I'm alive. End of comparison."
Reed sucked in his breath. "Jonathan, you're raving like a lunatic. Go home. Take some aspirin, go to bed, and sleep it off."
"Speaking of sleeping, are you spending tonight at Taylor's place or yours?" The question was slurred,
the bitterness and sarcasm that Jonathan normally repressed coming through loud and clear. "Y'know what? It doesn't matter. I'll just do the expedient thing—call your cell phone and ask for her. That'll
work, no matter whose bed you're in. I might interrupt you midseduction. But that's a chance I'll have
to take." His tone hardened. "I'm getting through to Taylor. I'm not going away. I have big plans for
that woman."
That speech blasted to bits any semblance of emotional control on the other end. "Leave Taylor the
hell alone, Jonathan." Shards of ice sliced Reed's warning. "Or I won't break my oath of confidentiality; I'll break your neck. Stay far away. I mean it."
"Do you? Well, I want Taylor. And I mean that. Don't underestimate the lengths I'll go to to get her." Somewhere in the back of Jonathan's mind, he realized he'd never heard Reed so angry. He also
realized he was fueling that anger—and saying way too much, tipping his hand far more than he
should. But he couldn't seem to stop himself.
He gulped at his drink, a little Scotch trickling down his shirt. "I'm getting through to her, Reed.
Sooner, not later. And not just on the phone. Threaten me all you want to. Just get out of her bed
and out of her life. As for the little secret you think you're holding over my head, forget it. Once Taylor and I are together, I'll tell her myself. She'll understand. She gets what makes people tick." A harsh
laugh. "Believe me, my past is minor compared to the rest of the Berkley saga."
"Jonathan—"
"You won't win, Reed," Jonathan snapped out. "Y'know why? Because I won't lose. I planned it out
too well. The whole thing's perfect. Taylor's perfect. She and I will be perfect together. So get the hell
out of my way."
He smiled as he disconnected the call, silencing Reed's furious warnings for him to back off.
11:55 P.M.
WEST SEVENTY-SECOND STREET
Taylor was lying in bed, staring at the phone and debating whether it was too late to call Reed when
the buzzer sounded from the lobby.
She rose and went out to the hallway, pressing the intercom button. "Yes, George?"
"Sorry to bother you so late, Ms. Halstead. But Mr. Weston's here. He really wants to see you."
Relief swept through her. "Thank you, George. You can send him up."
She grabbed her robe, pulled it on, and went to the door. She watched through the peephole, letting
Reed in before he even knocked. "I'm glad you're here. I was just debating whether to call you."
He looked drawn and troubled, and his eyes narrowed at her words. "Why? Is something wrong?"
Taylor eyed him speculatively. "You mean, besides dealing with Rick's death and getting through a
tribute to him and an entire show? Yes, something's wrong. Why do I get the feeling you already
know that?"
r /> Reed blew out his breath. "Let's not do this dance, Taylor. Please— not tonight. Just tell me what happened. I'll answer you if I can."
"Fair enough. Jonathan Mallory called the radio station. Not once, but repeatedly. He insisted on
speaking to me. I didn't take the calls." A pause, during which time Taylor studied Reed's unchanged expression. "I see you're not surprised."
"I'm not."
"Okay, then. Your turn."
"Jonathan told me he tried to contact you." Reed shrugged out of his coat and tossed it aside, not even bothering to hang it up. "He's determined to speak with you. He reached me about an hour ago on my cell. He wanted to find out if we'd be together tonight and, if so, at whose apartment, so he could get through to you there."