"They're civil to each other. They'll never be more."
"No, I'd imagine not." Reed swallowed some of his coffee. "Will she accompany you next week for
the execution of the documents?"
"The day after. My plan is to sign the papers, make the announcement, and then introduce Jonathan around on Tuesday. That night, he and I will have dinner with the company VPs. On Wednesday, my driver will bring Adrienne into Manhattan. She can shop, visit the Met, or catch a Broadway matinee, whatever she wants. After that, she and I are hosting a small, private celebration at Le Cirque in honor
of Jonathan."
Douglas blew out his breath. "I was going to ask you to join us. I guess that's out. Unless, by then,
you're convinced that Jonathan's not involved in this... this... mess."
"Thanks, Douglas, but it's probably a bad idea anyway. Jonathan's furious at me right now. He might have been drunk, but he meant what he said. He fully expects Taylor and me to be over. That's not
going to happen. So I'll avoid a potential scene by offering him my congratulations Tuesday morning,
and let that be that."
Douglas nodded, although not happily. "I suppose that's wise." He rubbed the back of his neck. "I did
a great job of screwing up as a father, didn't I?" He glanced at Reed, obviously expecting some kind
of answer.
Reed gave as honest a reply as he could. "First of all, I'm in no position to judge, not being a father myself. Second, it's really none of my business. And third ..." Reed paused. "Look, Douglas, you did what you did. You gave Gordon and Jonathan every material advantage. And with their mother dying right after they left for college and Adrienne feeling the way she did ... let's just say you had obstacles."
"Obstacles. That's a nice way of putting it. Well, I just hope those obstacles don't come back to haunt me—again—this time with the one decent shot I've got of carrying on my name and my company."
He headed for the door. "I'll keep you posted."
2:35 P.M.
DELLINGER ACADEMY
Ten minutes till school was out. Then it would be time to go home.
Home. The last place Taylor wanted to be.
She sat at her desk, doodling on a piece of paper, her mind plagued by the same questions that had preoccupied her every spare moment of the day.
Who was harassing her—watching her, waiting for her, calling her in the middle of the night? Was it
or wasn't it Jonathan Mallory? And if it was, how deep did his obsession run? Had he, not Gordon,
sent her those creepy e-cards? Where did one twin end and the other begin? And how far would
Jonathan go to get what he wanted?
She kept returning to the matter of the e-cards. At first, she'd concluded that it was highly unlikely
that Jonathan had sent them. After all, at the time they'd arrived, she'd never even met the man.
But then she'd realized that he'd met her. Figuratively, at least. He'd been listening to her radio show
for quite some time. And if he was truly a delusional personality, he could build all kinds of fantasies
from the supposed connection he'd established with her during those listening sessions.
Then again, so could dozens of other people.
God, she was losing her grip.
She reached across her desk, starting to gather up the papers she needed to bring home tonight. It was time to pack up and call it a day.
Leaning down, she reached for her leather tote bag and placed it on the desk in front of her. Between
her busy day and her unsettled state of mind, she'd never even extracted yesterday's paperwork. It was still in there, waiting to be retrieved and refiled. Annoyed at herself, she tugged out the papers, pushing back her chair as she did so.
A rectangular white gift box tumbled out of her tote bag and onto her desk. It was the kind that held jewelry—small, flat, and tied with a thin gold elastic cord.
Taylor stopped dead in her tracks. She stared at the box as if it were a foreign object.
She'd never seen it before. Not only wasn't it hers, it hadn't been in her tote bag last night, or early this morning when she'd rummaged through looking for a pen. So unless Reed had slipped it in before she
left her apartment... No. Surprises weren't Reed's style. Especially not now, when anything out of the ordinary made her jump.
So what was it and who'd put it there?
She picked up the box, her fingers trembling as she sought the first part of her answer.
The cord slipped off, and Taylor worked the lid free.
Inside, on a bed of cotton, lay a necklace—a simple gold chain with a single gemstone dangling from it.
The stone was a bloodred ruby in the shape of a teardrop.
Nestled as it was on the snowy cotton, the contrast between crimson and white was as starkly chilling
as the e-card she'd received on New Year's Day. And the symbolic impact was irrefutable. Her blood. Her tear. Wrapped around her throat. A gift and a threat all in one.
A card jutted up from the inside edge of the box.
A dark sense of foreboding gripped her.
She yanked out the card. It had no envelope, and the terse message on it was typed and without a signature.
A tribute to your beauty. A reminder that you're mine. Wear it for me. I'll be watching.
With a cry of distress, Taylor sank down into her chair, dropping the card and the box as if they'd burned her hands. She covered her face with her hands. "No," she whispered aloud, trembling from head to toe. "Please, please, no."
He'd put it there. In her tote bag. With her personal things. He'd been standing right next to her, possibly even touched her, somewhere between home and school. Maybe on a street corner as she waited for a traffic light to change. Or maybe when she'd stopped to pick up the morning paper. Or just outside the school. Or ...
Stop it, Taylor. Stop it!
"Who's that from?"
Chris Young's voice permeated her panic.
Numbly, she raised her head and gazed at him. "What?"
"That necklace. Who gave it to you—the big-bucks economics guy or the hot Mr. Corporate?"
Taylor was having a hard time grasping Chris's words.
"They've both got the cash," Chris continued flatly. "Judging from how unhappy you look, I'd guess it was Econ Man who sent it. If it was Corporate Hottie, you'd be flying. You've got it bad for him."
Finally, Chris's meaning sank in. He was talking about Jonathan and Reed.
"How would you know . . . ?"
He stared her down. "I'm sizing up the competition. And, if you ask me, they don't measure up. If you know what I mean," he added crudely.
"Chris ..." Taylor was about to snap. "When did you see—"
"I see everything, Ms. Halstead. That's what I'm best at. Watching you." He winked. "Graduation's
right around the corner. After that, I'll show you what you're missing."
"Watching me?" Taylor managed.
"Like a hawk."
His choice of words was more than Taylor could take.
She flung the card and box in her tote bag, shoved by Chris, and flew out of her office.
* * *
Five minutes later, she stood on the school steps and glanced around— casually, the way Mitch Garvey had instructed her to. It wasn't easy to look blasé, not after what had just happened. But she'd made a quick stop at the ladies' room, where she'd thrown some cold water on her face, and regained her composure.
To her relief, he was there. Broad-shouldered and muscular, in his early thirties, and dressed in street clothes, he was standing by the sidewalk, scanning a newspaper.
He caught her eye and tipped his head slightly in her direction, then waited until she went back into the school before folding the newspaper and making his way inside the lobby and over to the private alcove where they'd arranged to meet.
"Hi, Ms. Halstead." He extend
ed his hand. "I'm here, as requested."
This whole exchange felt surreal. Yet, here she was, turning to this guy as if he were a life preserver. Which, right now, he was.
She shook his hand. "Thanks, Mr. Garvey. I can't tell you how much I appreciate your showing up
on such short notice. I thought I'd have more time before I needed . . . Actually I was hoping I'd never need the kind of protection we discussed. As it turns out, I can't tell you how relieved I am that you're here."
He scrutinized her with a practiced eye. "Something happened."
The trembling started again. "Yes, it did. I found a box in my tote bag. There was a necklace inside.
With a note. They're from him."
"You're sure?"
"Yes." She yanked out both things and thrust them at him. She couldn't get rid of them fast enough. "Here."
The PI reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a Ziploc. "Drop them in here."
Fingerprints. Of course. Taylor hadn't even thought of that.
"I'll check out the necklace, the box, and the card," he assured her, pocketing the plastic bag. "Just tell
me this. When did you discover them?"
"Ten minutes ago."
"And, before that, when was the last time you checked your tote?"
"This morning. Before I left my apartment."
He pursed his lips. "So the gift got there either at school, or en route to school."
"At school?" Taylor turned white. "That never occurred to me. Are you saying you think he walked
in here and—"
"No." Garvey gave a hard shake of his head. "That would be too risky. I think it's more likely he
mingled with the morning commuters and dropped it in your bag at some street corner."
"Unless he's one of my students," she murmured, half to herself. "Then he'd already be at Dellinger."
The PI's brows rose. "You've got someone in mind?"
"Yes. No. I don't know." She told him about Chris Young, and the history between them.
"I'll check it out," Garvey said. "Although Chris Young would have to be pretty cagey to pull something like this off. Still, it'll be easy enough to verify."
"You don't really think it's him," Taylor deduced.
"I think we should investigate every possible lead. But, no, I don't think Chris Young fits the profile."
"God, this is unbearable." Taylor feathered an unsteady hand through her hair, then shot Garvey an apologetic look. "I'm sorry."
"It's completely understandable." He spoke quietly, and with an air of authority that Taylor found very reassuring. "Let's start over. First of all, call me Mitch. It's more natural-sounding. That way, if we're ever seen together, we can easily slip into the pretense of being casual friends or colleagues. Second,
don't apologize for the urgency of your timing. I'm used to jumping into the thick of things on a
moment's notice. And third, Rob referred you. That gives you priority status."
Taylor managed a smile. "So you and Rob Weston worked together for a couple of years?"
"Yup. Out in San Francisco. Rob had just made detective. I was heading up the same path. He's a damned fine cop. So am I. He just follows rules better than I do. So he's on the force and I'm on my own." Mitch's easygoing manner faded, and he became 100 percent PI. "Let's review the rules."
"All right."
"Keep your door locked. Don't get swallowed up in crowds. But don't go anywhere deserted either.
That goes double after dark. Don't change your destination without letting me know in advance. Other than that, go about your life. Don't act weird. When you're out and about, don't glance around to see if I'm there. I will be. But we don't want to clue whoever's watching you in to that fact. You have my cell number and my pager number. Any sign of trouble, use them. I'll touch base with you every day. Okay?"
"Okay." Taylor inhaled sharply. "I'll be heading home now. After that—"
"After that, you go to the radio station. I know. I did my homework." His gaze was steady and encouraging. "Try not to worry. If he comes near you again, he's toast."
CHAPTER 21
7:35 P.M.
OAK ROOM
FIFTH AVENUE AND CENTRAL PARK SOUTH, NEW YORK CITY
Douglas had been odd.
Jonathan couldn't put his finger on it, but something wasn't right:.
He frowned, watching Douglas's face and trying to get a handle on where his head was. They'd already had a drink and eaten half their salads, and the conversation had been limited to the surprises in this week's stock market and a profitable corporate venture Berkley & Company was currently involved in.
Well, they had more important things to discuss.
"I looked over those last few word changes you made in the paperwork," he said, initiating things. "They're fine. We're all set."
Douglas's fork paused, then continued to his mouth. "You said there was a sticky situation you wanted
to discuss. It's not about Berkley and Company, then?"
"Not directly. But it could certainly impact the company. It's about Gordon."
"Gordon?"
"Yes." Jonathan folded his hands in front of him, leaning forward to convey the importance of what he had to say. "After the big 'make each investor whole' fiasco we went through after the accident—which was stickier than anything we'd bailed Gordon out of in the past—I decided to find out just how deep
into this dirty dealing he was. He might be dead, but whatever damage he did could come back and bite us in the ass. So I initiated some behind-the-scenes investigating."
"And?" Douglas sounded as if this answer was the last thing he wanted to hear. Which was, no doubt,
the case. For years, he'd been an ostrich when it came to Gordon.
"And it isn't pretty. Gordon spent years cheating his clients out of millions by excessive trading of their investments to boost his commissions."
"Churning?"
"Right. He's made a career out of it. Oh, and whenever a client wanted to cash in his or her stock, Gordon just did a borrow-from-Peter-to-pay-Paul maneuver. He had more than enough profits to dip into. My brother amassed a small fortune, living on the edge like that." A bitter, regretful frown. "Unfortunately, he died on the edge before he could enjoy it."
Douglas's jaw was working. "Exactly why are you telling me this?"
"What do you mean? I'm telling you in case this leaks out and we have to do damage control."
"Funny that you should use that phrase. We might very well have to do damage control. But it won't
be because of Gordon's dirty dealings. I cleaned those up along the way. There's nothing to leak out."
Stunned amazement surged through Jonathan. "You knew?"
"Of course I knew. Do you honestly believe I'm so stupid that I wouldn't know my son was involved in shady business dealings? I didn't get where I am by accident, Jonathan. When it comes to business, very little gets by me. Especially when it affects the future of my company. Why do you think it was you I
was grooming to take over Berkley and Company? Gordon was brilliant. Unfortunately, brilliance isn't enough. Honest, ethical behavior—both in business and personal practices—is essential to long-term success." A pause. "You do agree, don't you?"
Jonathan was still reeling. But he didn't miss the pointed note in Douglas's tone.
A warning bell went off.
"You know I agree. That's why I brought you this information. I wish you'd told me you already knew.
It would have saved me a lot of agonizing."
"In other words, you wouldn't have been so ambivalent about accepting my job offer if you'd known
I'd cleaned up your brother's dirty little mess? I'm surprised at you, Jonathan. You know how good
I am at making things go away."
Okay, that was two. The digs were no accident.
It was time to take the bull by the horns.
"You've spoken with Reed," Jonathan stated flatly.
/> "Yes. I have." Douglas waited while their entrees were being served, waving away the offer for another round of drinks. Then he continued. "Why don't you tell me what's going on?"
Jonathan kept his expression carefully nondescript. "Reed and I both want the same woman. I believe they call that friendly rivalry."
"It doesn't sound friendly to me."
"Meaning?"