Douglas pushed away his meal. "Have you been harassing Taylor Halstead?"
"Harassing . . ." Jonathan threw down his napkin. "You believe him. You think I'm stalking Taylor like some lovesick kid."
"It wouldn't be the first time. Or the second. The pattern's exactly the same, Jonathan—a beautiful redhead you've convinced yourself wants you more than she does. This time's worse. She doesn't want you at all." Douglas was visibly trying to remain calm. "According to Reed, you all but threatened him to stay away from her. Which is absurd, since he made it quite clear that they're already involved."
"Did he? Well, if that's the case, then why did he call and ask you to intercede ?"
"Not to intercede. To find out the truth. He's worried, especially after last night's phone call."
"I was drunk. I said some stupid things to him. I—"
"Not that phone call. The one Taylor got at four-thirty in the morning warning her to sleep alone."
Dead silence.
"You told Reed to expect your call. You were insistent about getting through to Taylor that night."
"Like I said, I was drunk." Jonathan's voice had risen as he fought to control his anger. "That doesn't mean I'm a wacko."
"But you do want this woman." Douglas's voice had grown stronger as well.
"As a matter of fact, I do. And, yes, I think she'd want me, too—if she'd actually give it a chance. But Reed's shielding her like some kind of guard dog. He's made sure she won't even take my calls."
"It seems to me that's her decision and you should respect it."
Jonathan sucked in his breath. "I can't believe we're having this conversation. You've made up your mind."
"Convince me otherwise. Nothing would make me happier."
"What would you like? Alibis? Phone records? Letters from the senior partners in my firm telling you
how stable I am and how many hours I spend at my desk?"
"Lower your voice," Douglas commanded, scanning the area and noting the curious stares aimed their way. "You're causing a scene."
Gritting his teeth, Jonathan fought his growing resentment and rage. Damn Reed Weston. If that son
of a bitch had screwed up this, the most crucial part of his future, there'd be hell to pay.
"You want the truth?" he bit out. "Here it is. After the boat explosion, you and I were busy settling Gordon's latest securities fraud. Stephanie Halstead was part of that settlement. I didn't set eyes on
Taylor Halstead until the day of her meeting at Harter, Randolph and Collins, when I bumped into her
in the reception area. Had I heard her radio show? Yes. Did I feel a connection? Yes. Did she? Of
course not. My resemblance to Gordon freaked her out. So I left her alone, gave her time to adjust.
But before I could initiate anything, Reed moved in. Was I pissed? You bet. Do I think I'm a better
match for her than he is? Damned straight. But am I following her around, sending her creepy e-mails, and making strange phone calls like some kind of psycho? No."
Jonathan leveled a hard stare at Douglas. "I told Reed and I'm telling you. I want Taylor Halstead.
I can envision a future with her. But only if the feelings are mutual. I think they could be. So I called
to ask her out. And, yeah, I got drunk and let my testosterone take over when I told Reed to back off. But none of that constitutes harassment. Just determination and interest. Convinced?"
For a long moment, Douglas said nothing. He merely sat there, his expression taut, studying Jonathan intently. Then he pulled his plate toward him and picked up his utensils. "Actually, yes. Now eat your steak. It's getting cold."
11:35 P.M.
The videotape whirred quietly, and he leaned forward, watching the same scene for the third time in
the past ten minutes. Then again, it was his favorite clip. It captured everything about Taylor that
meant the most.
He waited for the exact instant, then pressed pause, zooming in on her as she left the radio station. It
was the night after he'd gotten rid of that drunken jerk who worked with her. Her face reflected a multitude of emotions. The fear was the most arousing, even more than the pain and resignation. Vulnerable and scared like that, she was perfect. Like a beautiful piece of clay waiting to be molded—
or crushed—by him.
He swallowed the rest of his Scotch.
Soon. Soon she'd be his. The necklace was his gift to her. She'd be his gift to him.
His strategy was working like clockwork.
The dinner with Douglas had gone better than expected. He'd accomplished all he'd intended and more.
Which left Adrienne.
He sat back in his chair, envisioning how that would go. When she realized what was happening,
she'd be blown away. He could visualize her face in his mind's eye. First there'd be shock, then fear,
and last, sheer terror.
He'd waited a long time for this.
Just a few more days to go.
CHAPTER 22
TUESDAY, FEBRUARY 11
9:45 A.M.
HARTER, RANDOLPH & COLLINS
Reed scanned the documents one last time. Then he buzzed Cathy and had her make copies and take them to the conference room. His clients would be arriving any minute.
He hoped Douglas knew what he was doing.
Sighing, Reed rose, pacing around his office. Douglas was convinced that Jonathan was innocent. According to Douglas, everything Jonathan had said at dinner rang true.
Reed still had doubts.
But he'd advised Douglas to the best of his ability. Ultimately, the decision to bring Jonathan into his company, acknowledge him as his son, and give him a spot at the helm was Douglas's decision. Just
as the ramifications, if Douglas had misjudged the situation, would also be his.
Reed's conscience was clear. He'd done his job. And, the truth was, the future of Berkley & Company wasn't his main concern.
Taylor was.
There'd been no more gifts. Not since that damned ruby pendant four days ago. Mitch had left no stone unturned in his efforts to figure out where that necklace had come from. He'd checked out swanky jewelry stores like Tiffany's, Cartier, and Harry Winston, where rich guys like Jonathan shopped. None
of them recognized the merchandise. He'd pounded the pavement from one end of the jewelry exchange on Forty-seventh Street to the other. No luck. No luck in the fingerprint department either. Taylor's
prints were the only ones on the necklace, the box, and the note.
Chris Young was definitely out. Mitch's investigation had revealed the kid to be exactly as he'd pegged him: a spoiled, rich teenager who'd never bought anything without using the credit card Mommy and Daddy had given him—and whose statements went straight to his parents.
With no follow-up gifts, no fingerprints, and no viable suspects, the whole necklace lead was a total
dead end.
As for phone calls, there'd also been none of those since Friday. Then again, Taylor had spent every
night alone, with either Mitch or his partner, Jake, outside, watching her apartment like a hawk.
Reed missed her like hell. They talked on the phone every night for hours, like two teenagers. And Sunday, she'd spent all afternoon at his place, in his bed. When she got up to put on her clothes and go home, he'd wanted to choke the bastard who was harassing her. If it hadn't been a matter of her safety, he'd have locked the damned door and convinced her to stay.
Everything between them was amazing, and not only in bed. The more they got to know each other, the stronger the connection between them grew. Even the trust that Taylor found so difficult was starting to come.
As long as Jonathan's name didn't crop up. If it did, the tension grew so thick you could cut it with a knife.
Taylor understood the facts. Jonathan was Reed's client—a client who'd denied ever having called her except that night at the radio statio
n. Reed had to take him at his word. Taylor said she respected that.
On a cerebral level, Reed was sure she did. But on an emotional level? That was another matter entirely. The fact was, until they found out who was harassing her—and that someone turned out not to be Jonathan—the gap between them couldn't be bridged.
Mitch had better get to the bottom of this—and soon.
Reed paused to stare out the window. Ironic, how things were all coming to a head at once. His relationship with Taylor, her personal crisis, and his professional one.
The senior partners had scheduled a meeting with him for Thursday afternoon. It could be anything
from cordial to downright unpleasant. Time would tell.
A knock on the door interrupted Reed's thoughts, and he turned as Cathy poked her head into the
office. "Excuse me, Mr. Weston. You said to let you know when Mr. Berkley and Mr. Mallory arrived. They're here. I just showed them into the conference room. Mr. Randolph is already there."
"So it's showtime." Reed buttoned his jacket, tucked his pen in his pocket, and headed for the door. "Thanks, Cathy. I'm on my way."
6:15 P.M.
Another phase of the plan was complete.
He finished washing up in the men's room, thinking about what a hectic day it had been.
The signing of the papers. The faxing of the announcements. The mass distribution of the e-mails.
The notification of the press. And now, in forty-five minutes, the dinner with the company VPs.
The business end of things was right on target.
The personal end had to be dealt with. New.
Taylor had slept with Reed Weston again. Not at her place, at his. That infuriated him even more. She was mocking his intelligence and disobeying his orders. An egregious error on her part. She thought
she'd gotten away with it, too. Then again, he'd let her think that. It was why he'd purposely avoided calling her Sunday night. Let her think she was safe. Let her be lulled into a false sense of security. He wanted to catch her off guard. And he would. Then her fear would be stronger, more palpable, and far more enjoyable.
That would keep Taylor in line.
The next step was Adrienne. She arrived tomorrow.
What a surprise she would get.
FEBRUARY 12
3:40 A.M.
WEST SEVENTY-SECOND STREET
Taylor was awake when the phone rang.
It was almost as if she'd expected it. Maybe she had. Things had been too quiet, conveying an eerie
sense of security, like hovering in the eye of a hurricane. But, as she knew, that eye always passed,
as did the false sense of calm it brought, and the hurricane tore through, wreaking its damage.
She glanced at the caller ID. It was a perfunctory gesture, just so she could report to Mitch. She knew
it would say "private." And it did.
She lifted the receiver. "Hello?"
"Making house calls now?" the male voice rasped.
House calls?
Taylor's heart rate accelerated as she prayed she'd misread his insinuation. Calm. She had to stay calm.
"I don't understand," she managed. "What does that mean?"
"It means I'm smarter than you. It means I know everything you do, and everyone you do it with. It means your Sunday-afternoon romp made me angry. Very angry. Especially after that stunning necklace
I gave you. You're mine. Only mine. Remember that. You don't want to make me angry."
She hadn't misread anything. He knew. God in heaven, he knew.
White panic surged through her, and she racked her brain for the right answer to give someone so close
to the edge.
She went for something safe. "You're right. I don't want to make you angry. Maybe if you tell me—"
"You also don't want to patronize me," he intermpted to warn.
"Fine." Something inside Taylor snapped, and raw emotion took over. "What I want is for you to go away," she blurted. "Stop calling me. Stop giving me gifts. Just leave me alone." She was shaking all
over. "Leave me alone!"
She slammed down the phone, lifting it only long enough to press *57, the way Mitch had drilled into
her to remember to do. Then she pushed herself upright, sitting back against the headboard and taking slow, deep breaths to bring herself under control.
With control came reason, and Taylor wanted to kick herself for succumbing to such a stupid outburst. She'd no doubt made things worse.
Sure enough, the phone began ringing again, sharply, insistently.
He wasn't giving up.
She lifted the receiver, brought it to her ear.
At first there was an unbearable silence, punctuated only by shallow, angry breathing. Then came the response, every bit as ugly as she'd expected.
"You bitch." Fury vibrated in his voice, something no voice changer could disguise. "That was your biggest mistake yet. No one speaks to me that way. No one. And no one hangs up on me."
"I apologize," she replied quickly. "I didn't mean to be rude or nasty. I'm just so ... so—"
"Scared? Good. You should be. Especially now."
"Please tell me who you are, and what it is you want from me."
"You'll know when I'm ready. Just pray I calm down before then." Or what? she wanted to cry out.
What is it you're planning to do to me? "I make the rules. You live by them. No other men. I'm it. Address me with respect. Never hang up on me. And don't try to outsmart me. You'll lose—and
you'll pay. So don't ever defy or insult me again." Click.
4:25 A.M.
EAST SIXTY-EIGHTH STREET
Reed lunged up and grabbed the phone on the second ring. There was only one person it could be. "Taylor?"
"He called again." Her voice was trembling. "Twice. I hung up on him. He called back."
"Did you let Mitch know?"
"Right away. He said there was no one hanging around my apartment. So whoever it is, he called
from somewhere else."
"Or somewhere where he couldn't be seen." Reed couldn't stand it. He wanted to hold her, to comfort her. "Taylor, let me come get you. I'll drive around to the service entrance and bring you back here. I don't want you to be alone—"
"No!" She practically shouted the word, and he could tell she was crying. "He knows when I'm with
you. That's why he called."
"What do you mean? What did he say?"
Taylor relayed the conversations to him.
"Shit." Reed dragged a hand over his jaw. "So he isn't just harassing you. He's threatening you. He's
also watching you, just as you suspected— not only outside your apartment, but everywhere you go."
"Yeah." Taylor forced herself to laugh, desperately struggling to fight off hysteria. "Lucky me. I have
a bona fide stalker."
"Did you press star fifty-seven?"
"Both times."
"Then listen to me. Mitch will be all over this. He'll go to the police. They've got to take this seriously
at this point. They'll follow up on the call trace. They'll track this guy down. And they'll send over a detective."
"I suppose so. But damn." Taylor drew a shaky breath, tears choking her voice again. "Why did I let myself lose it like that? What was I thinking? I'm a trained psychologist. My stalker is unbalanced. So what did I do? I fed right into his control issues. Before, I had a shot at keeping his fixation channeled
into adoration, rather than hostility. Not anymore. He wanted to keep me on a pedestal. That meant
being submissive and chaste. I blew both things by sleeping with you. And now I've challenged his authority. That was the last straw, at least to him. How could I have been so stupid?"
"Cut it out." Reed's fingers tightened on the receiver. "Stop blaming yourself. You're human. You're scared. Listen, it's almost dawn. We'll talk for a while. Maybe you'll doze. Either way, I'll stay on the
&nbs
p; line. I won't hang up until you get ready for work."
Taylor couldn't remember ever feeling so touched by a gesture. "You're amazing. Thank you. And,
yes, I'm pretty shaken. So, for tonight, I'll take you up on your offer. But it's not a permanent solution, Reed. You can't spend the entire night, every night, on the phone with me."
"Wanna bet?"
She had to laugh. "Will those be billable hours?"
"Don't worry about that. My client base and my legal focus might be undergoing some changes soon anyway."