I'll Be Watching You

  "What does that mean?"

  "We'll talk about it over the weekend. By then, I can fill you in on everything. We'll have lots of time

  to talk—about that and a few other fundamental issues I have on my mind."

  "I see. So we're going to become phone pals."

  "Not a chance. We're going to get away. Together. Alone. We're getting out of Manhattan and going somewhere, just the two of us. Not only to put some distance between you and this insanity, but to be alone together. If we're not, I'm the one who'll be going insane. Besides, Friday's Valentine's Day. It's

  the perfect weekend for a lovers' mini break."

  "A mini break?" Taylor repeated, smiling through her tears. "You're starting to sound like a romantic."

  "Sure seems that way." He paused. "We're going, Taylor. I need to be with you."

  "What if he figures it out?"

  "He won't. We'll talk to Mitch and the cops. We'll figure out some way to evade him."

  Taylor felt her first tinge of hope since that creep had called. Maybe there was a chance she and Reed could enjoy a shred of normalcy. "Where are we going?"

  "Leave that to me. You just have a bag packed on Friday. After your radio show, we're out of here."

  CHAPTER 23

  WEDNESDAY, FEBRUARY 12

  5:10 P.M.

  EAST EIGHTY-SECOND STREET, NEW YORK CITY

  Adrienne let herself into the brownstone, slipping off her fur coat and hanging it in a closet.

  The exhibit at the Met had been exquisite. One hundred and twenty of Leonardo da Vinci's extraordinary drawings, on special display this month. She'd wandered through the museum for hours. It had been just the diversion she needed to keep her mind off tonight.

  With a disgusted sigh, she glanced at her watch. She still had several hours to enjoy before she played hostess at that farcical dinner for Jonathan. She'd use the time to unwind. Step one, a pitcher of martinis. Step two, she'd sip at one while relaxing and soaking in the upstairs Jacuzzi. That would sufficiently mellow her out. She'd be composed and ready when Douglas arrived home—undoubtedly brimming

  with enthusiasm over the past few days' events and the appointment of his precious son. She'd listen, smile, then get dressed and get made up for Le Cirque.

  The whole thing made her sick.

  But she'd handle it. As she always did.

  She ran her fingers through her thick auburn hair, which was damp with snowflakes. She'd wear it up

  in a chignon tonight, and she'd wear her black silk Armani with the low-cut back. She might feel like

  hell, but she'd look fabulous. Even at her age, she'd have the eye of every man in the room.

  Her mood slightly uplifted, she walked into the living room, heading directly for the sideboard.

  "Adrienne. Right on schedule."

  She jerked around, staring at Jonathan, who was seated on the sofa, nursing a Scotch. "What the ..."

  "The martinis are made." He gestured toward the end table. "Nice and dry. Just the way you like them. Shall I pour?"

  Her shock was fading into wariness. "By all means." She gestured for him to do so, folding her arms across her breasts. "To what do I owe this surprise visit?"

  Jonathan filled a martini glass and handed it to her. "What, no congratulations? No kind words of welcome? I'm crushed."

  "I doubt that." She lowered herself into a plush chair, crossing one slim leg over the other and sipping at her drink. "You finally have everything you've always wanted. You must be elated." Her brows drew together. "How did you manage to get away from the office for this little drop-in?"

  "I left early to get ready for tonight's big bash. Actually, I expected you sooner. Then I remembered

  the da Vinci exhibit. I assume that's where you were?"

  Adrienne's eyes glittered. "I doubt you're assuming. You never assume, Jonathan. You know."

  "You're right. I do. I make it my business to know everything that affects me." He polished off his Scotch. "Which brings me to why I'm here. I thought we should have a little chat."

  "About what?"

  "Gordon."

  "Really." She took another sip of her drink. "What about him?"

  Jonathan leaned forward. "I'll cut to the chase. I know everything. The whole sick arrangement, right down to how you planned on implicating my mother. What's more, I have proof. Concrete proof.

  Gordon was screwed up, but he was smart. Smart enough to know he should have something on you.

  It took a while, but he managed to find the right occasion. It was during one of your less congenial tête-a-têtes. He taped your conversation. I have the tape. And I'll use it—if I have to."

  All the color had drained from Adrienne's face. "I don't believe you."

  "I didn't expect you to." He flourished a mini—cassette recorder and pressed the Play button. Two

  voices emerged, Adrienne's and Gordon's. Their words were angry, but clearly distinguishable. They

  were having an argument about a threat made years ago—a threat that had changed lives. "This is a

  copy, by the way," Jonathan commented, pressing Stop and watching Adrienne's expression. "I have

  the original."

  "What do you want?" she snapped.

  "That's the beauty of it. Nothing. I want absolutely nothing." Jonathan's mouth thinned into a tight,

  grim line. "Except for you to stay the hell out of my way. Berkley and Company is my baby. My

  future. Not yours. Go ahead and keep on being Douglas's trophy wife. Enjoy your cash cow. I don't

  give a damn. But don't interfere in the business, or in any other financial or personal decisions my

  father makes in my favor. Just smile, give me your support, and take the dividend checks I hand you. Otherwise, I'll be forced to go to Douglas and play him this nasty little tape. You don't want that, do you?"

  Deadly silence.

  "Just think," Jonathan taunted. "You can start tonight, by being the perfect hostess, welcoming me into the family and the business with open arms."

  "You miserable bastard." Adrienne's glare was lethal.

  "Bastard, yes. Miserable? That depends on who you ask. Now, what's your answer? Can I count on

  your cooperation?"

  She finished her martini and rose, setting down the glass. "For now, yes. After that, we'll see."

  "What does that mean?"

  "It means, I want to see how you manage your new role. Also, I want to make sure you continue to be the good boy you've been since you finally grew up. You have been a good boy, haven't you?"

  Jonathan's eyes narrowed. "Where is that question coming from?"

  "You're not the only one who keeps on top of situations."

  "I have no idea what you think you know. But whatever it is, it's bullshit. Which means you don't have

  a shred of proof."

  "Are you willing to take that risk?" Adrienne gave him a tight smile. "Two can play the blackmail game, Jonathan. I give as good as I get. So let's just call it a draw. I admit, your trump card may be more interesting than mine. On the other hand, I wield a lot more power with Douglas than you do. I don't think I need to elaborate on how."

  "Spare me the details of your sex life."

  "Fine. So, to answer your question, yes, I'll go along with your ultimatum. For now. Douglas thinks you've got what it takes to make his company thrive. So I'm willing to cut you some slack. But know

  that I'm keeping a close eye on you. After all, you've got Douglas's company, and my future, in your hands." Adrienne shot him an icy look. "I'm going upstairs to take a bath. You go home and get dressed. My supportive-stepmother act begins at seven-thirty."

  6:15 P.M.

  WVNY

  Taylor sat alone in her recording studio. Kevin and Dennis were both outside at the controls, but she didn't feel like socializing. She was lost in thought.

  She'd always been a take-charge personality. Now she felt like a victim.

  She'd pored over ever
y one of the current professional journals that touched on elements of abnormal psychology. After that, she'd checked out several Web sites that outlined, in detail, the psyches, character traits, and behavior of stalkers. She had a pretty good handle on this guy. He suffered from, at the very least, a delusional disorder, if not a more severe psychiatric disorder like schizophrenia. He was obsessive. Resentful. Predatory. Unlike more benign stalkers, this one was not interested in keeping his identity a secret, not forever. Right now, he was enjoying the power and control that his anonymity provided. It enabled him to terrorize her, with no fear of repercussions. But he fully intended to show himself. Taylor was convinced of that. He had a plan of attack—one that would make his taunting prelude look like a joyride.

  That's what he was. But who was he? Who?

  She'd contacted the police. Her call had been transferred to Detective Hadman of the Nineteenth

  Precinct, the same guy who'd notified her about Steph's death. He'd met with her, not at the precinct,

  lest Mr. Stalker was following her, but at the Krispy Kreme & Coffee on West Seventy-second. Mitch had joined them. It had looked like a business meeting to anyone who happened to glance in the window. Hadman had taken a list of all the names Taylor could come up with of potential stalkers. He'd also agreed to check out the call trace and get back to them with the results.

  And in the meantime, there was one name that haunted her, day and night.

  Jonathan Mallory.

  She tried not to fixate on him, but she couldn't help it. There was something about him that unsettled

  her. She kept telling herself it was because he was a carbon copy of Gordon—at least physically. But some inner voice kept niggling at her, maintaining that it was more.

  She should have spoken to him when he called the radio station that night. If she'd heard his voice,

  maybe she could have ruled it out as the synthesized one that kept calling her at home—if not by the pitch, then by the tone or choice of words. Maybe if she'd listened to him, she could have assessed his state of mind, and put her own at ease. Maybe she should even have met with him.

  No, that was foolish. To encourage him, put her safety and her emotional well-being at risk—no, it was out of the question. If only there was another way.

  Her head came up.

  Of course. Why hadn't she thought of it before?

  She snatched up today's newspaper, skimming the business section until she found what she was

  looking for.

  There. Just as she remembered reading this morning over coffee.

  She rose, walking over and yanking open the door. "Kev? Dennis?" She caught their attention.

  "Any chance of your subbing in a generic tape for tonight?"

  Kevin's eyes narrowed, and he gave her a guarded look. "If we need to, sure. Why?"

  "Because Reed and I are going to a party."

  7:45 P.M.

  LE CIRQUE

  455 MADISON AVENUE, NEW YORK CITY

  Several dozen guests were already milling about the Library—one of Le Cirque's elegant reception rooms—sipping fine wine and helping themselves to hot and cold canapes, when Reed guided Taylor through the door.

  "Quite a party," Taylor noted, glancing around. "My father would approve. It looks like something

  he'd throw."

  Reed didn't smile. He knew that Taylor's attempt at light sarcasm was all a facade. She was as tight

  as a drum. He could actually feel her vibrating.

  He must have been crazy to agree to this.

  "Thanks for bringing me," Taylor said quickly. "I know you have reservations. But I need to see

  Jonathan Mallory—not alone, where I might be putting myself in danger, but in a nonthreatening,

  group environment. I need to talk to him, to observe him while he interacts. I've got a trained eye.

  Maybe I can put my fears to rest."

  "Or maybe you can become even more anxious, and be pushed one step closer to your limit."

  "I'm willing to take that risk."

  Sucking in his breath, Reed took the tension down a notch. "You look gorgeous," he murmured, smoothing his palm down the sleeve of her chocolate brown knit cocktail dress. It was straight-lined

  and simple, finely detailed with gold and tonal beading along the edges of the sleeves and neckline, and formfitting, emphasizing her slender figure and making her vivid coloring stand out even more. It was Taylor—classy all the way.

  "Thanks." She forced a smile. "You look pretty incredible yourself. Italian suit, silk tie—I'm impressed."

  He caught her hand in his. "You can still change your mind. No one's seen us yet. We can leave."

  "Not a chance," Taylor returned flippantly. "I spent too much time on my makeup."

  She continued to assess the room.

  Despite the festive atmosphere, this was one big-time power scene. Influential, well-dressed men and women were making the rounds, chatting politely while straining to hear all the other conversations

  taking place around them. Uniformed servers were weaving their way around, offering the guests hors d'oeuvres and fluted glasses of champagne to complement the drinks being served at the bar.

  One server spotted Taylor and Reed and hurried over, flourishing his silver tray. "Would you care for mousse of foie gras on a brioche?" he inquired.

  "Thank you, not just yet." Reed had just spotted the guest of honor, who was standing across the

  room beside Adrienne and Douglas. Guests were flocking up to them, offering their congratulations

  with practiced smiles and perfected grace.

  "Ah, there he is," Taylor commented. "The newly acknowledged Berkley."

  Reed edged a quick look in her direction, gauging her reaction. She'd paled a bit, but other than that,

  she looked composed.

  "I assume that's Douglas and Adrienne Berkley standing with him," she clarified.

  "Yup."

  "Adrienne's quite stunning."

  "She should be. She works at it twenty-four/seven," Reed retorted under his breath.

  "Well, good for her. That shows tenacity and self-respect."

  "Self-love is more like it."

  Startled, Taylor twisted around to gaze up at him. "You don't much care for her, do you?"

  "Gee, what gave you that idea?"

  This time, Taylor's smile was genuine. "Just a lucky guess." She pursed her lips. "This can't be easy

  on her. Press coverage in both the business and society pages. A stepson she has to lovingly acknowledge—at least in public. I shudder to think what that relationship's really like."

  "You don't want to know. As for the shock, it's nonexistent. This is no news to her."

  "Not to you, either. No wonder this whole legal representation of the Berkleys has been so complex." Taylor drew a slow, deep breath, then hooked her fingers through Reed's arm. "Anyway, back to what we're here for. Let's not put this off. Right now, we've got the element of surprise go-ing for us. Come on."

  They crossed the room, weaving their way through the growing crowd of guests.

  Douglas saw them first. His brows rose, but he looked pleased, maybe even relieved. Adrienne followed his stare, spotting the two of them and giving Taylor a typical female-to-female once-over. Then her

  gaze settled on Reed's arm, now wrapped possessively around Taylor's waist, and her lips curved in

  some kind of private amusement.

  "Reed." Douglas shook his hand. "I'm so glad you could make it after all. And this must be Ms. Halstead. I've heard so much about you. It's a pleasure to meet you at last. I'm Douglas Berkley. This is my wife, Adrienne. And I believe you and Jonathan have already met."

  "Mr. Berkley. Mrs. Berkley." Taylor shook their hands, all the while keeping Jonathan in her peripheral vision. He looked positively stunned, and a hard glitter of anger flashed in his eyes as he got his first glimpse of her and Reed as a couple.

  Taylor refused to let that anger inti
midate her. "Hello again, Mr. Mallory." She turned and extended her hand to him. "Congratulations. This must be an exciting evening for you."

  "It is," he replied in a clipped tone. His handshake was as stiff as his demeanor.

  "I didn't realize you'd be coming," he declared to Reed. "Or that you'd be bringing Ms. Halstead with

  you. I thought you were otherwise engaged."

  Reed didn't miss a beat. "I was. I managed to move things around. I wanted to be here to offer you my best wishes."

  "How thoughtful. And Ms. Halstead?" Jonathan inclined his head at Taylor, openly assessing her

  reaction. "Your radio show airs from eight to ten. Isn't it live?"