Taylor kept her response impersonal. The less of herself she revealed, the more he'd probe and, hopefully, the more he'd give away. "You're right. It is. Except when I'm ill, on vacation, or attending
a special event like this one. Then my producer runs a pretaped show."
"You consider tonight special. I'm honored."
Honored, yeah. Maybe that was why he was still clasping her hand.
"I'm glad to be here," Taylor assured him. "I can only imagine how gratified you must feel. Personal
and professional recognition from someone you respect and care for. I can't think of anything more rewarding."
She didn't know if it was her approach that did the trick, or Jonathan's own thought process. But it
was like someone flicked a switch.
Abruptly, he became a different person, warm and charming. His tension vanished, and he smiled, a one-on-one personal smile, covering their joined fingers with his other hand. "You're right. It is rewarding. And I'm delighted you're here to share it. As you know, I've been trying to reach you.
This will give us a chance to talk."
The next move was hers. And she'd better execute it carefully. As much as she wanted to get a handle
on Jonathan Mallory, she had no desire to give him the wrong impression. Even if he was totally
innocent of harassment, he was definitely much too fixated on her. And his mood swings were
unsettling, at best.
Graciously, she smiled back, but was careful to keep that smile impersonal rather than friendly. "Assuming you can break away, that would be nice."
Douglas cleared his throat. "Ms. Halstead, now that you're here, I want to offer my condolences on the loss of your cousin—and to apologize for not meeting with you when you came by my home. Frankly,
I wasn't myself. I was in shock. Gordon was also my son, as you now realize. My pain was... well,
I don't need to explain it to you. You experienced the same pain yourself. In any case, I wasn't up
for visitors. Even well-meaning ones like yourself. So please, forgive me."
"No apology is necessary." Taylor actually perceived an element of sincerity behind his words. "It
was a terrible time. I'm sorry for your loss as well."
"We appreciate your sensitivity." Adrienne Berkley spoke up for the, first time, a saccharine-sweet smile on her face. "Jonathan." She turned to her stepson, darting a quick, pointed glance at Taylor's hand, still clasped between Jonathan's. "Why don't you give Reed and Ms. Halstead a chance to enjoy the food?" She resumed addressing Taylor. "There's a tray of lobster with avocado on its way over. You simply must try it."
"I'd love to."
"Of course." Jonathan released Taylor's hand and signaled the server, but Taylor could see a vein throbbing in his forehead. And his jaw was clenched so tight, she was afraid it might snap.
Reed's implication had been an understatement. There was a tidal wave of tension surging between Jonathan and his stepmother, one big enough to capsize a naval fleet.
Taylor helped herself to a lobster medallion, using the time she was nibbling at it to step aside so other guests could move in and congratulate Jonathan.
Reed joined her, reaching over to take two flutes of champagne off a tray and handing her one.
"You okay?"
"So far, so good."
"That depends on your perspective." He gave her a relaxed, partylike smile—a smile that belied his
next words, muttered under his breath. "If that bastard keeps looking at you like you're a piece of
Godiva, I'm going to knock his teeth out."
Taylor's lips twitched. "What an uplifting thought. But I'm not sure I'm ready for the caveman routine."
"Me either. But when it comes to you .. . everything I feel is a constant surprise."
Something about his tone made Taylor look up, her champagne glass poised halfway to her lips. She studied the intense expression on his face, and her heart did a quick flip-flop in her chest.
"By the way, our weekend is all set," Reed said huskily, holding her gaze. "I booked a private cabin at
a very small, very exclusive ski lodge in Vermont. We'll leave Friday night. We can return as late as Monday—if you want to play hooky from school. You must have some unused personal days."
"I do." Taylor swallowed. "And it sounds wonderful. The problem is, I don't ski. I guess I never mentioned that."
"Oh, you mentioned it. That's why I chose this place."
One sexually charged moment ticked by.
Then Reed covered Taylor's fingers—still wrapped around her champagne flute—with his, and eased
the glass the rest of the way to her lips. "Drink. It'll fortify you for our weekend."
"I don't need fortifying." A hint of a twinkle. "But you might, after three days alone with me in that cabin."
Laughter rumbled from Reed's chest. "I'll take my chances."
* * *
Several feet away, Adrienne was watching Taylor and Reed's exchange with great interest. While she couldn't hear their actual words, the chemistry between them was impossible to miss.
She stepped behind Douglas, who was chatting with a colleague, and leaned toward Jonathan.
"Whatever fantasies you might be harboring about Taylor Halstead, you can forget them," she
murmured. "The woman is head over heels in love with Reed Weston. And the feeling is mutual.
Very mutual. See for yourself." She gestured with her eyes.
Jonathan glanced in that direction, then continued drinking his Scotch. "Shut up, Adrienne," he
muttered. "Just shut the hell up."
"It wouldn't have worked out anyway," she said in a low, taunting voice. "She's the kind of woman
who wants a man with innate strength and power—not one who inherits it from Daddy or wears it
like a practiced veneer."
"Dammit, Adrienne, I'm warning you . . ."
Douglas freed himself up at that moment, wrapping a firm arm around Adrienne's shoulders and
angling his head toward Jonathan. "Cut it out," he hissed. "Can't you control yourself for one night?"
"Talk to your wife."
"I'm talking to you. This party is in your honor. Now act like it."
"You're right. Time for another celebratory drink." Jonathan strode off toward the bar.
"Adrienne," Douglas said quietly to his wife. "Don't antagonize him, please. He's edgy enough."
She shrugged her slim shoulders. "He's not edgy; he's obsessed. Again. And the woman he's obsessed with doesn't know he's alive. Again. Correction: she knows he's alive. She'd prefer to ignore that fact."
"He'll get over it."
"If you say so, darling." She reached up to caress his jaw, just as the next guests strolled over.
Taylor was studying Jonathan's progress over the rim of her glass. "I think the happy trio just had
words," she informed Reed.
"It wouldn't surprise me."
"Jonathan's at the bar. I think I'll wander over there for a glass of Mer-lot." She placed her champagne flute on a passing tray. "I won't be long."
Reed caught her arm. "I'll go with you."
"If you do that, nothing will get accomplished except ruffling Jonathan's feathers even more. You go
talk to Douglas and Adrienne. I'll be right across the room."
"And if he comes on to you?"
"Then I'll signal you for help."
With great reluctance, Reed nodded. "Okay. You've got five minutes."
"Ten."
"Fine, ten. Unless I don't like what I'm seeing. Then I'm coming over there."
"Just promise you won't make a scene."
"No scene," Reed assured her. "I'll just drag you out of here."
* * *
Taylor approached the bar, feathering her fingers through her hair as if she were deep in thought.
"What can I get you, ma'am?" the bartender inquired.
"Hmm? O
h, a glass of Merlot, please." She fiddled with a cocktail napkin, absently taking the goblet
when it was handed to her.
"Drinking alone?" Jonathan asked from beside her.
She pivoted around, feigning surprise at seeing him. "Oh ... I didn't realize you were here. I was
thinking."
"Obviously." He took another healthy swallow of Scotch. "You don't look too happy. Is there trouble
in paradise ?"
"I assume you're talking about Reed and me. No, no trouble. I'm just going through a rough time now.
It happens to the best of us."
"I can't argue that one." Jonathan paused only long enough to get a refill. He swallowed down some Scotch, then inclined his head to eye her speculatively. "If I ask you a question, will you answer it honestly?"
Taylor's chest tightened, but she remained outwardly calm. "If I can."
"Oh, you can. It's more a question of if you will"
"I won't know until you ask."
"Fair enough." He met and held her gaze. "Are you still afraid of me?"
She weighed her reply carefully. "Afraid of you? In what way?"
"Let me rephrase," he amended. "Do you still see Gordon when you look at me?"
"For fleeting instances here and there, yes." This was a case when honesty would be her best course
of action. "It's hard not to when your appearances are ... were . . . identical. But, if you're asking if
I confuse the two of you in my mind, the answer is no."
Jonathan stared into his half-filled glass. "What my brother did to you was despicable. I'm sorry you
had to go through it."
Was that remorse or manipulation talking?
"It's over," Taylor replied. "Besides, I was lucky. It could have been worse."
"So I heard. I'm grateful Gordon was interrupted." He gazed at her again, an odd, probing look in his eyes—probing, but glazed. Taylor suspected he was half drunk. "What is it you're afraid of, then?"
He was fishing. But for what?
"You know the answer to that," she stated bluntly, watching to see if she was inciting him. "You
invented an emotional connection between the two of us that doesn't exist. You ordered Reed to
back off so you could pursue me. In my book, that counts as domineering and delusional."
Not even a flicker of an eyelash. "You certainly tell it like it is, don't you?"
"I try to, yes."
"And you see me as irrational and controlling."
"Am I wrong?"
Jonathan polished off his Scotch. "Life is a chess game, Taylor. I'm a cunning and competitive player.
I like to win. I manipulate and capitalize on circumstances so I can achieve that outcome. Does that
make me controlling? I suppose that depends on one's perspective. But irrational? No. Quite the
opposite. I'm very systematic. Nothing less will yield the desired results. Does that answer your question?"
Taylor responded from her gut. "Not really. What it does is make me feel unhappy and uneasy.
Or is that your goal?"
This time he arched a brow. "Now why would that be my goal?"
"Because winning might mean more to you than simply acquiring. It might mean gaining power through intimidation. Does it?"
There was that flash of anger again. "Is that Reed's theory, or yours?"
"Mine. Reed's not being stalked. I am."
"And you think I'm your stalker."
"Are you?"
"If I said no, would you believe me?"
"I don't know."
"Then we're at an impasse, aren't we?"
Taylor couldn't argue that one. "Yes, I guess we are."
"For the sake of argument, if you knew for a fact I wasn't your stalker, would you give us a chance?"
"There is no 'us.' There never will be."
His jaw was working. "Why? Because I look like Gordon? Or because I'm not Reed?"
"Because I don't feel that way about you."
Jonathan set down his glass. "Time will tell, won't it?"
"No, time won't tell," Taylor shot back. Her frustration was mounting. Maybe he wasn't delusional. Maybe he was just a businessman unwilling to accept defeat.
But something told her otherwise.
She stared him down, trying desperately to get inside that unfocused and unreadable gaze, to get a
handle on his thoughts. Then she put the icing on the cake—or the nail in her coffin, depending on
which way things turned out.
"Listen to me, Jonathan. This is never going to happen. Not now. Not ever. Clear?"
A flicker of something. Resentment? Determination? Taylor wasn't sure.
"Clearer than you realize. Then again, I possess all the facts. You don't—not yet. But that'll change. In time, so will your feelings. I know you, Taylor. I know what you're about." Jonathan's fingers brushed hers, the contact as brief as it was unnerving. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I'll rejoin my guests."
He walked off into the crowd, leaving Taylor chilled.
CHAPTER 24
THURSDAY, FEBRUARY 13
4:37 A.M.
WEST SEVENTY-SECOND STREET
Taylor jerked awake, drenched in sweat.
Clutching the blankets, she peered around the pitch-dark bedroom, her heart slamming against her ribs.
It was all right. There was no one there. A nightmare. It had only been a nightmare.
She reached for the alarm clock, glancing at the digits and shuddering as she realized that dawn was
still two hours away.
She'd slept less than forty minutes. She'd been in bed since midnight. The rest of the time she'd spent staring at the phone, steeling herself for it to ring.
It had remained silent.
Her eyes burned from exhaustion. She squeezed them shut, willing herself to rest, if not sleep. She had
a full day ahead of her, including a session with Dr. Phillips. Also, with a modicum of luck, Detective Hadman would have some information for her regarding the telephone number he'd traced. Maybe it would give them some answers, or at least point them in the right direction. And she'd find out if that direction included Jonathan Mallory.
Abandoning the idea of resting, Taylor clicked on her lamp, opened the psychology text that was
propped on her night table, and reread the section on psychopathic personality traits.
* * *
She must have dozed. There was a hint of weak sunlight trickling into her room when she snapped
awake the next time. It was morning. Her clock told her it was six-fifteen, almost time for the alarm
to go off.
The son of a bitch hadn't called. He was taunting her, keeping her fearful and uncertain about when the ax would fall.
Her head throbbed from lack of sleep. She climbed out of bed and went into the kitchen to brew herself some coffee. God, she was in desperate need of caffeine. It was the only thing that was going to get her through the day.
She was sipping her second cup of the strong black liquid when the phone rang. Caller ID told her it was Reed.
She lifted the receiver. "Hi," she said, tucking it in the crook of her shoulder. "I hope you got more sleep than I did."
"I didn't." Reed sounded like hell. "I want to find this nut job and get him out of your life."
"You're not alone. I had horrible nightmares every time I shut my eyes. Whoever this guy is, he's still
out there. That makes my skin crawl. On top of that, I can't shake this feeling that something terrible's about to happen. I've felt that way ever since my conversation with Jonathan."
Reed grunted. "Yeah, well, it sounded like a pretty weird conversation. I don't know if it was because he'd had too much to drink, or if he's really delusional. But you can be damned sure I intend to find out." A weighted pause. "I've got a heavy-duty meeting at the office this afternoon. I have no idea how long
it'll run. But I'll ca
ll you when it's over, either before you leave for your counseling session or later, on your cell phone."
Taylor didn't miss the sober note in Reed's tone. "This is the meeting, isn't it? The one that's going to change the course of things for you?"
"Yup, this is it."
She searched for the right words to say, wanting to offer him the same kind of emotional support he'd been offering her. "Reed, I know we haven't been able to get into this issue too deeply. But I know it's