"Then this might turn out to be one of those cases."

  "Maybe. But I don't think so. I honestly believe Jonathan's innocent. I doubt the cops will even come

  up with enough for an arrest. But if I'm wrong, at least I won't have to take a shower each time I walk out of court."

  Harter chuckled. "You've got balls, Reed. You're going to do just fine. As for believing in your client,

  to most attorneys, that's a bonus. To you, it's a necessity. So I feel a little less guilty and a lot more pleased." He clapped Reed on the shoulder, then stuck out his hand. "I wish you the very best of luck."

  "Thanks." Reed met his handshake. "I'm looking forward to the challenge."

  "Keep me posted."

  "I will."

  Reed whipped out his cell phone the minute he left Harter's office, punching up the number of the Dellinger Academy as he retraced his steps to the reception area.

  The switchboard operator answered and connected him to Taylor's office.

  She picked up on the first ring. "Taylor Halstead."

  "It's me. Everything okay?"

  "Okay?" she asked incredulously. "Two of your clients were murdered last night. How could everything be okay?"

  "I was referring to you."

  She ignored the question. "Reed, I've been glued to the Internet, reading the news updates. They tell

  me nothing but bare-bones facts. I need you to fill me in."

  "I can't."

  A weighted pause.

  "You can't," she repeated. "Why not?"

  "Because I don't have a whole lot more details than you do."

  "Are the police close to making an arrest?"

  "I doubt it. The investigation's just getting under way."

  "How heavily does Jonathan Mallory factor into that investigation?"

  Another silence, this one more strained than the last.

  Reed could actually feel the rift between them forming.

  He blew out his breath. "I can't talk now, Taylor. I'm in the middle of a client meeting. The only reason I'm calling is because your message sounded urgent, and I wanted to make sure nothing was wrong."

  "You're with Jonathan Mallory, aren't you?"

  He didn't reply.

  "Oh, God, he is a suspect." Taylor's voice quavered.

  "I can't discuss this with you. You know that. I've got to go. Like I said, I just wanted to make sure

  you hadn't gotten any more threatening phone calls."

  "Nope. Not a one. Then again, that's no surprise. The stalker I'm more and more convinced has been making those phone calls is in a client meeting with you."

  Reed was nearing the reception area. He could see Jonathan pacing around, waiting for him.

  "We can't have this conversation now," he said into the phone. "I'll call you later."

  "I'm not sure I'm composed enough or objective enough to listen."

  "There's only one way to find out." Reed paused, waiting for her reply.

  It took a moment for her to give it.

  "All right, Reed," she responded, her tone distinctly cool. "I'll wait for your call. In the meantime,

  I won't bother packing that bag. Something tells me our weekend at the ski lodge is off."

  A quiet click told Reed she'd hung up.

  6:45 p.m.

  WVNY

  Jack was sitting with Kevin, Dennis, and Laura when Taylor walked into her recording studio that night.

  Her brows rose slightly. "Hi. The program manager himself, here to greet me along with my entire staff. To what do I owe this honor?"

  "We're worried about you." Jack didn't mince any words.

  "Why?"

  Kevin snorted. "Don't try the clueless approach, Taylor. You cut out of here early last night to go to that bash for Jonathan Mallory at Le Cirque. Several hours later, the host and hostess were murdered in their own home. We're a radio station. We do have news sources here. We know the police questioned Jonathan Mallory. Was it routine questioning, or do they think he did it?"

  Taylor shrugged out of her coat. "I don't know. You've read the wires— you know as much as I do."

  "What about that guy you're seeing?" Jack demanded. "Isn't he Mallory's lawyer?"

  "Geez." Taylor blinked. "I didn't realize my life was such an open book."

  "If your relationship with Reed Weston is private, you'd better mention it to him," Laura interjected.

  "He's called your private line four times in the past twenty minutes." She waved the messages in the air. "He wants to talk to you before you go on the air."

  "I see."

  "He's not the only one who called." Dennis shifted in his chair, scratching his shaggy head and looking very ill at ease. "The police called, too. Laura wasn't at her desk, and the call was forwarded up here,

  so I answered. Detective"—he glanced at the message he'd jotted down—"Hadman wants to meet with you sometime tomorrow."

  Kevin leaned forward. "Why is Hadman calling? He already checked out Romeo, and that was a dead end. So was that kid at Dellinger, Chris Young. Did Hadman trace the calls to someone else?"

  "Nope. The number he got from the phone company turned out to be a dead end."

  "Then why is Hadman calling you?" Kevin demanded.

  "Because all the party guests will be questioned. As for my stalker, he's a low priority now."

  "Nothing was said about Jonathan Mallory?"

  "No. Nothing." Taylor adjusted the sleeves of her sweater. "Honestly, guys, I appreciate your worrying, but it's not necessary. I'll be fine."

  "Yeah, well, there's fine and there's fine," Jack retorted. "You've taken a few too many hits these past months. First your cousin. Then Rick. Next a stalker—one who still hasn't been found. And now this." He folded his arms across his chest, his stance purposeful. "I'll take you over to the Nineteenth Precinct tomorrow. Just let me know what time."

  "Same here," Kevin chimed in. "I'll break away whenever you need me to."

  "I've got an early class at NYU tomorrow." It was Laura's turn to of-fer. "I can skip it. Just say the word."

  "I have fewer responsibilities here than anyone." This time when Dennis spoke up, it was without

  shyness or hesitation. It was with loyalty. "So if this Detective Hadman needs to play your meeting by ear, and it ends up being a spur-of-the-moment thing, I'll take you."

  Taylor felt a surge of warmth. "Thanks. All of you. I mean it. But it won't be necessary. Mitch, my

  PI, goes everywhere with me. He'll run me over to the police precinct either first thing in the morning

  or right after school. I'll be okay."

  "The last part's a matter of opinion." Jack's tone of voice said he was getting to what he'd really come

  in here to say. "We all think you need a vacation. Two weeks, starting right away. You need to get out

  of Manhattan, away from painful memories and ongoing crises. You'll be back in time to move into

  your new apartment. And who knows? Maybe there'll be some resolution to all this by then."

  "Jack, I can't." Taylor was shaking her head.

  "Why not? Because of Dellinger? Isn't next week midwinter break?"

  Taylor stared.

  "Yeah. Go ahead, call your boyfriend and ask him to join you."

  That suggestion hung heavily in the air.

  "Sorry," Jack muttered. "I guess that's a sore spot."

  "More like a moot point," Taylor replied, a definite edge to her tone. "I doubt Reed will be free."

  There was another brief, uncomfortable silence.

  "Maybe you should check," Laura proposed tentatively. "Or at least just call him back. He seemed

  pretty frantic."

  "I'm sure he is. He probably wants to explain why he'll go to the wall for Jonathan Mallory." Taylor

  gave a brusque shrug. "I'll call Reed now and find out. No need to press your ears to the door. I'll

  come out and tell you what's going on the minute I hang up." She took a step toward he
r inner studio, then turned to face them. "Thanks again. You're the best."

  She went inside.

  For a moment, she stared at the phone. Maybe Kevin was right. Maybe circumstances had changed

  since she'd spoken to Reed this morning.

  But she doubted it.

  She picked up the receiver and punched in Reed's cell.

  Obviously, he saw her number come up on caller ID, because he answered right away. "Finally," he greeted her. "I was beginning to wonder if you'd planned on returning my calls."

  "I said I'd listen. I will."

  "Good." Reed's tone was intense. "A lot's happened. A lot we need to talk about. So I made some arrangements. Mitch will head over to your place tonight. He's got the key you gave him. He'll let

  himself in, put on the right lights, and make it look like someone's there."

  "Until when?"

  "Until tomorrow. He'll spend the night."

  "Really. And where will I be?"

  "At my place. With me. Jake's picking you up outside the radio station. He'll drive you over to my apartment." A heavy pause. "Don't say no, Taylor. We need to talk."

  Taylor felt torn, confused, and, in some unfathomable way, betrayed. Which was absurd, considering

  she still had no idea what Reed had or hadn't done, and where the investigation—not to mention things between the two of them—stood.

  She owed it to herself and to Reed to find out.

  "Okay, I'll come," she said at last. "But just to talk. Or, in this case, listen. I'm not planning to stay.

  Not unless I'm overwhelmed by what I hear."

  Reed blew out his breath. "I won't pressure you. You set the rules. All I ask is that you come over to

  my apartment, sit down across from me face-to-face, and hear me out—with an open mind."

  "The coming-over, sitting-down, and hearing-you-out parts I can manage. It's the open mind that's the rub. I'll try, Reed. That's the best I can do. As I said, I'm not objective when it comes to Jonathan Mallory."

  "I realize that." He sounded so tired that Taylor couldn't help but feel pangs of compassion. Whatever she'd been through today, he'd been through the wringer as well.

  "You sound beat," she said gently. "Maybe we should do this another night."

  "No. This conversation can't wait." He paused. "But I appreciate your concern, and your caring."

  "Yeah, well, both those things extend only to you," she warned. "Not your client."

  "Fine. I understand where you're coming from. I'm not blaming you. What I am doing, is counting on you."

  "For what? My presence? My undivided attention? You've got both. Anything more . .." Taylor sighed. "Let's just say I wouldn't hold my breath."

  CHAPTER 26

  10:45 p.m.

  EAST SIXTY-EIGHTH STREET

  Reed took Taylor's coat and shut the door behind her. "Jake got you here okay?"

  "Like clockwork." She glanced around the apartment, wondering how a place that had felt so warm

  and homey a few days ago could feel so cold and foreign now.

  "Make yourself comfortable." Reed gestured toward the rich bourbon-colored leather sofa in his living room. "I'll pour us some wine." As he headed toward the sideboard, he caught her guarded expression, and came to a rigid halt. "I'm trying to relax you, not lower your reserve. I think you know from

  firsthand experience that I don't seduce intoxicated women."

  Taylor felt a twinge of shame. "You're right. You didn't deserve that. It's just been an unbearable day."

  "I rest my case." He continued on his path, pouring two glasses of Merlot and carrying them over to

  the sofa as Taylor got settled.

  She nudged off her low-heeled slingbacks and tucked her feet beneath her, noticing that he'd started a fire. The flames crackled cheerfully in the fireplace, sending a warm glow throughout the room. It took away some of the chill—but only the part that was externally generated.

  The internal part would take a lot more to warm away.

  "Bad news first," Reed began, sitting down beside her. "You were right about the weekend. I had to cancel. I'm sorrier than you can imagine. But there's too much happening for me to get away."

  "I'm sure," Taylor acknowledged, sipping at her Merlot. "I, on the other hand, am on an enforced vacation. Jack ordered me to take two weeks off, starting immediately. I guess he's right. I need it."

  Reed's frown had deepened with each word. "You're going away?" he demanded.

  The severity of his tone startled her. And a niggling, unpleasant thought intruded. "Is that a legal

  question or a personal one?"

  He slammed down his goblet. "Goddammit, Taylor, is it really going to come to this? Are you going to interpret every question I ask you, every word I say, as a fishing expedition meant to enhance my legal position?"

  "I don't want to. But I'm not sure I can help it."

  "Then let me give you a reason to try." He seized her glass and set it down on the coffee table, gripping her shoulders tightly. "I asked you what I did because I don't want you going away. Not without me,

  and certainly not alone. I'll worry about you and, more important, I'll miss you. Why? Because I'm in love with you. Believe me, I didn't plan to be. But I am. And it couldn't have happened at a worse time. And I wanted you to know that before we got into everything else we have to discuss."

  His grasp eased as he felt a tremor run through her, and he searched her face for a reaction. "Say something."

  A tight knot of emotion clogged Taylor's throat, and she swallowed hard to get past it. "I don't know

  what to say," she managed.

  "At least tell me you believe me."

  "I believe you."

  "That's a good start. Now tell me you feel the same way."

  Her chin came up, and she gave a hard shake of her head. "I don't want to. I want to stand up and walk out of here when you announce that you're representing Jonathan Mallory, which I know you're about

  to do. I want to stick to the resolution I made that I'd never become a stupid fool who let herself hope that love could conquer all. I want to. But I can't. Because I'm in love with you, too. Happy?"

  "Yeah." He brushed his lips across her cheekbones—first one, then the other—before covering her

  mouth in a slow, tender kiss. "Very happy."

  "Good," Taylor muttered, tugging her mouth away. "Because I don't see how this is going to work."

  "Why? Because we don't agree about the identity of your stalker?"

  There it was.

  Taylor wriggled a few inches away and picked up her goblet—-as much a physical, if symbolic, barrier between them as an emotional balm for the conversation ahead. "After all that's happened, how can

  you think Jonathan Mallory is innocent?"

  "I can't explain. I'm not asking you to agree. I'm just asking you to trust in the fact that I'd never let anyone hurt you."

  "I trust that you'd never willingly let anyone hurt me. Does that count?"

  Reed sighed, sank back against the cushions. "I guess it'll have to. For now."

  "It's not your loyalty I'm questioning. It's your judgment. I'm the psychologist, not you. And I don't

  think Jonathan Mallory is rational."

  "Maybe he's not. But he's not dangerous either." Reed made an impatient gesture. "Let's shelve this

  part of the talk, for now. I have something important to tell you. Something I can finally share with

  you, since, as of today, it's a fait accompli." He leaned toward her again, delivering the news with pleasure and pride. "I'm leaving Harter, Randolph and Collins and starting up my own firm."

  She blinked. His big meeting. She'd assumed it had been postponed.

  "Your meeting—it happened?"

  "Sure did."

  Once that sank in, Taylor leaned forward and gave him a big hug. "I thought this might be where you were headed." She drew back, studied his expression. "You feel good about this."
/>
  "Very. It's been a long time in coming. I can't go this route anymore. It's time for a change. I want long-standing clients, not just high-profile cases. I want to build relationships with people I believe in.

  I guess I've gotten idealistic in my old age."

  "Old age?" Taylor grinned. "You're thirty-five."

  "Okay, maybe not old. But definitely cynical. You'd be surprised what happens to your idealism after