ten years of practicing in the big leagues."
"I can imagine." Taylor's forehead creased in concern. "And you're right that Harter, Randolph and Collins is not known for its idealism. Still, you were a strong asset. I shudder to think of the partners' reaction when you made your announcement. I assume they were opposed to your leaving?"
"Let's say they were less than thrilled."
"Which is why you were wrestling with the logistic and ethical repercussions of your decision. You
were trying to find a mutually acceptable way to part ways."
"Exactly. That's what these two weeks were about. Finding a solution we could all live with."
"Which you obviously did."
An odd expression crossed Reed's face. "I believe so, yes. When I walked out today, we were all on
the same page. They've agreed to support my decision. They're also helping in any way they can—
with referrals, references, whatever I need."
"Just like that?" Something about that scenario seemed very strange. The break was just too clean, too abrupt. "I don't get it. The timing sounds bizarre. Not to mention, you can't represent Jonathan Mallory
if you're not part of the firm. So who will they get to..." Taylor's voice trailed off as the truth struck home.
The timing wasn't bizarre. The timing was intentional.
Her insides gave a twist. "Oh, Reed, please don't tell me you cut a deal with the senior partners. Don't
tell me you agreed to take Jonathan Mallory on as your first client in exchange for Harter, Randolph
and Collins's blessing to start your own firm and their help in making it happen."
A muscle flexed in his jaw. "It's not that simple."
"God." Taylor put down her wine. "I don't believe this. Your giant career step—the one meant to help you sleep at night and like yourself better—is all falling nicely into place as a result of the Berkley homicides."
"Taylor, stop it." Reed caught her arms. "I'm not a patsy, or an idiot. And I'm certainly not a hypocrite. Yes, I'm striking out on my own so I can expand my professional horizons. But I never said I planned
on abandoning criminal law altogether. I'm not. I'm just becoming more selective about who I represent. So don't make this sound like I was bought off in some dirty deal worked out to get what I want. I was leaving the firm either way. It makes me sick that Douglas and Adrienne were murdered. Do I think Harter, Randolph and Collins used the situation to their advantage? Of course I do. But Jonathan is entitled to representation—assuming he needs it. Remember, he hasn't been charged with anything,
nor do I think he will be. I talked to him. I happen to believe he's innocent."
"Innocent." Taylor said the word as if it were foreign. "Is that a fact-based assessment or wishful thinking?"
"It's instinct." Reed's eyes glittered. "I've got ten years' experience to back it up. Don't question my
ability or my integrity. It's an insult to me and far beneath you."
That barb struck home, and Taylor flushed. "You're right. I'm just having a hard time accepting
all this."
"I assumed you would. And I'm sorry you have to be in the middle of it. Ideally, the case will come to a speedy resolution and we can put it behind us. The same goes for whoever's stalking you." He paused, and Taylor could see he was struggling to get out his next words. "For the record, I don't capitalize on people's murders. In case you need to hear me say it, I'd much prefer to have fought this fight the hard way, if it meant Adrienne and Douglas would still be alive. Unfortunately, I don't have that option."
Taylor felt a massive wave of guilt. Reed was not only the man she loved, he was a good man.
"Reed, stop." She reached out, took his hand, and interlaced her fingers with his. "You don't need to
say any of this. I know who you are. And you're right. If I didn't have such strong, negative personal feelings about Jonathan, I'd be applauding the way you handled this." She frowned. "I have so many questions. But I can't ask any of them, can I?"
Reed brought her fingers to his mouth. "By the end of the weekend, Jonathan should no longer be a suspect."
"In the murders, maybe. But what about with regard to me?"
A hard sigh. "Those suspicions can't be erased until we find the stalker."
"You really don't think it's Jonathan, do you?"
"No. I don't. And if it's any consolation to you, he knows how bizarre he sounded when he talked to
you last night. But there were reasons for it, reasons I can't get into. The good news is, I think he's starting to believe that you and he aren't going to happen. Give me time. Doing my job could result
in putting an end to his fixation with you. I have a couple of ideas. Like I said, give me time."
"Okay." Taylor bit back the slew of questions she was dying to ask. There was no point. Reed
couldn't tell her any more than he already had, at least not yet.
But there was something she had to tell him.
"Detective Hadman wants me to come to the precinct tomorrow and talk to him, since I was a guest at the reception. I hope you realize I have to be honest. If he asks me about Jonathan Mallory's behavior that night, or if I perceived any tension between him and his father and stepmother, I plan on telling
him the truth."
"I expect you to." Reed didn't miss a beat. "Answer all his questions openly and honestly. Hedging can only hurt the investigation and make my client look even more suspicious. On the other hand, I'd ask
that you try to be as objective as you can, under the circumstances."
"In other words, stick to the facts." Taylor nodded. "That's more than fair." A shrug. "Besides, Hadman already knows I'm uneasy about Jonathan, since he was on my list of potential stalkers. He might touch on the subject as it goes to character, but I doubt it'll hold much weight when it comes to investigating a double homicide. I just wanted to make sure you and I were on the same page."
"We are." Reed's brows were drawn, and there was clearly something else on his mind. "Did you talk
to Hadman about the call trace? Did he have anything for you?"
"No." Taylor filled him in on what Detective Hadman had learned about the prepaid cell phone.
"The cops won't take this any further," Reed said. "It's too much of a needle in a haystack. Mitch, however, is another story. Let's see if Hadman can be persuaded to turn the telephone number over to him. If so, he can track down the store where the phone was bought and send one of his guys to talk to the clerks. Maybe someone will remember something."
"Maybe. But it's a long shot. Just finding the place could take weeks. And then, trying to get several-months-old information out of a store clerk who was probably yakking with a coworker when
he or she sold the cell phone? I think we're talking next to impossible." Taylor stared off into space, pervaded by a hollow sense of hopelessness.
"What about the Berkleys?" she went on. "According to the sketchy news reports 1 read there was no break-in." A shudder. "Which suggests it was someone they knew. God. And here I am, obsessing over
a stalker. It sounds pretty minor in comparison, doesn't it?"
"It sounds normal. Crazies come in all forms. One of them is fixated on you. That's not minor." Reed paused, studying their joined hands. "You never did answer my question. Are you leaving town?"
"Honestly? I haven't had time to think about it. But maybe it's a good idea if I do. I'll get a mental break from all this insanity. I'll also get away from that memory-ridden apartment. By the time I get back, it'll
be almost moving day. I'll go someplace warm. Palm Beach. My father has a place there. Mitch or Jake can come with me and guard me the same way they do here. I'll lie on the beach and just veg. Who knows? Maybe Jack's right. Maybe all these crises will have been resolved by the time I get back."
Reed nodded. "Maybe." He drew her closer. "I meant what I said. I'll worry. And I'll miss you."
"I kn
ow. I'll miss you, too." Taylor gave him a wistful smile. "I was really looking forward to that weekend in the ski lodge. It sounded wonderful."
"We'll reschedule."
"Promise?"
"Promise."
Silence, punctuated only by the crackle of the fire.
"Stay with me tonight." Reed's request was uttered in a low, urgent tone, his hand unsteady as he raised her chin to meet his gaze. "You'll catch a flight to Palm Beach tomorrow. I'll put you and either Mitch
or Jake on the plane myself. But for one night, let's forget the whole damned world. Let's just have us. We deserve that, don't we?"
"Yes. We do." Taylor didn't have to ponder that one. She threw herself into it, as eager as he to block
out the world. Reaching up, she began unbuttoning his shirt.
They made love on the rug by the fire, after which Reed carried Taylor to his bed, where they lost themselves in each other again. Their lovemaking was different tonight, not in its fervor, but in its emotional intensity. There was something deep and powerful underlying the motions of their bodies,
a poignant quality that scared the hell out of Taylor.
Reed was right. This feeling wasn't going away.
She cried out his name when she climaxed, everything inside her shattering at once. She heard herself gasp out that she loved him, and she felt the reaction to her declaration jolt through his whole body.
He lost it entirely, his grip becoming almost bruising as he jetted into her in hard, racking spasms. He shuddered, his hips jerking convulsively, pounding him into her, the force of his orgasm shoving them both up on the bed until they collided with the headboard, which, in turn, collided with the wall.
When the wildness finally subsided, and awareness returned, they were in a half-sitting position. The pillow that Reed had shoved beneath Taylor's hips had inched its way up her back—which turned out
to be a major source of salvation, since it served as a buffer between her and the heavy mahogany headboard. Her throbbing body was more than grateful.
Reed wasn't so fortunate. His head was pressed against the wall, and his shoulders were crunched into
the headboard.
He let out a pained groan, and Taylor began to laugh.
"I'm glad you think it's funny," he muttered, shifting to his knees so he could wriggle them both down
to a prone position. Another groan, this time with a heavy dose of male satisfaction. "I think I broke something."
"Nothing important," Taylor assured him, arching her hips just enough to keep him inside her.
A husky chuckle brushed her ear. "It's good to know you've got your priorities in order."
"Mmm." Taylor trailed her fingers along his spine, wishing she could freeze this moment, wishing she
was as sure of everything as she was of the magic their bodies made together.
Reed must have felt the change in her mood, because he raised up on his elbows and gazed intently
down at her. "I know you're scared. Don't be. This is about as right as it gets." He lowered his head, brushed his lips across hers. "We're going to make it, Taylor. You'll see." A slow, sexy grin. "Although
I can't promise we won't injure a few body parts along the way."
She smiled back. "I'll bear that in mind."
"I love you," he said quietly. "Bear that in mind."
A shaky nod. "I will."
Out in the hall, the grandfather clock chimed two. Reed stroked Taylor's hair off her face, then kissed
her again. "Happy Valentine's Day."
Her arms tightened around his back. "Happy Valentine's Day."
FRIDAY, FEBRUARY 14
4:45 P.M.
LAGUARDIA AIRPORT, NEW YORK CITY
Reed watched Taylor's flight take off, pissed as hell that he couldn't be with her, relieved that Mitch was. She'd met with Hadman today, who'd asked the usual string of questions pertaining to the party at Le Cirque. Whatever Taylor's answers had been couldn't have helped Jonathan, but that was life. He'd
deal with the fallout as he had to.
He left the airport and was halfway back to Manhattan when his cell phone rang.
"Hello?"
"Reed, it's me." Jonathan sounded rattled. "Thank God I reached you."
"Why? What's going on?"
"I'm at my office. The cops are here. They're arresting me for the murders of Douglas and Adrienne."
Shock was eclipsed by training. "Okay, Jonathan, listen to me. Don't make a scene. Just go with them. Don't say a single word. I'm on my way. I'll meet you at the precinct in forty minutes."
CHAPTER 27
6:45 p.m.
NINETEENTH PRECINCT
153 EAST SIXTY-SEVENTH STREET, NEW YORK CITY
Footsteps approached the holding cell, and Jonathan's head came up as the cop fit the key in the lock
and swung open the barred door with a clang.
"Finally," he muttered, jumping up from the chair as Reed stepped inside. "I've been rotting in this cell
for an hour."
"Sorry. I hit traffic." Reed shrugged out of his overcoat and draped it over his arm.
Jonathan's eyes were frantic, his face flushed and sweaty. "They handcuffed me right there in my office. They read me my rights in the middle of the fucking Chrysler Building. I was hauled in, fingerprinted,
and shoved in this dark little hole over an hour ago. I'm losing my mind."
"That's the idea." Reed spoke in a steady, reassuring tone. "They start with the shock effect of the
arrest. Then they dump you in here while they're filling out reports and conferring with the assistant district attorney. They're joined by a detective from the Manhattan North Homicide Squad—he or
she will assist the precinct detectives on the case. In short, they're hoping you'll freak out enough to confess. They would have taken you to the interrogation room, but I nixed that. I called the precinct and let them know I was on my way and that there was to be no communication with you until I arrived."
"Great. So this is good treatment." Jonathan yanked off his basket-weave silk tie, which was already hanging askew, and unbuttoned the top few buttons of his rumpled shirt. "What in God's name could
they have on me?"
"You tell me."
"How the hell should I know?" Jonathan slammed a fist against the wall, then began pacing around, plainly as freaked out as the police had hoped to make him. "Maybe it's the fingerprints on the old-fashioned glass. They probably figured out they were mine."
Reed gave a hard shake of his head. "I don't buy it. You told Hadman you were at the brownstone the afternoon of the murder, and that you had a Scotch."
"Then I don't know what evidence they concocted."
"The police don't concoct evidence, Jonathan. They find it and piece it together." Reed scowled. "In this case, whatever they found convinced the district attorney's office that they had grounds for an arrest."
He gripped the back of the chair and stared Jonathan down. "Before we talk to Hadman, you're sure there's nothing you haven't told me. Nothing at all?"
"I'm sure," Jonathan snapped.
"Then let's not speculate. Let's find out." Reed paused. "Remember two things. Hold it together at all times. And let me do the talking."
"Yeah. Right." Jonathan rubbed the back of his neck. "Let's get this over with."
"Okay." Reed walked over and called out to the cop, "Tell Detective Hadman we're ready to speak
with him."
The cop gave them a tight nod as he unlocked the cell door. "Come with me."
They were ushered into the interrogation room, which was small, windowless, and starkly furnished,
then left alone.
"Nice accommodations," Jonathan muttered, glancing at the metal table and hard chairs. "Right out of Architectural Digest."
"It's meant to make people break down, not move in," Reed replied. "Just relax. It's all a game. They'll make us sweat for a while longer while they all hud
dle together. Then they'll come in, ask questions,
and take copious notes. Don't let it get to you."
Ten minutes passed. Fifteen. Twenty.
After half an hour, Jonathan pushed back his chair. "Where the hell are they already?"
As if on cue, the door swung open and Detective Hadman strode into the interrogation room, joined by another man—his partner, Detective Murray Olin. Olin looked like a nice, average joe. But Reed had dealt with him in the past, and he was well aware that beneath the easygoing, chatty manner, the guy
was sharp as a tack and had earned a reputation as an outstanding detective. That wasn't his only rep. According to the grapevine, Olin's poker game was as good as his poker face, which told Reed that the guy was taking home a healthy pot of his fellow officers' cash every week.
Hadman pushed the door shut behind him. "Hello, Counselor."