way. And if you need me, I'm here."
SATURDAY, FEBRUARY 15
1:35 A.M.
Sleep wouldn't be coming tonight.
Then again, he hadn't expected it to. Not under the circumstances.
Still, he had to rest. Tomorrow was an important day.
He stared at the ceiling, not noticing the ugly cracks in the plaster.
Instead, he saw Taylor. She was always his last mental image at night. He'd visualize her in bed, her
dark red hair spread out across the pillow, her body his for the taking.
And oh, how he planned to take it.
He shifted uncomfortably, his erection nearly painful in its magnitude.
Soon. Not yet. But soon.
Usually, he settled for calling her. But tonight, that was an impossibility. Although he'd love to hear the shock in her voice if he did. She thought she was safe.
She wasn't. She'd find that out soon enough.
But not tonight. Tonight, he'd have to sweat it out.
She was alone. That in itself was comforting. Reed wasn't leaving New York, not until the double homicide was resolved.
By then it wouldn't matter.
Taylor would be his.
10:15 A.M.
CRIMINAL COURT
100 CENTRE STREET, NEW YORK CITY
"We're talking about murder one," Judge Martin proclaimed from the bench. "Ordinarily, I would
remand the defendant without bail. However, the arguments of defense counsel are compelling. The defendant has no prior record and has cooperated fully with the authorities. In addition, I was impressed by the eloquent character reference provided by defense counsel, who is highly respected by this court and who has a long-standing association with the defendant. Taking all those facts into account, it is the opinion of this court that the defendant is not a flight risk or a threat to society. That having been said, due to the serious and violent nature of the crimes he's being charged with, I'm setting bail at one million dollars, cash or bond. Defendant will also surrender his passport to the court."
The sound of the gavel echoed through the room.
Beside Reed, Jonathan heaved a huge sigh of relief. "Thank God," he muttered. He turned to Reed.
"And thank you."
"We're a long way from the thank-you's. That was just the beginning." Reed snapped his briefcase
shut. "I've made preliminary arrangements with the bail bondsman. I'll give him a call, tell him the
dollar figure. He'll head over and post the million bucks. It'll cost you a hundred grand, but you don't
have much choice if you don't want to spend another night in jail. It's Saturday. There's no way you'd have access to the sizable number of assets you'll have to liquidate."
"Fine. Anything. Just get me out of here."
"Hang tight," Reed advised as Jonathan was escorted back to the holding cell. "I'll make the call and
take care of the paperwork. You'll be out in a couple of hours. Oh, and we're stopping at the DA's
office. I've arranged for you to take a polygraph before we go home. Hadman's agreed to meet us
there. That way, he, the ADA, and I will all be firsthand witnesses."
Jonathan nodded, but his eyes were glazed, as if Reed's words were barely registering in his mind. He kept walking, docilely allowing himself to be led out of the courtroom.
Reed frowned. He wasn't thrilled about having put his reputation on the line for Jonathan. But Judge Martin wasn't the most liberal of judges, and Reed had known instinctively that a personal push would
be necessary to make this fly.
Still, Reed was relieved they'd gotten this far. It was necessary to keep Jonathan out of jail, not only to retain the guy's sanity, but to have sufficient time and opportunity to build their case. The grand jury would convene later this week, and there was no doubt they'd get their indictment. So everything hinged on what Reed could uncover between now and the trial And he needed Jonathan ready, willing, and accessible at all times.
Striding out of the courtroom, Reed turned on his cell phone and contacted the bail-bond company.
After that, he called Paul Mills, who had been alerted to the situation and was expecting his call.
Paul was the attorney who'd been Reed's first choice to come on as his associate since he'd made the decision to start his own firm. Paul was young, only two years out of Columbia Law. He'd been
working as a junior associate at a top Park Avenue firm, and Reed had seen him in action, both in court and in civil matters. And, young or not, the guy was shrewd, articulate, and already earning a reputation as an outstanding litigator and all-around top-notch attorney. But he wasn't happy at the big, prestigious Park Avenue law-firm scene, and he'd jumped at the chance to work with Reed when Reed had approached him.
They'd spoken twice over the past two weeks, and on Thursday Reed had made him a firm offer,
which he'd accepted.
Now the question was, would Paul's current practice waive the traditional two-weeks' notice? Because Reed sure as hell needed his assistance, and now.
Paul answered his home phone right away. "Hello?"
"It's Reed."
"How did the arraignment go?"
"Jonathan was released on a million dollars' bail. How did your conversation with the partners go?"
A chuckle. "Congratulations are in order for both you and me. You for accomplishing the impossible
and me for moving a mountain. I'm a free agent as of now. I guess I was too junior to miss. So I'm
all yours."
"Excellent." Reed felt a huge wave of relief. Normally, it wouldn't have been a problem for Paul to
come on board in two weeks. Reed had a lot of initial setup to attend to, from having stationery and business cards printed up to having an interior decorator work some magic on his recently vacated
office space. It was pure luck that the previous tenants had moved out early. Then again, he'd expected
to ease into this new practice gradually, first settling in himself, then hiring additional staff. But Jonathan's arrest had nixed that idea and sent the whole process into overdrive.
"Do you need me today?" Paul asked.
"Yeah, if you're free. I know it's Saturday, so if that's a problem . .."
"Nope. No problem."
"Good. How about if I meet you at the office around three? I can bring you up to speed on the case
and my preliminary strategy."
"Works for me. Just one question."
"Shoot."
"Where's the office? You mentioned to me that we'd be in a brown-stone in midtown, but you never
gave me the address."
Reed gave a derisive laugh, shaking his head in self-censure. "That would be helpful, wouldn't it?" He rubbed his forehead. "Sorry. My mind's just racing a mile a minute. It's on East Fifty-fifth, between
Third and Lex." He gave Paul the exact address. "The heat's on, the water's running, and the phones
are in. I'll give you a key when we meet up there."
"Which floor are our offices on?"
"Take your pick. I own the building. I bought it a few years back as an investment. We're going to be doing some pretty quick renovating, but you've got first dibs on where you want your office space to be. Whoever comes on board next will get second dibs."
"Squatter's rights. Sounds good," Paul replied amenably. "Okay, you wrap things up at your end, and
I'll meet you at the office at three. And Reed? Thanks again. It's an honor and a privilege."
"You're welcome. I appreciate your kicking into high gear on a dime. You're going to be a real asset to
the firm. And I doubt you'll be thanking me by the time we wrap up this case. You probably won't see sunlight for days." A pause. "Maybe weeks."
"I'll live."
"Yeah, let's hope Jonathan will, too."
11:15 P.M.
WESTON & ASSOCIATES, ATTORNEYS AT LAW
EAST FIFTY-FIFTH STREET, NEW YORK CITY
His first late night at the office.
Reed leaned back in the leather chair that was the sole piece of furniture in the big, empty room.
Actually, it was the sole piece of furniture in the entire brownstone, not counting the cheap computer station, telephone, and coffee machine.
He rubbed his eyes, reviewing the events of the day.
Jonathan had passed the polygraph. And, since polygraphs were between 90 and 95 percent accurate,
the defense had its first ray of hope.
Reed had met Paul in the office, and together they'd studied Reed's case notes. They were in solid agreement. There was no way to eliminate Jonathan as a suspect. The only way to go about winning
this case was to create reasonable doubt by implicating others as potential suspects.
That was easy enough to accomplish with regard to the circumstantial evidence. Paul was already on it, digging into friends, personal acquaintances, and business associates who might have motive, opportunity, and a relationship with the Berkleys that would explain the lack of breaking and entering.
But DNA evidence was another story entirely.
Reed picked up the stack of printouts he'd gotten off the Internet. A seventy-five-page accumulation of the most recent studies on genetics and DNA. There had to be something in here. Some logical explanation that would give him the loophole he sought.
He was flipping through the pages when his cell phone rang.
"Hello?"
"Hi." Taylor's voice drifted through the line. "It's me. Bad time?"
Reed put down his work. "Actually, I don't even know what time it is."
"Eleven-thirty." A pause. "I saw the news on TV. It occurred to me that you weren't calling me because you were afraid I'd flip out. I won't. You must be one hell of an attorney, though. According to both CNN and Fox News, bail in murder-one cases happens next to never. Congratulations."
Again, he rubbed his eyes, realizing he'd been totally disconnected from the outside world. He should have realized that word of Jonathan's release would be on the evening news, and that Taylor might see it.
"Reed?" she prompted.
"I'm sorry." He forced his mind into the here and now. "I should have called you. But you're wrong
about the reason I didn't. I wasn't ducking your reaction. I'm lost in space. I've been closeted in either a courtroom or an office since early this morning. I don't know whether I'm coming or going." His brows knit. "Did the media make a big deal over it?"
A soft laugh. "The media sensationalizes stuff like this, especially when it involves a well-known family.
I don't pay attention to the fluff, just the basics. Jonathan's out on bail. He pled not guilty. There'll be a grand-jury hearing sometime this week. Oh, and there was a pretty good shot of you and Jonathan
leaving the courthouse. You look intense, like a warrior marching into battle. Very formidable."
"Yeah, that's me. Formidable." Reed sighed. "Are you okay with this? Not happy, but okay?"
"I'll have to be," Taylor stated frankly. "In the meantime, you'll be glad to know that Mitch pitched in
for you. He gave me two self-defense lessons today. It was a very eclectic day. I spent a few relaxing hours tanning on the beach, flanked by a blood-pumping morning and afternoon workout. You should
see my finger rake and ear slap. They're amazing."
"Wow." Reed's lips curved. "I'm impressed. I'm also jealous. It sounds like I've been replaced as your martial-arts instructor."
"Nah," she quipped. "I like the outcome of getting sweaty with you much better."
Reed blew out his breath. "God, I miss you."
"You don't have time to miss me. Where are you, by the way? I tried your home number first."
"I'm in my new office." Reed ran through the explanation for her, telling her about Paul at the same time.
It was Taylor's turn to exhale sharply. "Geez. Like I said, you don't have time to miss me. A new office, a new associate, and a murder case all at once. I'm breathless just listening to you."
Reed had just opened his mouth to reply when his call waiting beeped in. "Taylor, hang on a second."
He punched the send button. "Hello?"
"Reed, it's me." Jonathan sounded strung out. "I ate. I showered. I slept. And now I'm up again, going nuts. I keep thinking about being locked in a cell forever, or being stuck with a lethal injection. My life might be over. And I can't do a damned thing about it."
"You're wrong. There's a lot you can do about it. Stay there a minute." Reed punched back to Taylor. "Taylor?"
"I'm here."
"I've got to take this call. Are you turning in right now, or can I call you back in a while?"
"I'll be awake. Call when you can."
"Thanks." Reed punched off. "Okay, Jonathan, I'm back."
"You were about to give me a pep talk."
"No, I was about to tell you that you're at the core of our entire defense. You know you didn't do this. Which means you can't fall apart. Instead of going nuts, start making lists. Think of anyone Douglas
or Adri-enne had problems with, from domestic help to the gang at the country club. Concentrate on Adrienne. She was a sick woman. Maybe Gordon wasn't her only victim. Jealousy is a prime motivator. So is rejection, if she shot the guy down."
"What about the DNA? How do we counter that?"
"I'm working on it. I've got a stack of papers to read through. Maybe there's a way the semen was planted. Have you ever donated a sperm specimen?"
"Huh? No."
"Fine. Let's go conventional. Think about the last woman you were with. How long ago was it? Did
you use a condom? If so, where did you toss it out? Who would have access to it? If you had sex in
your apartment, does your cleaning woman wash your linen? Take out your garbage? Could someone have paid her off to get their hands on either of those? I know I'm reaching, but that semen got inside Adrienne somehow—and by someone. So stop freaking out and start thinking."
Jonathan sucked in his breath. "I never considered that. Jesus, planting my semen. That means
someone's framing me."
"Bingo. So who'd do that? Who'd have reason and access? More thoughts for you to ponder."
"You're right." Jonathan sounded stronger, more in control. "Reed, do me a favor. Throw some more questions out at me. It'll get my mental juices flowing. Then, whenever I freak out or can't sleep, I'll
work on compiling those lists."
Reed glanced at his watch. He'd told Taylor he'd call her back soon. On the other hand, this session
with Jonathan might be crucial to theif case.
His call to Taylor would have to wait.
"Okay. Let's do it."
11:50 P.M.
PALM BEACH
Taylor was curled up in bed, reading a James Patterson novel, when her telephone rang.
She smiled, reaching over and lifting the receiver. "Hi. Business done for tonight?"
"On the contrary. Business is just beginning."
It was him.
Everything inside Taylor went cold at the sound of that synthetic voice. No. This couldn't be
happening. Not here. Not when she'd run all this way to be safe.
"How did you get this number?" she demanded.
A muffled laugh. "I'm resourceful. You can't escape me, Taylor. I always know where you are. And
I can reach you, even at a private Palm Beach estate. I would have called sooner. But I've been tied
up since yesterday. Not to worry. I'm back." Another dark, muffled laugh. "Miss me?"
She fought the nausea rising in her throat. "I don't miss anyone. I needed a vacation. I came here to
get away."
"From the world? Or just from me?"
She didn't reply.
"Who were you expecting to be at the other end of the phone just now—Reed Weston?"
Again, no reply.
"Ba
d girl. My instructions were no men. But I suppose talking on the phone isn't breaking the rules.
The important thing is, you're alone in that bed. Poor baby. You're going to be alone a lot. Your friend Mr. Weston's tied up in Manhattan for the long haul. You won't be seeing him for months. And by that time, it won't matter."
Another underlying threat. "Why won't it matter?"
"Because you'll be mine. And Reed Weston will be busy with his new practice."
That she jumped on. "How do you know about Reed's new practice?"
"How do you think I know?"