I'll Be Watching You

  It was Jonathan. It had to be. And he was taunting her.

  "My poor, beautiful Taylor," he continued. "How lonely you must be. Be patient. This is the last

  vacation you'll take solo."

  A cold chill shot up her back.

  "I'll be with you soon," he rasped. "In my mind, I'm with you now. Watching you. Having you. You're tan. But the luscious parts of you that are reserved just for me are still creamy white."

  Taylor couldn't help herself. She slammed down the phone, then ran to the bathroom and threw up.

  Afterward, she rinsed out her mouth and sank to the floor, leaning her head against the cool tile. She

  was a prisoner. And he was closing in on her like a wolf on its prey.

  She couldn't take it. She was going to snap.

  Standing, she marched back into the bedroom. She didn't even buzz Mitch. She scooped up the phone and punched in Reed's cell number.

  "Yes?" he answered, sounding distracted.

  "Your client just called me." Her voice was high, thin, and bordering on hysteria.

  "What?"

  "Your client. My stalker. He just called. He knew where I was. He had the phone number. He said he was tied up yesterday, which is why I didn't hear from him. We all know why—no cell phones in jail.

  He asked if I was lonely. He said he'd take care of that soon. He told me to forget about you, that you'd be stuck in Manhattan for the long haul. He knew about your new practice. He made sure I was aware

  of that. Then he went on to provide some sick details of his fantasies about me." She stopped her frantic outburst just long enough to gasp in some air. "Reed, I can't take this anymore. You've got to get Jonathan Mallory thrown back in jail. I'm—"

  "When?" Reed fired at her. "When did this bastard call?"

  "Ten minutes ago." She still couldn't breathe right. She was dizzy and her breath was coming in short, shallow pants. "I thought it was you. But it was him and—"

  "Taylor, it wasn't Jonathan."

  She gave a wild shake of her head. "Stop! I can't listen to you defend a man who—"

  "Taylor!" This time Reed cut her off forcefully. "Sweetheart, listen to me. I'm not defending him. I'm stating a fact. It wasn't Jonathan who called you. Remember that phone call I got while you and I were talking? That was Jonathan. He and I have been on the phone ever since. We still are. I asked him to

  hold when you beeped in."

  Dead silence.

  "Oh, my God," she whispered, sinking down on the bed, lowering her head between her knees to make the black spots swimming before her eyes go away. "Oh, my God."

  "Stay put," Reed ordered. "I'll be right back." There was a click, and he disappeared for a few seconds. Then he was back. "Talk to me." A pause. "Dammit, Taylor, say something!"

  "I'm here," she murmured absently, lifting her head and squirming into a sitting position with her back against the headboard.

  "Thank God. I thought you'd fainted, the way you were hyperventilating."

  She stared blankly across the room. "Just now, when you asked me to hold—was Jonathan still on the line?"

  "Yes. I told him I had a personal emergency. We hung up."

  "And the two of you have been talking this entire time?"

  "Without a single interruption. We were hammering out some details about his case." Reed didn't sound relieved. He sounded crazed with worry. Then again, he'd never believed Jonathan was her stalker. So

  to him, nothing had changed. Whoever was hounding her was still out there. Only now he'd found her.

  Which meant he was even more cunning than they'd realized.

  "He called your father's unlisted number?" Reed demanded. "He knew you were staying there?"

  "Yes."

  "Tell me exactly what he said."

  She heard herself relay the entire conversation, almost verbatim, although it sounded like someone

  else's voice speaking the words.

  Reed swore under his breath. "Where's Mitch?"

  Taylor was so panic-stricken, she could barely hear past the roaring in her head. This was even worse than before. She hadn't realized the odd but tangible comfort it had brought her to be able to mentally assign an identity to her stalker. Suddenly this monster who was after her had truly become faceless, nameless.

  "Taylor!" Reed dragged her back to the present.

  "What?"

  "Where's Mitch?"

  "Mitch. Oh. Downstairs. He doesn't know."

  "Change that—now. Put on a robe. Buzz him. Tell him to come upstairs."

  "Okay." She did as he asked, operating on autopilot.

  Mitch was there three minutes later, wearing a T-shirt and jeans. "What happened?"

  She didn't have the strength or presence of mind to repeat the whole story again.

  Wordlessly, she handed Mitch the phone. "Talk to Reed."

  "Reed, yeah, I'm here." Mitch listened intently, nodding periodically, his jaw tightening as he absorbed

  the explanation. "No," he said finally. "I don't. But that doesn't make it any easier. I already have one

  of my guys digging around for information on the cell phone. Yeah, I understand. Let me talk to her and get the details. Don't worry on that score. The alarm system in this house is like Fort Knox. Sure. Here." He handed the phone back to Taylor. "Reed wants to talk to you."

  She put the receiver to her ear. "Hi," she managed.

  "Have a glass of wine," he instructed, not mincing words. "Then sit down and tell Mitch everything. He doesn't think the guy's in Palm Beach; he thinks he's still here in Manhattan."

  "I was so sure it was Jonathan," she whispered, her eyes filling with tears. "The things he knew. The timing of the calls."

  "Yeah, well, I doubt that was an accident." Reed's voice had hardened. "In fact, the more I think about

  it, the more sense it makes."

  "What does?"

  "Whoever your stalker is, he knows you. He knows you suspected Jonathan. He's reinforcing that suspicion carefully and methodically. Only this time he screwed up. And we're going to bring the son

  of a bitch down."

  CHAPTER 29

  SUNDAY, FEBRUARY 16

  8:55 P.M.

  Taylor and Mitch caught the last flight out from Palm Beach to New York that night.

  It took Mitch the whole day to work things out to his satisfaction. But Taylor was so relieved, she

  didn't care. She was eager to get out of that house, that city. Maybe she was being irrational, since she was flying right back to where her stalker was based. But she didn't care. Even here in Florida, he knew where she was. He knew how to reach her. So she felt just as exposed, just as vulnerable. Alone. She needed to be home.

  When the plane touched down, they didn't drive to her apartment. They drove to Reed's.

  MONDAY, FEBRUARY 17

  12:30 A.M.

  EAST SIXTY-EIGHTH STREET

  Reed was waiting.

  He peeked around the curtain and saw Jake's car pull up and let them out. But, as planned, he stayed inside, having advised the doorman to escort his "guests" into the building. He paced around his foyer, yanking open the door as soon as he heard them approach. He didn't say anything, waiting until they

  were both safely inside, the door shut behind them, before reacting.

  Then he heaved a huge sigh of relief, tugging off Taylor's sunglasses and pressing her against him,

  holding her the way he'd been aching to do since last night when he'd heard the wild fear in her voice.

  "Hi," she mumbled into his shirt.

  "Hi back." Reed regarded Mitch soberly over the top of Taylor's head. "Thanks. I owe you big."

  A corner of Mitch's mouth lifted. "I'll take it out of Rob's hide. Then you can owe him."

  "Deal." Reed eased Taylor away, searching her face and scrutinizing the look in her eyes. She was still

  a little freaked out, and very, very tired. "You holding up okay?"

  "I'm holding up. I don't know a
bout okay." She tugged off her hat, masses of dark red hair tumbling out from under it. She shook them out, then ran her fingers through them—a gesture of nervousness rather than vanity. "I feel like I'm walking around in some sort of dream. Correction— nightmare. This is the same way I felt after the boat explosion. It's shock and post-traumatic stress. I'll survive."

  "You'll do better than survive," Reed stated flatly. "The bastard finally made a mistake."

  "I already contacted Hadman," Mitch supplied. I told him what happened. He got my points loud and clear—one, he can't ignore my investigation, since this guy is dangerous, resourceful, and apparently plugged in to Taylor's life in more than a casual way; and two, he can take Jonathan Mallory off the suspect list."

  "I'm sure he was thrilled about both," Reed replied, his tone laced with sarcasm.

  Mitch shrugged. "Actually, he was fine. The NYPD will follow up on any concrete leads I give them.

  But the proactive stuff is still going to have to come from us. Without this stalker performing some type of physical act—an attempted assault on Taylor, breaking and entering her apartment, anything—there's not much more the cops can do."

  Taylor didn't flinch. "Is that why you wanted my apartment to stay empty—to see if he tries to

  break in?"

  "That would be a plus, but no. I wanted you in a safe place. No one but my office, the cops, and Reed know you're back in town. I want to keep it that way."

  Her brows drew together in puzzlement. "Why would he break in if he knows ... or thinks .. . I'm not there?"

  A flicker of reluctance crossed Mitch's face, but he candidly told Taylor what she needed to know. "Sometimes, these perverts get a charge out of actually being in their obsession's bedroom—lying in

  her bed or going through intimate articles of clothing—"

  "Okay, I get the picture," she interrupted with a shudder. "Just the idea makes me sick."

  "Don't let it. Jake and I have twenty-four-hour surveillance on your place. If the perp puts a foot in the door, we'll nail him." Mitch's forehead creased in concentration. "In the meantime, I'm going to WVNY tomorrow, and Dellinger Academy next week when it reopens. I want to talk to all your colleagues and

  a few of your students."

  "Why?"

  "Because you work with them on a daily basis. And because your coworkers are the only people who knew you were on vacation, and where. We need to start with the obvious to figure out how this guy found you." Mitch turned to Reed. "I also want to talk to your former secretary. I want to know how public the news of your leaving Harter, Randolph and Collins was, and how many people were aware

  that you were starting up your own firm."

  "Not many," Reed answered quietly. "The timing wasn't exactly right for fanfare. Later on, I'll send out announcements, place a notice in the New York Law Journal and on law.com. But for now, very few people know. Present company excluded, it's only the senior partners, my secretary, and Paul Mills,

  my new associate."

  "And Jonathan Mallory," Mitch reminded him. "Which is the whole point. Whoever called Taylor in

  Palm Beach knew that Jonathan knew. It's the only way the attempt to cast suspicion on him would work."

  Mitch's words triggered a flash of thought in Reed's mind. But before it had time to take shape, Taylor teetered on her feet, swaying toward him. And the fragmented idea vanished.

  "You're exhausted," Reed pronounced. "It's bedtime."

  Mitch took his cue, reaching for the doorknob. "Jake's camped outside. I'm heading home to get a few hours of rest, then it's off to WVNY. I'll check in with you late tomorrow afternoon." He pointed at Taylor. "You, stay in here and out of sight. Anything you need, one of us will get. Your apartment is off-limits."

  She managed a faint smile. "Yes, sir."

  "Good night."

  "Mitch?" Taylor called quietly after him. "Thank you so much."

  A wink. "Wait till you get my bill."

  * * *

  Taylor insisted on taking a shower to relax her muscles. Afterward, she didn't even bother blow-drying

  her hair. She just toweled out the excess moisture, then padded into Reed's bedroom, where she

  wriggled into one of his shirts and climbed into his bed.

  By the time he came in with the cup of chamomile tea she'd requested, she was fast asleep.

  He set down the cup, watching her for a few minutes and marveling at how deeply he'd come to care

  for her in such a short time.

  With a tired sigh, Reed yanked off his clothes and chucked them aside. Between Jonathan's case and Taylor's crisis, he hadn't slept more than six hours in the past three days. He was wiped. And now that she was safe beside him, he could actually get a decent night's rest.

  He slid into bed beside Taylor, taking great care not to disturb her. She murmured something in her

  sleep, then snuggled against him, curling up in his arms as if she belonged there.

  The fact was, she did.

  Reed turned off the light, tucked the blankets around them, and shut his eyes.

  The scent of Taylor's shampoo was the last thing he remembered before drifting off.

  6:35 A.M.

  Reed had assumed he'd leave Taylor a note, check in with Jake to make sure he was still outside,

  and then leave for work. It didn't happen that way.

  He opened his eyes to find Taylor propped on her elbow, gazing down at him.

  "Good morning," she murmured.

  "Good morning." He frowned, blinking away the final vestiges of sleep. "What are you doing up?

  Did my alarm wake you?"

  "Nope. It hasn't even gone off yet. Nor will it. I turned it off about ten minutes ago."

  "Now, that sounds intriguing." Reed was instantly and totally awake. "Any particular reason why?"

  Taylor laughed at the hopeful gleam in his eyes. "The truth? I wanted some time for us to talk. But I'm adaptable. I'm also an excellent compromiser. So, as long as you promise me coffee and conversation before you dash out the door, I'd be delighted to send you off to work with a smile on your face."

  "I promise." He tucked her hair behind her ear and began unbuttoning her borrowed shirt. "Coffee and conversation." He made quick work of the shirt, tossing it to the floor. "Can I have dessert first?"

  Her lips twitched. "Only if you share."

  "Oh, I'm a great sharer," he assured her, rolling her onto her back and covering her mouth, and her

  body, with his. "A really great sharer."

  * * *

  It was well after 8 a.m. when they finally sat down for that coffee and conversation.

  "You were right," Taylor said, filling two mugs to the brim and setting them on the kitchen counter.

  "You are a great sharer." She gave him a tender, intimate look as she settled herself on the stool beside him. "You're also an amazing lover."

  "I'm glad you feel that way." His expression was intense, his midnight eyes delving deep inside her. "Because you're going to have years and years to discover just how amazing."

  Taylor didn't pretend to misunderstand. "That's why I came back," she heard herself say. "I needed to

  be with you. I didn't realize how much until now. I kept asking myself why I was flying home. I'm uncomfortable in my own apartment; it feels weird and scary. I'm a nervous wreck when I walk around, knowing there's some psychopath out there who's obsessed with me. Steph's gone. My life's in turmoil. I'm on hiatus from work. So why was I running home? Why was I even still thinking of it as home?

  The answer is you."

  Reed brought her hand to his lips, then interlaced their fingers. "This nightmare you're living will soon

  be behind us. Then we'll get on with our lives. I want you to drive up to Vermont with me for Easter.

  The whole family will be there. You can thank Rob in person."

  Taylor blanched. "The whole family? You mean . . ." She took a mental count. "Fourteen adults, nine kids, and
one baby-in-waiting?"

  "Nice counting." Reed chuckled. "But it's fifteen, including you. Actually, maybe sixteen, if Rob's latest girlfriend comes with him. Oh, plus two chocolate Labs, one beagle, an orange tabby with a new litter, and God knows how many other animals I have yet to be introduced to."

  "Wow." Taylor swallowed a large gulp of coffee. "Are you sure it's not too soon? Maybe they'll feel

  like I'm intruding."

  "They'll love you. And you won't be intruding." A profound pause. "You'll be joining the family."