"Okay, okay." Reed's training held him in check. "Let's not get ahead of ourselves. There's a lot of ground to cover here. First of all, for all this supposition to be fact, Gordon would have to have
planned everything in advance, starting with rigging his own bogus death. How did he manage that?
His boat blew up. We know that for a fact. So how did he escape? Where did he go? I've got to find
that out ASAP."
"He'd known he was coming back." Taylor's mind was taking a panic-stricken detour. "Reed, that
would explain why he said he'd be watching me." She raked both trembling hands through her hair, remembering the encounter she'd tried so hard to forget. "He promised me he'd finish what he started
that night."
"That fits with how he's played things since then. Sending you e-cards. Calling you. Harassing you. Threatening you."
"Closing in on me," Taylor added softly.
Reed's lips thinned into a tight, angry line. "If it is Gordon who's after you, we're on to him. We know what he wants. And it's not going to happen."
"But where is he? Unless we can prove Gordon's alive, we're spinning in neutral. So how do we do
that?"
"First, you need to clear up some gray areas for me. Psychological areas. I need to have a clear picture before I go charging into the fray."
"Fine. Ask away."
"Why would Gordon kill Douglas? Why not just Adrienne? Or am I barking up the wrong tree? Is it just something basic like Douglas caught Gordon attacking Adrienne and tried to defend her, forcing Gordon to kill him, too?"
"I don't think so." Taylor's evaluating skills kicked in. "Gordon's sharp as a tack. There's no way he'd go into that brownstone without knowing exactly who'd be there."
"Then my question stands. Why Douglas?"
"My guess? Since Gordon was a twisted teenager and an even more twisted adult, his mind was working in twisted ways. He might blame the whole thing on Douglas. Maybe he thought Douglas knew what
was going on and chose to sacrifice Gordon to protect his wife. Or maybe he thought Douglas was in denial—that he didn't know simply because he didn't want to know. There are a lot of possibilities here, all of which could make Gordon hate his father enough to kill him."
"Okay. I'll buy that. Now, what about framing Jonathan? He's Gordon's brother. They weren't close,
but they weren't enemies. There was no justification for a hatred strong enough to provoke such cruelty."
"None necessary. It was expedient. Remember what you said? Psychopaths have no sense of conscience or remorse. That's true. So, if Gordon is behind this, his only focus is his revenge. Jonathan is an expendable pawn."
Reed averted his head, a muscle working furiously in his jaw. "I'm not sure which would make me sicker, if we turned out to be right or if we turned out to be wrong. But let's say this whole far-fetched theory is true. The million-dollar question is, where's Gordon now? Where's he hiding?" A self-derisive laugh. "Who am I kidding? He doesn't have to hide. He's dead. Or, at least everyone thinks he is."
"If he's my stalker, we know he's in Manhattan."
"Great. So are hundreds of thousands of other people. He could commute in every night to keep an eye on you, then take off for parts unknown." That prompted Reed's jaw to tighten another fraction. "This theory would tie up another loophole—the fact that there was no break-in at the Berkley brownstone. Gordon could have let himself in with his key, or knocked and pretended to be Jonathan. By the time Douglas and Adrienne realized the truth—and recovered from the shock—it would be too late."
Taylor wet her lips. "What do we do now?"
Reed studied her grimly. "We don't discuss this with anyone. Not even Jonathan. Right now, it's pure speculation. We need something to go on before we light this fuse and watch it explode."
"Like what?"
"I'm going to call Hadman first thing tomorrow, see if he'll agree to contact the Suffolk County Police
and convince them to give me a copy of the file and police report on last September's boat explosion.
It's a closed case, so I doubt they'll care. If they give me a hard time, I'll subpoena the damned file.
I want to pore over that material word for word. Maybe, knowing what we know—or at least what
we suspect—it'll tell us something."
"My assault complaint is also in the closed files, right here in Manhattan's Twentieth Precinct," Taylor reminded him. "Subpoena that as well. I told the police about Gordon's near rape, including everything
he said, pretty much word for word. Maybe there's something in their report that'll pop out at you."
"I will." Reed stared at her, his thoughts clearly turning to the danger she was in if Gordon had masterminded all this. "I'm amending what I just said about not discussing this with anyone. We are
telling one person. Mitch. I want him to be on the lookout, in case Gordon gets cocky enough to show himself. He just might, figuring everyone will assume he's Jonathan. And my guess is he's probably getting desperate by now, not to mention livid. Remember, he hasn't been able to reach you in over a week. That might prompt him to start taking chances."
"Sounds terrific." Taylor strove for a touch of levity, which instead emerged as fear and strain. "Maybe
I should put Mitch permanently on my payroll. At this rate, he'll be working for me forever."
"No, he won't," Reed said vehemently. "We will resolve this. We need answers. And we need them yesterday. But I promise you this. If Gordon Mallory's alive, he'll wish he weren't."
CHAPTER 31
FRIDAY, FEBRUARY 28
10:15 A.M.
Taylor couldn't stand it anymore—the imprisonment, the waiting, the inactivity. She had to do
something or she'd lose her mind.
She called Jack and told him she was back in town. She also reminded him that she was moving to
her new apartment the following week. So it made sense for her to come in tonight, not only to do
a live show—which she was eager to do—but to record a few extra shows, just in case circumstances prevented her from coming in next week.
They both knew what "circumstances" meant.
"Everybody knows," Jack had informed her. "You're going to get a deluge of questions."
"I'll handle it."
"Taylor." Jack's tone had been subdued but tense. "Are you sure you want to do this? Maybe you
should have stayed in Florida for another week or two."
"I'm sure," she'd replied firmly. "I need to get back to work. Mitch is the best. He sticks to me like flypaper. No one will get near me."
An uneasy pause. "If you say so." Jack cleared his throat. "Where are you staying?"
"For the time being, at Reed's. At least until moving day. My current apartment's a zoo. All half-packed boxes and papers waiting to be shredded. Besides, I'm a little on edge these days. At Reed's place I'm
not alone."
"Yeah. You shouldn't be." Another pause. "We'll see you tonight." She'd wished he sounded a touch
less grim.
6:15 P.M.
WVNY
Walking through the double doors with the initials wvny etched on them, Taylor realized why Jack had been so reticent. She felt like an alien at her own place of business.
A hush settled over the reception area when she stepped in. Tonya, the receptionist, saw her first, and went white, shushing the secretary and two interns she'd been chatting with. They greeted Taylor in
taut unison, then stared after her as she headed toward the recording studios.
It wasn't much better down there. There was a chorus of "welcome backs" as Taylor passed by, but
they were strained, and the expressions on everyone's face ranged from pity to curiosity to nervousness—probably fear that whatever danger Taylor was in would invade the station and affect
their own safety.
She pasted a smile on her face, greeting everyone in return, and trying her damnedest
to act as normal
as possible.
Jack's office was empty. So was Bill's and a few of the other regulars'. Strangest of all, the coffee room was deserted. Now that was a first.
Maybe half the place had evacuated when they heard she was coming.
On that thought, Taylor pushed open the door to her own studio door. She was grateful to hear the murmur of voices from inside.
"Hey," she began. "I'm glad you guys are here. I was beginning to feel like a pariah—" She stopped
dead in her tracks, her mouth falling open as she was greeted by almost the entire WVNY staff, all arranged in a horseshoe with a big blackout cake sitting on the counter in front of them. The cake
read: WELCOME HOME, TAYLOR.
"Surprise!" they bellowed.
She blinked, tears welling up in her eyes before she could suppress them. "Wow," she managed.
"I don't know what to say."
"Say hi," Kevin suggested, walking over and giving her a huge hug.
"Yeah," Bill called out. "And then cut the cake. We've been inhaling the chocolate for half an hour.
I was about to do a swan dive into the damn thing."
Laughter rippled through the room, and suddenly Taylor really did feel like maybe, just maybe, it
would be okay.
She sniffed back her tears. "Thanks, guys. I really missed you." She hugged Kevin back. "Hi," she dutifully replied. "I'll bet I know whose idea this was." Breaking away, she dried her eyes and
winked in Bill's direction. "Now where's the cake knife?"
The ice broken, they all gathered around, eating cake and chatting.
Laura weaved her way through the crowd, putting down her cake plate to kiss Taylor's cheek.
"Welcome back. We all missed you like crazy. Did you have fun?"
The question was so incongruous with reality that Taylor almost laughed aloud. "The weather was gorgeous," she answered truthfully. "But I spent most of the time indoors, unwinding."
"Good. You needed it."
Dennis came forward, then pumped her hand warmly. "It's really good to have you back."
"Yeah, and not only because we missed you," Kevin called out. "Dennis has some hot news of his
own he's been dying to share."
Taylor turned to Dennis, her brows knitting quizzically. "That sounds important."
"It is," Kevin assured her.
An unwelcome prospect dawned on Taylor, and she gave Dennis a pleading look. "Please don't tell me you're leaving, that you found some high-paying job at another station."
"Would I be smiling if that was the case?" Kevin asked with a grunt. "I'm already too overworked as it is."
"That's true," Taylor conceded. "Okay, so don't keep me in suspense. What's your news?"
Her engineer grinned shyly. "Ally and I got married the other day."
"Married?" Taylor's eyes widened. "Oh, Dennis, that's wonderful. Congratulations." She gave him an enthusiastic hug. "The other day?" she repeated as that part sank in. "Then what are you doing at
work? You're a newly wed."
"I gave Dennis the rest of the week off," Jack assured her. "He hasn't been in since Wednesday. But
he wanted to be here for your welcome back party. So he popped in an hour ago, and then he's
popping out till Monday."
Taylor felt a rush of gratitude. "Thank you. That means a lot to me. Please tell Ally I'm sorry I pulled
you away from her, even for a couple of hours."
"Coming in tonight wasn't exactly a hardship," Dennis replied. "Blackout cake's my favorite. And Jack said I could bring a piece home for Ally."
"Of course." Taylor's eyes twinkled mischievously. "Although you're not getting off the hook that easily. Because we want to meet Ally."
Dennis grinned back, this time more easily. He looked happy, even giddy, like a newlywed should be.
"Thank you, everyone," Taylor called after the staff as Jack shooed them back to work. "This was an amazing surprise."
Jack achieved his objective, pausing in the doorway when only Kevin, Dennis, and Laura remained in
the studio with Taylor. "You're sure you're up for this?"
"Positive," she assured him.
"Because if you're not ready, you can put this off."
"I realize that. But I am ready. And I don't want to put it off."
"Is your PI outside the building?"
"Right there, with his beeper and cell phone on."
A tight nod. "Well, stay only as long as you're up to it. Don't overdo." He looked like he wanted to say more, then changed his mind. "Have a good show. And welcome back."
Taylor shot Kevin a questioning look as the door shut behind Jack. "What was that all about?"
No reply.
"Yoo-hoo." She glanced from one of them to the other. "I asked a question."
Dennis gave in first. "Jack was kind of freaked out by your PI," he offered hesitantly.
"Freaked out?" Taylor frowned. Mitch was one of the most decent, straightforward guys she'd ever met—certainly not the type to intimidate people. "Why? Was he rude to him?"
"No, nothing like that," Kevin supplied, shaking his head. "But you know how protective Jack is of WVNY. When word spread that your PI was here and that some of us were being questioned, a couple of staff members got nervous. Mitch explained—loud and clear—that no one here was in danger or was
a suspect, that he was only trying to determine if anyone might have, inadvertently, mentioned your whereabouts."
Taylor's spirits sagged again. "Maybe I should take a sabbatical."
Dennis's black brows shot up. "You just got back."
"I know. But I don't want to cause any trouble, not for you guys, and not for Jack. You've been my lifeline through all this."
"Jack will settle down," Kevin said. "Give him time."
Time.
The word tasted bitter on Taylor's tongue. Everything was moving in slow motion. Yet, she had the
eerie sensation the sand in her hourglass was running out.
11:30 P.M.
She was back.
She'd gone to the radio station. She'd just left.
He watched her walk toward the waiting car.
Damn, she was sexy. He'd forgotten how hot he got just looking at her. The anger that had been
building inside him just made him hotter. Rage and sex. It didn't get any better than that. Not for what
he had in mind.
He was tempted to follow her. But he couldn't. It wasn't time yet.
CHAPTER 32
11:50 P.M.
EAST SIXTY-EIGHTH STREET
Reed was scribbling down notes at the kitchen counter when Mitch and Taylor arrived.
He strode over and pulled open the door, feeling the now-familiar sense of relief that swept through
him when Taylor showed up at his place safe and sound. "Hey. How'd it feel to be back?"
"Mixed reviews. Good and bad. And a little like the main attraction at a freak show. But, hey, at least they threw me a party." Taylor shrugged off her coat and turned to Mitch. "Thanks, as always."
"You're welcome, as always," he replied. "Get some rest. I'm going home to do some catch-up reading
on Gordon Mallory. Jake's been doing an extensive search: old articles, announcements, that kind of
stuff. Maybe it'll give us a hint about where Mallory's laying low—if he's alive."
"I'm reading similar literature, only mine's about a boat explosion and a physical assault," Reed said wearily.
"You got your hands on the files?" Taylor jumped on that.
"Yup." Reed jerked his thumb in the direction of the kitchen. "Both are right in there. Hadman was
very cooperative, especially after Mitch spoke with him. He and Olin insisted on knowing why we
wanted the files, so we had to fill them in. No hardship there. They'll keep it quiet. They think we're grasping at straws. But they're good detectives."
"Sure a
re," Mitch concurred. "Anyway, happy reading. We'll compare notes tomorrow, see whose
stuff was more interesting." He shot a wave in their direction." 'Night."
Reed closed and locked the door behind him, then turned to Taylor. "I tuned in to part of your show tonight. You sound as cool and composed—"
"—as you do when you're in court," Taylor finished for him. "That's my job. My callers depend on me. I've got to keep it together when I'm on the air. That doesn't mean—" She broke off, sinking down on
the sofa and pressing the heels of her palms against her eyes. "Reed, I'm sorry. I'm tired and strung out.
I didn't mean to snap at you."