I'll Be Watching You

  was auditioning for a part in a new off-Broadway show. It was a major supporting role. Well, she got it. Her agent called to let me know, just out of respect to her memory. If she'd lived, she'd be opening February first."

  A weighted silence hung in the air.

  "She must have been very talented," Reed said at last.

  "She was."

  Leaning forward, Reed covered her hand with his. "Taylor—I'm really sorry."

  The comfort—and the contact—felt good. Too good.

  Time to call a halt to the evening.

  Taylor rose. "It's getting late. I'm exhausted."

  "Understood." Reed followed her lead, coming to his feet. "I didn't mean to upset you."

  "You didn't. It just hurts to rehash how much Steph had to live for. But that hurt can't be changed any more than her being gone."

  "It'll get easier."

  "I'm sure. Time, as they say, is the best healer."

  "True. On the other hand, sometimes time can use some help."

  Taylor swallowed and didn't reply.

  Reed shot her a questioning look. "Are you moving because of your memories of Steph, or because of your memories of Gordon?"

  That one she could answer frankly. "Both. And because it makes sense to. This apartment has a lot more space than I need. I'm moving to a one-bedroom place a couple of blocks over." A hint of a smile curved her lips. "It's closer to the park."

  "Ah." Reed grinned back. "So my powers of deduction are pretty good, after all."

  "I guess they are." There was a moment of something—camaraderie mixed with a spark of sensual awareness—that shimmered to life, hung between them.

  The attraction didn't come as a shock. Taylor had felt it brewing. But it was the last thing she was ready to handle.

  Determinedly, she nipped it in the bud, taking a deliberate step around Reed. She led him into the hall

  and handed him his coat.

  "When's the big move?" he asked, shrugging the coat on. "My lease starts March first. So I have five or six weeks."

  "Good." He paused, gazing into the living room with a discerning eye. "That gives us plenty of time. For what I have in mind, we'll need a big, uncluttered room like that one."

  Taylor blinked. "Excuse me? What is it you have in mind?" A hint of amusement flickered in his midnight eyes, but when he spoke, his tone was dead serious, and there was no mistaking the determined set of his jaw. "Making you feel less vulnerable. Ensuring that you're less on edge when you're alone with a man."

  His insight surprised her. She was very good at keeping her feelings to herself. Still, he'd picked up on them. Interesting. More to the point, she was curious about where he was going with this.

  "Okay, I'll bite. How do you intend to work this magic?" He didn't miss a beat. "By giving you self-defense lessons. Pick your night. We start next week."

  CHAPTER 8

  JANUARY 28

  10:33 A.M.

  HARTER, RANDOLPH & COLLINS

  Reed glanced down at Taylor's signature on the contract, then put aside the document. He rose from behind his desk, walking over to stare out the office window.

  She was really something, that Taylor Halstead. Beautiful, sensitive, and carrying the weight of the world on her shoulders. It didn't take a shrink to figure out that she blamed herself for her cousin's death. Or that she was still totally freaked out when she was alone in her apartment with a man.

  Reed, couldn't help her with the guilt, but he sure as hell could help her with the fear. He wanted to help. There was something about her—a soft, lonely quality beneath a poised, self-reliant, upper-crust facade— that intrigued him. Poor little rich girls weren't usually his type. But this one was different. She was complex. There was a whole lot more to Taylor Halstead than met the eye.

  And, yeah, he was attracted to her. Very attracted. She was all Jonathan had described and more. She was principled and passionate. He could sense it.

  Jonathan probably sensed it, too. Clearly, he was also captivated by her. He was going to be royally pissed when he found out about the self-defense lessons Reed had arranged to give her. Well, tough. Reed didn't owe Jonathan a damned thing. He'd given him too much already.

  At college, they'd rowed crew together, taken business law the same semester, and hit a lot of the same weekend parties, where they drank warm beer and pursued hot girls. But their personalities never really meshed. So while circumstances had triggered a longer-term, more complex association than Reed had ever anticipated, that association, since graduation, had been all business.

  Idly, Reed watched a few taxis zip up Park Avenue, followed by a long black limo that pulled over and stopped in front of the building. No doubt the car belonged to Douglas Berkley. He and Jonathan were due here for an update meeting. Reed would fill them in on where things stood, and show them the

  signed contract.

  Overall, they'd be pleased with the outcome. They'd be less pleased with the reasons behind Taylor's reluctance to sign. But they'd get over it.

  That was the problem. Not just with them, but with most of the clients Reed represented. They were so desensitized, so self-absorbed, that right versus wrong took second place to innocent versus guilty. And innocent didn't mean what it used to. It meant getting a verdict of not guilty, whether or not the

  defendant had actually committed the crime.

  He'd gone into this profession hungry, young, and naive, but not stupid. He'd been the first in his family to make it beyond County College, much less to Princeton and then to Harvard Law. Meeting Jonathan Mallory had changed his life. Then again, he didn't know who Jonathan was, not at the time. Not until Jonathan was knee-deep in hot water, got drunk as a skunk, and told Reed his real relationship to

  Douglas Berkley. Reed was stunned, but he hadn't had time to dwell on it. He'd been too busy saving Jonathan's ass. As it turned out, he'd had to save it twice.

  There'd been no strings attached. Still, Reed's actions had paid off— big. A recommendation from Douglas had placed him head and shoulders above the other equally brilliant Harvard Law grads competing for an opportunity. He'd seized his chance with both hands, walking through the doors of this prestigious firm determined to realize the future he'd busted his tail for. He could make it work, without compromising the values he'd been brought up to believe in. He was sure of it. He'd represent high-powered, influential people—and he'd do it ethically, in a way in which he could live with himself and make his family proud.

  So much for that fairy-tale crap.

  Ten years into the profession, he sometimes wondered if he himself could separate truth from lies, or

  if he was as desensitized as his clients.

  The pressure to win, the pumping adrenaline that took over in the courtroom, the dangling carrot of a partnership—it had all but eclipsed the man he'd once been.

  Well, no more.

  Reed had had it. He wanted out.

  Not out of the legal profession. Out of the win-at-all-costs callousness that defined the high-stakes

  world of Harter, Randolph & Collins.

  He wanted to open his own practice, one that was small and selective. He'd accumulated more than enough money and contacts to do it. His goal was to represent clients he felt a connection to rather than those who were well connected. It would be a general, not a criminal defense, practice. That way, he could build relationships with his clients. And the diversity would be refreshing after so many years of specializing in criminal law. As for teaming up with other attorneys, either as partners or as counsel to

  the firm, he had a few names in mind, lawyers whose skills would complement his and broaden the

  firm's credibility and expertise. He'd pursue those people when the time was right.

  But first he had to approach the powers that be at Harter, Randolph & Collins. He owed them that. Particularly Harter, his mentor, to whom he'd confided his growing ambivalance and thoughts of leaving. It wasn't going to be fun. Plus, once he
opened this can of worms, there was no turning back.

  A knock on the door brought Reed's thoughts back to the present, and he turned. "Come in."

  "Hello, Reed." Douglas Berkley preceded Jonathan into the room, his presence as commanding as it had been a dozen years ago. He was a business giant.

  "Douglas. Jonathan." Reed moved forward to shake their hands— Douglas's first, then Jonathan's.

  "Have a seat." He gestured at the chairs facing his desk. "Can I offer you something?"

  "We're fine." Douglas was ready to get started, his elbow propped on the chair arm as he regarded Reed intently. "Jonathan tells me you handled the situation?"

  Reed nodded. "Sorry I sounded so cryptic," he said to Jonathan. "But I wanted to finalize things before

  I got into all the specifics."

  Jonathan leaned forward, gripping his knees. "I wasn't offended. I was curious. What happened?"

  Lowering himself into his chair, Reed took the signed contract, slid it across the desk for them to see. "She signed."

  Douglas released a sigh of relief. "Excellent. That's everyone. Now we can finally put this behind us."

  A quizzical look. "You wrote the check from the escrow account?"

  "It's done. I messengered it over to Joseph. Taylor Halstead plans to sign it over to an organization that her cousin Stephanie supported."

  "That's no surprise," Douglas said with a shrug.

  "Reed." Jonathan's mind was exactly where Reed knew it would be. "Let's get back to Taylor Halstead. Obviously, you talked her into signing. Did she tell you why she was holding back, and why she lost it when she saw me?"

  "Yes." Reed rolled a pen between his fingers. "To begin with, she had a pretty low opinion of Gordon—and a good idea that he was ripping off his investors."

  Douglas's eyes narrowed. "Does she have evidence?"

  "No." Reed shook his head. "She knows you're making good on the losses. And Gordon's dead. She's

  not interested in delving any deeper into his actions, believe me."

  "Good."

  "And the rest?" Jonathan pressed.

  Reed tossed down the pen, stared straight at them. "It seems on that last night, Gordon stopped by the apartment Taylor shared with her cousin. Stephanie wasn't there. Taylor was. Gordon assaulted her."

  "Goddammit." Douglas turned away, rubbing the back of his neck in obvious revulsion.

  "He raped her?" Jonathan's expression didn't change.

  "Fortunately not. Stephanie came home and buzzed from the lobby. Gordon took off with her for the heliport. He left Taylor handcuffed to the bed and unconscious."

  "This gets more sickening by the minute." Douglas rose, walking over to pour himself some water.

  "How bad were her injuries?"

  Reed eyed his client frankly. "I don't know. She wasn't eager to supply details. I do know she reported the assault, but the investigation was dropped after the boat explosion."

  "So the cops know about this."

  "There's a police record, yeah." Just as he'd anticipated, Reed could feel himself getting pissed off.

  Never mind that a woman had been assaulted. Protect the family name, and the business.

  As always, he kept his personal feelings hidden. "Douglas, I wouldn't worry about it. Taylor's complaint

  is in a file marked 'closed' somewhere at the police precinct. There's no chance the story's going to end

  up in Newsweek."

  Douglas didn't reply. He just stared into his glass.

  "Did Taylor tell you that?" Jonathan asked.

  "She told me she wanted to put what happened behind her. She has no grievances with either of you.

  So the contract is signed and you can move forward on dissolving the partnership. Problem solved."

  "This time." Douglas gulped down the rest of his water, then set down his glass with a thud. "I'm sure Gordon has left other surprises for us. I gave that boy every advantage I could. It still wasn't enough."

  Reed chose his words carefully. "There are other factors involved in forming character, Douglas. Some are within your control. Others aren't."

  Douglas shot him a look. "You think I should have gone public right away? Why? Do you think announcing to the world that Gordon and Jonathan are my sons would have changed the outcome?"

  "Sure it would have," Jonathan muttered. "Adrienne would have walked out on you years ago."

  "That's not the point," Douglas countered. "Not in this case. I'm asking Reed if he thinks Gordon would have turned out differently if I'd publicly acknowledged him."

  "I don't know," Reed replied truthfully. "What I meant was that sometimes people are born with

  character flaws that can't be blamed on their parents."

  "Yeah. Biology, environment, and the luck of the draw." Jonathan's tone was flat. "In any case, let's not ask for trouble. Reed fixed things. Let's move on." He leaned back, hands folded in his lap. "How long were you with Taylor?"

  Reed shrugged. "An hour or so. We had a cup of coffee."

  "At Starbucks?"

  "At her apartment."

  "Really." A flicker of annoyance. "That must have been relaxing."

  "It wasn't." Reed grabbed the bull by the horns. "Thanks to Gordon, Taylor's a nervous wreck in her

  own home. I'm going back to give her some self-defense lessons."

  A few seconds of silence ticked by.

  Then Jonathan cleared his throat. "Whose idea was that?"

  "Mine. But Taylor was all for it."

  "It's a good, idea." Douglas jumped in, giving Reed an approving nod. "It'll build goodwill, and leave a

  hell of a better taste in her mouth when it comes to my family than the one Gordon left."

  "I agree." Reed was looking at Douglas, but he was speaking to Jonathan. "Even though it's been a few months, her emotions are still very raw. Any reminder of Gordon is bad news."

  "I can imagine." Douglas's lips thinned into a grim line. "Do whatever you have to to win her over."

  This time Reed looked straight at Jonathan, his message loud, clear, and unmistakable. "I intend to."

  11:50 A.M.

  Reed sat quietly at his desk after Douglas and Jonathan had left. Jonathan was pissed. But it was Douglas's reaction that Reed couldn't shake. Win her over. Make Gordon's actions a distant memory. Keep the goodwill flowing so this woman doesn't represent a potential fly in the ointment.

  Reed had had all he could stomach.

  Leaning forward, he pressed his secretary's intercom button.

  "Yes, Mr. Weston?" she replied.

  "Cathy, find out if either Mr. Randolph or Mr. Collins are free. I need to speak with them. It's important."

  "Yes, sir."

  Three minutes later, she buzzed him back. "Mr. Randolph is in his office. He'll see you now. Mr. Collins is on his way back from court. He'll join you when he arrives."

  "Thanks."

  Reed shoved back his chair and stood up. Time to do what he'd been putting off doing for far too long.

  He felt better already.

  CHAPTER 9

  FEBRUARY 1

  4:25 P.M.

  GREEN VALLEY CEMETERY

  WESTCHESTER COUNTY, NEW YORK

  Taylor parked her car in the designated area closest to the private cluster of trees that marked the Halstead family plot. She still had a healthy trek to Steph's grave. But she didn't mind. The walk

  would give her time to compose herself.

  She hated coming here, staring at the spartan headstone that was carved with Steph's name, her all-too-brief twenty-seven-year life span, and the requisite phrase: "beloved daughter." It said so little about who Steph was, her life and her death.

  But today was special. And Taylor felt compelled to commemorate it.

  She gathered up the gift she'd brought, slammed her car door, and began to walk.

  The sun was hovering on the horizon, a fiery ball in the western sky, as Taylor made her way across

  the frozen ground, the
grass still covered with patches of snow from a storm earlier this week. She pulled her coat closer around her. The temperature was dropping. But Taylor had purposely chosen this time to drive up here. She wanted to be alone.

  Quiet permeated the cemetery grounds as she reached her destination. As always, her heart gave a tight twist when she reached the grave. This was the hardest part. A final resting place where Steph wasn't resting. Her body had been blown to bits. Buried here was just an expensive mahogany casket purchased by Frederick and Candace Halstead, symbolically filled by Taylor. The wildly expensive, funky watch Steph had wanted for months and Taylor had bought her when she got into Tisch. The stuffed panda bear Steph had slept with at boarding school and that still sat on her bed. The frayed copy of Pippi Longstocking she'd kept on her bookshelf. Ticket stubs from two of her favorite Broadway shows.