Scooping up his coat, Reed left the apartment. He spent a good couple of minutes making sure the front door was securely locked. Confident that it was, he took the stairway down to the lobby. He turned up his collar, nodding at the doorman before stepping outside.

He flipped open his cell phone as he walked to the parking lot. The message had to be left. It would precipitate a very unpleasant meeting. But there wasn't any other choice.

Reed left a succinct voice mail, then snapped the phone shut.

He'd have his answers soon enough.

CHAPTER 12.

FEBRUARY 4.

12:30 P.M.

MONTEBELLO RESTAURANT.

120 EAST FIFTY-SIXTH STREET, NEW YORK CITY.

The lunch crowd was already in full swing when Jonathan Mallory walked in. He brushed the snowflakes off his cashmere overcoat, then shrugged out of it, handing it to the coat-check girl and taking his ticket. Glancing around, he waited for the maitre d' to seat him.

A minute later he was escorted to his table.

Reed was already there. He looked up from the menu when Jonathan approached. "Glad you could make it on such short notice."

"I got the distinct feeling I didn't have a choice." Jonathan settled himself in his chair, taking the menu and waiting until he and Reed were alone before continuing. "Your message sounded more like a subpoena than an invitation to lunch. You announced you needed to see me ASAP. You told me where and when, but not why. And your voice mail was left at one-ten a.m. Very ominous. So, tell me, did my dead brother put Douglas in the hot seat again?"

Reed didn't answer right away. He was studying Jonathan, checking out the subtle signs of apprehension. Jonathan's tone was flippant, and his expression was merely inquisitive, but there was a fine tension emanating from him that Reed could feel. The question was, why?

"Let's order," Reed suggested as the waiter approached the table. "Then we can talk without being interrupted."

"Okay, Reed," Jonathan said as soon as the waiter had brought over his Scotch and Reed's sparkling water, and left the table with their lunch order. "It's obvious that this time Gordon's mess is a big one.

So let's get into the specifics and figure out how to make it go away."

"It's not that cut-and-dried." Reed took a deep swallow of water. "This particular mess concerns more than just Gordon. It concerns Taylor Halstead and what Gordon did to her."

"Taylor Halstead." There was a definite edge to Jonathan's tone. "That's a name I didn't expect to hear.

I had no idea you'd been in touch with her again since that meeting a few weeks ago."

"Yes, you did. Remember? I told you and Douglas I was giving her self-defense lessons."

"Right. I'd forgotten."

Sure you had, Reed thought, watching the muscle work in Jonathan's jaw. "Anyway, Taylor and I are seeing each other. She's opened up to me. She shared some additional, disturbing details about Gordon's a.s.sault--and afterward. There are implications that I need to bring to your attention."

Vigorously, Jonathan ripped off a piece of bread. "Seeing each other," he repeated, his words clipped.

If that didn't speak volumes, nothing did.

As if realizing how transparent he was being, Jonathan turned his attention to b.u.t.tering his bread. "Are you saying the two of you are dating?" he inquired casually, in an effort to downplay his interest in Reed's private life.

Reed wasn't buying it for a minute.

"That's what I'm saying," he confirmed. "And don't tell me it comes as a surprise. We both know otherwise."

Jonathan's chin came up, and there was a wary look in his eyes. "Why do you say that?"

Reed paused just long enough to make him squirm. "Because you got my message loud and clear that day in my office. You knew I intended to pursue Taylor."

"Right. The day you announced I was out of the running because I was physically indistinguishable from Gordon." Despite the biting quality of Jonathan's words, there was also an unmistakable flash of relief in his eyes. Had he thought Reed was referring to another, more direct reason for his knowing Reed was seeing Taylor? Like maybe because he'd watched him come or go from her apartment?

"As luck would have it, the attraction is mutual," Reed continued, purposely provoking Jonathan in the hopes of eliciting a reaction. "Actually, attraction is an understatement. It's more than that. Even though it's new, it's already pretty intense."

He knew he was pushing it. But he got the reaction he sought.

Jonathan put down his knife with a thud. "Congratulations. You're charming Taylor Halstead into bed. Terrific. Wonderful. Let's get back to the subject at hand. What did she tell you about Gordon?"

Reed leaned forward. "It bothers you that Taylor and I are involved."

"Why would it?"

"Because you have a thing for her. It was pretty obvious from the way you described her that first time in my office, the way you looked at her in the lobby, and the way you're looking at me right now."

One of Jonathan's brows rose. "How observant of you. Is that why you went after her?"

"You know me better than that." Reed didn't like what he was seeing and hearing. Or what he was feeling. "I don't play games. But I'm also not blind. You want Taylor. You're not getting her. So where does that leave you--lying in wait or moving on?"

There was a moment of dead silence.

"What exactly are you getting at?" Jonathan asked at last.

"It's a straightforward question. Are you cutting your losses, or holding out for the impossible?"

Anger tightened Jonathan's features. "Let me understand this correctly. Did you arrange this impromptu lunch so you could order me to back off of Taylor--a woman I've met exactly once? Or do we actually have some business to discuss?"

"Both." Time to slap his cards on the table. "We go back a long way, Jonathan. I know you. I know your family and your history. So I'll be blunt. Gordon was over the edge. His attack on Taylor wasn't spontaneous. It was planned, and it was twisted. What I need to figure out is, was it obsessive? You see, the hara.s.sment continued beyond that one night. But did it also go beyond one man? Gordon--or someone--was playing mind games with Taylor, scaring her. Fixating on her, keeping tabs on her, sending creepy love notes via e-mail--you know the scenario. You know because you've been there.

The question is, are you giving a repeat performance?"

A red flush shot up Jonathan's neck. "You son of a b.i.t.c.h. I can't believe you're bringing this up after all these years. Did you share these sordid details with Taylor--just to make doubly sure she'll always be freaked out by me ?"

"I didn't say a word. I went right to the source--you." Reed wasn't going to be deterred by Jonathan's anger. He was going to use it to his advantage. "Now answer my question. Are you, or are you not, back to your old habits of obsessing over a woman to the point of hara.s.sment?"

Slowly, Jonathan sucked in his breath. "You're talking about something that happened a dozen years ago."

"It didn't happen once. It happened twice. First in college. Again in grad school. The second time you nearly got your a.s.s thrown in jail."

"And you rescued me with your charming intervention and your brilliant legal mind. Bravo. I've more than paid you back. Douglas's grat.i.tude was your golden goose. He got you in the door at Harter, Randolph and Collins. You're rich. You're respected. And you're probably going to make partner any day now. Is this how you thank me?"

Reed's eyes glittered. "I don't owe you thanks. I came up with a strategy that worked. It kept both women from filing charges. As for why I did it, I did it because I truly believed you were innocent--except for an oversize ego and an arrogant belief that you could have anything, and anyone, you wanted. I never worried about those women's safety. I was well aware that your main weakness was your thinking women were in love with you when that was not the truth. Is that still the case?"

Jonathan looked furious. He swallowed, hard, and when he spoke, his voice cut like shards of ice. "I'm thirty-five. I'm smart. I'm ambitious. I'm a respected international trade consultant who makes seven figures. As my lawyer, you know I'm on the verge of a.s.suming a senior management role at Berkley and Company. Do you honestly believe I'd jeopardize all that by stalking some woman--no matter how desirable? I'd have neither the motivation nor the time. So, no, I'm not sending love notes to your girlfriend. Does that satisfy you?"

Reed stared him down. "I suppose it'll have to."

"Yeah. It will." Jonathan tossed aside his napkin and stood up. "I'm heading back to the office. I've lost my appet.i.te." He paused. "And, in case your pa.s.sion-drugged mind suffers a temporary lapse while you and Taylor are in bed, let me remind you of your ethical responsibilities. There'll be no mention of my past misconduct. Trust me, it wouldn't do much for your professional future."

Reed watched Jonathan stalk out of the restaurant, his implicit threat still hanging in the air. It hadn't come as any shock. Nor did it evoke any personal concern on Reed's part. Jonathan would never go to the senior partners at Harter, Randolph & Collins, not with this one. It would mean opening up Pandora's box and revealing his past--a past he'd worked too hard to seal.

And if he did go? Let him.

There were more important aspects of this little confrontation with Jonathan to think about.

His outrage had been a no-brainer. Guilty or innocent, it was the natural response to Reed's interrogation. As for his denial, it did have a ring of truth to it.

The problem was, there were incongruities. Jonathan's body language, for one thing. It told Reed that Jonathan was more than p.i.s.sed. He was scared.

But there was more that didn't sit right.

For example, he was worried that Jonathan's romantic fascination with Taylor was irrational. The way he'd shredded his bread; his clipped comments. He still wasn't ready to let it go, no matter how much he pretended otherwise. His whole blase att.i.tude was a facade. He wanted her-- bad. Further, his interest in what new and damaging information Reed had on Gordon was lukewarm, at best. He'd walked out of the restaurant without pumping Reed for a single detail, without demanding to know what specifics Taylor had divulged, and how those specifics might impact Douglas.

For a man who was about to become an officer in his father's company, that seemed surprisingly lax.

And Jonathan was never lax.

Reed frowned, recalling the only two times he'd seen Jonathan behave in this unfocused, uncharacteristic, and self-destructive way.

Both times involved striking redheads with whom Jonathan became infatuated. Neither reciprocated.

Both times Jonathan had become obsessive and stepped over the line.

Both times Reed had intervened, earning Douglas's grat.i.tude.

Since then, nothing.

Until now. Maybe.

Reed frowned, pushing aside his plate. Everything Jonathan had said today was true. He'd have to be out of his mind to do this again. He'd be jeopardizing his entire future--a future that was on a major upswing.

But the pattern was there. So was the profile. Taylor had the same breeding as the other two girls, the same understated beauty and cla.s.s, even the same coloring. And Jonathan wanted her.

Plus, she felt like she was being watched.

Was Jonathan the one watching her? Reed still wasn't sure. Nor was he sure if today's confrontation had made things better or worse. If Jonathan was fixated on Taylor, if he was the one who had sent those e-cards and was following her around, would he now back off, or stick even closer to her, knowing that she and Reed were involved?

With a quick glance at his watch, Reed realized it was almost a quarter of two. He signaled for the check and pulled out his credit card. He'd head back to the office, check his messages, then give Taylor a call. Better yet, he'd go see her. Maybe he'd even meet her at Dellinger Academy, provide her with a personal escort home.

Fine, so he couldn't discuss his concerns about Jonathan with her.

That didn't mean he couldn't ease his mind by playing bodyguard.

CHAPTER 13.

2:45 P.M.

DELLINGER ACADEMY.

Taylor slung her tote bag over her shoulder and left her office, locking the door behind her. The school was still humming with activity as the sports teams gathered for practice and the various clubs convened for their weekly meetings.

There was something very comforting about Dellinger, she mused as she made her way through the halls. It was an atmosphere she'd always felt good in, but lately it had been like a soothing balm, given the difficulty of the past months. If she had to define its essence, she'd say it was a combination of the simplicity and hopefulness of youth mixed with the security of going through a stable, safe routine.

This afternoon, she'd probably have hung around awhile to watch the practices. But she'd barely eaten all day. She had to grab something since she'd promised Kevin she'd be in early tonight for their guest. Besides, showing up in the gym to demonstrate her support for Dellinger's athletic programs wasn't too great an idea. She'd inevitably run into Chris Young. She wasn't too keen on that prospect. The fewer chances she gave him to make a bad situation worse, the better.

She'd paused in the corridor to fish in her bag for a mint when an unwelcome voice from the blue resonated behind her.

"h.e.l.lo, Taylor."

Tensing, she whirled around, coming face-to-face with Jonathan Mallory.

She didn't want to give a repeat performance of the last time. But seeing him here, in her school, on her turf . . .

"What are you doing here?" she asked sharply.

If he picked up on how alarmed she was to see him, he didn't let on. He shoved his hands in his pockets, his expression nondescript, his dark eyes veiled. "One of my clients has a daughter who's a student here. She's a member of the Young Business Leaders of America Club. They asked me to come in and speak to them about international trade. So here I am." His lips curved ever so slightly. "Why don't you join us? I'm sure you'd find it fascinating. And afterward, we could grab a cup of coffee and talk. And, by the way," he added in a low, pointed tone, "I'm nothing like my brother."

All Taylor wanted to do was run away as fast as she could. Jonathan Mallory might be nothing like his brother, but he gave her the creeps.

"I'm sure you're very much your own person," she managed, the words tasting like sawdust. "And it's very generous of you to take time out of your workday to talk to the kids in YBLA. Which student is your client's daughter?"

"Dana Coleman." He looked distinctly pleased that she was talking civilly to him. And those eyes--he looked so much like Gordon that Taylor felt her skin crawl.

"Dana, yes." If she didn't get away from him, she was going to lose it. "She's a bright girl."

"Not a surprise. Her parents are both Yale grads." Jonathan gestured toward the cla.s.sroom he'd be speaking in. "So what do you say? Care to join our meeting, and then grab some coffee?"

"I can't." Taylor saw him start and realized how abrupt she'd sounded. She drew a calming breath, and took it down a notch. "The meeting sounds great. The problem is, I haven't eaten all day and, at this point, I'm feeling light-headed." That wasn't a lie. "I was just heading out to buy myself a sandwich."

"Even better." He gave her a slow smile--Gordon's smile. "Before the meeting gets under way, I'll send out for some pizzas. If I remember correctly, teenagers and pizza are like bears and honey. The kids can chow down, and you can replenish your strength. Afterward, we can get that cup of coffee."

He put his hand on her arm.

Instinctively, Taylor recoiled, tugging her arm away. "No."

She was referring to the date and the physical contact. She knew it, and Jonathan knew it. She could tell by his scowl.

But he wasn't going to give up. She could see it in the hard set of his jaw.