"I told him so myself. Flat out, no holds barred."

Douglas angled his head toward Reed, hearing the underlying message loud and clear. "In other words, Taylor Halstead's involved with you."

"Right. And I was with her last night when that phone call came. She's a strong woman, Douglas. But she's about to crumple. I don't intend to let that happen."

"I see. Are you telling me there's a conflict of interest here? That you can't represent Jonathan?"

"Only if he's the one hara.s.sing Taylor. You have to find out the truth. Even if I'm out of the equation, this could get ugly. Taylor's a media personality. Her family's well connected. And Joseph Lehar is an excellent attorney. He'll be all over this in a New York minute. I don't need to tell you the scandal that would erupt, not to mention the legal ramifications. The timing couldn't be worse. You're about to launch Jonathan right into the corporate spotlight, publicly claiming him as your son and heir after all these years, and handing him the future reins to a multimillion-dollar company. I strongly suggest you get to the bottom of this potential time bomb ASAP. That way, with or without me, you can do damage control--if it's necessary."

Douglas swore softly, loosening his tie. "How much background have you supplied Taylor Halstead with?"

"You know me better than that. All I told her was that Jonathan's interested in her. But that was enough to scare her. What happened with Gordon is very fresh. And Jonathan is his twin--his identical twin."

"Not that identical."

"Not to you or to people who know them both well. But Taylor doesn't fall into that category."

"I understand." Douglas polished off his water and set down the gla.s.s with a thud. "It looks like Jonathan and I will be having quite a talk at dinner." He pursed his lips, a speculative expression flickering across his face. "When he called last night, he said he had one sticky matter to run by me. Maybe he plans on telling me himself."

"Maybe. But that's not exactly heartening. He ran to you both previous times as well." Reed waved away Douglas's reply. "Look, Douglas, I want him to be innocent, too. Let's leave it at that. Get back to me with whatever I should know."

"I will."

Reed cleared his throat. "Did you straighten everything out with Adrienne? Is she okay with what you've decided?"

Another frown. "As okay as she'll ever be. Look, she's not a big fan of Jonathan's. That doesn't come as a surprise, given the circ.u.mstances of his birth. And those two near disasters he got himself into in college and grad school didn't exactly endear him to her. But all that's irrelevant. Adrienne knows why I'm grooming Jonathan to take over Berkley and Company."

"He's your son."

"Yes. And Berkley and Company is my legacy. When it comes to my business, Adrienne is well aware that I have the final word. But she's also aware of Jonathan's capabilities, and of what a superb job he'll do. She likes her lifestyle, her wealth, and her social status. She won't jeopardize those, not for any reason. So whatever reservations she's harboring, she'll get over them. Especially since she knows d.a.m.ned well that in the event of my death, my entire estate--company and all--goes to her. Half the stock's already in her name. She watches the profits and projections like a hawk. Believe me, she'll always keep a close eye on things--including Jonathan."

"I wasn't worried about Adrienne's future," Reed returned dryly. "She's a smart woman. She'll look out for her interests. I was just hoping her relationship with Jonathan was going a little more smoothly."

"They're civil to each other. They'll never be more."

"No, I'd imagine not." Reed swallowed some of his coffee. "Will she accompany you next week for the execution of the doc.u.ments?"

"The day after. My plan is to sign the papers, make the announcement, and then introduce Jonathan around on Tuesday. That night, he and I will have dinner with the company VPs. On Wednesday, my driver will bring Adrienne into Manhattan. She can shop, visit the Met, or catch a Broadway matinee, whatever she wants. After that, she and I are hosting a small, private celebration at Le Cirque in honor of Jonathan."

Douglas blew out his breath. "I was going to ask you to join us. I guess that's out. Unless, by then, you're convinced that Jonathan's not involved in this... this... mess."

"Thanks, Douglas, but it's probably a bad idea anyway. Jonathan's furious at me right now. He might have been drunk, but he meant what he said. He fully expects Taylor and me to be over. That's not going to happen. So I'll avoid a potential scene by offering him my congratulations Tuesday morning, and let that be that."

Douglas nodded, although not happily. "I suppose that's wise." He rubbed the back of his neck. "I did a great job of s.c.r.e.w.i.n.g up as a father, didn't I?" He glanced at Reed, obviously expecting some kind of answer.

Reed gave as honest a reply as he could. "First of all, I'm in no position to judge, not being a father myself. Second, it's really none of my business. And third ..." Reed paused. "Look, Douglas, you did what you did. You gave Gordon and Jonathan every material advantage. And with their mother dying right after they left for college and Adrienne feeling the way she did ... let's just say you had obstacles."

"Obstacles. That's a nice way of putting it. Well, I just hope those obstacles don't come back to haunt me--again--this time with the one decent shot I've got of carrying on my name and my company."

He headed for the door. "I'll keep you posted."

2:35 P.M.

DELLINGER ACADEMY.

Ten minutes till school was out. Then it would be time to go home.

Home. The last place Taylor wanted to be.

She sat at her desk, doodling on a piece of paper, her mind plagued by the same questions that had preoccupied her every spare moment of the day.

Who was hara.s.sing her--watching her, waiting for her, calling her in the middle of the night? Was it or wasn't it Jonathan Mallory? And if it was, how deep did his obsession run? Had he, not Gordon, sent her those creepy e-cards? Where did one twin end and the other begin? And how far would Jonathan go to get what he wanted?

She kept returning to the matter of the e-cards. At first, she'd concluded that it was highly unlikely that Jonathan had sent them. After all, at the time they'd arrived, she'd never even met the man.

But then she'd realized that he'd met her. Figuratively, at least. He'd been listening to her radio show for quite some time. And if he was truly a delusional personality, he could build all kinds of fantasies from the supposed connection he'd established with her during those listening sessions.

Then again, so could dozens of other people.

G.o.d, she was losing her grip.

She reached across her desk, starting to gather up the papers she needed to bring home tonight. It was time to pack up and call it a day.

Leaning down, she reached for her leather tote bag and placed it on the desk in front of her. Between her busy day and her unsettled state of mind, she'd never even extracted yesterday's paperwork. It was still in there, waiting to be retrieved and refiled. Annoyed at herself, she tugged out the papers, pushing back her chair as she did so.

A rectangular white gift box tumbled out of her tote bag and onto her desk. It was the kind that held jewelry--small, flat, and tied with a thin gold elastic cord.

Taylor stopped dead in her tracks. She stared at the box as if it were a foreign object.

She'd never seen it before. Not only wasn't it hers, it hadn't been in her tote bag last night, or early this morning when she'd rummaged through looking for a pen. So unless Reed had slipped it in before she left her apartment... No. Surprises weren't Reed's style. Especially not now, when anything out of the ordinary made her jump.

So what was it and who'd put it there?

She picked up the box, her fingers trembling as she sought the first part of her answer.

The cord slipped off, and Taylor worked the lid free.

Inside, on a bed of cotton, lay a necklace--a simple gold chain with a single gemstone dangling from it.

The stone was a bloodred ruby in the shape of a teardrop.

Nestled as it was on the snowy cotton, the contrast between crimson and white was as starkly chilling as the e-card she'd received on New Year's Day. And the symbolic impact was irrefutable. Her blood. Her tear. Wrapped around her throat. A gift and a threat all in one.

A card jutted up from the inside edge of the box.

A dark sense of foreboding gripped her.

She yanked out the card. It had no envelope, and the terse message on it was typed and without a signature.

A tribute to your beauty. A reminder that you're mine. Wear it for me. I'll be watching.

With a cry of distress, Taylor sank down into her chair, dropping the card and the box as if they'd burned her hands. She covered her face with her hands. "No," she whispered aloud, trembling from head to toe. "Please, please, no."

He'd put it there. In her tote bag. With her personal things. He'd been standing right next to her, possibly even touched her, somewhere between home and school. Maybe on a street corner as she waited for a traffic light to change. Or maybe when she'd stopped to pick up the morning paper. Or just outside the school. Or ...

Stop it, Taylor. Stop it!

"Who's that from?"

Chris Young's voice permeated her panic.

Numbly, she raised her head and gazed at him. "What?"

"That necklace. Who gave it to you--the big-bucks economics guy or the hot Mr. Corporate?"

Taylor was having a hard time grasping Chris's words.

"They've both got the cash," Chris continued flatly. "Judging from how unhappy you look, I'd guess it was Econ Man who sent it. If it was Corporate Hottie, you'd be flying. You've got it bad for him."

Finally, Chris's meaning sank in. He was talking about Jonathan and Reed.

"How would you know . . . ?"

He stared her down. "I'm sizing up the compet.i.tion. And, if you ask me, they don't measure up. If you know what I mean," he added crudely.

"Chris ..." Taylor was about to snap. "When did you see--"

"I see everything, Ms. Halstead. That's what I'm best at. Watching you." He winked. "Graduation's right around the corner. After that, I'll show you what you're missing."

"Watching me?" Taylor managed.

"Like a hawk."

His choice of words was more than Taylor could take.

She flung the card and box in her tote bag, shoved by Chris, and flew out of her office.

Five minutes later, she stood on the school steps and glanced around-- casually, the way Mitch Garvey had instructed her to. It wasn't easy to look blase, not after what had just happened. But she'd made a quick stop at the ladies' room, where she'd thrown some cold water on her face, and regained her composure.

To her relief, he was there. Broad-shouldered and muscular, in his early thirties, and dressed in street clothes, he was standing by the sidewalk, scanning a newspaper.

He caught her eye and tipped his head slightly in her direction, then waited until she went back into the school before folding the newspaper and making his way inside the lobby and over to the private alcove where they'd arranged to meet.

"Hi, Ms. Halstead." He extended his hand. "I'm here, as requested."

This whole exchange felt surreal. Yet, here she was, turning to this guy as if he were a life preserver. Which, right now, he was.

She shook his hand. "Thanks, Mr. Garvey. I can't tell you how much I appreciate your showing up on such short notice. I thought I'd have more time before I needed . . . Actually I was hoping I'd never need the kind of protection we discussed. As it turns out, I can't tell you how relieved I am that you're here."

He scrutinized her with a practiced eye. "Something happened."

The trembling started again. "Yes, it did. I found a box in my tote bag. There was a necklace inside.

With a note. They're from him."

"You're sure?"

"Yes." She yanked out both things and thrust them at him. She couldn't get rid of them fast enough. "Here."

The PI reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a Ziploc. "Drop them in here."

Fingerprints. Of course. Taylor hadn't even thought of that.

"I'll check out the necklace, the box, and the card," he a.s.sured her, pocketing the plastic bag. "Just tell me this. When did you discover them?"

"Ten minutes ago."

"And, before that, when was the last time you checked your tote?"

"This morning. Before I left my apartment."

He pursed his lips. "So the gift got there either at school, or en route to school."

"At school?" Taylor turned white. "That never occurred to me. Are you saying you think he walked in here and--"

"No." Garvey gave a hard shake of his head. "That would be too risky. I think it's more likely he mingled with the morning commuters and dropped it in your bag at some street corner."

"Unless he's one of my students," she murmured, half to herself. "Then he'd already be at Dellinger."

The PI's brows rose. "You've got someone in mind?"

"Yes. No. I don't know." She told him about Chris Young, and the history between them.

"I'll check it out," Garvey said. "Although Chris Young would have to be pretty cagey to pull something like this off. Still, it'll be easy enough to verify."

"You don't really think it's him," Taylor deduced.

"I think we should investigate every possible lead. But, no, I don't think Chris Young fits the profile."

"G.o.d, this is unbearable." Taylor feathered an unsteady hand through her hair, then shot Garvey an apologetic look. "I'm sorry."

"It's completely understandable." He spoke quietly, and with an air of authority that Taylor found very rea.s.suring. "Let's start over. First of all, call me Mitch. It's more natural-sounding. That way, if we're ever seen together, we can easily slip into the pretense of being casual friends or colleagues. Second, don't apologize for the urgency of your timing. I'm used to jumping into the thick of things on a moment's notice. And third, Rob referred you. That gives you priority status."

Taylor managed a smile. "So you and Rob Weston worked together for a couple of years?"

"Yup. Out in San Francisco. Rob had just made detective. I was heading up the same path. He's a d.a.m.ned fine cop. So am I. He just follows rules better than I do. So he's on the force and I'm on my own." Mitch's easygoing manner faded, and he became 100 percent PI. "Let's review the rules."