"All right."

"Keep your door locked. Don't get swallowed up in crowds. But don't go anywhere deserted either.

That goes double after dark. Don't change your destination without letting me know in advance. Other than that, go about your life. Don't act weird. When you're out and about, don't glance around to see if I'm there. I will be. But we don't want to clue whoever's watching you in to that fact. You have my cell number and my pager number. Any sign of trouble, use them. I'll touch base with you every day. Okay?"

"Okay." Taylor inhaled sharply. "I'll be heading home now. After that--"

"After that, you go to the radio station. I know. I did my homework." His gaze was steady and encouraging. "Try not to worry. If he comes near you again, he's toast."

CHAPTER 21.

7:35 P.M.

OAK ROOM.

FIFTH AVENUE AND CENTRAL PARK SOUTH, NEW YORK CITY.

Douglas had been odd.

Jonathan couldn't put his finger on it, but something wasn't right:.

He frowned, watching Douglas's face and trying to get a handle on where his head was. They'd already had a drink and eaten half their salads, and the conversation had been limited to the surprises in this week's stock market and a profitable corporate venture Berkley & Company was currently involved in.

Well, they had more important things to discuss.

"I looked over those last few word changes you made in the paperwork," he said, initiating things. "They're fine. We're all set."

Douglas's fork paused, then continued to his mouth. "You said there was a sticky situation you wanted to discuss. It's not about Berkley and Company, then?"

"Not directly. But it could certainly impact the company. It's about Gordon."

"Gordon?"

"Yes." Jonathan folded his hands in front of him, leaning forward to convey the importance of what he had to say. "After the big 'make each investor whole' fiasco we went through after the accident--which was stickier than anything we'd bailed Gordon out of in the past--I decided to find out just how deep into this dirty dealing he was. He might be dead, but whatever damage he did could come back and bite us in the a.s.s. So I initiated some behind-the-scenes investigating."

"And?" Douglas sounded as if this answer was the last thing he wanted to hear. Which was, no doubt, the case. For years, he'd been an ostrich when it came to Gordon.

"And it isn't pretty. Gordon spent years cheating his clients out of millions by excessive trading of their investments to boost his commissions."

"Churning?"

"Right. He's made a career out of it. Oh, and whenever a client wanted to cash in his or her stock, Gordon just did a borrow-from-Peter-to-pay-Paul maneuver. He had more than enough profits to dip into. My brother ama.s.sed a small fortune, living on the edge like that." A bitter, regretful frown. "Unfortunately, he died on the edge before he could enjoy it."

Douglas's jaw was working. "Exactly why are you telling me this?"

"What do you mean? I'm telling you in case this leaks out and we have to do damage control."

"Funny that you should use that phrase. We might very well have to do damage control. But it won't be because of Gordon's dirty dealings. I cleaned those up along the way. There's nothing to leak out."

Stunned amazement surged through Jonathan. "You knew?"

"Of course I knew. Do you honestly believe I'm so stupid that I wouldn't know my son was involved in shady business dealings? I didn't get where I am by accident, Jonathan. When it comes to business, very little gets by me. Especially when it affects the future of my company. Why do you think it was you I was grooming to take over Berkley and Company? Gordon was brilliant. Unfortunately, brilliance isn't enough. Honest, ethical behavior--both in business and personal practices--is essential to long-term success." A pause. "You do agree, don't you?"

Jonathan was still reeling. But he didn't miss the pointed note in Douglas's tone.

A warning bell went off.

"You know I agree. That's why I brought you this information. I wish you'd told me you already knew.

It would have saved me a lot of agonizing."

"In other words, you wouldn't have been so ambivalent about accepting my job offer if you'd known I'd cleaned up your brother's dirty little mess? I'm surprised at you, Jonathan. You know how good I am at making things go away."

Okay, that was two. The digs were no accident.

It was time to take the bull by the horns.

"You've spoken with Reed," Jonathan stated flatly.

"Yes. I have." Douglas waited while their entrees were being served, waving away the offer for another round of drinks. Then he continued. "Why don't you tell me what's going on?"

Jonathan kept his expression carefully nondescript. "Reed and I both want the same woman. I believe they call that friendly rivalry."

"It doesn't sound friendly to me."

"Meaning?"

Douglas pushed away his meal. "Have you been hara.s.sing Taylor Halstead?"

"Hara.s.sing . . ." Jonathan threw down his napkin. "You believe him. You think I'm stalking Taylor like some lovesick kid."

"It wouldn't be the first time. Or the second. The pattern's exactly the same, Jonathan--a beautiful redhead you've convinced yourself wants you more than she does. This time's worse. She doesn't want you at all." Douglas was visibly trying to remain calm. "According to Reed, you all but threatened him to stay away from her. Which is absurd, since he made it quite clear that they're already involved."

"Did he? Well, if that's the case, then why did he call and ask you to intercede ?"

"Not to intercede. To find out the truth. He's worried, especially after last night's phone call."

"I was drunk. I said some stupid things to him. I--"

"Not that phone call. The one Taylor got at four-thirty in the morning warning her to sleep alone."

Dead silence.

"You told Reed to expect your call. You were insistent about getting through to Taylor that night."

"Like I said, I was drunk." Jonathan's voice had risen as he fought to control his anger. "That doesn't mean I'm a wacko."

"But you do want this woman." Douglas's voice had grown stronger as well.

"As a matter of fact, I do. And, yes, I think she'd want me, too--if she'd actually give it a chance. But Reed's shielding her like some kind of guard dog. He's made sure she won't even take my calls."

"It seems to me that's her decision and you should respect it."

Jonathan sucked in his breath. "I can't believe we're having this conversation. You've made up your mind."

"Convince me otherwise. Nothing would make me happier."

"What would you like? Alibis? Phone records? Letters from the senior partners in my firm telling you how stable I am and how many hours I spend at my desk?"

"Lower your voice," Douglas commanded, scanning the area and noting the curious stares aimed their way. "You're causing a scene."

Gritting his teeth, Jonathan fought his growing resentment and rage. d.a.m.n Reed Weston. If that son of a b.i.t.c.h had screwed up this, the most crucial part of his future, there'd be h.e.l.l to pay.

"You want the truth?" he bit out. "Here it is. After the boat explosion, you and I were busy settling Gordon's latest securities fraud. Stephanie Halstead was part of that settlement. I didn't set eyes on Taylor Halstead until the day of her meeting at Harter, Randolph and Collins, when I b.u.mped into her in the reception area. Had I heard her radio show? Yes. Did I feel a connection? Yes. Did she? Of course not. My resemblance to Gordon freaked her out. So I left her alone, gave her time to adjust.

But before I could initiate anything, Reed moved in. Was I p.i.s.sed? You bet. Do I think I'm a better match for her than he is? d.a.m.ned straight. But am I following her around, sending her creepy e-mails, and making strange phone calls like some kind of psycho? No."

Jonathan leveled a hard stare at Douglas. "I told Reed and I'm telling you. I want Taylor Halstead.

I can envision a future with her. But only if the feelings are mutual. I think they could be. So I called to ask her out. And, yeah, I got drunk and let my testosterone take over when I told Reed to back off. But none of that const.i.tutes hara.s.sment. Just determination and interest. Convinced?"

For a long moment, Douglas said nothing. He merely sat there, his expression taut, studying Jonathan intently. Then he pulled his plate toward him and picked up his utensils. "Actually, yes. Now eat your steak. It's getting cold."

11:35 P.M.

The videotape whirred quietly, and he leaned forward, watching the same scene for the third time in the past ten minutes. Then again, it was his favorite clip. It captured everything about Taylor that meant the most.

He waited for the exact instant, then pressed pause, zooming in on her as she left the radio station. It was the night after he'd gotten rid of that drunken jerk who worked with her. Her face reflected a mult.i.tude of emotions. The fear was the most arousing, even more than the pain and resignation. Vulnerable and scared like that, she was perfect. Like a beautiful piece of clay waiting to be molded-- or crushed--by him.

He swallowed the rest of his Scotch.

Soon. Soon she'd be his. The necklace was his gift to her. She'd be his gift to him.

His strategy was working like clockwork.

The dinner with Douglas had gone better than expected. He'd accomplished all he'd intended and more.

Which left Adrienne.

He sat back in his chair, envisioning how that would go. When she realized what was happening, she'd be blown away. He could visualize her face in his mind's eye. First there'd be shock, then fear, and last, sheer terror.

He'd waited a long time for this.

Just a few more days to go.

CHAPTER 22.

TUESDAY, FEBRUARY 11.

9:45 A.M.

HARTER, RANDOLPH & COLLINS.

Reed scanned the doc.u.ments one last time. Then he buzzed Cathy and had her make copies and take them to the conference room. His clients would be arriving any minute.

He hoped Douglas knew what he was doing.

Sighing, Reed rose, pacing around his office. Douglas was convinced that Jonathan was innocent. According to Douglas, everything Jonathan had said at dinner rang true.

Reed still had doubts.

But he'd advised Douglas to the best of his ability. Ultimately, the decision to bring Jonathan into his company, acknowledge him as his son, and give him a spot at the helm was Douglas's decision. Just as the ramifications, if Douglas had misjudged the situation, would also be his.

Reed's conscience was clear. He'd done his job. And, the truth was, the future of Berkley & Company wasn't his main concern.

Taylor was.

There'd been no more gifts. Not since that d.a.m.ned ruby pendant four days ago. Mitch had left no stone unturned in his efforts to figure out where that necklace had come from. He'd checked out sw.a.n.ky jewelry stores like Tiffany's, Cartier, and Harry Winston, where rich guys like Jonathan shopped. None of them recognized the merchandise. He'd pounded the pavement from one end of the jewelry exchange on Forty-seventh Street to the other. No luck. No luck in the fingerprint department either. Taylor's prints were the only ones on the necklace, the box, and the note.

Chris Young was definitely out. Mitch's investigation had revealed the kid to be exactly as he'd pegged him: a spoiled, rich teenager who'd never bought anything without using the credit card Mommy and Daddy had given him--and whose statements went straight to his parents.

With no follow-up gifts, no fingerprints, and no viable suspects, the whole necklace lead was a total dead end.

As for phone calls, there'd also been none of those since Friday. Then again, Taylor had spent every night alone, with either Mitch or his partner, Jake, outside, watching her apartment like a hawk.

Reed missed her like h.e.l.l. They talked on the phone every night for hours, like two teenagers. And Sunday, she'd spent all afternoon at his place, in his bed. When she got up to put on her clothes and go home, he'd wanted to choke the b.a.s.t.a.r.d who was hara.s.sing her. If it hadn't been a matter of her safety, he'd have locked the d.a.m.ned door and convinced her to stay.

Everything between them was amazing, and not only in bed. The more they got to know each other, the stronger the connection between them grew. Even the trust that Taylor found so difficult was starting to come.

As long as Jonathan's name didn't crop up. If it did, the tension grew so thick you could cut it with a knife.

Taylor understood the facts. Jonathan was Reed's client--a client who'd denied ever having called her except that night at the radio station. Reed had to take him at his word. Taylor said she respected that.

On a cerebral level, Reed was sure she did. But on an emotional level? That was another matter entirely. The fact was, until they found out who was hara.s.sing her--and that someone turned out not to be Jonathan--the gap between them couldn't be bridged.

Mitch had better get to the bottom of this--and soon.

Reed paused to stare out the window. Ironic, how things were all coming to a head at once. His relationship with Taylor, her personal crisis, and his professional one.

The senior partners had scheduled a meeting with him for Thursday afternoon. It could be anything from cordial to downright unpleasant. Time would tell.

A knock on the door interrupted Reed's thoughts, and he turned as Cathy poked her head into the office. "Excuse me, Mr. Weston. You said to let you know when Mr. Berkley and Mr. Mallory arrived. They're here. I just showed them into the conference room. Mr. Randolph is already there."

"So it's showtime." Reed b.u.t.toned his jacket, tucked his pen in his pocket, and headed for the door. "Thanks, Cathy. I'm on my way."

6:15 P.M.

Another phase of the plan was complete.