He finished washing up in the men's room, thinking about what a hectic day it had been.

The signing of the papers. The faxing of the announcements. The ma.s.s distribution of the e-mails.

The notification of the press. And now, in forty-five minutes, the dinner with the company VPs.

The business end of things was right on target.

The personal end had to be dealt with. New.

Taylor had slept with Reed Weston again. Not at her place, at his. That infuriated him even more. She was mocking his intelligence and disobeying his orders. An egregious error on her part. She thought she'd gotten away with it, too. Then again, he'd let her think that. It was why he'd purposely avoided calling her Sunday night. Let her think she was safe. Let her be lulled into a false sense of security. He wanted to catch her off guard. And he would. Then her fear would be stronger, more palpable, and far more enjoyable.

That would keep Taylor in line.

The next step was Adrienne. She arrived tomorrow.

What a surprise she would get.

FEBRUARY 12.

3:40 A.M.

WEST SEVENTY-SECOND STREET.

Taylor was awake when the phone rang.

It was almost as if she'd expected it. Maybe she had. Things had been too quiet, conveying an eerie sense of security, like hovering in the eye of a hurricane. But, as she knew, that eye always pa.s.sed, as did the false sense of calm it brought, and the hurricane tore through, wreaking its damage.

She glanced at the caller ID. It was a perfunctory gesture, just so she could report to Mitch. She knew it would say "private." And it did.

She lifted the receiver. "h.e.l.lo?"

"Making house calls now?" the male voice rasped.

House calls?

Taylor's heart rate accelerated as she prayed she'd misread his insinuation. Calm. She had to stay calm.

"I don't understand," she managed. "What does that mean?"

"It means I'm smarter than you. It means I know everything you do, and everyone you do it with. It means your Sunday-afternoon romp made me angry. Very angry. Especially after that stunning necklace I gave you. You're mine. Only mine. Remember that. You don't want to make me angry."

She hadn't misread anything. He knew. G.o.d in heaven, he knew.

White panic surged through her, and she racked her brain for the right answer to give someone so close to the edge.

She went for something safe. "You're right. I don't want to make you angry. Maybe if you tell me--"

"You also don't want to patronize me," he intermpted to warn.

"Fine." Something inside Taylor snapped, and raw emotion took over. "What I want is for you to go away," she blurted. "Stop calling me. Stop giving me gifts. Just leave me alone." She was shaking all over. "Leave me alone!"

She slammed down the phone, lifting it only long enough to press *57, the way Mitch had drilled into her to remember to do. Then she pushed herself upright, sitting back against the headboard and taking slow, deep breaths to bring herself under control.

With control came reason, and Taylor wanted to kick herself for succ.u.mbing to such a stupid outburst. She'd no doubt made things worse.

Sure enough, the phone began ringing again, sharply, insistently.

He wasn't giving up.

She lifted the receiver, brought it to her ear.

At first there was an unbearable silence, punctuated only by shallow, angry breathing. Then came the response, every bit as ugly as she'd expected.

"You b.i.t.c.h." Fury vibrated in his voice, something no voice changer could disguise. "That was your biggest mistake yet. No one speaks to me that way. No one. And no one hangs up on me."

"I apologize," she replied quickly. "I didn't mean to be rude or nasty. I'm just so ... so--"

"Scared? Good. You should be. Especially now."

"Please tell me who you are, and what it is you want from me."

"You'll know when I'm ready. Just pray I calm down before then." Or what? she wanted to cry out.

What is it you're planning to do to me? "I make the rules. You live by them. No other men. I'm it. Address me with respect. Never hang up on me. And don't try to outsmart me. You'll lose--and you'll pay. So don't ever defy or insult me again." Click.

4:25 A.M.

EAST SIXTY-EIGHTH STREET.

Reed lunged up and grabbed the phone on the second ring. There was only one person it could be. "Taylor?"

"He called again." Her voice was trembling. "Twice. I hung up on him. He called back."

"Did you let Mitch know?"

"Right away. He said there was no one hanging around my apartment. So whoever it is, he called from somewhere else."

"Or somewhere where he couldn't be seen." Reed couldn't stand it. He wanted to hold her, to comfort her. "Taylor, let me come get you. I'll drive around to the service entrance and bring you back here. I don't want you to be alone--"

"No!" She practically shouted the word, and he could tell she was crying. "He knows when I'm with you. That's why he called."

"What do you mean? What did he say?"

Taylor relayed the conversations to him.

"s.h.i.t." Reed dragged a hand over his jaw. "So he isn't just hara.s.sing you. He's threatening you. He's also watching you, just as you suspected-- not only outside your apartment, but everywhere you go."

"Yeah." Taylor forced herself to laugh, desperately struggling to fight off hysteria. "Lucky me. I have a bona fide stalker."

"Did you press star fifty-seven?"

"Both times."

"Then listen to me. Mitch will be all over this. He'll go to the police. They've got to take this seriously at this point. They'll follow up on the call trace. They'll track this guy down. And they'll send over a detective."

"I suppose so. But d.a.m.n." Taylor drew a shaky breath, tears choking her voice again. "Why did I let myself lose it like that? What was I thinking? I'm a trained psychologist. My stalker is unbalanced. So what did I do? I fed right into his control issues. Before, I had a shot at keeping his fixation channeled into adoration, rather than hostility. Not anymore. He wanted to keep me on a pedestal. That meant being submissive and chaste. I blew both things by sleeping with you. And now I've challenged his authority. That was the last straw, at least to him. How could I have been so stupid?"

"Cut it out." Reed's fingers tightened on the receiver. "Stop blaming yourself. You're human. You're scared. Listen, it's almost dawn. We'll talk for a while. Maybe you'll doze. Either way, I'll stay on the line. I won't hang up until you get ready for work."

Taylor couldn't remember ever feeling so touched by a gesture. "You're amazing. Thank you. And, yes, I'm pretty shaken. So, for tonight, I'll take you up on your offer. But it's not a permanent solution, Reed. You can't spend the entire night, every night, on the phone with me."

"Wanna bet?"

She had to laugh. "Will those be billable hours?"

"Don't worry about that. My client base and my legal focus might be undergoing some changes soon anyway."

"What does that mean?"

"We'll talk about it over the weekend. By then, I can fill you in on everything. We'll have lots of time to talk--about that and a few other fundamental issues I have on my mind."

"I see. So we're going to become phone pals."

"Not a chance. We're going to get away. Together. Alone. We're getting out of Manhattan and going somewhere, just the two of us. Not only to put some distance between you and this insanity, but to be alone together. If we're not, I'm the one who'll be going insane. Besides, Friday's Valentine's Day. It's the perfect weekend for a lovers' mini break."

"A mini break?" Taylor repeated, smiling through her tears. "You're starting to sound like a romantic."

"Sure seems that way." He paused. "We're going, Taylor. I need to be with you."

"What if he figures it out?"

"He won't. We'll talk to Mitch and the cops. We'll figure out some way to evade him."

Taylor felt her first tinge of hope since that creep had called. Maybe there was a chance she and Reed could enjoy a shred of normalcy. "Where are we going?"

"Leave that to me. You just have a bag packed on Friday. After your radio show, we're out of here."

CHAPTER 23.

WEDNESDAY, FEBRUARY 12.

5:10 P.M.

EAST EIGHTY-SECOND STREET, NEW YORK CITY.

Adrienne let herself into the brownstone, slipping off her fur coat and hanging it in a closet.

The exhibit at the Met had been exquisite. One hundred and twenty of Leonardo da Vinci's extraordinary drawings, on special display this month. She'd wandered through the museum for hours. It had been just the diversion she needed to keep her mind off tonight.

With a disgusted sigh, she glanced at her watch. She still had several hours to enjoy before she played hostess at that farcical dinner for Jonathan. She'd use the time to unwind. Step one, a pitcher of martinis. Step two, she'd sip at one while relaxing and soaking in the upstairs Jacuzzi. That would sufficiently mellow her out. She'd be composed and ready when Douglas arrived home--undoubtedly br.i.m.m.i.n.g with enthusiasm over the past few days' events and the appointment of his precious son. She'd listen, smile, then get dressed and get made up for Le Cirque.

The whole thing made her sick.

But she'd handle it. As she always did.

She ran her fingers through her thick auburn hair, which was damp with snowflakes. She'd wear it up in a chignon tonight, and she'd wear her black silk Armani with the low-cut back. She might feel like h.e.l.l, but she'd look fabulous. Even at her age, she'd have the eye of every man in the room.

Her mood slightly uplifted, she walked into the living room, heading directly for the sideboard.

"Adrienne. Right on schedule."

She jerked around, staring at Jonathan, who was seated on the sofa, nursing a Scotch. "What the ..."

"The martinis are made." He gestured toward the end table. "Nice and dry. Just the way you like them. Shall I pour?"

Her shock was fading into wariness. "By all means." She gestured for him to do so, folding her arms across her b.r.e.a.s.t.s. "To what do I owe this surprise visit?"

Jonathan filled a martini gla.s.s and handed it to her. "What, no congratulations? No kind words of welcome? I'm crushed."

"I doubt that." She lowered herself into a plush chair, crossing one slim leg over the other and sipping at her drink. "You finally have everything you've always wanted. You must be elated." Her brows drew together. "How did you manage to get away from the office for this little drop-in?"

"I left early to get ready for tonight's big bash. Actually, I expected you sooner. Then I remembered the da Vinci exhibit. I a.s.sume that's where you were?"

Adrienne's eyes glittered. "I doubt you're a.s.suming. You never a.s.sume, Jonathan. You know."

"You're right. I do. I make it my business to know everything that affects me." He polished off his Scotch. "Which brings me to why I'm here. I thought we should have a little chat."

"About what?"

"Gordon."

"Really." She took another sip of her drink. "What about him?"

Jonathan leaned forward. "I'll cut to the chase. I know everything. The whole sick arrangement, right down to how you planned on implicating my mother. What's more, I have proof. Concrete proof.

Gordon was screwed up, but he was smart. Smart enough to know he should have something on you.

It took a while, but he managed to find the right occasion. It was during one of your less congenial tete-a-tetes. He taped your conversation. I have the tape. And I'll use it--if I have to."

All the color had drained from Adrienne's face. "I don't believe you."

"I didn't expect you to." He flourished a mini--ca.s.sette recorder and pressed the Play b.u.t.ton. Two voices emerged, Adrienne's and Gordon's. Their words were angry, but clearly distinguishable. They were having an argument about a threat made years ago--a threat that had changed lives. "This is a copy, by the way," Jonathan commented, pressing Stop and watching Adrienne's expression. "I have the original."

"What do you want?" she snapped.

"That's the beauty of it. Nothing. I want absolutely nothing." Jonathan's mouth thinned into a tight, grim line. "Except for you to stay the h.e.l.l out of my way. Berkley and Company is my baby. My future. Not yours. Go ahead and keep on being Douglas's trophy wife. Enjoy your cash cow. I don't give a d.a.m.n. But don't interfere in the business, or in any other financial or personal decisions my father makes in my favor. Just smile, give me your support, and take the dividend checks I hand you. Otherwise, I'll be forced to go to Douglas and play him this nasty little tape. You don't want that, do you?"

Deadly silence.