"Just think," Jonathan taunted. "You can start tonight, by being the perfect hostess, welcoming me into the family and the business with open arms."

"You miserable b.a.s.t.a.r.d." Adrienne's glare was lethal.

"b.a.s.t.a.r.d, yes. Miserable? That depends on who you ask. Now, what's your answer? Can I count on your cooperation?"

She finished her martini and rose, setting down the gla.s.s. "For now, yes. After that, we'll see."

"What does that mean?"

"It means, I want to see how you manage your new role. Also, I want to make sure you continue to be the good boy you've been since you finally grew up. You have been a good boy, haven't you?"

Jonathan's eyes narrowed. "Where is that question coming from?"

"You're not the only one who keeps on top of situations."

"I have no idea what you think you know. But whatever it is, it's bulls.h.i.t. Which means you don't have a shred of proof."

"Are you willing to take that risk?" Adrienne gave him a tight smile. "Two can play the blackmail game, Jonathan. I give as good as I get. So let's just call it a draw. I admit, your trump card may be more interesting than mine. On the other hand, I wield a lot more power with Douglas than you do. I don't think I need to elaborate on how."

"Spare me the details of your s.e.x life."

"Fine. So, to answer your question, yes, I'll go along with your ultimatum. For now. Douglas thinks you've got what it takes to make his company thrive. So I'm willing to cut you some slack. But know that I'm keeping a close eye on you. After all, you've got Douglas's company, and my future, in your hands." Adrienne shot him an icy look. "I'm going upstairs to take a bath. You go home and get dressed. My supportive-stepmother act begins at seven-thirty."

6:15 P.M.

WVNY.

Taylor sat alone in her recording studio. Kevin and Dennis were both outside at the controls, but she didn't feel like socializing. She was lost in thought.

She'd always been a take-charge personality. Now she felt like a victim.

She'd pored over every one of the current professional journals that touched on elements of abnormal psychology. After that, she'd checked out several Web sites that outlined, in detail, the psyches, character traits, and behavior of stalkers. She had a pretty good handle on this guy. He suffered from, at the very least, a delusional disorder, if not a more severe psychiatric disorder like schizophrenia. He was obsessive. Resentful. Predatory. Unlike more benign stalkers, this one was not interested in keeping his ident.i.ty a secret, not forever. Right now, he was enjoying the power and control that his anonymity provided. It enabled him to terrorize her, with no fear of repercussions. But he fully intended to show himself. Taylor was convinced of that. He had a plan of attack--one that would make his taunting prelude look like a joyride.

That's what he was. But who was he? Who?

She'd contacted the police. Her call had been transferred to Detective Hadman of the Nineteenth Precinct, the same guy who'd notified her about Steph's death. He'd met with her, not at the precinct, lest Mr. Stalker was following her, but at the Krispy Kreme & Coffee on West Seventy-second. Mitch had joined them. It had looked like a business meeting to anyone who happened to glance in the window. Hadman had taken a list of all the names Taylor could come up with of potential stalkers. He'd also agreed to check out the call trace and get back to them with the results.

And in the meantime, there was one name that haunted her, day and night.

Jonathan Mallory.

She tried not to fixate on him, but she couldn't help it. There was something about him that unsettled her. She kept telling herself it was because he was a carbon copy of Gordon--at least physically. But some inner voice kept niggling at her, maintaining that it was more.

She should have spoken to him when he called the radio station that night. If she'd heard his voice, maybe she could have ruled it out as the synthesized one that kept calling her at home--if not by the pitch, then by the tone or choice of words. Maybe if she'd listened to him, she could have a.s.sessed his state of mind, and put her own at ease. Maybe she should even have met with him.

No, that was foolish. To encourage him, put her safety and her emotional well-being at risk--no, it was out of the question. If only there was another way.

Her head came up.

Of course. Why hadn't she thought of it before?

She s.n.a.t.c.hed up today's newspaper, skimming the business section until she found what she was looking for.

There. Just as she remembered reading this morning over coffee.

She rose, walking over and yanking open the door. "Kev? Dennis?" She caught their attention.

"Any chance of your subbing in a generic tape for tonight?"

Kevin's eyes narrowed, and he gave her a guarded look. "If we need to, sure. Why?"

"Because Reed and I are going to a party."

7:45 P.M.

LE CIRQUE.

455 MADISON AVENUE, NEW YORK CITY.

Several dozen guests were already milling about the Library--one of Le Cirque's elegant reception rooms--sipping fine wine and helping themselves to hot and cold canapes, when Reed guided Taylor through the door.

"Quite a party," Taylor noted, glancing around. "My father would approve. It looks like something he'd throw."

Reed didn't smile. He knew that Taylor's attempt at light sarcasm was all a facade. She was as tight as a drum. He could actually feel her vibrating.

He must have been crazy to agree to this.

"Thanks for bringing me," Taylor said quickly. "I know you have reservations. But I need to see Jonathan Mallory--not alone, where I might be putting myself in danger, but in a nonthreatening, group environment. I need to talk to him, to observe him while he interacts. I've got a trained eye.

Maybe I can put my fears to rest."

"Or maybe you can become even more anxious, and be pushed one step closer to your limit."

"I'm willing to take that risk."

Sucking in his breath, Reed took the tension down a notch. "You look gorgeous," he murmured, smoothing his palm down the sleeve of her chocolate brown knit c.o.c.ktail dress. It was straight-lined and simple, finely detailed with gold and tonal beading along the edges of the sleeves and neckline, and formfitting, emphasizing her slender figure and making her vivid coloring stand out even more. It was Taylor--cla.s.sy all the way.

"Thanks." She forced a smile. "You look pretty incredible yourself. Italian suit, silk tie--I'm impressed."

He caught her hand in his. "You can still change your mind. No one's seen us yet. We can leave."

"Not a chance," Taylor returned flippantly. "I spent too much time on my makeup."

She continued to a.s.sess the room.

Despite the festive atmosphere, this was one big-time power scene. Influential, well-dressed men and women were making the rounds, chatting politely while straining to hear all the other conversations taking place around them. Uniformed servers were weaving their way around, offering the guests hors d'oeuvres and fluted gla.s.ses of champagne to complement the drinks being served at the bar.

One server spotted Taylor and Reed and hurried over, flourishing his silver tray. "Would you care for mousse of foie gras on a brioche?" he inquired.

"Thank you, not just yet." Reed had just spotted the guest of honor, who was standing across the room beside Adrienne and Douglas. Guests were flocking up to them, offering their congratulations with practiced smiles and perfected grace.

"Ah, there he is," Taylor commented. "The newly acknowledged Berkley."

Reed edged a quick look in her direction, gauging her reaction. She'd paled a bit, but other than that, she looked composed.

"I a.s.sume that's Douglas and Adrienne Berkley standing with him," she clarified.

"Yup."

"Adrienne's quite stunning."

"She should be. She works at it twenty-four/seven," Reed retorted under his breath.

"Well, good for her. That shows tenacity and self-respect."

"Self-love is more like it."

Startled, Taylor twisted around to gaze up at him. "You don't much care for her, do you?"

"Gee, what gave you that idea?"

This time, Taylor's smile was genuine. "Just a lucky guess." She pursed her lips. "This can't be easy on her. Press coverage in both the business and society pages. A stepson she has to lovingly acknowledge--at least in public. I shudder to think what that relationship's really like."

"You don't want to know. As for the shock, it's nonexistent. This is no news to her."

"Not to you, either. No wonder this whole legal representation of the Berkleys has been so complex." Taylor drew a slow, deep breath, then hooked her fingers through Reed's arm. "Anyway, back to what we're here for. Let's not put this off. Right now, we've got the element of surprise go-ing for us. Come on."

They crossed the room, weaving their way through the growing crowd of guests.

Douglas saw them first. His brows rose, but he looked pleased, maybe even relieved. Adrienne followed his stare, spotting the two of them and giving Taylor a typical female-to-female once-over. Then her gaze settled on Reed's arm, now wrapped possessively around Taylor's waist, and her lips curved in some kind of private amus.e.m.e.nt.

"Reed." Douglas shook his hand. "I'm so glad you could make it after all. And this must be Ms. Halstead. I've heard so much about you. It's a pleasure to meet you at last. I'm Douglas Berkley. This is my wife, Adrienne. And I believe you and Jonathan have already met."

"Mr. Berkley. Mrs. Berkley." Taylor shook their hands, all the while keeping Jonathan in her peripheral vision. He looked positively stunned, and a hard glitter of anger flashed in his eyes as he got his first glimpse of her and Reed as a couple.

Taylor refused to let that anger intimidate her. "h.e.l.lo again, Mr. Mallory." She turned and extended her hand to him. "Congratulations. This must be an exciting evening for you."

"It is," he replied in a clipped tone. His handshake was as stiff as his demeanor.

"I didn't realize you'd be coming," he declared to Reed. "Or that you'd be bringing Ms. Halstead with you. I thought you were otherwise engaged."

Reed didn't miss a beat. "I was. I managed to move things around. I wanted to be here to offer you my best wishes."

"How thoughtful. And Ms. Halstead?" Jonathan inclined his head at Taylor, openly a.s.sessing her reaction. "Your radio show airs from eight to ten. Isn't it live?"

Taylor kept her response impersonal. The less of herself she revealed, the more he'd probe and, hopefully, the more he'd give away. "You're right. It is. Except when I'm ill, on vacation, or attending a special event like this one. Then my producer runs a pretaped show."

"You consider tonight special. I'm honored."

Honored, yeah. Maybe that was why he was still clasping her hand.

"I'm glad to be here," Taylor a.s.sured him. "I can only imagine how gratified you must feel. Personal and professional recognition from someone you respect and care for. I can't think of anything more rewarding."

She didn't know if it was her approach that did the trick, or Jonathan's own thought process. But it was like someone flicked a switch.

Abruptly, he became a different person, warm and charming. His tension vanished, and he smiled, a one-on-one personal smile, covering their joined fingers with his other hand. "You're right. It is rewarding. And I'm delighted you're here to share it. As you know, I've been trying to reach you.

This will give us a chance to talk."

The next move was hers. And she'd better execute it carefully. As much as she wanted to get a handle on Jonathan Mallory, she had no desire to give him the wrong impression. Even if he was totally innocent of hara.s.sment, he was definitely much too fixated on her. And his mood swings were unsettling, at best.

Graciously, she smiled back, but was careful to keep that smile impersonal rather than friendly. "a.s.suming you can break away, that would be nice."

Douglas cleared his throat. "Ms. Halstead, now that you're here, I want to offer my condolences on the loss of your cousin--and to apologize for not meeting with you when you came by my home. Frankly, I wasn't myself. I was in shock. Gordon was also my son, as you now realize. My pain was... well, I don't need to explain it to you. You experienced the same pain yourself. In any case, I wasn't up for visitors. Even well-meaning ones like yourself. So please, forgive me."

"No apology is necessary." Taylor actually perceived an element of sincerity behind his words. "It was a terrible time. I'm sorry for your loss as well."

"We appreciate your sensitivity." Adrienne Berkley spoke up for the, first time, a saccharine-sweet smile on her face. "Jonathan." She turned to her stepson, darting a quick, pointed glance at Taylor's hand, still clasped between Jonathan's. "Why don't you give Reed and Ms. Halstead a chance to enjoy the food?" She resumed addressing Taylor. "There's a tray of lobster with avocado on its way over. You simply must try it."

"I'd love to."

"Of course." Jonathan released Taylor's hand and signaled the server, but Taylor could see a vein throbbing in his forehead. And his jaw was clenched so tight, she was afraid it might snap.

Reed's implication had been an understatement. There was a tidal wave of tension surging between Jonathan and his stepmother, one big enough to capsize a naval fleet.

Taylor helped herself to a lobster medallion, using the time she was nibbling at it to step aside so other guests could move in and congratulate Jonathan.

Reed joined her, reaching over to take two flutes of champagne off a tray and handing her one.

"You okay?"

"So far, so good."

"That depends on your perspective." He gave her a relaxed, partylike smile--a smile that belied his next words, muttered under his breath. "If that b.a.s.t.a.r.d keeps looking at you like you're a piece of G.o.diva, I'm going to knock his teeth out."

Taylor's lips twitched. "What an uplifting thought. But I'm not sure I'm ready for the caveman routine."

"Me either. But when it comes to you .. . everything I feel is a constant surprise."

Something about his tone made Taylor look up, her champagne gla.s.s poised halfway to her lips. She studied the intense expression on his face, and her heart did a quick flip-flop in her chest.

"By the way, our weekend is all set," Reed said huskily, holding her gaze. "I booked a private cabin at a very small, very exclusive ski lodge in Vermont. We'll leave Friday night. We can return as late as Monday--if you want to play hooky from school. You must have some unused personal days."

"I do." Taylor swallowed. "And it sounds wonderful. The problem is, I don't ski. I guess I never mentioned that."

"Oh, you mentioned it. That's why I chose this place."

One s.e.xually charged moment ticked by.