Everything inside Taylor went cold at the sound of that synthetic voice. No. This couldn't be happening. Not here. Not when she'd run all this way to be safe.

"How did you get this number?" she demanded.

A m.u.f.fled laugh. "I'm resourceful. You can't escape me, Taylor. I always know where you are. And I can reach you, even at a private Palm Beach estate. I would have called sooner. But I've been tied up since yesterday. Not to worry. I'm back." Another dark, m.u.f.fled laugh. "Miss me?"

She fought the nausea rising in her throat. "I don't miss anyone. I needed a vacation. I came here to get away."

"From the world? Or just from me?"

She didn't reply.

"Who were you expecting to be at the other end of the phone just now--Reed Weston?"

Again, no reply.

"Bad girl. My instructions were no men. But I suppose talking on the phone isn't breaking the rules.

The important thing is, you're alone in that bed. Poor baby. You're going to be alone a lot. Your friend Mr. Weston's tied up in Manhattan for the long haul. You won't be seeing him for months. And by that time, it won't matter."

Another underlying threat. "Why won't it matter?"

"Because you'll be mine. And Reed Weston will be busy with his new practice."

That she jumped on. "How do you know about Reed's new practice?"

"How do you think I know?"

It was Jonathan. It had to be. And he was taunting her.

"My poor, beautiful Taylor," he continued. "How lonely you must be. Be patient. This is the last vacation you'll take solo."

A cold chill shot up her back.

"I'll be with you soon," he rasped. "In my mind, I'm with you now. Watching you. Having you. You're tan. But the luscious parts of you that are reserved just for me are still creamy white."

Taylor couldn't help herself. She slammed down the phone, then ran to the bathroom and threw up.

Afterward, she rinsed out her mouth and sank to the floor, leaning her head against the cool tile. She was a prisoner. And he was closing in on her like a wolf on its prey.

She couldn't take it. She was going to snap.

Standing, she marched back into the bedroom. She didn't even buzz Mitch. She scooped up the phone and punched in Reed's cell number.

"Yes?" he answered, sounding distracted.

"Your client just called me." Her voice was high, thin, and bordering on hysteria.

"What?"

"Your client. My stalker. He just called. He knew where I was. He had the phone number. He said he was tied up yesterday, which is why I didn't hear from him. We all know why--no cell phones in jail.

He asked if I was lonely. He said he'd take care of that soon. He told me to forget about you, that you'd be stuck in Manhattan for the long haul. He knew about your new practice. He made sure I was aware of that. Then he went on to provide some sick details of his fantasies about me." She stopped her frantic outburst just long enough to gasp in some air. "Reed, I can't take this anymore. You've got to get Jonathan Mallory thrown back in jail. I'm--"

"When?" Reed fired at her. "When did this b.a.s.t.a.r.d call?"

"Ten minutes ago." She still couldn't breathe right. She was dizzy and her breath was coming in short, shallow pants. "I thought it was you. But it was him and--"

"Taylor, it wasn't Jonathan."

She gave a wild shake of her head. "Stop! I can't listen to you defend a man who--"

"Taylor!" This time Reed cut her off forcefully. "Sweetheart, listen to me. I'm not defending him. I'm stating a fact. It wasn't Jonathan who called you. Remember that phone call I got while you and I were talking? That was Jonathan. He and I have been on the phone ever since. We still are. I asked him to hold when you beeped in."

Dead silence.

"Oh, my G.o.d," she whispered, sinking down on the bed, lowering her head between her knees to make the black spots swimming before her eyes go away. "Oh, my G.o.d."

"Stay put," Reed ordered. "I'll be right back." There was a click, and he disappeared for a few seconds. Then he was back. "Talk to me." A pause. "Dammit, Taylor, say something!"

"I'm here," she murmured absently, lifting her head and squirming into a sitting position with her back against the headboard.

"Thank G.o.d. I thought you'd fainted, the way you were hyperventilating."

She stared blankly across the room. "Just now, when you asked me to hold--was Jonathan still on the line?"

"Yes. I told him I had a personal emergency. We hung up."

"And the two of you have been talking this entire time?"

"Without a single interruption. We were hammering out some details about his case." Reed didn't sound relieved. He sounded crazed with worry. Then again, he'd never believed Jonathan was her stalker. So to him, nothing had changed. Whoever was hounding her was still out there. Only now he'd found her.

Which meant he was even more cunning than they'd realized.

"He called your father's unlisted number?" Reed demanded. "He knew you were staying there?"

"Yes."

"Tell me exactly what he said."

She heard herself relay the entire conversation, almost verbatim, although it sounded like someone else's voice speaking the words.

Reed swore under his breath. "Where's Mitch?"

Taylor was so panic-stricken, she could barely hear past the roaring in her head. This was even worse than before. She hadn't realized the odd but tangible comfort it had brought her to be able to mentally a.s.sign an ident.i.ty to her stalker. Suddenly this monster who was after her had truly become faceless, nameless.

"Taylor!" Reed dragged her back to the present.

"What?"

"Where's Mitch?"

"Mitch. Oh. Downstairs. He doesn't know."

"Change that--now. Put on a robe. Buzz him. Tell him to come upstairs."

"Okay." She did as he asked, operating on autopilot.

Mitch was there three minutes later, wearing a T-shirt and jeans. "What happened?"

She didn't have the strength or presence of mind to repeat the whole story again.

Wordlessly, she handed Mitch the phone. "Talk to Reed."

"Reed, yeah, I'm here." Mitch listened intently, nodding periodically, his jaw tightening as he absorbed the explanation. "No," he said finally. "I don't. But that doesn't make it any easier. I already have one of my guys digging around for information on the cell phone. Yeah, I understand. Let me talk to her and get the details. Don't worry on that score. The alarm system in this house is like Fort Knox. Sure. Here." He handed the phone back to Taylor. "Reed wants to talk to you."

She put the receiver to her ear. "Hi," she managed.

"Have a gla.s.s of wine," he instructed, not mincing words. "Then sit down and tell Mitch everything. He doesn't think the guy's in Palm Beach; he thinks he's still here in Manhattan."

"I was so sure it was Jonathan," she whispered, her eyes filling with tears. "The things he knew. The timing of the calls."

"Yeah, well, I doubt that was an accident." Reed's voice had hardened. "In fact, the more I think about it, the more sense it makes."

"What does?"

"Whoever your stalker is, he knows you. He knows you suspected Jonathan. He's reinforcing that suspicion carefully and methodically. Only this time he screwed up. And we're going to bring the son of a b.i.t.c.h down."

CHAPTER 29.

SUNDAY, FEBRUARY 16.

8:55 P.M.

Taylor and Mitch caught the last flight out from Palm Beach to New York that night.

It took Mitch the whole day to work things out to his satisfaction. But Taylor was so relieved, she didn't care. She was eager to get out of that house, that city. Maybe she was being irrational, since she was flying right back to where her stalker was based. But she didn't care. Even here in Florida, he knew where she was. He knew how to reach her. So she felt just as exposed, just as vulnerable. Alone. She needed to be home.

When the plane touched down, they didn't drive to her apartment. They drove to Reed's.

MONDAY, FEBRUARY 17.

12:30 A.M.

EAST SIXTY-EIGHTH STREET.

Reed was waiting.

He peeked around the curtain and saw Jake's car pull up and let them out. But, as planned, he stayed inside, having advised the doorman to escort his "guests" into the building. He paced around his foyer, yanking open the door as soon as he heard them approach. He didn't say anything, waiting until they were both safely inside, the door shut behind them, before reacting.

Then he heaved a huge sigh of relief, tugging off Taylor's sungla.s.ses and pressing her against him, holding her the way he'd been aching to do since last night when he'd heard the wild fear in her voice.

"Hi," she mumbled into his shirt.

"Hi back." Reed regarded Mitch soberly over the top of Taylor's head. "Thanks. I owe you big."

A corner of Mitch's mouth lifted. "I'll take it out of Rob's hide. Then you can owe him."

"Deal." Reed eased Taylor away, searching her face and scrutinizing the look in her eyes. She was still a little freaked out, and very, very tired. "You holding up okay?"

"I'm holding up. I don't know about okay." She tugged off her hat, ma.s.ses of dark red hair tumbling out from under it. She shook them out, then ran her fingers through them--a gesture of nervousness rather than vanity. "I feel like I'm walking around in some sort of dream. Correction-- nightmare. This is the same way I felt after the boat explosion. It's shock and post-traumatic stress. I'll survive."

"You'll do better than survive," Reed stated flatly. "The b.a.s.t.a.r.d finally made a mistake."

"I already contacted Hadman," Mitch supplied. I told him what happened. He got my points loud and clear--one, he can't ignore my investigation, since this guy is dangerous, resourceful, and apparently plugged in to Taylor's life in more than a casual way; and two, he can take Jonathan Mallory off the suspect list."

"I'm sure he was thrilled about both," Reed replied, his tone laced with sarcasm.

Mitch shrugged. "Actually, he was fine. The NYPD will follow up on any concrete leads I give them.

But the proactive stuff is still going to have to come from us. Without this stalker performing some type of physical act--an attempted a.s.sault on Taylor, breaking and entering her apartment, anything--there's not much more the cops can do."

Taylor didn't flinch. "Is that why you wanted my apartment to stay empty--to see if he tries to break in?"

"That would be a plus, but no. I wanted you in a safe place. No one but my office, the cops, and Reed know you're back in town. I want to keep it that way."

Her brows drew together in puzzlement. "Why would he break in if he knows ... or thinks .. . I'm not there?"

A flicker of reluctance crossed Mitch's face, but he candidly told Taylor what she needed to know. "Sometimes, these perverts get a charge out of actually being in their obsession's bedroom--lying in her bed or going through intimate articles of clothing--"

"Okay, I get the picture," she interrupted with a shudder. "Just the idea makes me sick."

"Don't let it. Jake and I have twenty-four-hour surveillance on your place. If the perp puts a foot in the door, we'll nail him." Mitch's forehead creased in concentration. "In the meantime, I'm going to WVNY tomorrow, and Dellinger Academy next week when it reopens. I want to talk to all your colleagues and a few of your students."

"Why?"

"Because you work with them on a daily basis. And because your coworkers are the only people who knew you were on vacation, and where. We need to start with the obvious to figure out how this guy found you." Mitch turned to Reed. "I also want to talk to your former secretary. I want to know how public the news of your leaving Harter, Randolph and Collins was, and how many people were aware that you were starting up your own firm."

"Not many," Reed answered quietly. "The timing wasn't exactly right for fanfare. Later on, I'll send out announcements, place a notice in the New York Law Journal and on law.com. But for now, very few people know. Present company excluded, it's only the senior partners, my secretary, and Paul Mills, my new a.s.sociate."

"And Jonathan Mallory," Mitch reminded him. "Which is the whole point. Whoever called Taylor in Palm Beach knew that Jonathan knew. It's the only way the attempt to cast suspicion on him would work."

Mitch's words triggered a flash of thought in Reed's mind. But before it had time to take shape, Taylor teetered on her feet, swaying toward him. And the fragmented idea vanished.

"You're exhausted," Reed p.r.o.nounced. "It's bedtime."

Mitch took his cue, reaching for the doork.n.o.b. "Jake's camped outside. I'm heading home to get a few hours of rest, then it's off to WVNY. I'll check in with you late tomorrow afternoon." He pointed at Taylor. "You, stay in here and out of sight. Anything you need, one of us will get. Your apartment is off-limits."

She managed a faint smile. "Yes, sir."