"What!" Reed shot to his feet. "How the h.e.l.l could that happen?"

"Get over to her new apartment. I'll explain when you get here. Hadman and Olin are already on their way." A pause. "Jonathan Mallory's with me."

"I'm there." He was out the door even as he spoke.

5:25 P.M.

Reed literally ran the whole way, shoving commuters and other pedestrians out of his way. No car, taxi, or subway could get him there faster.

Panting heavily, he arrived at the same time as Hadman and Olin. Their sedan roared up to the curb. They parked in the no-parking zone, jumping out and following a half step behind Reed.

They all burst onto the scene at the same time. Olin stayed in the lobby to question Ed. Hadman and Reed took the elevator up to Taylor's apartment.

"Start talking," Reed ordered Mitch the second he exploded through the door.

The PI ran through the preliminaries quickly, ending with Jonathan's arrival.

"Mallory." Hadman turned to him. "How do you fit into all this?"

"Tell them about the phone call," Mitch instructed him.

Jonathan complied, although he looked stunned and shaky.

"You're sure it was Taylor's voice?" Reed demanded.

"Definitely."

"But she obviously didn't place the call," Mitch said. "Which means that someone went to the trouble of taping her voice and splicing the right phrases together."

"Whoever's framing me." Jonathan rubbed the back of his neck. "He wanted it to look like I was coming here to hurt her."

"That's not all he wanted," Mitch muttered. "He wanted a diversion. And he got it. While the doorman and I were arguing with you, he slipped into the building and upstairs to Taylor. Her front door was ajar.

I smelled chloroform in the hall. After I called Reed, I went around to the side of the building and checked the delivery entrance. Since it rained earlier this afternoon, there were puddles all around. I was hoping to find some telltale marks, like tire tracks or footprints. I found both. There were tire tracks running down the ramp to the side door. A vehicle was driven down there recently. There was also a set of footprints leading from the door to the tire tracks. One set. My guess would be that Taylor was unconscious and being carried to the car."

"Christ." Reed felt bile rise in his throat. "Gordon has her. He's planning a repeat performance. First Adrienne. Now Taylor."

"Gordon?" The shocked outburst came from Jonathan. "As in, my brother?"

"Yeah." Mitch answered for Reed, who was in no shape to explain. "That's who we mean."

Olin strode in. "I've got a couple of witnesses who saw a silver mini-van speed away about thirty minutes ago. No make or model. And no license-plate number. Apparently, the vehicle came close to causing two accidents at two separate intersections as it headed south toward mid-town. Driver's probably in a hurry to get out of Manhattan. Silver mini-vans aren't exactly rare, which I'm sure is why our perp chose it. We've alerted the other boroughs. They'll get word to their patrol cars."

"Let's hope someone gets us a lead." Hadman turned to Mitch. "Time to cut to the chase. I gave those files to Weston. I know what you two were looking for. So, tell me, do you have actual proof that Gordon Mallory's alive?"

"We will when we find Taylor."

"That's not an answer."

"It's the only answer we've got right now, Hadman." Reed countered grimly. "And it'll have to be enough. I'm convinced Gordon's alive. But even if I'm wrong, our psycho-stalker's got Taylor."

With that, he whipped around to his client, who'd sunk down into a chair, white-faced. "Jonathan." He grabbed his arms. "I know you're reeling. But you've got to think. Where would Gordon take Taylor?"

Jonathan gazed up at Reed with a vague expression in his eyes. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"We planned to, as soon as we had conclusive evidence. We're close. But now everything's changed."

"'We,'" Jonathan repeated. "Taylor knows?"

"Yes. She was doing a forensic profile on Gordon, based on his personality and what he endured as a teen."

"G.o.d. He hated Adrienne's guts." Jonathan swallowed. "So he didn't die in the boat explosion?"

"We don't think so. Now answer my question. Where would he take Taylor?"

It was no use. That vague look was still there as Jonathan fought to process the enormity of what he was learning. "Do he and I have identical DNA?"

Reed wanted to shake him until he talked. But he had to snap him out of his shock first. "Yes. And he's got motive, means, and access. Jonathan, listen to me. I'll explain everything later. But we're fighting the clock. Taylor was trying to help you. Now it's your turn to help her. Please."

That did the trick.

Jonathan raised his head, and Reed could see the fog in his eyes clear. "Okay. Okay." He wiped beads of perspiration off his brow. "I don't know much more about Gordon's habits than you do. I do know that most of the places he hung out were very chichi, very visible. No way he'd take her there. His apartment's been sold, so that's out." A quizzical look. "Where's he been living all this time?"

"Good question," Reed muttered.

"If no one knows, then maybe that's where he's taking Taylor."

"Excuse me for interrupting," Hadman inserted. "But this whole theory doesn't fly. Not in my mind.

First off, I don't buy that anyone survived that boat explosion, much less planned it. But even if I'm wrong, Gordon Mallory was a flashy, extravagant guy. No way he's living in some slum just so he can b.u.mp off the Berkleys, stalk Taylor Halstead, and frame his brother."

"You don't know how much Gordon hated Adrienne, or how screwed up he was," Jonathan countered bitterly.

"Fine. I'm sure he was a nutcase and a sc.u.mbag. But he was also smart. He'd think through his plan.

He'd know we'd fry his a.s.s if we found him. He'd have two choices. Live underground or get a fake ID and pa.s.sport and flee the country. What would he plan to subsidize his lifestyle with-- love? No way. Like I said, he liked the good life too much." Hadman's brows rose. "Unless you know something we don't--like the existence of some Swiss bank account?"

Reed shrugged. "I'm sure he had secret accounts. But even if he set himself up financially, it was a short-term thing. The amount he cheated his clients out of wasn't enough to set him up for life, not by a long shot. You want my opinion? I think Gordon plans on getting his hands on Douglas's estate.

That's why he's framing Jonathan. As for how he'd claim his inheritance when he's supposedly dead, there's got to be an angle we're just not seeing--"

The ringing of Reed's cell phone interrupted him.

"Maybe it's Taylor. Maybe she found a way to call." Reed punched on the phone. "h.e.l.lo?"

There was a long pause. "Mr. Weston?"

"Yes? Who is this?"

"It's Alison Elmond. You left me a message. Something to do with my uncle's murder?"

Speaking of the unexplored angle.

"Oh, yes--Ms. Elmond. Thank you for returning my call." Reed ma.s.saged his temples, trying to rea.s.semble the questions he'd mentally prepared to secure information on Gordon. Only now those questions had to be slanted toward a more urgent and immediate goal. Finding Taylor.

His prolonged silence must have made his caller nervous because she gave an uneasy laugh, then began talking to fill it. "Actually, it's not Ms. Elmond anymore. Not since last week. I got married."

"Congratulations," Reed replied on autopilot. "My mistake, Mrs-----?"

"Kincaid," she supplied with the obvious pride of a newlywed. "Mrs. Dennis Kincaid."

Everything inside Reed went still. "Dennis Kincaid? I know a Dennis Kincaid who's the audio engineer at WVNY. Is he your new husband?"

"Why, yes."

"I'm dating Taylor Halstead."

"Oh, what a small world." Another awkward laugh. "Dennis talks about Ms. Halstead all the time. He thinks the world of her. He was thrilled to work with her. Even though he was devastated by what happened to poor Rick Sh.o.r.e. What a horrible tragedy. Dennis took it hard."

"I'm sure he did." Reed had to keep her on this subject. This coincidence was far too bizarre to be a fluke. "Rick's death was a shock to everyone at WVNY. They're a close-knit group."

"I know. And Dennis felt a particular bond with Rick. He taught him so much. I can't tell you how grateful Dennis was. And not only to Rick. To Jack Taft, the program manager. Mr. Taft is the one who gave Dennis the opportunity to do audio for Ms. Halstead's show."

"So I heard. Although, as I understand it, Dennis is great at his job."

"Did Ms. Halstead say that?" Alison asked eagerly.

Reed went with his gut. "She says it all the time. She feels very lucky to have such a competent crew."

"It's Dennis who feels lucky. He constantly mentions how smart Kevin Hodges is. But, most of all, he talks about Ms. Halstead. He says how amazing she is, how fascinated he is by her abilities with people. He says he learns something new from her every day. When she's on the air and he's working the control panel, he just watches her through the gla.s.s part.i.tion. He says that by watching her, he can soak up some of her energy. He's her biggest fan."

He just watches her through the gla.s.s part.i.tion . . . watches her... watches her . . .

The phrase struck Reed like a ton of bricks.

What was it Mitch had said about the call Jonathan just received? He'd said that someone had made a sound clip of Taylor's voice. The caller had taped her voice, then spliced together the right phrases.

Well, he wouldn't have to work too hard to make that sound clip if he were right there in the studio.

In fact, he'd have immediate access to copies of all her shows. And splicing together just the right phrases would be a snap--if the caller were a trained audio tech.

Taylor's audio tech.

Reed's insides lurched. G.o.d. Was it possible?

"Mr. Weston?" Alison prompted. "Are you still there?"

"Yes, I'm sorry." Reed pulled himself together. He had to ferret out the rest. "Mrs. Kincaid, if you don't mind my asking, how long were you and Dennis engaged?"

"We didn't do the engagement thing. We just got married. It was very spontaneous. Dennis just came over one night last week all pumped up, and said, 'Let's get married.' And we did."

Pumped up? More like frustrated--and in a hurry to tie a crucial legal knot.

Another piece fell into place.

"That sounds very romantic." Reed had to fight to keep his voice even. "Is Dennis usually that spontaneous? I mean, you must have known each other for quite a while now."

"Not really. We met around Thanksgiving. We just happened to click right from the start. I have a pottery shop in the Village. Dennis came in to buy a gift. The rest, as they say, is history." Alison paused, as if it suddenly occurred to her that Reed's questions had taken an odd turn. "I think we got sidetracked. You wanted to talk to me about my uncle and his wife's murders. I felt ill when I saw the news on TV. But I'm not sure how much help I can be. I haven't seen Uncle Douglas since I was a child. My mother was an artist, kind of the black sheep of the family--a bohemian, in the minds of the Berkleys. So we weren't in touch."

"Were you in touch with either Gordon or Jonathan Mallory?"

"No. I'm sorry."

"That's okay. I'm just covering all my bases." Reed's jaw was working. He had to get back to the subject of Dennis. He knew she'd become wary of his personal questions. He didn't care. He had to try one last time. He couldn't force her to talk, not without a warrant. And a warrant required evidence, which he didn't have. Nor did he have time to gather it. Not with Taylor's life on the line.

He'd tread carefully.

"Before we hang up, is Dennis at WVNY tonight?"

As Reed had expected, she was instantly alert. "Why?"

"Because I'd like to send a congratulatory bottle in honor of your marriage," Reed replied smoothly. "What does Dennis drink?"

Her relief was tangible. "That's lovely of you. He drinks Scotch. But he won't be in tonight. He'd planned to be, since our honeymoon is now officially over. But at the last minute, he asked Mr. Taft for one more night off. He told me it involved something personal and important." A shy giggle. "He was very mysterious. All he'd tell me was not to wait up, because he had no idea how late he'd be home. He said he was planning a surprise that would secure our future." It was pathetic how eager she sounded.

Reflecting on the "surprise" Dennis was really planning, Reed nearly threw up.

"Maybe he's looking at a cottage upstate, like in Dutchess County," she added wistfully.

Reed jumped all over that. "Why? Is that where you two want to move ?"

"I do. Not Dennis. He'd prefer to look closer to the city. But houses in the suburbs cost a fortune. We can't afford them. And we want a place of our own. Especially Dennis, who's been living in dumps, as he described them, since he moved to the city. They were so bad, he never even let me visit him.

We're living in my place now, but it's cramped. So a nice cottage upstate would be a start. Maybe he's considering it for my sake." Alison's voice took on an anxious note. "I realize it's far. But tell Ms. Halstead not to worry. Dennis will commute by train, no matter how many hours it takes."

It won't be necessary, Reed thought grimly. Not after what he has in mind.

"I'm sure he will," he said aloud, pursuing the transportation angle in the hopes of hearing the magic words: "silver minivan." "But since you work in the Village, maybe you two could drive in together, rather than taking the train."

"That would be great if we had a car. But we don't. Not yet. We're saving up for one."

Okay, so the minivan was a rental. Not a surprise. As for saving up for anything, Alison had a rude awakening ahead of her. She might be saving. But Dennis had his whole pension lined up.

"Truthfully, Mr. Weston, I think Dennis is putting off buying the car. He's a little gun-shy about getting behind the wheel after his accident."

Now, that came out of left field.

Reed went after it like a lion to meat. "I didn't realize Dennis had been in an accident."