"He said he'd be in the office until eleven o'clock tonight, catching up on paperwork."

"Fine. Then I'll call him now."

"I'll wait outside." Laura rose, leaving the studio and shutting the door behind her.

Taylor punched in the law firm's phone number, then pressed Joseph's extension.

He picked up on the third ring, sounding fuzzy with fatigue. "Yes?"

"h.e.l.lo, Joseph, it's Taylor Halstead. You wanted to speak with me?"

"Taylor, yes." Some shuffling of papers. "I got a call from Horace Randolph of Harter, Randolph and Collins. He's asked to meet with us."

Harter, Randolph & Collins? Taylor knew they were a prominent Park Avenue law firm. "What on earth does Mr. Randolph want with me? Isn't he a corporate lawyer?"

"Yes, but the firm represents some influential personal clients, too. And Horace specializes in trusts and estates."

"Trusts and estates. Does this have to do with Steph?"

"Seems so. Harter, Randolph and Collins represent the interests of Douglas and Adrienne Berkley, as well as those of Jonathan and Gordon Mallory."

Taylor felt her stomach tighten. "Did Mr. Randolph give you any details about this meeting?"

"Only that it concerns the partnership Gordon Mallory had formed with the group of investors who died in the boating accident. Horace would like us to be at his office on January thirteenth at four o'clock. Can you make it?"

She glanced at her calendar. School was over at a quarter to three. Getting over to Park by four would be no problem. "Yes, I can make it."

"Excellent. I'll meet you in the lobby at ten of four."

"I'll be there."

CHAPTER 5.

JANUARY 13.

4:20 P.M.

HARTER, RANDOLPH & COLLINS.

270 PARK AVENUE, NEW YORK CITY.

The offices of Harter, Randolph & Collins looked like a nineteenth-century English gentlemen's club--heavy wood, expensive leather, with an elite, old-world masculine feel from reception area to law library.

After a fifteen-minute wait, Taylor and Joseph were ushered into the "small" conference room--which was so big it made one wonder what the "large" conference room looked like--by a sober-faced woman of middle years.

Horace Randolph took over from there. A distinguished, gray-haired gentleman with that senior-partner air, he walked over to the threshold to greet them, to apologize for the delay, and to escort them over to the walnut table.

Two other attendees sat there--one man, one woman. The woman looked trim and efficient. Her back was ramrod straight, her hands were poised above her laptop, and she'd set up a small ca.s.sette recorder in front of her. Mr. Randolph's a.s.sistant, obviously.

The man was another matter entirely.

He was striking. He wasn't cla.s.sically handsome, but he was very earthy and very male--not James Bond male, but ski-slope, camping-in-the-woods male. It was odd, given how at ease he looked in his Brooks Brothers suit. Maybe it was his features. Patrician as they were, they were still winter-tanned. He'd definitely spent time in the sun recently--golden highlights were threaded through his jet-black hair. His eyes could pin you to the wall. They were an intense midnight blue, bold and penetrating. As for his age, he was decades younger than Horace Randolph--maybe in his midthirties--but he had the same air of innate self-a.s.surance.

He was tall, too, Taylor noted as he rose to greet her. Over six feet.

Brooks Brothers meets L.L. Bean. An interesting combo.

"Ms. Halstead, this is Reed Weston, one of our attorneys," Mr. Randolph explained. "He's going to sit in on this meeting. Joseph, you two know each other."

"Of course. Nice to see you, Reed." Joseph looked vaguely surprised, but not put out.

"You, too." Reed's gaze flickered over Taylor in instinctive male a.s.sessment, and he extended his hand. "Ms. Halstead. It's a pleasure."

"Mr. Weston," she acknowledged, meeting his handshake. She turned to Horace Randolph, her shoulders lifting in a puzzled shrug. "May I ask what this meeting's about? Specifically, I mean. Joseph tells me it concerns my cousin's estate."

"It does. Please, have a seat." Mr. Randolph gestured at the chair directly across the table from Reed Weston.

She complied. Joseph sat down beside her, stacking his file neatly in front of him.

Horace Randolph took the chair across from Joseph, interlacing his fingers on the conference table. "As you know, we represent the estate of Gordon Mallory. As you also know, Mr. Mallory's company formed a partnership with a group of investors, all of whom died in that tragic boating accident last September. Your cousin Stephanie was one of those investors. Given that she and all her co-investors are now deceased, the executor of Mr. Mallory's estate, Douglas Berkley, has determined that continuing the partnership no longer makes sense."

"I see." Taylor was intrigued. Joseph had informed her that Douglas Berkley was the executor; the will was a matter of public record, along with all the other papers filed for probate. But his decision to dissolve the partnership--now, that was interesting. "Go on."

Mr. Randolph leaned forward, his gaze steady as he studied her reaction. "In order to expedite the dissolution, Mr. Berkley is offering to purchase each investor's partnership interest, including any appreciation over and above the initial investment. If that's agreeable ..." He beckoned to his a.s.sistant, who handed him a doc.u.ment. "This is a simple sales contract. It says in legalese what I've just explained. In short, our firm is authorized to give you a check for the full value of your cousin's investment. You just have to sign the contract and we can put this matter to rest." He slid the form across the table to Joseph.

Joseph looked it over, then handed it to Taylor. "It's in order."

"I'm sure it is." She met his gaze squarely. "However, I'd like some time to read it, to review it with you alone so I'm sure I fully understand it, and to discuss the matter with Stephanie's parents. As you know, I don't make any major decisions regarding her estate without consulting with them."

"Absolutely."

"Of course," Horace Randolph concurred, his expression neutral. "Whatever you're comfortable with. Joseph can get back to me in a day or two."

A day or two. Boy, wasn't he in a hurry?

Taylor turned, inclining her head at Reed Weston and trying to dig up at least one of her answers.

"Are you working with Mr. Randolph on the dissolution of this partnership?"

A glimmer of amus.e.m.e.nt flickered in those midnight eyes. "Mr. Randolph doesn't require my a.s.sistance. But I do represent the Berkleys. I've known them for many years."

"I see." She wasn't sure she did.

Reed Weston pushed back his chair and rose. "If you're taking the contract with you, then you won't be needing me for questions or to witness doc.u.ments. So, please excuse me."

"I'm sure Ms. Halstead has to be going, too," Mr. Randolph added smoothly, coming to his feet. "As I understand it, she has a radio show to prepare for." He turned to his secretary, addressing her for the first time. "Ms. Posner, would you print off copies of the unsigned contract for Mr. Lehar and Ms. Halstead, then escort the two of them to the reception area?"

"Certainly."

Ms. Posner was out the door like a bullet, followed closely by the rest of the group. Talk about a New York minute, Taylor mused, glancing at her watch after she'd gotten her papers and said her good-byes. Once they saw she wasn't signing on the spot, Gordon's lawyers ended the meeting.

She was itching to talk to her attorney alone.

That plan hit a snag when, halfway down the corridor, Joseph was waylaid by another attorney--one who wanted to catch up. Fine. Hearing Joseph's take on things was going to have to wait.

She made arrangements to call him the next day, then continued down the corridor, pausing to stop in the ladies' room before leaving.

A quick, quiet partnership dissolution, she reflected, running a brush through her hair. The whole thing sounded sketchy. Not illegal. Just off-color. Then again, everything about Gordon Mallory was sketchy. So no shock there.

She was lost in thought when she exited the bathroom, retracing her steps until she reached the reception area. Nodding at the receptionist, she reached for the doork.n.o.b on the heavy wooden door, at the exact second that the door swung open and a man strode in, nearly knocking her down.

"Excuse me," he said, reaching out to steady her on her feet. "Are you all right?"

Taylor raised her head to reply, but the words stuck in her throat as she stared into the hard brown eyes and sculpted features that had been etched in her nightmares since September. The color drained from her face, and she let out a sharp cry as she jerked away. "Let go of me!"

"What?"

"I said, get your hands off me!" She slapped his hands off her elbows and turned to run, feeling hysteria bubbling up inside her.

The receptionist was staring at her as if she were a lunatic. So were the half dozen other employees who had rushed out of their offices at the commotion.

Taylor stopped dead in her tracks, common sense telling her that what she was seeing was an impossibility. Simultaneously, reality descended with a crashing blow.

The twin.

A few seconds into this surreal scenario, Reed Weston materialized, making his way through to where she stood. "Ms. Halstead?" He gazed from her white face to the man standing behind her. "What's wrong?"

"I... I thought... but it's not..." She sucked in her breath. "It must be his brother."

"I collided with her in the doorway," the man behind her supplied. "But judging from her reaction, she wasn't prepared to see me. I apologize." He stepped around to face Taylor, but made no move to touch her. "I'm Jonathan Mallory, Ms. Halstead. I didn't know you'd be here. I'm sorry for the shock."

"I..." She wet her lips with the tip of her tongue. "Right. I figured out who you were about three seconds ago." Her voice sounded high and thin. Dammit, she had to get a hold of herself. She wasn't in the habit of losing her composure. And it wasn't as if she didn't know Gordon had an identical twin. It's just that he'd caught her by surprise--a surprise she clearly wasn't ready to handle.

She had to try.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Mallory." His name tasted like chalk, and she had to force out the words while gazing at a mirror image of Gordon in a slightly more conservative suit. "I didn't know you'd be here. If I had . .." To Taylor's dismay, she felt herself sway on her feet.

"Let's get you a chair and some water." Reed Weston took her arm, leading her away from the reception area. "Jonathan," he said over his shoulder. "I'll be with you shortly."

"Take your time."

By the time Reed Weston steered her into his office and eased her into a chair, Taylor was seeing little black specks.

"Put your head between your knees and breathe," he instructed.

Taylor obeyed.

A gla.s.s was thrust in her hand. "Drink."

She sat up and took a deep swallow. "Thanks." The cobwebs were beginning to clear. "I'm all right."

He perched at the edge of his desk, regarding her intently. "All this from running into Jonathan?"

"No. I'm not that pathetic," she murmured. "I skipped lunch. I've been running around all day. Crashing into him was just the last straw."

Without a word, Reed leaned back, pressed the intercom b.u.t.ton on his phone. "Cathy?"

"Yes, Mr. Weston?"

"There are some m.u.f.fins left from this morning's meeting. I'd appreciate your grabbing a few and bringing them to my office."

"Yes, sir."

He sat up. "Sustenance is on the way."

Taylor finished off her water and set down the gla.s.s. "That's not necessary," she said, starting to get up. "I'm fine. Just on overload."

"On overload and starved," he corrected, halting her progress. "I don't want you fainting on Park Avenue. It's rush hour. You'll be stampeded by the Grand Central crowd."

With a weak smile, Taylor settled back. "True enough." She glanced around, taking in her surroundings for the first time. The furnishings were as staid and traditional as the rest of the place. But the size of the office-- now, that was interesting. It was large, much larger than the other offices she'd pa.s.sed, with the exception of those belonging to the senior partners. And its location was impressive, too--a panoramically windowed, southeast corner. Nice.

Apparently, Reed Weston was held in high regard.

"So what's the verdict?"

Taylor's gaze snapped back to his, and she chose her words carefully. "That you're successful. That you're valued. And that you're probably going to be making partner at a very young age--if you aren't one already."

A corner of his mouth lifted. "I'm not. But thanks for the vote of confidence."

"I doubt you need it."

Taylor fell silent as Reed's secretary came in, carrying a plate with two blueberry m.u.f.fins on it.

"Thanks, Cathy." He gestured for her to give the plate to Taylor. "Those are for Ms. Halstead." He waited while Taylor took the plate. "That'll be all for today," he added to his secretary. "Go on home. We'll finish that stack of letters first thing in the morning."

"Yes, sir." The solid, efficient-looking woman with the mousy brown hair and conservative navy suit said her good-nights and left.

Reed gestured at the m.u.f.fins. "Eat."

No coercion was necessary. She took a bite of a m.u.f.fin. "I'm sorry for the inconvenience, and the commotion. I'll be out of your hair in a minute."

"No problem. Take your time."

Taylor took a few more bites, then set down the plate. "I feel much better. Thanks."

"You're welcome."

He didn't seem to be in any hurry. He was still studying her.