Edward opened his mouth to say G.o.d-knows-what, but his wife silenced him with a firm grip on his arm. "We appreciate your concern, Ms. Halstead." Her voice could freeze water. "We'll take it from here."

I'm sure you will, Taylor thought wryly as, a few minutes later, she shut the door behind them. At this very moment, you're on your way to the headmaster to file a complaint against me. Instead of looking inside yourselves, you'll resolve the problem by shifting responsibility to me. No wonder Chris, like so many Dellinger students, is out of control.

Sighing, Taylor sank back down in her chair and ma.s.saged her temples.

It wasn't even eleven o'clock and she was wiped.

Then again, she'd been in perpetual motion since dawn. At nine, she'd dashed over to sign the lease on an apartment she'd gotten first dibs on, thanks to one of the teachers in her school who was a friend of the vacating tenant. The place was exactly what Taylor had been looking for. It was close to her current apartment--just two blocks over on West Seventy-fourth Street--and in great condition. It was similar in layout-- a modern kitchen, a sunken living room, and a mauve marble-and-tile bathroom--but with one less bedroom, less square footage, and no horrible memories. The lease didn't start until March, which gave Taylor plenty of time to pack, to sublet her current apartment, and to work on putting this chapter of her life behind her.

Speaking of closure ... Taylor glanced quickly at her watch, noting that it was well past eleven o'clock. Time to take care of her next priority-- calling Joseph.

She picked up her phone and punched in the number.

He took her call right away. "Taylor. I'm sorry about yesterday. I didn't intend to be sidetracked for so long."

"Things happen. No apology is necessary." She pulled out her copy of the contract, glancing at it as she spoke. "Besides, it worked out for the best. I wanted to talk to you in private, and I needed to organize my thoughts first." She lowered the doc.u.ment to the table. "The truth is, it's not the contract that's bothering me. It's what's motivating it."

"Meaning?"

"Gordon is dead. Douglas Berkley is controlling his a.s.sets. If Gordon's company was as profitable as he led Steph to believe, why would Mr. Berkley want to dissolve this partnership? Why not step in as CEO of Gordon's company and continue operating both the company and the partnership?"

Joseph gave a grunt. "That thought occurred to me, too. All I can a.s.sume is that it's either for personal reasons or that Douglas Berkley did some projections and determined that this particular partnership wasn't as profitable as expected."

"Even if that's the case, why is Mr. Randolph rushing through the process? And why did he need a criminal attorney to monitor our meeting?"

The prolonged silence at the other end of the phone told Taylor that Joseph was surprised.

"Taylor," he said finally. "I don't know what you're getting at. But I can tell you that Harter, Randolph and Collins is a fine, reputable firm. Douglas Berkley's reputation is equally spotless. I'm sure there's nothing unethical going on here. As for Reed Weston, I admit I was surprised to see him at the meeting. But he explained his involvement. True, he is primarily a criminal defense attorney, but he's active in other areas of the law as well. Clearly, those other areas include the legal affairs of Douglas Berkley.

So I wouldn't read anything into his being there with Horace."

Everything Joseph said made sense. But that didn't placate her. The legal firm handling Gordon's estate might be on the up-and-up. But Gordon had not been.

"Would you do me a favor?" she asked Joseph. "Would you call Mr. Randolph and clarify a few particulars--such as why Mr. Berkley's opted to terminate the partnership and why he needs my answer so quickly? If you make the conversation attorney to attorney, he's more apt to be frank."

"Frank about what?" Joseph demanded. "What is it you're hoping to find out?"

Taylor blew out her breath. "I don't know."

Another pause, during which time Taylor could visualize Joseph shaking his head in frustration. He thought she was overreacting.

Maybe she was.

"All right, Taylor," he said at last. "I'll give Horace a call. I'll get back to you later today."

JANUARY 15.

1:35 P.M.

EAST HAMPTON, LONG ISLAND.

Jonathan took the gla.s.s Douglas handed him and sank down on the chaise longue. Outside the tempered-gla.s.s walls, a layer of snow covered the twenty-five-acre estate, but inside the domed room that housed the heated indoor pool, the air was hot, thick, and humid. Loosening his tie, Jonathan settled back to nurse his Scotch.

"You're going to sweat to death," Douglas commented, stirring his martini. "Why don't you change into trunks?"

"Not today. I don't have time. I've got to get back to the city."

Jonathan stared off toward the pool, where Adrienne was doing laps, toning her already luscious body, which looked as if it belonged to a twenty-five-year-old rather than a fifty-five-year-old. Then again, her body was her shrine. She'd pampered it and perfected it as long as Jonathan could remember.

Douglas was studying him intently. He walked over to sit down on the adjacent chaise, a towel draped around his damp shoulders. He was a distinguished-looking man in his late sixties, tall and physically fit, with steel gray eyes and a full head of salt-and-pepper hair. Mentally, he was as sharp as a tack. And he was well aware that whatever Jonathan had come here to discuss, it wasn't good.

"Fine. You need to get back. So tell me what's on your mind. Is it the business? Are you turning down my offer again?"

Jonathan gave a hard shake of his head. "It's got nothing to do with Berkley and Company. Frankly, I haven't had a minute to breathe, much less to reconsider your offer. Things at work have been crazy, and the loose ends you and I are trying to tie up aren't coming together as smoothly as we'd hoped."

Douglas twisted around so he was facing Jonathan and not his wife, who was climbing out of the pool to towel herself dry. "Gordon?" he asked, although he already knew the answer.

A nod.

"What now?"

"It's Taylor Halstead. She's back in the picture again." Jonathan sighed. "She was the only one who didn't sign the contract. On top of that, Horace called me last night to let me know that her attorney had contacted him. His client's asking questions."

"What kind of questions?"

"Why you're unwinding the partnership. Why we're in such a hurry to finalize this transaction." A frown. "That in itself wouldn't be a problem. Horace was evasive. He said he wasn't at liberty to divulge his client's reasons. But there's more. I ran smack into Taylor Halstead after her meeting. She lost it when she saw me. She yelled at me to stay away from her, darted around the reception area like a cornered rat. Reed had to take her into his office and calm her down. And, believe me, Taylor Halstead does not appear to be the hysterical type."

Swearing softly under his breath, Douglas gulped down his drink. .

"d.a.m.n Gordon," he muttered. "Even dead, he's a pain in the a.s.s. What did he do to that woman?"

"I don't know. But Reed's right. This isn't simply a matter of her a.s.sociating Gordon with her cousin's death. She was terrified, not upset. And the fact that she's so suspicious--I don't know what to think."

"We have to find out." Douglas ma.s.saged his temples. "We need to terminate this investment partnership before anyone discovers it was a total fraud."

"What fraud?" Adrienne inquired, squeezing out her thick mane of auburn hair. She pulled a terry-cloth robe on over her bikini-clad body and walked over to pour herself a martini.

"Nothing for you to worry about, darling," Douglas a.s.sured her. "Just a business snag Jonathan's handling for me."

Adrienne regarded her husband over the rim of her gla.s.s. "Jonathan's an international trade consultant," she said. "He doesn't work for you, at least not yet. Which means this snag concerns Gordon."

Douglas sighed. "Like I said, it's nothing for you to worry about. Jonathan and I will deal with it."

Her pale green eyes glittered with irritation. "Please do. In the meantime, I'd put off making any announcements--business or personal--until it's taken care of. Otherwise, the scandal will eat us alive."

Jonathan stayed out of the conversation, giving his full attention to his Scotch. He'd had years of practice hiding his disdain for Adrienne. He was a pro at it. Besides, things had changed. He no longer gave a d.a.m.n what she said. He had his own agenda.

"I'm off to get my ma.s.sage," Adrienne announced, setting down her empty gla.s.s. She leaned over and kissed her husband lightly on the mouth. "We'll talk later." She gave Jonathan a fleeting glance as she turned away. "Good-bye, Jonathan. Have a safe trip back to the city,"

He nodded, his face carefully blank as he watched her leave the room. Then he turned to Douglas.

"How do you want me to handle this?"

Douglas scowled. "Clearly, you can't approach Taylor Halstead yourself."

"True. For now." He paused, sidetracked for a brief instant by his own words. Then he resumed.

"I take it you still want to keep a low profile on this?"

"It's the best way. If I get involved, it'll look worse than it is."

"I agree. I was thinking of asking Reed to handle it. He's removed enough from Gordon to be nonthreatening."

"True." Douglas gave a thoughtful nod. "Not to mention he's charming as h.e.l.l and incredibly good at winning over reluctant people." A quizzical look. "We still don't know how much Taylor Halstead pieced together. She's been poking around since the accident."

"And if she knows the real link between you, Gordon, and me?"

Douglas shrugged. "It's moot. If you accept my offer, the whole world will know."

"Yeah, and Adrienne will be livid. That hasn't changed. Not after thirty-five years."

"You let me handle Adrienne. You stop by and see Reed. Ask him to talk to Taylor Halstead and see if he can smooth things over. We need to clean up Gordon's mess and bury the past."

Bury the past. An interesting choice of words, Jonathan thought, polishing off his Scotch.

Some things couldn't be buried.

On the other hand, some things could.

CHAPTER 7.

JANUARY 24.

10:35 P.M.

Taylor was preoccupied when she left the WVNY studios that night.

Not with Teen Talk.

With the legal situation.

She'd heard back from Joseph a day after she'd called him. He'd told her, in no uncertain terms, that Horace Randolph was adamant about two things: he didn't divulge his clients' confidences, and Douglas Berkley's ethics were above reproach.

Great. That told her nothing.

But the week and a half of ensuing silence did.

Mr. Randolph had wanted the contract signed and the transaction completed ASAP. Yet more than ten days had pa.s.sed and he hadn't contacted her attorney to find out where things stood. Why was there suddenly no pressure being exerted by Harter, Randolph & Collins? Were they just giving her s.p.a.ce, or were they crafting their strategy?

Taylor didn't know why she cared. Steph was gone. Her monetary investments, good or bad, were superfluous. And if Gordon had ripped her off, maybe it was best Taylor didn't know.

Making her way through the lobby, Taylor turned up her collar against the January chill and headed toward the revolving door that led to Seventh Avenue. She stepped outside and shivered. It was freezing, tiny snow flurries drifting around, trying to make up their minds whether or not to stick.

It was cold, gloomy, more desolate, and later than usual--definitely not a subway night.

She was about to hail a taxi when a black Mercedes SUV pulled up next to the curb beside her. The window on the pa.s.senger's side slid down, and the driver leaned over, calling out to her. "Need a lift?"

With a start, Taylor recognized the penetrating blue eyes and winter-tanned features of Reed Weston. "What are you doing here?" she demanded.

He pushed open the door. "Get in. I'll drive you home."

This was too bizarre for words. "Just like that."

"Just like that."

Her eyes narrowed. "Which direction are you headed?"

"Whichever one you need me to be headed in." He patted the seat beside him. "Come on. It's twenty degrees outside. And my car's a lot more comfortable than a cab."

The scenario was transparent. But it was also too intriguing to pa.s.s up.

"Fine." Taylor walked over and slid in, pulling the car door shut. "This is the part where you tell me you just happened to be in the neighborhood," she informed him, fastening her seat belt. "And what a coincidence it is that I popped up in the same place at the same time."

A corner of his mouth lifted, and he pulled out into traffic. "Sorry to disappoint you, but I knew what time your radio show ended. I was waiting for you. I've actually been around the block four times."

He slanted her a sideways look. "Now, why don't you tell me where you live?"

"You mean, you haven't researched my address? I'm disappointed."

"Don't be. I'm a lawyer, not a PI. But I am a good guesser." He sized her up thoughtfully. "Let's see.

I'd say the Upper West Side, maybe somewhere in the seventies. Close to ma.s.s transit and the park."

Taylor found herself smiling. "Not bad. It's West Seventy-second, a block from the subway station.

But not near the park. Near Lincoln Center." Her smile faded. "Why don't you tell me why you're really here."

"To talk."

"Really? Did it occur to you that I might not be in the mood for conversation? I've been talking for hours. I'm beat."

"That's why I picked a Friday night. You can sleep in tomorrow."

For some reason, his rationale irked her. "And if I had a date?"

Reed didn't look the least bit put off. "Then I'd apologize and reschedule. Why? Do you?"

"No. That's not the point. If you wanted to set up an appointment, you could have used a telephone.