I'll Be Watching You Read online

  head on her shoulders. How often do you find beauty, brains, and class all in one woman?"

  "Good point," Reed agreed warily. "Still, I'd cut her a wide berth if I were you. Clearly she wasn't

  pleased to see a mirror image of Gordon."

  Jonathan's gaze was steady. "Maybe. Maybe not."

  CHAPTER 6

  JANUARY 14

  10:30 A.M.

  DELLINGER ACADEMY

  EAST EIGHTY-FIFTH STREET, NEW YORK CITY

  Taylor shut her office door and walked around to take a seat behind her desk. She could feel the surge

  of tension, impatience, and resentment emanating from the impeccably dressed, polished, wealthy

  couple sitting across from her.

  Chris Young's parents. Dr. Edward Young and Dr. Olivia Young. Edward was a nationally recognized urologist. Olivia was a neurosurgeon at Mount Sinai.

  This was not going to be pleasant.

  Sure enough, Olivia Young took out her pager and placed it pointedly on the edge of Taylor's desk.

  "I've got a patient in recovery," she announced, leveling a cool stare at Taylor. "My time is limited."

  "As is mine," her husband agreed in an authoritative voice that probably sent shivers up the spines of

  his medical staff. "So what's this about?"

  "Chris." Taylor folded her hands in front of her. "And it's serious or I wouldn't have pulled you away from your patients."

  "His grades were excellent this past term," Edward snapped. "Other than English, where he got a C.

  Fine. We're all aware that English is not Chris's strong suit. All his college applications are in, and

  between his solid average and the wide range of sports—"

  "This has nothing to do with Chris's academics, or where he stands in the college process," Taylor interrupted. "It has to do with his behavior."

  In situations like this, the direct approach was best. Even if it did elicit fireworks.

  She leaned forward, neither blinking nor averting her gaze. "I purposely chose this time for us to meet because the entire school is at an assembly, and I'm trying to cause Chris the least amount of embarrassment."

  "Embarrassment? Over what?"

  "The fact that he's been making inappropriate advances toward me."

  Olivia Young's jaw dropped. "Excuse me?"

  "This problem didn't materialize out of the blue," Taylor continued. "To be blunt, Chris has had a crush on me since he was in eighth grade. Back then, it didn't concern me. He was coming into his own. It's

  not unusual for a boy who's discovering his sexuality to have a crush on a teacher or school counselor. His flirtations were harmless—a lot of guffawing with his pals when they passed me in the hall, and an occasional stare or grin. When the stares and grins got out of hand, I called Chris into my office and we had a chat. We discussed respect, and proper versus improper behavior. I made my point loud and clear. But in the end, it seemed to sink in. Plus, Chris got sidetracked by a normal, extremely active social life. His popularity really took off after he became captain of the hockey team. The girls started swarming around him like flies."

  "Then what's the problem?"

  "The problem is that this term, things took a major downward spiral."

  "The college entrance process is a stressful one, Ms. Halstead," Edward reminded her icily. "I'm sure

  you realize that."

  "I do. And I cut Chris more slack than I should have because of it. But he's gotten way out of line. Last month, he started making suggestive comments to me. If you'd like particulars, I'd be happy to supply them."

  "Don't bother." Olivia held up a curtailing palm. "We get the picture."

  "I thought you would. Anyway, right before winter break, I told Chris that if his behavior didn't change ASAP, I'd be calling you in. That obviously didn't deter him. Since we got back from vacation, the situation's gotten worse. He pops into my office every chance he gets and asks me out. Last week he waltzed in here after hours, draped an arm around my shoulders, and suggested that we—and I quote your son—'hook up tonight for a date—a date with benefits.' He then elaborated on what those benefits would be, and told me how adept he was at providing them. Again, I'm sure I don't need to paint a

  picture for you." Taylor's jaw set. "Your son is not a gawky adolescent anymore. He's a very cocky young man of nearly eighteen. He's had ample warning about his behavior, yet he's made no move to modify it. If anything, he's stepping it up to the point where it constitutes harassment. That tells me he needs help. Which is why I called you. We need to work together on this. You're his parents. You need to intervene before it's too late."

  Edward Young's eyes narrowed. "Harassment," he repeated. "Are you threatening to initiate a lawsuit?"

  The response was so typical, and so maddening, that Taylor had to fight to keep her tone even. "No,

  Dr. Young, I'm not interested in suing you. What I am interested in is helping your son. To do that,

  I need your cooperation. He's only going to be living at home a little while longer. After that, he'll be

  at college, on his own. He needs to be prepared for that. Right now, he's going down a very destructive path."

  "A destructive path?" Now that the fear of a lawsuit had been eliminated, Edward sounded more amused than upset. "Isn't that a trifle melodramatic, Ms. Halstead? Chris might need a few lessons in self-control, and a reminder of your school's code of ethics—both of which I'll make sure he receives—but I'd hardly describe his flirtation with you as destructive. You're young. You're attractive. You're an accomplished professional. In short, you're an excellent role model. If anything, I'd say my son idolizes you."

  "No, Dr. Young. Your son doesn't idolize me. He hits on me. He's got some psychological issues that need to be addressed—not just by me, but by the two of you in conjunction with a therapist who can offer him private counseling. Again, I urge you to insert yourself in this matter—now— before he

  leaves for college."

  Edward opened his mouth to say God-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 massaged 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." Sh
e lowered the document 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 assets. 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 assume 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 glass Douglas handed him and sank down on the chaise longue. Outside the tempered-glass 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. .

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

  "I don't know. But Reed's right. This isn't simply a matter of her associating 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 massaged 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 assured her. "Just a business snag Jonathan's

  handling for me."

  Adrienne regarded her husband over the rim of her glass. "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 damn what she said. He had his own agenda.

  "I'm off to get my massage," Adrienne announced, setting down her empty glass. 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 hell 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.