I'll Be Watching You Part 10

Reed strolled over, grinning. d.a.m.n if the man didn't look as collected as if he'd just walked out of a meeting, with only the barest sheen of perspiration on his brow, and his breathing as even as a yoga instructor's.

"I could grow to hate you," Taylor muttered.

"Nah." His grin widened. "Because not only am I going to help you feel more empowered, I'm going to provide you with sustenance. Stay put. I'll call and order up some sandwiches. And when I return, I'll bring two cold bottles of water."

"Okay, maybe 'hate's' too strong a word. Maybe I'll just resent you." She shot a dirty look in his direction. "Couldn't you at least break a decent sweat? Or don't you do that?"

"Oh, I do that." There was no mistaking the wicked gleam in Reed's eye. "Just during more strenuous workouts than the one we just shared."

Taylor felt herself flush. She'd asked for that one. "Cute. Very cute. Getting back to the subject, I'd like a roast beef on rye with the works and a big fat sour pickle. While you order I'll start thinking of all the things I want to know about your family."

"Sounds like a plan. Be right back."

Forty minutes later, they were sitting at the kitchen counter, munching on their sandwiches and gulping down their water.

"Time to talk about your family," Taylor reminded him.

"Shoot."

"You said there were seven of you. Where do you fall in the ranking?"

"Fifth." Reed put down his turkey club. "Why don't I give you an overview? It'll save time, and answer your first round of questions."

"Okay." Taylor put down her food, too.

"Going oldest to youngest, we'll start with my sister Lisa. She's thirty-nine. She and her husband, Bill, live in Phoenix. She's a teacher; he's a high-school administrator. They've got two kids, Shari and Katie, who are twelve and nine. I'll save my bragging about them for later, when we get to the nieces-and-nephews chapter of my life; otherwise we'll never get through this list."

Taking a deep swallow of water, Reed continued. "Next is Kyle. He's thirty-eight. He's a crackerjack salesman at his wife Joy's family's car dealers.h.i.+p in Cleveland. They've got twin sons, Jake and Scott, who are ten. Third comes Shannon. She's thirty-seven. She and her husband, Roger, are both techno-whizzes. They work in the IT department of a company out in Denver. Their daughter, April, is eight."

Another gulp of water and a breath. "Mark's thirty-six. He and his wife, Jill, are still in New England. They own a ski lodge in New Hamps.h.i.+re. Their kids, Kimberly and David, are eleven and seven. Then comes me. After that, there's Meredith, who's thirty-four. She's a natural-born mother. She and her husband, Derek, have two sons, Craig and Andy, and a third one on the way. They live in Dallas, since Derek works for the city. Meredith makes the most amazing cookies you've ever tasted. She's got a small baking business that she runs from home. Those lucky Texans. Last, but not least, there's Rob, who I've already told you about. He's the baby. He's thirty-two and a detective in the San Francisco police department. When he decides to settle down, hearts are going to break all over the West Coast. How's that for starters?"

Taylor's head was reeling. "Wow. That's pretty impressive. You weren't kidding when you said there were Westons scattered all over the country. What about your parents? You said they're still living in Vermont?"

"Yup. In the big, old stone farmhouse where we all grew up. They own a pottery store in town. They have for forty years. My mom loves to sculpt. She makes the pieces for the shop. They're beautiful and unusual. Not a tourist who drops in leaves empty-handed. Even the year-round residents still buy pieces. She's very talented."

Reed's pride was obvious. So were his strong ties to his family.

"I envy you," Taylor said wistfully. "It must be amazing to have so many caring people in your life."

"It is." Reed stared thoughtfully at his sandwich. "I don't think I appreciated it enough as a kid. Or maybe I just thought that's how it was supposed to be. Not anymore."

Taylor watched his expression. "Do you mind if I ask you something personal?"

"Go ahead."

"The path you took--fast-track, high-powered, lots of money, and high visibility--it seems kind of incongruous with the rest of your family. What motivated you?"

"I did." Reed propped an elbow on the counter. "I had a more high-profile plan for my future, complete with all the things you just mentioned. I had the academic ability to get scholars.h.i.+p money and financial aid. I took advantage of it. And here I am."

There was an edge to Reed's tone, one Taylor hadn't expected.

"You're not happy with your decision?"

He shot her a look. "Am I being a.n.a.lyzed?"

"No, just questioned. You don't have to answer."

"Let's just say I'm doing a little restructuring of my life, based on months of soul-searching and reconnecting with some strong, solid values I'd begun losing touch with. Going home for Christmas brought the whole thing front and center for me. It drove home some fundamental truths I'd been struggling to find, or maybe just to remember."

The way Reed said that brought a new and not very welcome thought to Taylor.

"These truths and restructuring, do they involve a woman?" she asked cautiously.

He turned to face her, his midnight gaze intensifying as he realized what she was asking and why.

Slowly, he shook his head, his focus s.h.i.+fting to the here and now. "Nope. No woman." A meaningful pause. "At least not yet."

The tension in the room escalated, its foundation steeped in something far more immediate than Taylor had antic.i.p.ated. She'd opened this door on her own. The problem was, she wasn't sure she was equipped to walk through it.

That didn't mean she didn't want to.

"I'm glad," she heard herself say, responding to both parts of the equation.

"Are you?"

"Yes."

"Good. So am I." He stood up, pulling her to her feet as he did. He tugged her closer, tipped up her chin, and kissed her.

The kiss was explicit, s.e.xually charged, yet not overpowering. Reed took her mouth in gradual degrees, his palm ma.s.saging the back of her neck as his lips opened hers and his tongue slid inside, lightly caressing. It was as if he was intentionally holding back, determined to take only as much as she was willing, or emotionally ready, to give.

She didn't know what she was ready for. But she knew this felt better than anything had felt in a very long time.

She moved closer, gripping Reed's biceps and tilting back her head to give him better access. He took the cue, pulling her against him, nudging her arms up around his neck, then slanting his mouth across hers and kissing her senseless. It was a wildly erotic awakening, hot and slow and s.h.i.+vering with promise.

Maybe too much promise.

Taylor flattened her palms against his chest and pushed, her breathing uneven as she put an arm's length between them, trying to regain her equilibrium.

Reed made no move to pull her back. He just watched her, his own breathing unsteady. "Should I apologize?"

Mutely, she shook her head.

This time, he stepped closer, capturing her chin with his forefinger and bringing up her gaze to meet his. "Are you sure?"

"Yes." Taylor found her voice. "Of course I'm sure. You didn't just kiss me. I kissed you, too."

His expression remained solemn. "I know. That doesn't mean you're not regretting it now. You've got lingering memories of this kind of thing that aren't exactly pleasant."

She wasn't as much surprised by his sensitivity as she was touched. "Nothing about what just happened reminded me of Gordon. And, no, I'm not feeling regret. I'm feeling confused and off balance."

"And you like being in control."

"Not of others, but of myself, yes."

"I can relate to that." Reed picked up his bottle of water and took a swig. "So we'll go slow," he determined, setting down the bottle. "For now."

Taylor's brows rose. "For now? What does that mean?"

"It means, until we speed it up."

"And when will that be?"

"When you're ready." His knuckles brushed her cheek. "Don't worry. There won't be any miscommunications. I'll be able to tell." A corner of his mouth lifted. "And, if I'm wrong, you can always use some of the intercepting techniques I'll be teaching you on me. You'll be a pro by then."

Taylor laughed. The laughter felt almost as good as the kiss.

The man stood outside, across Seventy-second Street, ostensibly pausing to check his watch. He glanced up at Taylor's apartment building, a bitter glint in his eyes.

Reed Weston had been up there for hours. That was unacceptable. It wasn't part of his plan. No man was. Not Reed, not anyone. Only him. He'd have to deal with this. Before things got out of hand.

Turning up the collar on his coat, he walked away.

12:45 A.M.

Considering how exhausted she was, Taylor thought she'd fall right asleep. After zero shut-eye last night, a strenuous self-defense lesson with Reed, and the unexpected follow-up to that lesson--well, all that const.i.tuted enough physical and mental activity to make her a.s.sume she'd be dead to the world.

No such luck.

Sighing, she sat up in bed, pulling up her knees and wrapping her arms around them. Talk about emotional complications. Reed Weston was a huge one. He'd come along at a time when she was vulnerable. That was bad. And she was attracted as h.e.l.l to him. That was worse. If they got involved, there was every chance it would be for all the wrong reasons.

Reed had said they'd take it slow--until they took it fast. That was as ambiguous as it was unsettling.

She just wished she knew the rules. Every relations.h.i.+p had them. Usually, she defined them. In this case, they seemed to be defining her.

G.o.d, this was so unlike her. In-control Taylor. Take-care-of-everything-and-everyone Taylor. Emotions-safely-under-wraps Taylor.

Unraveling-like-a-ball-of-yarn Taylor.

She pressed her fingertips to her throbbing temples, trying to ma.s.sage away the pain and the insomnia.

Yeah, right.

It was no wonder she couldn't sleep. She was on emotional overload. Not only that, she couldn't stop thinking about that bizarre, frightening incident at the cemetery on Sat.u.r.day. Had the guy really just been an eccentric visitor, some sleazy weirdo, or had he been there specifically for her?

This speculation was pointless. The guy was gone. The incident was over. She was blowing things way out of proportion.

The telephone rang. Shrilly. Insistently.

Taylor jolted awake, her entire body breaking out in a sweat. The digits on her clock radio said 3:55 a.m. The last time she'd been awakened by a middle-of-the-night phone call was when Gordon's boat exploded and Steph died.

She flipped on her lamp and stared at the telephone's LCD display. It read "private." Just like last time.

Trembling, she lifted the receiver. "h.e.l.lo?"

"You're alone." A strange male voice, its pitch fluctuating unnaturally, grazed her ear. "Good girl.

Keep it that way--for everyone's sake."

A click, and the line went dead.

CHAPTER 10.

FEBRUARY 3.

6:45 P.M.

WVNY.

It had been a crank call. It had to be.

Taylor told herself that for the hundredth time since last night. The voice had been disguised, fake. Its synthesized quality and varied pitch suggested it had been transmitted through one of those voice-changing gadgets--gadgets that were available to the general public and could be bought over the Internet for less than fifty bucks.

So maybe her caller had been a bunch of adolescent guys playing games. They could have punched in random telephone numbers, one of which happened to be hers. Then, when they heard a woman's voice, they'd decided to go for the dramatic.

Or maybe it had been Chris Young. Maybe he'd been going for payback for that talk she'd had with his parents two and a half weeks ago.

No. Impossible. Her telephone number was unlisted. Chris couldn't get it. Neither could anyone else. There wasn't any connection between the call and Sat.u.r.day's incident at the cemetery. They were two unnerving, coincidental, but unrelated events.

Struggling out of her jacket, Taylor gave up the pretense. It was no use. No matter how hard she tried, how much logic she used, she couldn't calm her jitters.

She hadn't shut an eye the rest of the night. She'd lain awake, trembling, waiting to see if the caller would try again. He hadn't. But she couldn't relax. As a result, her attention span at school today had been lousy. To make matters worse, Chris Young had shot her an odd, searching look when she'd blown by him in the hall, her posture stiff, her expression glazed. Was he checking out the results of his handiwork?

G.o.d, she was a mess.

She made her way to the broadcasting booth. Pa.s.sing by the operations department, she poked her head into the kitchen--where at least four staff members were gathered around a box of rapidly disappearing Krispy Kremes--long enough to offer a wave and an apologetic smile.

"Hi, guys. Sorry I'm late."

"Hey, no problem." Bill Warren, who handled Sports Talk, the two-hour radio spot directly preceding hers, shot her a lopsided grin. "I figured if you weren't here by seven, I'd do the show for you. I'd be a huge hit."

"Yeah, right." Jack Taft, the program manager, set down his coffee mug--which read #1 MANAGER OF THE STATION THAT TRIES HARDER-- and made a snorting sound. "You'd lose half our listening audience by the time you took your first call."

"No way," Bill protested, his grin broadening. "I'm a real intuitive guy. Just ask around."

"That's not necessary," Taylor rea.s.sured him, forcing a smile. "Your reputation precedes you. You're a p.u.s.s.ycat." She had to focus on business. She had a ton of work to cram into the hour before she went on the air. As it was, her e-mails would have to wait until afterward. That wasn't a hards.h.i.+p. It just meant she'd be leaving late. But, hey, she never slept anyway, so what difference did it make? As for whatever important paperwork was on tap, Laura would be in and out during radio breaks to brief her. For now, she needed to touch base with her producer. "Where's Kevin?" she asked.