Private Scandals (29 page)

But it wasn’t Finn. Clouds had crept over the sun, darkening the sky to ink so that she couldn’t see his face. But it
wasn’t Finn. Even as her body recoiled, he said her name again.

“I’m thinking of you. Always.”

She jerked awake, skin clammy, heart thumping. In automatic defense, she wrapped her arms tight around herself to ward off a sudden, violent chill. The hell with meditation, she thought, struggling to shake off the last vestige of the dream. She’d take work-related stress any day. She tried to laugh at herself, but the sound came out more like a sob.

Just groggy, she thought. A little groggy from an unscheduled catnap. But her eyes widened as she stared at her watch. She’d been asleep for nearly an hour.

A ridiculous waste of time, she told herself, and rose from the chair to work out kinks. Work, she told herself firmly, and started to shrug out of her suit jacket as she turned back to her desk.

And there were roses. Two perfectly matched blooms speared up from the water glass in the center of her desk. In instant denial, she stepped forward, her eyes cutting across the room to where she had set the single flower earlier. It was no longer there. No longer there, she thought dully, because it was now on her desk, joined by its mate.

She rubbed the heel of her hand against her breastbone as she stared at the roses. Cassie might have done it, she thought. Or Simon or Jeff or Margaret. Anyone who’d been working late. One of them had found the second rose somewhere and had brought it in, slipped it in with the first. And seeing her sleeping, had simply left them on her desk.

Seeing her sleeping. A shudder ran through her, weakening her legs. She’d been asleep. Alone, defenseless. As she sagged against the arm of the chair, she saw the tape resting on her blotter. She could tell from the manufacturer’s label it wasn’t the type they used on the show.

No note this time. Perhaps a note wasn’t necessary. She thought about running, rushing pell-mell out of the office. There would be people in the newsroom. Plenty of people working the swing between the evening and the late news.

She wasn’t alone.

A telephone call would summon security. An elevator ride would take her into the bustle of activity a few floors below.

No, she wasn’t alone, and there was no reason to be afraid. There was every reason to play the tape.

She wiped her damp palms on her hips before taking the tape from its sleeve and sliding it into the VCR slot.

The first few seconds after she hit Play were a blank, blue screen. When Deanna watched the picture flicker on, her forehead creased in concentration. She recognized her building, heard the whoosh of traffic through the audio. A few people breezed by on the sidewalk, in shirtsleeves, indicating warm weather.

She watched herself come through the outside door, her hair flowing around her shoulders. Dazed, she lifted a hand, combing her fingers through the short cap. She watched herself check her watch. The camera zoomed in on her face, her eyes smoky with impatience. She could hear, hideously, the sound of the camera operator’s unsteady breathing.

A CBC van streaked up to the curb. The picture faded out.

And faded in. She was strolling along Michigan with Fran. Her arms were loaded with shopping bags. She wore a thick sweater and a suede jacket. As she turned her head to laugh at Fran, the picture froze, holding steady on her laughing face until dissolve.

There were more than a dozen clips, snippets of her life. A trip to the market, her arrival at a charity function, a stroll through Water Tower Place, playing with Aubrey in the park, signing autographs at a mall. Her hair short now, her wardrobe indicating the change of seasons.

Through it all, the mood-setting soundtrack of quiet breathing.

The last clip was of her sleeping, curled in her office chair.

She continued to stare after the screen sizzled with snow. Fear had crept back, chilling her blood so that she stood shivering in the slanted light of the desk lamp.

For years he’d been watching her, she thought. Stalking her. Invading small personal moments of her life and making them his. And she’d never noticed.

Now he wanted her to know. He wanted her to understand how close he was. How much closer he could be.

Leaping forward, she fumbled with the Eject button, finally pounded it with her fist. She grabbed her bag, stuffing the tape inside as she dashed from the office. The corridor was dark, shadowy from the backwash of light from her office. A pulse beat in the base of her neck as she dashed to the elevator.

Her breath was sobbing when she pushed the button. She whirled around and pressed her back to the wall, scanning the shadows wildly for movement.

“Hurry, hurry.” She pressed a hand to her mouth as her voice echoed mockingly down the empty corridor.

The rumble of the elevator made her jump. Nearly crying out in relief, she spun toward the doors, then fell back when she saw a form move away from the corner of the car and step toward her.

“Hey, Dee. Did I give you a jolt?” Roger stepped closer as the doors slithered closed at his back. “Hey, kid, you’re white as a sheet.”

“Don’t.” She cringed back; her eyes flashed toward the fire door leading to the stairs. She would have to get past him. She would get past him.

“Hey, what’s going on?” The concern in Roger’s voice had her gaze sliding cautiously back to him. “You’re shaking. Maybe you’d better sit down.”

“I’m fine. I’m leaving now.”

“You’d better catch your breath first. Come on. Let’s—”

She jerked back, avoiding his hand. “What do you want?”

“Cassie stopped downstairs on her way out.” He spoke slowly, letting his hand fall back to his side. “She said you were working late, so I thought I’d come up and see if you wanted to catch some dinner.”

“Finn’s coming.” She moistened her lips. “He’ll be here any minute.”

“It was just a thought. Dee, is everything okay? Your folks all right?”

A new fear gripped her throat, digging in like talons. “Why? Why do you ask that?”

“You’re rattled. I thought you’d gotten some bad news.”

“No.” Giddy with panic, she edged away. “I’ve got a lot on my mind.” She barely muffled a scream as the elevator rumbled again.

“Jesus, Dee, take it easy.” In reflex, he grabbed her arm as she started to race by him toward the stairs. She swung back to fight, and the elevator doors opened.

“What the hell’s going on?”

“Oh, God.” Tearing free from Roger, Deanna fell into Finn’s arms. “Thank God you’re here.”

His grip tightened protectively as his eyes bored into Roger’s. “I said, what the hell’s going on?”

“You tell me.” Shaken, Roger dragged a hand through his hair. “I came up a minute ago, and she was ready to jump out of her skin. I was trying to find out what happened.”

“Did he hurt you?” Finn demanded of Deanna and earned a curse of outrage from Roger.

“No.” She kept her face buried against his shoulder. The shaking, the horrible shaking wouldn’t stop. She thought she could hear her own bones rattling together. “I was so scared. I can’t think. Just take me home.”

Finn managed to pry a disjointed explanation from her on the drive home, then, pushing a brandy on her, had watched the tape himself.

She offered no protest when he strode to the phone and called the police. She was calmer when she related the story again. She understood the value of details, of timetables, of clear-cut facts. The detective who interviewed her in Finn’s living room sat patiently, jotting in his notepad.

She recognized the gray-haired man from the tape from Greektown—he had snatched the little girl out of the line of fire.

Arnold Jenner was a quiet, meticulous cop. His square face was offset by a nose that had been broken, not on the job but by a line drive during a precinct softball game. He wore a dark brown suit that strained only slightly over the beginnings of a paunch. His hair was caught somewhere between brown and gray and trimmed ruthlessly short. There were lines around his mouth and eyes that indicated he either laughed or frowned easily. His eyes, a pale, sleepy green, should have been as nondescript as the rest of him. But as Deanna stared into them, she was comforted by a sense of trust.

“I’d like to have the letters.”

“I didn’t save all of them,” she told him, and felt ashamed by the tired acceptance in his eyes. “The first few—well, it seemed harmless. On-air reporters get a lot of mail, some of it on the odd side.”

“Whatever you have, then.”

“I have some at the office, some at my apartment.”

“You don’t live here?”

“No.” She shot a look at Finn. “Not exactly.”

“Mmm-hmmm.” Jenner made another note. “Miss Reynolds, you said that last portion of tape would have been taken this evening, between five-thirty and six-twenty.”

“Yes. I told you, I’d fallen asleep. I was tense, so I thought I’d try this routine a guest on the show had suggested. An imagery, meditation thing.” She shrugged, feeling foolish. “I guess it’s not my style. I’m either awake or I’m asleep. When I woke up, I saw the second rose on the desk. And the tape.”

He made noises in his throat. Like a doctor, Deanna thought.

“Who would have access to your offices at that hour?”

“All manner of people. My own staff, anyone working downstairs.”

“So the building would be closed to all but CBC personnel?”

“Not necessarily. The rear door wouldn’t be locked at that hour. You’d have people going off shift, others coming on,
people picking them up or dropping them off. Sometimes even tours.”

“Busy place.”

“Yes.”

His eyes lifted to hers again, and she realized why they weren’t nondescript. He wasn’t simply looking at her: he was looking in. Finn had that ability, that same quick, scalpel gaze that cut right through into your thoughts. Perhaps that was why she found him reassuring.

“Is there anyone you can think of? Someone you’ve rebuffed? Someone who’s shown a more than casual or friendly interest in you?”

“No. Really, there’s no one I know who would keep doing something like this. I’m sure it’s a stranger—a viewer, probably. Otherwise I’d probably have noticed them taping me.”

“Well, the way your show’s been going, that doesn’t narrow the possible suspects.” In an old habit, he doodled on his pad. The doodle became Deanna’s face, the frightened eyes and the mouth that struggled to curve up. “You do a lot of public appearances. Have you noticed any particular face that keeps showing up?”

“No. I thought of that.”

“I’ll take the tape with me.” He rose then, tucking his notebook neatly in his pocket. “Someone will come by for the notes.”

“There’s nothing else, is there?” She rose as well. “There’s really nothing else.”

“You never know what we might pick up from the tape. Sophistication of equipment or some small identifying sound. In the meantime, try not to worry. This kind of thing happens more often than you think.” And because she kept trying to smile, he wanted to reassure her. “You hear about the big ones, like that woman who keeps breaking into Letterman’s house, but the truth is, it’s not just celebrities who have to deal with obsessions. Not too long ago we had this woman focused on this stockbroker. Nice-looking guy, but no Adonis. Anyhow, she called him at work, at home, sent telegrams, left
love notes under the windshield wiper of his car. She even had pictures of herself in a wedding dress that she had doctored with one of him in a tux. Showed it to his neighbors to prove they were married.”

“What happened?”

“He took out a peace bond on her, and she broke it by camping on his doorstep. She went in for a psychiatric evaluation. When she got out, she decided she wasn’t in love with the stockbroker anymore. Claims she divorced him.”

“So the moral is, sometimes these things run their course.”

“Could be. Thing is, some people don’t have as firm a grip on reality as they might. You’d probably feel better if you tightened up your security a little.”

“I’ll do that. Thank you, Detective Jenner.”

“I’ll be in touch. A real pleasure meeting you, Miss Reynolds, and you, Mr. Riley. I’ve spent a lot of time with the two of you in my living room.”

“So, that’s that,” she said as she closed the door behind Jenner.

“Not by a long shot.” Finn took her firmly by the shoulders. He hadn’t interrupted her interview with Jenner. But now it was his turn. “You’re not working late alone anymore.”

“Really, Finn—”

“That’s not negotiable, so don’t give me grief on this. Do you know what went through me when I saw you standing in the hall, terrified, fighting off Crowell?”

“He was trying to help,” she began, then closed her eyes and sighed. “Yes, yes, I think I do know. I’m sorry. I’ll bring work home when I have to.”

“Until this thing is resolved, you need twenty-four-hour protection.”

“A bodyguard?” She would have laughed if she wasn’t afraid he’d take a chunk out of her. “Finn, I won’t work late in the building. I’ll even make sure I have a buddy when I go on any remotes or appearances. But I’m not hiring some thug named Reno to lurk over me.”

“It’s not unusual for a woman in your position to hire private security.”

“Whatever my position, I’m still Deanna Reynolds from Topeka, and I refuse to have some big-shouldered hulk frighten off the people I’m trying to reach. I couldn’t stand it, Finn. That’s just too Hollywood for me. I’m not taking this lightly,” she continued. “Believe me, I’m going to take very serious care of myself. But I haven’t been threatened.”

“You’ve been spied on, followed, taped, harassed by anonymous notes and phone calls.”

“And it frightens me, I admit it. You were right about the police. I should have called them before. Now that you have, I feel like the whole situation has been put in the right compartment. Let’s give them a chance to do what we pay them for.”

Frustrated, he stalked down the hall and back. “A compromise,” he said at length. “Christ, I’m always digging up compromises for you.”

Judging the storm was blowing over, she moved in to wrap her arms around him. “That’s why our relationship is so healthy. What’s the compromise—a bodyguard named Sheila?”