Judith McNaught (80 page)

"This isn't an official visit, it's a personal one.

Furthermore, you don't have to say a word. I'll do all the

talking."

Instead of inviting him to sit down, Benedict inclined his head slightly toward a chair in front of his desk.

Squelching his annoyance at the tone the meeting had already taken, Paul sat down, put his briefcase on

the floor beside him, and opened the locks.

"Actually, I'd prefer to discuss this in private…" he said,

glancing over his shoulder at the man and woman watching him from the sofa, identifying them at a glance, "…without Mr. and Mrs. Farrell present."

"What you would 'prefer' is of absolutely no interest to me," Benedict said. Leaning back in his leather chair, he picked up the gold pen lying beside a tablet on his desk, rolling it between his fingers. "Let's hear what you have to say."

Hiding his mounting temper behind a coolly polite facade, Paul said, "I will begin by reminding you that

you are in an extremely vulnerable position regarding the kidnapping of Julie Mathison. Should she decide

to press charges against you, there's an excellent chance she could put you behind bars for what you did

to her. For purely personal reasons," he added pleasantly, "I would thoroughly enjoy prosecuting that

case."

He watched Benedict's expressionless face, and when he saw no reaction at all to his jibe, Paul tested out a tone of genuine courtesy. "Look, in return for my personal guarantee that she will not press charges

against you, all I ask is that you give me five minutes and agree to listen to what I have to say."

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"Was that actually a polite request I just heard from you?"

Paul squelched the urge to smash his face. "Yes."

Benedict glanced at his watch. "In that case, you have four minutes and fifty seconds left."

"I have your word to let me finish?"

"So long as you can do it in four minutes and forty seconds." The gold pen began to tap on the pad in a clear indication of impatience, and Paul said curtly,

"So that you don't doubt my credibility or the validity

of my information, I want you to understand that I was in charge of your case. I was in Keaton while she

was in Colorado with you, I was there when she returned, and I am the one who had her put under constant surveillance when we left Keaton because I had a hunch she would try to get to you or you to her. I am also the one she called on the night before she was to join you in Mexico City. Now," Paul said, his voice gaining emphasis as he came to the point he needed to make "despite what you think and how the media has made it sound, I also know beyond all doubt that Julie did not agree to join you in

Mexico so that she could entrap you and hand you over to us. The truth is that my office did not know anything about her plan to join you until the night before she was supposed to do it. She finally panicked

and called me for two reasons: Three days before she was to leave, she went to visit your grandmother, Margaret Stanhope, out of some hare-brained notion of healing old family hostilities for your sake.

Instead of accomplishing her goal, she was shown proof that you'd confessed to the accidental killing of

your brother, and she was further informed by your grandmother that she herself believed you'd deliberately murdered the boy and later your wife."

Paul expected those verbal bombs to get a reaction, but except for a muscle that began to twitch in Benedict's jaw at the mention of his relative, there was none, and he continued doggedly. "Julie returned

from Ridgemont, and that night, she learned that the cast and crew of
Destiny
were receiving threatening calls, allegedly from you, and she
still
did not turn you in to us. Not until the night before she was supposed to leave, when Tony Austin wound up dead, did she finally notify us of your intention to meet

her in Mexico City." He waited again and when Benedict continued to sit there, staring at him with contempt, Paul lost his temper. "Did you hear me, damn you? It was not a trap from the beginning! Is that

clear to you?"

Benedict's face tightened, but his voice was ominously soft. "Use that tone of voice just one more time,

and I will personally throw you out on your ass, regardless of my promise to hear you out."

Sarcastically

he added, "Is that clear to
you?"

Forcibly reminding himself of the need to succeed here for Julie's sake, Paul said tersely, "Let's knock off the adolescent sparring. We don't like each other, so let's drop it. The point is, I did not come here to antagonize you, I came here to give you proof that Julie did not originally set a trap for you in Mexico City. The truth is that what she saw happen to you there combined with your refusal to let her explain or

answer her letters have hurt her more than you can possibly know or imagine. Her family is worried about her, and so am I."

"You are?" he repeated with insolent amusement.

"And why is that, I wonder?"

"Because unlike you, I feel a responsibility for the part I played in Mexico City and the damage it did to her." Reaching into his briefcase, Paul withdrew a large envelope, then he closed his case and stood up.

Tossing the envelope distastefully onto his adversary's desk, he said, "And because I'm in love with her."

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Benedict didn't reach for it or glance at it. "Now why is it," he mocked, "that announcement doesn't surprise me?"

"Maybe you're clairvoyant," Paul snapped. "Either way, the evidence is in there—two videotapes and a letter. Don't take my word for anything, Benedict, see for yourself. And then if you have even a trace of decency left, do something to alleviate her suffering."

"How much do you think it will take," he asked with scathing sarcasm, "to 'alleviate her suffering'? One million dollars? Two million? Twice as much, because you plan to share the bounty with her?"

Planting his hands flat on Benedict's desk, Paul leaned forward and said savagely, "I should have let the

Federales beat the shit out of you all the way to the Texas border!"

"Really? Why didn't you?"

Straightening, Paul raked him with a scornful look.

"Because Julie made me promise before she turned you in that I wouldn't let anyone hurt you. The only thing she lied to you about was being pregnant. She did it so that you'd let her join you. She must have been insane to think she was in love with you, you heartless, arrogant bastard."

At that, Benedict got out of his chair and started around his desk. "Try it," Paul invited holding his arms

out to his sides. "Please try it, movie star. Just throw the first punch, so I can finish it for you."

"Enough!" Matt Farrell thundered, grabbing Zack's arm. "Richardson, you've had your five minutes.

O'Hara!" he shouted. "Show Mr. Richardson to the door."

Joe O'Hara instantly materialized in the room from the doorway where he'd been eavesdropping. "Nuts, it was just starting to get good," he said. Eyeing Paul Richardson with a modicum of respect, he gestured grandly to the door and said, "I've never met a lawman before who wears a suit and is willin' to step out

from behind his badge and put up his fists. Allow me to show you to your car."

His humor did nothing to diffuse the tension that stretched taut in the room when he left.

"I think we should go," Matt said.

"And I think," Meredith argued, drawing a startled look from both men, "we should wait while Zack looks at the evidence inside that envelope." She turned to him. "I also think it's time I tell you that I believe beyond all doubt that Julie loved you very much. I also believe that everything Richardson said is

true."

"If that's what you think," Zack retorted with biting sarcasm, "then I suggest you take the 'evidence' with you and look at it yourself, Meredith. Then you can burn it."

Matt's face went white with fury, "I'll give you five seconds to apologize to my wife."

"I'll only need two," Zack said curtly, and Meredith smiled before Matt did because she was listening to his words, not his tone. Reaching his hand out for hers, Zack smiled grimly. "I apologize for my tone. I was inexcusably rude."

"Not inexcusably," she said, studying his eyes as if searching for something. "I'll take you up on your offer, though, and take that envelope with me, if you don't mind."

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"Since your husband is still debating about whether or not to throw a punch at me, and since I've already earned it," Zack said dryly, "I don't think I ought to press my luck by turning you down now."

"I think that's very wise of you," she said, transferring her laughing gaze to her husband.

Picking up the

envelope from the desk, she tucked her hand into Matt's arm. "There was a time when the mere mention

of my name could drive you to similar fury," she reminded him gently, making a clear effort to diffuse the

remaining tension between the two men.

His scowl softened to a reluctant smile. "Was I really as big a jackass as Zack is?"

She laughed. "Now there's a question guaranteed to get
me
into a fight with one of you."

Matt affectionately rumpled her hair and drew her tightly to his side.

"We'll see you at the party after we've changed," she called over her shoulder as they walked out.

"Fine," Zack said, watching them go, marveling at the closeness they shared, at the way it had changed Matt. Once, not long ago, Zack had imagined that Julie and he— Furious that she'd even entered his mind, he walked over to the windows and opened the drapes. He wasn't certain what he despised more—her treachery or his gullibility. At thirty-five she'd reduced him to pouring out his heart in sappy love letters and gazing at her picture for hours, not to mention risking his neck to buy her just the right wedding ring at one of the most exclusive jewelers in South America. The shame and self-disgust he felt about things like that almost outweighed his humiliation at being beaten on his knees in front of half the

world. She was responsible for that, too. And everyone with a television set knew it—they knew he'd

been so blindly, insanely besotted with a small-town schoolteacher that he'd risked his life to get to her.

Firmly dismissing her from his mind, Zack looked out at the increasing crowd gathering for the afternoon

festivities. Glenn Close was talking to Julia Roberts.

She looked up, saw him standing at the window, and waved.

Zack lifted his hand to her in a salute. On his lawn, most of them available to him at the crook of a finger,

were some of the most beautiful women in the world. Bracing his hand high against the window frame,

Zack studied them, searching for one who especially stood out and appealed to him—one with

particularly fine eyes, a romantic mouth, and piles of sexy, healthy hair … someone with warmth and wit and goals and ideals … someone who'd thaw the ice inside of him. He shoved away from the window and headed into the master suite to change clothes.

There wasn't a big enough blow torch in the world to thaw him out and make him feel the way he had in Colorado, and even if it were possible, he'd never let it

happen to him again. Behaving like a lovestruck ass was
not
his style. He must have been insane in Colorado. No doubt it had been a combination of the time and place. Under normal circumstances, he'd never have felt that way about any woman alive.

He was going to be more attentive to his guests than he'd been so far today, he vowed. He didn't know why, after only six weeks, some of his delight in his renewed career was already beginning to fade. He was exhausted, he decided, unbuttoning his shirt. In six short weeks, in addition to meeting with six producers, five studio heads, and countless other business associates, he'd also read dozens of scripts, managed to bargain the tenants out of both his houses, hire new staffs, rehire part of his old staff, buy two

cars, and order a plane. He needed to relax and enjoy the taste of success now that it was his again, he decided, tossing his shirt onto the bed. Behind him the door opened, and he turned, his hands on his belt.

"I've been looking everywhere for you, Zack," the redhead said with an inviting smile as she walked
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purposefully forward, her breasts swelling invitingly from her halter top, hips swaying in their long silk pants, jewels sparkling on her wrists and fingers.

"And I've found you just as you're getting undressed.

Isn't that an amazing coincidence."

"Amazing," he lied, trying to remember who the hell she was. "But then that's what bedrooms are for, isn't it?"

"That's not all they're for," she whispered, sliding her hands up his chest.

Gently, he took her hands between his. "Later," he said, turning her around heading her firmly toward the

door. "I need a shower, and then I have to get out there and play host."

"
G
reat party, Zack," an unmistakable voice whispered teasingly in his ear, "but where'd you find so many

monkeys willing to wear fancy clothes?"

Grinning, Zack turned away from the group talking to him beside the pool and looped his arm around her shoulders, pulling her close to his side. "I was hoping you'd come."

"Why, to relieve your monotony?" she said, surveying the party that was getting into full swing at one

o'clock in the afternoon.

When she started to move away, he tightened his grip. "Don't abandon me," he joked. "Irwin Levine is bearing down on us and he's going to pounce on me about a film Empire wants me to do. Stay by my side for the rest of the day."

"Coward, I'll show you how to handle this." Ignoring his warning squeeze, she held out her long fingers with their lacquered nails. "Irwin, darling," she purred, kissing his cheek, "Zack wants you to go away and

let him enjoy his party in peace."

"Bitchy as always, aren't you, Barbra," he snapped.

"Nice work," Zack said dryly, watching the other man stamp away in affront after a minute. "My agent has that same effect on a lot of people these days when he starts talking about money."