Beyond Eden

by Catherine Coulter

  He scanned the group, taking note of each man’s position and what he appeared to be doing. He had a list of all the men and women who were to be involved in the commercial. What a list. He couldn’t begin to estimate the cost of this little outing. He’d checked them all off. No one appeared unaccounted for.

  He looked up to see the plump little pigeon, Gina, smiling at him. He winked at her.

  He didn’t like the fact that they were in Central Park. There were more bushes and trees around than could be counted. There was a continuous stream of people strolling by, trying to be cool and act nonchalant, but still slowing and looking. And there were lowlifes everywhere. He prowled continuously, eyes peeled for anything or anyone suspicious. Nothing so far.

  He was used to waiting. He was patient and he knew how to keep perfectly still, if the situation demanded it. He heard a noise and quickly turned. There were two black kids with ghetto-blasters, earplugs in their ears, gyrating down a path. He watched them closely until they passed from sight. He leaned back against an oak tree, feeling the comfort of his 9mm automatic tucked close to his body in his shoulder holster. Thirty minutes later the trailer door opened and three people stepped out. They turned, and one of the men bowed and held out his hand.

  An incredible woman took his hand and let him help her to the ground. She was wearing a white flowy dress and her feet and legs were bare. Her hair was something else—all full and deeply waving and multicolored and thick and long. Gorgeous. It was her, the model, Eden. Impossible to believe. He gawked at her, unable to help himself. Of course he hadn’t seen her up close.

  She looked up then and met his eyes. He felt like a kid with a sudden attack of hormones, and a fool. He nodded to her, then resumed what he was being paid for. He scanned the set and all the people who passed by who even looked like they were considering stopping. He looked at men’s hands. At men’s faces, at the angles of their heads. He’d always been good at seeing intent. Then his eyes came back to her. Demos had said she might be a target. Demos wanted Taylor to keep close to her. Well, looking at her was no problem.

  He watched the director throw his weight around, heard him give orders in a churlish manner, heard him criticize Eden, not once but a good half-dozen times. Her smile was all wrong. She wasn’t graceful. She was acting all stiff, like a damned puppet. Taylor would have punched the guy out. Eden simply nodded, shook her head, or asked for clarification. She did what she was told with no show of hesitation or disagreement, moving to a certain position, standing calm and still when ordered to do so. He watched makeup people swarm over her, then a hair person was ducking past a cameraman to straighten hair that didn’t need straightening. The head cameraman and the director kept fighting, and Taylor wondered who was supposed to be the boss here. It was chaos and madness.

  The shoot took two and a half hours. During that time Taylor had spotted twenty possible suspects, but all of them had faded away. And always he looked back at her. He watched as one man held a fan two feet away from her and blew her hair away from her face. He watched her arch her back, push her breasts forward, watched her move to sit atop a horse, her long bare legs showing. They’d hired from one of the park drivers a docile old bay mare with a white fetlock, patient and long-suffering.

  He wondered at her patience. He wondered how she could keep smiling. He wondered how she could put up with the egotistical director. He waited for her to scream at the jerk, but she didn’t, at least this time. When it was over, he breathed a sigh of relief. There’d been nothing more suspicious than a man who’d dropped something and spent too long looking for it, to the point that Taylor started to approach him. But the guy took off. Taylor watched her stretch, speak briefly to the director, shake the head cameraman’s hand, then go back into the trailer.

  When she emerged some twenty minutes later, she was back in jeans and T-shirt, her hair clipped back at the base of her head. Strangely, he thought she looked more lovely now than with all the wild and flowy hair.

  He pushed off the tree he was standing against and walked over to her.

  “Demos didn’t show up,” he said. He stuck out his hand. “So I’ll have to introduce myself. I’m Taylor.”

  “Taylor what?”

  “Taylor’s my last name. And that’s what I’m called.” One of her eyebrows was still up in question. He shrugged. “Okay, my full name is S. C. Taylor, but as I said, Taylor is what I’m called.”

  Because she saw no alternative, Lindsay took his hand. “I’m Eden. Why are you here?”

  “Demos hired me to protect you and the shoot.”

  Lindsay’s mouth fell open and there was no mistaking her surprise. “What?”

  “He should have come. He said he would, and tell you who I was and why I was here. He’s asked me to stick with you for the next couple of days.”

  “But that’s crazy! Protect me? But who would—?”

  “Yeah, my thoughts exactly. I think friend Demos owes someone money and the someone isn’t happy with him at the moment.”

  “He loves the horses.”

  “How long have you been with him?”

  “About four years.”

  “You want to call him and check me out?”

  She shook her head on a sigh. “Don’t get me wrong. It’s not that I trust you so quickly. No, it sounds just like Vinnie. I am surprised that Glen didn’t let me know, though.”

  “Shall we go have some lunch?”

  Lindsay didn’t know what to say. She’d seen him and distrusted him. He looked too sure of himself, too on top of things. He was good-looking, and that always put her on the alert. He was big, and that made her even more wary. The prince had been smaller-boned, slender, but he’d been strong enough to do just as he pleased with her. This man was six-foot-two, she guessed, the same height as her father. She wished she was wearing heels instead of her sneakers, so she could look him straight in the eye. She supposed that sticking with her meant just that. “It’s yogurt for lunch. I pigged out on Mexican food last night and have got to pay the piper now.”

  “No problem,” Taylor said. “You ready?”

  She nodded. Suddenly she was aware of the mobs of people all around. “It’s not dangerous for us to be walking out in the middle of everything?”

  “Don’t worry. I’m right with you and I’m armed. I don’t want you to end up a prisoner in your apartment, afraid to answer your telephone or your front door. That’s no good either. We’ll be conservative and smart, that’s all. And of course, I’ll be dogging your heels.”

  She nodded. She couldn’t wait to get her hands on Demos. Could she truly be in any danger? That bastard. She wanted to kill him. How dare he put her in this kind of situation? And with this man who was a total stranger?

  “Maybe I shouldn’t have been honest with you,” he said, in step beside her, “or rather, speculated about things, but Demos didn’t show up like he said he would. I figured you wouldn’t buy anything but the truth.”

  “You’re right about that,” Lindsay said, her voice stony, striding so fast he had to double-step to stay even with her. “I’ll get him for this, the jerk.”

  Taylor said mildly, “Perhaps I’ve got it all wrong. He didn’t spell it out like that.”

  Lindsay looked over at him then, the first time, he realized. What was with her? “Yeah, sure. I’m so valuable he’s suddenly decided that I’m in danger of being abducted by a Middle Eastern sheik.”

  “I’d be tempted.”

  She withdrew. It was the strangest thing. She was simply no longer there. She didn’t speed up her pace, she didn’t really do anything different, but she was gone from him, completely. He frowned at her profile and said, “I was out of line. Sorry.”

  She didn’t come back, just nodded, not looking at him, and kept taking those long-legged strides.

  “There’s a good yogurt shop just over on Sixth and Fifty-seventh. You want to give it a try?”

  She nodded. The sidewalks were congested with people, all hur
rying, because it was the best offense, the streets congested with cars, taxis primarily, all honking, all zigging and zagging, trying to get the best of each other. She found she was studying faces, assessing them, giving them a significance they’d never had before. Her intent different now, suspicious, afraid. Taylor said quietly beside her, “No, don’t do that. Everything will be fine. Trust me. I’m good at my job. If it makes you feel better, I was a cop for a number of years.”

  “Okay,” Lindsay said, and tried to keep her glances at strangers surreptitious.

  The yogurt shop was full and they had to wait for ten minutes to get served.

  Lindsay ordered nonfat banana-nut yogurt, medium size, and sat down at a small round white table with ice-cream-parlor chairs recently vacated. He ordered the same and joined her.

  She ate very slowly, cherishing each bite. He found himself watching her. “You’re always hungry?”

  She didn’t reply until she’d swallowed slowly, with obvious relish. “No, not really. It’s just that I’m forced to weigh ten pounds less than I should carry. It’s the cameras that put the weight on you. Those are the rules,” she added quickly when she saw he would say something. “If I want to be in this profession, I must abide by them.”

  “I guess I can understand that. Does your family preach at you about not eating enough?”

  “No, they—Where did Demos find you?”

  “Actually it was Glen—Flaming Glen with the row of diamond studs marching up his ear—who called me up and asked me to come in for a job. Does he always wear black?”

  Lindsay smiled. She was relaxing again. He’d backed off, for which she was immensely grateful. Oddly, she also trusted him to keep her safe. She’d be rid of him soon enough, just as soon as she got hold of Demos. “Flaming Glen is a nut case. If he isn’t wearing black, well then, it’s violet. He says it complements his eyes. Be thankful you got the black dose. He’s very angry with Demos about something right now. How was Glen dressed when you met him?”

  “In tight designer jeans, black, ribbed turtleneck, also black, a western belt with a huge round silver buckle, and black Italian loafers.”

  “He adores that particular outfit. You’re observant. You know, I try to stay away from the office. They try to get me to take sides.”

  “Well, I’m a private investigator when I’m not a computer hacker. And that’s what Demos is paying me for. I hope you don’t mind me hanging around you for a couple of days.”

  “Hanging around exactly how? You mean giving me advice on what to do and what not to do?”

  Taylor shrugged. When Demos had called him at home the previous night, he’d sounded a bit agitated. It was then he’d asked Taylor to keep a close watch on Eden, after the shoot. He wasn’t going to take any chances, he’d said. Keep a close guard on Eden.

  Taylor had jacked up his price, to which Demos had too readily agreed. Taylor wondered if he’d try to stiff him. He’d called Glen and asked for cash up front and Glen had come through.

  “Hanging around exactly how?” Lindsay asked again.

  He smiled at her and it scared her. She very nearly recoiled. The smile was gone in the next instant and he sat forward in the flimsy chair and said in a very low voice, “I don’t know what’s with you, lady, but I don’t intend to spend my time wondering how you’re going to react to me, and worrying about what I say. I’ve been hired to do a job and you’re the job. I’ll be your bloody shadow until Demos stops paying the bills. If you don’t like that, call him. Now, do you want to call him now or are you ready to go? Incidentally, I’ve got great taste in clothes, so if you want to go shopping, I’m at your disposal.”

  Lindsay was silent for several moments. “I’m sorry.”

  He only nodded.

  “New York is sometimes scary.”

  “That’s true.”

  “I have a karate class in an hour.”

  “How good are you?”

  “Third degree.”

  “How long you been taking lessons?”

  “A year now. I saw a mugging last year and I couldn’t stand it.” Half-truth, she thought, always half-truths. The problem was that they came so easily, more so by the year.

  “You know, what the cops say about defending yourself against a criminal is true. It’s usually a mistake.”

  “So you recommend just lying there and taking it?”

  “I recommend using your brain and assessing a situation. Fear is the worst enemy because it makes you act stupid in most cases. Machismo is just as bad.”

  Lindsay got up. “You were with the NYPD?”

  “Yes, I was.”

  “Why’d you quit?”

  He smiled then and opened the yogurt-shop door for her. “Where’s your gym?”

  “Down on Forty-fourth and Madison. It’s okay to go there?”

  “Yeah, trust me,” Taylor said. “Let’s go, then. That’s a long walk. I assume you walk a lot to keep your weight down?”

  Lindsay nodded.

  Taylor watched her work out at Lin Ho’s Gym. She wasn’t bad. She was rangy, well-coordinated, strong, and she had endurance. The problem was, you could see how she was going to move before she did it. Her intentions were as clear as the deep blue of her eyes. Maybe he could coach her a bit about that. Against a serious perp she’d be mincemeat. He’d have to make sure she understood what the underbelly of New York was really like. He winced as he thought that. He, S. C. Taylor, that outstanding cop who was all for law and order, who’d ardently believed in justice and in the system, had waited exactly two months after Ellie’s jump from the second-floor bathroom from her private school. Actually, he’d waited one month, three weeks, and two days after Ellie’s funeral. Dear God, that funeral—both the mother and Uncle Bandy had been there, hugging each other, and then the black-souled bastard had actually thrown a red rose on top of the coffin. Taylor had nearly gone after him then. But he’d stopped himself.

  But not for long. He’d pulled Uncle Bandy from his rich brownstone and beaten the living shit out of him. Odd, but it hadn’t made him feel any better. The man had the nerve to threaten him. The man had the nerve to scream that it was all Taylor’s fault. Taylor, enraged, had hit him again. But Ellie was still dead. She was buried at Mountain View. He went there occasionally. He’d never checked to see what had become of her mother. He’d simply never cared. But Uncle Bandy, he’d recovered and Taylor knew he carried on as he always had. Power, money, all the trappings.

  He left the gym with Eden, his thoughts still on Ellie. Lindsay wondered what he was thinking. He was clearly distracted. She’d called the office from the dressing room and gotten Glen. “The boss is gone, Eden, away for a long weekend, he told me.”

  “Why Taylor, Glen? Somebody threaten Demos?”

  “Yeah, sweetie. Don’t get pissed off at Demos and lose the guy. Let him stay close; he’s good at what he does. Isn’t he cute? Did you get a look at that chest of his? And that darling little dimple in his chin?”

  “Yeah, right, Glen. See you next week.”

  “Take care, Eden. If you get him in bed, I’ll scratch your eyes out.”

  Lindsay dutifully laughed.

  11

  Taylor / Eden

  Taylor called Valerie from Eden’s apartment. He asked her how she was, how her day was, to which he got the same response he always got, namely, that she was fine, had enjoyed herself, had gone shopping and bought this and that, she missed him, and then, what was he doing. All in one breath, little variation, at least on her end of it.

  “I can’t make it tonight,” he said, feeling regret and that regret sounding in his voice. “Yeah, I know you wanted to see that show, but I’m on a job and I’ll be tied up at least for the weekend, maybe even through next week. I’m sorry, babe. I’ll cash the tickets in and get some more for next weekend, all right? Or would you rather have me send them over and you can use them? Maybe invite someone to go with you?”

  “I don’t want to go with anyone else! You’re
with another woman, aren’t you?”

  “Yes, it’s the job I have.” He added, frowning into the phone at the suspicion he heard in her voice, “Nothing more than the job, Valerie. I told you this would occasionally happen. What’s your problem?”

  She burst out suddenly, violently, “You’re lying! Damn you, what’s her name? You’re just like every other fucking man! Tell me her name!”

  Taylor stared at the phone, jerked it away from his ear. Valerie was yelling at him, actually shrieking. He couldn’t believe it. And she kept it up, this endless supply of venom, yelling now, calling him a liar, accusing him of screwing around, of betraying her with a younger woman, of lying, lying, lying. He remained quiet. What could he say that he hadn’t said already? Jesus, you never knew a person. He’d thought he had known her. He thought of her laughter, her beautiful body, her sometimes too-facetious wit, the undeniable intelligence behind that perfect face. But never had he imagined this kind of fury running deep in her. How could she be jealous? Had some guy in the past really screwed her up? It seemed incredible to him for the simple reason she seemed so in control. By God, she was the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen in his life. This was madness.

  When she ran down finally, he was angry and impatient, and said, “I’m sorry you don’t believe me, Valerie. You’re entirely wrong. I’ll call you on Monday. I’ll expect an apology then.”

  There was just an instant of hesitation before she started up again. He gently eased the phone back into its cradle, looking down at it in disgust.

  He turned to see Eden standing in the open kitchen doorway, just looking at him, her head cocked to one side in silent question. He shook his head, feeling slightly sick. “You never really know a person, do you?”