Manhattan Merger

“You just took the words right out of my mouth. Last night she broke down and admitted she doesn’t like my home.” Mac grimaced. “Instead of a dog for a wedding present, could we build an English manor along the lines of her parents’ home?

“I reminded her that as an only child she would inherit her family home one day, and could spend as much time as she wanted there after our marriage.”

Mac didn’t say anything. Neither did Payne.

After leaving his sister’s sprawling New England style home which was reminiscent of many homes in the Hamptons, he craved his eyrie at Crag’s Head.

Money could buy a lot of things he would never want, and it had brought him more pain than he’d ever thought possible. But if he could be grateful for one thing, it had allowed him to turn his ideas for the old lighthouse standing on family property into a sanctuary of primitive beauty and isolation.

Payne was an engineer, not an architect, but he’d known what he’d wanted the moment he’d glimpsed Le Corbusier’s Chapel of Notre Dame Du Haut at Ronchamps for the first time.

Using a sculptural style rather than rectilinear, the famous French architect had created two curving walls of white-washed rough masonry that met beneath a dark roof.

Incorporating those same elements with the lighthouse, Payne’s home stood like a piece of sculpture on the headland overlooking the Atlantic. The randomly punched out windows of the walls gave him all the privacy and all the view he could ever want.

He liked being able to walk around while he studied where he would lay massive fiber-optic cables in a place as difficult as New York’s labyrinthine underground.

The urban fiber networks were one of the least-developed pieces of Internet infrastructure throughout the world. Payne had always considered it a market of vast potential.

Pleased to have been responsible for putting five million kilometers of glass thread in the ground already, he was now selling rights to individual strands of fiber outright. World carriers and corporations were coming to him every day asking for more.

When he’d had the place built, he hadn’t yet met the woman he’d wanted to marry. If he’d given it any thought at all, he’d imagined that when the right one came along, she’d love it as much as he did.

Last night he’d promised Diane he would add some interior features to the second floor to make it less austere and fortress-like.

As for the lighthouse portion of his house, it had been transformed into an open workspace. It was here in his inner sanctum he used the thick rounded walls to spread out his huge maps of the tunneling beneath major American and European cities.

Considering he was in negotiations for the rights-of-way to dig in fifty more markets by next year, there was no way of gauging where it would lead in future years. But it ensured he wouldn’t run out of problems to solve. That’s what he loved to do.

That’s why he was taking Diane to Switzerland, even if he had to drag her there. And if working with those doctors didn’t produce a cure, he’d heard of another one who ran a clinic for injuries to the spine in Norway.

If Payne had already figured out how to unearth dazzling riches lying in mud beneath the streets of New York, Paris and Rome, surely he could find a way for Diane to walk again!

“Betty?” he called to Mrs. Myers. She and her husband lived in to look after his house and do light housekeeping. “I’m expecting Drew Wallace later tonight. When he gets here, let him in my study, will you please?”

“Of course. Would you like something to eat before he arrives?”

“How about a sandwich.”

“Coming right up.”

Taking advantage of the time, he sat back in his easy chair, adjusted the floor lamp light and began reading Manhattan Merger.

The opening line grabbed him by the throat.

Logan Townsend wasn’t in love with his fiancée.

From that point on it was like walking through the minefield of his own psyche where his deepest thoughts and feelings were exposed at every unexpected turn. By the time he came to the last page and closed the book, his hands were literally shaking.

He recalled something Catherine had said before he’d left for Crag’s Head.

Diane got after me about reading romances. She said they’re a waste of time and don’t reflect real life.

How wrong could Diane have been!

If Payne could be thankful for one thing, it was that Catherine hadn’t read the story yet. It would bring her even more pain.

Once more the painting on the cover leaped out at him, underscoring his shock that this book with his picture was in circulation.

“Payne?”

At the sound of Drew’s familiar voice, he levered himself from the chair. Only then did he realize he’d been too riveted to the well-written story to notice Betty had brought him a tray of food some time ago. Unfortunately his appetite had left him.

“I’m glad you’re here.”

“Good grief. You look like you’ve seen a ghost!”

“I wish that were the case. A ghost I could deal with,” he muttered grimly.

Payne handed him the book. “I just finished reading it. No one, and I mean no one, could have reached down into my soul to pull things out the way this author did. I’m talking secret thoughts and feelings here.”

His attorney took it from him and studied the cover. “There’s no doubt about it. The person who did this artwork used a picture or photograph of you. Let’s see the other books.”

Payne emptied the sack onto his desk. Drew examined the covers of all the books.

When he eventually looked up he said, “Every day of life your picture appears somewhere in the newspapers or tabloids. The public has free access. That means you’ll always be a target for unsolicited attention.

“But to find a painted picture of you on the cover of a book without your express written permission is a legal matter, never mind that the person responsible might or might not be a stalker.”

“So you don’t believe this could be a coincidence?”

Drew pursed his lips. “You have an aura that goes everywhere with you. Whoever did this painting caught your essence as well as the outer shell. I’ve a hunch this person has met you before, probably at your office.”

Payne agreed, still haunted by the story. “I doubt the artist and the author are the same person, but I suppose it’s possible,” he theorized. “Regardless, something needs to be done right away. My niece and fiancée are terrified.”

“With good reason,” his attorney came back. “I admit I don’t like this either.” His thick brows met in a frown. “Rest assured I’ll look into it first thing in the morning, then get back to you. I’ll take these with me.” He scooped up the books and put them in the sack.

“I promised the woman at the bookstore she’d get the four books back with my picture on them by Thursday at the latest.”

“No problem.”

Payne walked him to the north door which led to the pad where the helicopter was waiting. “Thanks for coming tonight.”

“It was my pleasure. The sooner we find out if we need to call in the FBI, the better.”

As he closed the door, Payne wasn’t sure anything earthly could help. Not when the author knew things about him no one knew but God…

CHAPTER TWO