"It was tough on you."

"It made me tough," she corrected. "I watched the way people lived, and I saw what I wanted. I found ways to get what I wanted. I improved myself and I broke my back to be the best. No one's going to take me off the top of the heap, Dan. Certainly not

Deanna Reynolds."

He tipped her face back for a kiss. "That's the Angela I know and love."

She smiled. Her head felt light, dizzy, her body free. Why, she wondered, had she been so afraid of relaxing with a bottle or two? "Prove it," she invited, and slipped the robe off her shoulders.

Chapter Twenty-two

The snow outside the cabin was fairy-tale white. Rocks and shrubs caused the white covering to heave into mounds and bumps so that it resembled a blanket under which dozens of elves might burrow, waiting for spring. No cloud marred the eerie, icy blue of the sky, and the sun glinted off the glossy bark of trees.

From the window, Deanna watched Finn and Richard help Aubrey build a snowman. In her bright blue snowsuit, the toddler looked like a little exotic bird who'd lost her way going south. Curling tendrils of hair, as red as a cardinal's wing, escaped from her cap.

Beside her the men were giants, bulky in their heavy coats and boots. She watched as Richard showed Aubrey how to pat and mold a snowball. He pointed at Finn, andwitha giggle that carried through the glass, Aubrey bounced it lightly off Finn's knee, but he crumpled convincingly to the ground as if hit by a boulder.

The dog, the mop-haired mongrel Finn and Deanna had dubbed Cronkite, sent up a din of barks and a shower of snow in his desperation to join the game.

"Sounds like quite a snowman." Fran shifted her infant daughter from her right to her left breast. Kelsey latched on, suckling happily.

"They've started a small war," Deanna reported. "Casualties are light, but it looks to be an extended battle."

"You can go out and spend some of that nervous energy. You don't have to stay in here with me."

"No, I like watching. I'm so glad all of you could come up for the weekend."

"Since it's the first free one you've had in six weeks, I'm amazed you'd share it."

"Getting away with friends is one of those luxuries I've had to do without too much." She sighed a little. There was no use thinking about all the weekends, the holidays, the quiet evenings at home she'd missed. She had what she'd asked for. "I've discovered I need things like this to keep me centered."

"Glad to help. Richard found the idea of fishing in this weather just primitive and macho enough to pique his interest. As for me" — she stroked her daughter's cheek as she rocked gently in the chair Finn had hauled in from the porch and scrubbed down for just that purpose—"I was ready to go anywhere. When we get snow this early in November, it's going to be a long winter."

"And not a particularly pleasant one." Fran was right about the nervous energy, Deanna realized. She could feel it swirling inside — white water in the bloodstream. Deanna turned away from the window to sit on the hearth, where the fire crackled hot and brightly behind her. "I feel like I've been under siege, Fran. All this — this tabloid crap about Angela and me brawling in the ladies' lounge at the Emmys."

"Honey, most of that's died down, and everyone knew it was crap to begin with."

"Most everyone." Restless, she rose again, prowling. "All those sly allegations in the press about her bearing up stoically after I supposedly refused her offer of friendship. Friendship, my butt." She shoved her hands in her pockets, dragged them out again to gesture. "And that nasty undertone of glee in some of the stories. "Talk show divas in cat fight." "Claws bared in ladies' room." And it was just close enough to the truth to make us both look like idiots. Of course, Loren couldn't be happier. The ratings have skyrocketed since the Emmys, and there's no sign of a downswing. People who couldn't care less about the content of the show are tuning in to see if I lose it and punch out a guest."

Fran snickered, then caught Deanna's quick glare. "Sorry."

"I wish I could think it was funny." Grabbing the poker, she stabbed viciously at the flaming logs. "I did think it was funny, until I started getting letters."

"Oh, Dee, the majority of the mail has been supportive, even flattering."

"So I'm perverse." Her shoulders jerked. Oh, she hated the fact that she was being a fool. Hated more that she couldn't seem to stop thinking about the whole ugly incident. "I keep remembering the ones that weren't. The ones that ranged from "You should be ashamed of yourself," to "You should be horsewhipped for your lack of gratitude to a fragile little flower like Angela Perkins."" Her narrowed eyes were as hot as the flames. "Belladonna probably looks like a fragile little flower."

"I wouldn't know." Fran shifted the baby to her shoulder. "Most of that's blown over. Why don't you tell me what's really eating at you?"

Deanna gave the fire one last poke. "I'm scared." She said it quietly, as a fresh frisson of ice skated up her spine. "I got another note."

"Oh God. When?"

"Friday, right after I spoke to the literacy group at the Drake."

"Cassie was with you."

"Yes." Deanna rubbed at the dull ache at the back of her neck. "I don't seem to go anywhere alone anymore. Always an entourage."

"Cassie's hardly an entourage." But Fran recognized the twist of topic as avoidance. "Tell me about the note, Dee."

"We ran a little long with the photo session afterward. Cassie left — she had a few things she wanted to finish up at the office before the weekend."

She flashed back to it, the scene as clear in her mind as a film loop. Another handshake, another snick of the camera shutter. People crowding around for a word, for a look.

"Just one more picture, Deanna, please. You and the mayor's wife."

"Just one more." Cassie spoke up, her smile amiable, her voice firm. "Miss Reynolds is already running late for her next appointment."

Deanna remembered feeling amusement. Her next appointment, thankfully, was throwing a few sweaters into her suitcase and heading out of the city.

She posed again, with the mayor's wife and the plaque for her work for literacy, then eased her way along, with Cassie running interference.

"Good job, Dee. Here, let me take that." Cassie slipped the plaque into her briefcase while Deanna bundled into her coat.

"It didn't feel like a job. They were great." "They were — you were." Cassie cast a leery eye over her shoulder. The elegant lobby of the Drake was still crowded with people. "But take my word on this. Just keep walking and don't look back or you won't get out of here until midnight." To hurry her along, Cassie took her arm and led Deanna out of the lobby and onto the sidewalk. "Listen, I'm going to take a cab back to the office."

"Don't be silly. Tim can drop you off." "Then you'll think of something you just have to do while you're there. Go home," Cassie ordered. "Pack, leave. Don't show your face in this town until Sunday night."

It sounded too good to argue. "Yes, ma'am." Laughing, Cassie kissed her cheek. "Have a great weekend."

"You too."

They parted there, heading in opposite directions through the snapping wind and swirling snow.

"Sorry I'm late, Tim."

"No problem, Miss Reynolds." With his long black coat flapping around his knees, Tim opened the door of the limo. "How'd it go?"

"Fine. Really fine, thanks."

Still glowing with the energy of a job well done, she slipped inside the cushy warmth.

And there it was. Just that plain envelope, a square of white against the burgundy leather seat…

"I asked Tim if someone had come up to the car," Deanna continued, "but he hadn't seen anyone. It was cold and he'd gone inside the building for a while. He said the car was locked, and I know how conscientious Tim is, so I'm sure it was."

Too many notes, Fran thought, as her stomach muscles jiggled. And they were coming too often in the last couple of months. "Did you call the police?"

"I called Lieutenant Jenner from the car phone. I don't have any control over this." Her voice rose as much in frustration as fear. And it helped, she realized, to have something, anything other than fear coursing through her. "I can't analyze it and put it in a slot. I can't tidy it up or toss it away." Determined to calm herself, she rubbed her hands over her face as if she could massage away the panic. "I can't even discuss this rationally. Every time I remind myself that I haven't been threatened, I haven't been hurt, I feel this little bubble of hysteria building up. He finds me everywhere. I want to beg him to leave me alone. To just leave me alone. Fran," she said helplessly, "I'm a mess."

Fran got up to lay Kelsey in the playpen. She crossed to take Deanna's hands in hers. There was more than comfort in the contact — anger simmered just beneath. "Why haven't you told me this before? Why haven't you let me know how much this is upsetting you?"

"You've got enough to handle. Aubrey, the new baby."

"So you took pity on the new mother and pretended that you were shrugging this whole business off as a by-

product of fame?" Suddenly furious, Fran slapped both hands on her hips. "That's crap, Dee. Insulting crap."

"I didn't see the point in worrying you," Deanna shot back. "There's so much stuff going on right now — the show, the backlash from Angela; Margaret's teenager wrecked the car, Simon's mother died." Despising the need to defend herself, she turned back to the window. "Finn's going off to Haiti next week." Outside the dog leaped at flying snowballs. Deanna wanted to weep. Resting her head on the cool glass, she waited until her system leveled. "I thought I could handle myself. I wanted to handle it myself."