An uneasy nod. Obviously, Zach's thoughts had zoomed off in exactly the direction she'd expected them to. "Yes."
His scowl deepened. "Then the powers that be at the Hope Institute either heard it from him, or they got it from their computer system." At Victoria's questioning look, he elaborated. "When you dialed in to that 555 exchange, I'm sure their computer logged a record of your phone number. If your father didn't tell them you'd made that call, the computer did. It doesn't matter. Either way, they realized you were digging. They must have felt threatened. They sent someone out to make sure you weren't getting too close to anything—including your sister."
"Are they keeping her prisoner?" Victoria demanded.
"Not in the way you mean. The clinic really does offer groundbreaking medical treatment. Its staff is primarily honest, dedicated, and unaware of the fact that their facility is involved in illegal activities. The patients they treat are acutely ill, suffering from advanced stages of their diseases, with enough money to pay for luxurious, private health care. I'm sure that's why your father chose it for Audrey. From your description, it certainly sounds as if her illness took a turn for the worse."
"So Audrey's getting proper treatment. I'm thankful for that. But that doesn't explain why I'm being kept from seeing her or why she ran away."
"My guess is that someone involved in the illegal operation is arranging to keep you two apart because Audrey found out something they wish she hadn't. It frightened her enough to run away and try to warn you."
"By 'someone,' you mean my father."
"Yes." Zach answered with his customary frankness. 'Think about it. The only scenario that makes sense is that Audrey spent enough time with your father to figure out he's involved in something ugly—something that ties in to the Hope Institute."
"If he's involved," Victoria corrected. "It's possible my father is guilty of nothing more than stashing Audrey away in a low-profile facility where no one can learn about her illness. That makes him callous, but not criminal. You yourself just said the computer could have recorded my calls. There's no proof implicating my father in all this. Or Benjamin Hopewell, for that matter. Even if he did retain ownership of the Hope Institute and my father helped him accomplish that. In fact, the two of them may have created this secretive corporate structure for some legitimate purpose—perhaps even to shield the Hope Institute and their privacy-conscious clients from harassment by the media. It's all pure speculation on your part, and on the part of the FBI."
"Fine. Let's assume you're right. If your father's innocent, why would Audrey run to you?" Zach countered. "Why not run to him? He certainly has more power and influence than you do. What's more, if he's the one who brought her to the Hope Institute, she wouldn't have to run any farther than the telephone in her room. So why did she risk leaving the facility to find you?"
Victoria had no rebuttal for that logic.
"We can argue about your father later. Right now what's bothering me most is that whoever's running the show is focused on you and what you know." Falling silent, Zach rubbed the back of his'neck, and another inadvertent pang shot through Victoria as she recognized the familiar gesture. It meant he was mulling things over.
An instant later, he proved her right.
"What does this guy tailing you look like? What can you tell me about him?"
"Why? Do you think it's someone on your list of suspects?"
"I doubt it. I'm sure I've never heard of him, much less seen him. He's low man on the totem pole in an operation like this one. Just the same, I need a description. First, so I can take another look at that FBI surveillance tape and see if he's on it. He's been watching you since Saturday. That means he followed you to the clinic, too. If we're lucky, I'll catch a glimpse of him, but even if I don't, it'll be easier to spot him again if I know what we're looking for."
Victoria blinked. "Are you saying you'll ask the FBI to keep an eye out for him? How can you do that without reporting what I told you in confidence?"
There was that crooked smile again. "I can't. I'd have no basis for requesting an FBI lookout without explaining the full extent of what you found out and who it implicates. What I'm saying is that I intend to keep an eye out for him."
She fought the surge of relief Zach's pronouncement brought. He's just searching for a link to solve his case, she reminded herself. He's not doing this to protect you.
Still, she couldn't deny her gratitude that he would be on top of things. Zach was unbelievably good at what he did. That's why the FBI sought him out so often.
"I've only seen this man in the dark," she supplied. "He looks to be of average height, on the slender side. His movements are fluid—as if he could take off at a moment's notice if he had to. The way he subtly appears and disappears, I get the feeling he's done this kind of thing before. I couldn't tell what he was wearing, but last night he was smoking a cigar." She frowned. "I know that's not much to go on."
Again, Zach shrugged. "It's about what I expected. The cigar is a plus. Guys paid to tail people usually try to blend into the woodwork. If he was a six-foot-three linebacker, he'd be remembered. I'll run through that surveillance clip again."
"I'd like to watch it with you. If he's there, maybe I'd recognize him." Victoria couldn't believe she'd just made that request. If Zach agreed, she'd put herself in the unthinkable position of being alone with him—and not in her office, but somewhere private. On the other hand, her self-consciousness in Zach's presence was secondary to her need to find Audrey. So she wouldn't retract her request.
Zach was watching her, his expression again unreadable. "All right," he concurred. "Where and when?"
The ball was back in her court. God help her.
"I'd like to see the tape as soon as possible."
"I agree. The sooner we figure out who's following you, the sooner we'll be able to stop him—and find out who's paying his salary."
"Where are you staying?" Victoria forced herself to ask, bracing herself for the inevitable reply.
"At the Plaza Athe'ne'e."
A heartbeat of silence hung between them.
With a terse nod, Victoria made an on-the-spot decision. There was no way she could walk into that hotel and take the elevator up to his suite—to his room—surveillance tape or not. If they had to screen this thing somewhere private, let it be somewhere that didn't scream with memories.
"Can you bring the tape to my apartment?" she inquired, keeping her tone as casual as possible. "I'm not all that far from the hotel."
Zach considered the possibility, displaying no emotion . whatsoever as he mentally ran through his previous commitments. "It would have to be late. I've got appointments all afternoon, and a six-thirty meeting over drinks that will probably run into dinner."
"I've got a dinner meeting myself," Victoria replied, thinking of the weekly Tuesday night catch-up sessions she, Meg, and Paul held at that great little Chinese restaurant two blocks from their office. "It should run until nine."
"How's ten o'clock then? Too late?"
Victoria smoothed her skirt and rose gracefully to her feet. "No. I'm too wired to sleep. And I've got to get to the bottom of this. It's the only way I'll find Audrey." She met Zach's gaze. "I'm at 170 East Eighty-second."
"I'll be there at ten."
* * *
11
The orderly, late-afternoon hum at Waters, Kensington, Tatem & Calder was that of a well-oiled machine—one that emanated great power and success. Its elegant atmosphere, from decorum to demeanor, contrasted starkly with the affable-chaos found at London, Kensington & Stone.
Walter Kensington's firm, which occupied the entire fourteenth floor of 280 Park Avenue, was the epitome of conservative affluence. Voices were subdued, talking minimal. Attorneys interacted briefly with their associates only to issue instructions, then disappeared quietly behind the heavy wooden doors that separated the private chambers from those areas accessible to all.
The furnishings of the outer office were und
erstated Park Avenue; the equipment, state-of-the-art. The men wore conservative suits; the women—three-quarters of whom were paralegals and secretaries—wore tasteful dresses or equally tasteful suits. It was only in the last two decades that the dress code for women had relaxed a bit. Secretaries had been permitted to give up the practice of wearing gloves to work and were now allowed to wear appropriate pants suits rather than dresses— although casual slacks and skirts more than a few inches above the knee were still frowned upon. It was also during this period that women had been grudgingly allowed to join the firm as attorneys, although only four of the twenty-three junior partners and one of the eight senior partners were female.
The hierarchy was clear. Top-notch secretaries of the senior partners labored behind partitioned cubicles that afforded the privacy and respect due women associated with men of rank and power. In contrast, the younger secretaries ranged anywhere from politically savvy, ambitious legal assistants who sought jobs with the "right" up-and-coming attorneys, to task-oriented secretarial school graduates who typed up briefs, made coffee, and screened the constant flow of incoming calls.
The most powerful senior partners were easily recognized by the size and location of their inner sanctums.
Walter Kensington's domain boasted massive dimensions, an engraved gold nameplate on the door, and the most coveted location. It was isolated from the rest of the firm by one large cubicle belonging to Miss Hatterman, Walter's secretary of thirty years, who guarded her boss's office like a vigilant pit bull.
The office was accentuated by two walls of floor-to-ceiling cherry bookshelves filled with reference texts and— the most prominent and impressive fixture in the room—a massive semicircular cherry desk. Kept locked at all times, the desk held all of Walter's personal files. The surface was fastidiously clean, containing only his personal computer and his most immediate and pressing case notes, plus four different model cars that were his particular pride and joy.
As a final, enviable touch, along half the periphery of the room ran wide-paned windows, heralding a panoramic view of the canyons of Park Avenue.
At that particular moment, Walter wasn't interested in the scenery.
Thoroughly riled, he shut his office door, listening to the retreating footsteps and pondering all the facts he'd just been given.
He didn't like being threatened—especially by someone who was so important to his success.
It wasn't his first warning. The Hope Institute's CEO had been furious since last Saturday morning, when Audrey had succeeded in escaping and making contact with Victoria. Walter had winced through that entire phone call, then solemnly promised things would calm down.
They hadn't. Instead, they'd intensified. Victoria had spent the past few days snooping around, chipping away pieces of information from the impenetrable legal fortress he'd built around the Hope Institute, as a result making things worse than she could possibly imagine.
Goddammit. Why couldn't she keep her nose out of this?
Walter turned away, running a hand through his hair, knowing his answer even as he asked the question.
Audrey.
Victoria had protected her from the day she was bom. It didn't matter how hard he'd tried to separate them, how firmly he'd shown Victoria that her nurturing was futile, that Audrey was weak, an embarrassment to him and all he stood for.
Nothing deterred Victoria. She was her mother's and sister's self-appointed savior. And she wasn't about to stop now. Especially since she was convinced Audrey was in trouble.
He crossed over to his desk, staring down at the gleaming wood and idly fingering the model Rolls Royce near his phone.
It was bad enough she'd grilled him and called the hospital in Florence. Now, not only was she making prying phone calls, she'd actually visited the Hope Institute, trying to get in and see Audrey. She was leery of Audrey's treatment, wondering what danger her sister had been alluding to when she'd accosted her in Central Park.
And suspicious of his part in it all.
He'd been ordered in no uncertain terms to control his daughter. The question was, how?
He knew the answer to that.
There was only one way Victoria would believe her sister was safe. She had to hear it from Audrey herself.
Very well. That's precisely what she'd do. With grim determination, he reached over and picked up the phone.
* * *
The attendant at the Hope Institute entered the audiotape room at 5 p.m. sharp. He fitted the key in the lock of the double cabinet and opened the doors, scanning the neatly stacked rows of tapes until he found the two labeled "Kensington, Audrey."
The first tape in her set was the one he'd been instructed to retrieve; the one marked "introductory session." He removed it, tucked it carefully into his inside jacket pocket, then relocked the cabinet and left the room. He had his orders. The audio engineer was waiting to do what had to be done. It had to be completed quickly for its seven-thirty transmission.
He strode briskly to the editing room.
* * *
Victoria arrived home at 9:15, totally worn out.
Her dinner with Meg and Paul had included a half-hour of dodging questions about Zach. She couldn't blame them for their curiosity; they'd been there when the entire relationship unfolded four years ago, and they'd been there throughout the painful aftermath. Not that she'd gone to them—or anyone—for comfort. The truth was, she'd scarcely spoken a word about the breakup, other than to say it was over and Zach was leaving for Europe. There were some things that were just too intimate, too emotionally wrenching, to discuss.
But neither of her friends was stupid. They knew she hadn't been involved with another man since Zach left. So they were not only curious to know why he'd visited, they felt protective because of the effect his sudden reappearance would have on her.
She'd said very little, partly because she couldn't breathe a word about Zach's investigation, and partly because she didn't want to even think, much less talk, about how she felt about seeing him again.
The rest of dinner had been spent going over current cases, but even then Victoria couldn't concentrate. Nor could she eat. And not because of Zach.
Her gaze kept straying to the festaurant window, scanning the street to see if the man following her was outside.
Nothing suspicious.
Finally, after intercepting the twentieth worried look between Paul and Meg, she'd excused herself, claiming extreme fatigue, and taken a cab home.
Still no sign of her tail.
She locked her door, slipped off her suit jacket, and headed for the bedroom. She had forty minutes to change and prepare herself for Zach's visit and the viewing of the FBI surveillance tape. She prayed that the bastard following her would be on it. Knowing he was out there somewhere, watching her every move, was really starting to rattle her.
Passing by the answering machine in the hall, Victoria noticed the flashing light and glanced at the LCD display. Two messages. Fine. She'd listen while she changed.
Turning up the volume, she pressed Play as she unbuttoned her blouse, slipping it off in the bedroom doorway so she could listen.
"Hi, Victoria. It's Uncle Jim," came her uncle's even tone. "I'm sorry I didn't return your call sooner. It was one of those days. It's after six, and I haven't even eaten lunch yet. I'm going to grab a sandwich and head home. Give me a call whenever you get in. I'm interested in hearing your decision."
Victoria winced. Her decision. She'd placed that call to her uncle right after Zach left her office that morning, although she'd been more confused than ever about what to say. The only solution she could come up with was to try to buy herself more time. She certainly couldn't share the FBI's suspicions about her father. Nor could she pretend to dismiss the whole matter of Audrey's disappearance as if it were no longer of paramount importance. Uncle Jim knew how she felt about Audrey. He'd expect her to continue her search.
He'd want her to go to her father. Which, it seemed more and m
ore likely, she would end up doing. But what would she say once she got there? There was much more at stake now than just their family secrets and finding Audrey. There were criminal acts involved—major ones. How much was her father mixed up in? Was he merely covering up Audrey's whereabouts or something even more devious?
She'd have to discuss her strategy with Zach. She owed him that much. He was keeping her revelations in confidence; she had to do the same with his investigation.
Damn, she was in an awkward position.
She wriggled out of her skirt just as the beep on her answering machine sounded, heralding the onset of the second message.
"Victoria?" She froze at the sound of Audrey's voice. "Father told me how worried you are. Please don't be. I'm fine, really. I had a bad relapse. The people here are helping me get better. But I'm not allowed any visitors. That's part of my treatment. It's very intensive. I'm not even supposed to be calling. But I didn't want you to worry. I'll let you know as soon as I'm well enough to talk—I promise."
Click.
"Message received seven-thirty-one," the electronic voice on the answering machine reported. Then: "End of final message."
Victoria's heart was thudding in her chest. She walked over and replayed Audrey's message, listening carefully to every word.
There was no fear in her sister's voice. She sounded wooden, emotionless—the total opposite of the hysterical state she'd been in on Saturday. Presumably, she was trying to calm Victoria, to assuage her sister's apprehension rather than express her own.
Definitely not Audrey's style.
Had someone forced her to make that call? She didn't seem to be under duress. Could she be on medication? That was certainly possible.
It was also possible she'd been ordered to make that call by someone who wanted Victoria off his back and the back of the Hope Institute.
Someone like her father.
Leaning against the wall, Victoria began sorting out all the possibilities, then decided it didn't matter. She knew what she had to do.