Reflexively, her fingers curled closer in his. "I know how difficult those visits are for you. I'm sorry."
"Actually, it was less painful this time. Probably because of the circumstances."
She gave him a questioning look. "Circumstances? You mean because more time has passed?"
"No. Because I intend to bring closure to things."
"What—?"
"Victoria, let's get into this later," he said abruptly. This was one topic that would have to wait. If he was going to take this step, to open up to her again and confide just how close to home this case was, he wasn't going to do it in a bar. He needed to be alone with her.
Besides, one emotional hurdle at a time. Victoria had finally allowed herself to talk about her life after their breakup. He hadn't expected that, not so soon. But her fatigue and the past week's stress had won out, not to mention that last night's kiss had thrown her. She'd just admitted to him that she'd lived a celibate existence these past four years. She needed to know how he'd lived, what he'd done and felt... or hadn't.
He intended to tell her.
"You wanted to know about my life in Europe," he reminded her. "It was a lot like yours here, except more transient. I lived in seven countries—no, eight. Honestly, I lost track. Sometimes I stayed a few weeks, other times a few months. I worked. I spent as little time inside my head as possible. And I tried like hell to forget you. I failed miserably."
She was staring at the table again. "What abput the FBI? Did they contact you while you were abroad?"
"A few times, yes. Most of the government work I did was for the CIA. I developed intelligence on various organizations they suspected of fronting for illegal activities. I also trained some of their agents in competitive intelligence."
"But when you left for Europe, it was at the FBI's request," she reminded him.
"Yes and no. Initially, it was their assignment. They wanted me to develop intelligence on an exporter of machine tools they believed was dealing in drugs and firearms. It turned out to be an international operation. I flew to Europe to check out the players at the receiving end. After that, Interpol took over. They got their men."
"But you continued taking FBI assignments, too."
"They contacted me when they needed U.S. intelligence. Mostly I analyzed written data they provided. Nothing I couldn't handle long-distance."
"Until now."
"Yes. Until now."
She ran her tongue over her lower lip. "And the SCIP conference you're speaking at?"
"What about it? I'm giving the keynote next Thursday. The timing worked out well."
Victoria's lashes lifted, and she eyed him speculatively. "Conferences are planned months in advance. How did you manage to work out the details?"
He wasn't going to lie to her—not even if it meant scaring her off. "SCIP contacted me on several previous occasions, inviting me to speak. I declined. I ran into one of their board members in London last February. He told me this year's conference was in New York. As you're aware, so are many of my U.S. clients. He asked if I'd reconsider. I didn't say yes. But I didn't say no, either. When the FBI's investigation into the Hope Institute started heating up, I gave SCIP a call. They were kind enough to squeeze me in, even at that late date."
"Squeeze you in? They probably cheered loud enough for you to hear across the Atlantic. You're one of the foremost experts in your field."
Zach shrugged. "The point is, I set things up in advance, left the door open to come back."
"So you could touch base with your clients?"
"Hardly. I wouldn't need an excuse for that. Nor was it necessary. I'd meet them When they traveled to Europe. And my staff here was handling things just fine." He leaned forward. "Maybe there was a part of me that knew it was time to come back, if only to figure out why I was so hell-bent on staying away—and if that reason still existed. I'm not good at living in limbo, Victoria—or at leaving loose ends. Especially not in matters that strike close to home."
Shutters descended. "That trait I've experienced firsthand."
"Victoria." He tugged at her fingers, forced her to raise those shutters, to face him candidly. "I know you blamed me for the decision I made. Do you still?"
Her sigh was sad, as if she felt very old. "It wasn't the decision I blamed you for, Zach. At least not the one you made for you. It was the decision you made for me. I understood you had ghosts to face—ghosts you needed to put to rest. God knows, I could relate. But I had my own ghosts, my own plans. I was stunned and hurt that you couldn't see where I was coming from, what I needed. You expected me to blindly follow you. To leave my family, law school, a career I desperately wanted and was only a year away from starting. To marry you and rush off to Europe so you could purge your demons, help break up every drug cartel the government sniffed out. I couldn't."
"I didn't expect that." He made a rough sound, a humorless laugh as he realized what he was saying. "Who am I kidding? It might not have been what I expected, but in essence it was exactly what I asked you to do. My only excuse is that I didn't think of it that way. I assumed we'd go to Europe, I'd quickly stop those animals, and—"
"And you'd move on to the next investigation that hinted at a chance for retribution," she finished quietly.
He couldn't argue. She was right. She'd seen the handwriting on the wall. He hadn't. He'd been a single-minded fool. Oh, he'd realized that some time ago, after his irrational fury had cooled—but the damage had been done, the profound ties severed. The problem was, he'd been consumed with his own need to rectify the past. And Victoria? She'd had a foresight he hadn't, an ability to see the future his actions were dictating.
"You were a lot more astute than I," he stated flatly, not even trying to minimize his part in their breakup. "But I'm asking you to believe that my self-centeredness was based on stupidity, not a lack of sensitivity. I would never expect you to abandon your career and your family. Europe wasn't meant to be permanent. We were. I should have realized the direction I was heading in. I didn't. All I realized was that I had to take that assignment, and that I wanted you with me. As for your unwillingness to go, I understood it. I just couldn't accept it."
Victoria swallowed, her voice nearly drowned out by the clinking of glasses and arriving customers. "I believe you. I wasn't blameless, either. I could have negotiated a compromise. Instead, I walked away. Some of what you said back then was true. I was obsessed with protecting my mother and sister. Maybe I still am—although I think I've finally started accepting what Uncle Jim's maintained all along. The strength I project for Mother and Audrey has to come from within each of them, not from me." Her smile was sad. "Let's sum it up by saying we were both pigheaded and shortsighted, and leave it at that."
"What if I don't want to leave it at all?"
Zach's question hung in the air, a palpable entity that loomed larger than life.
Tension rippled through Victoria, and when she answered her voice was oddly choked. "We have to."
"Why?"
"Because—" She broke off, fiddling with the edge of her napkin, and Zach could sense her emotional turmoil. "Do you know what the ironic part was?" she managed at last. "I actually considered going with you. Briefly. But briefly was enough to scare me to death. Realizing I cared about you enough to walk away from my responsibilities, my future,, was the most terrifying feeling I've ever known. Except for the pain I went through after you left. That was even more terrifying. To be that vulnerable to someone ..." She gave a fierce shake of her head, her features set in hard lines of determination. "Never again. Never, ever again."
"Victoria—"
"I'd better get going." She tugged her hand away, blinking back the hint of moisture in her eyes. "I've got a dinner meeting with a client."
"Cancel it." He wasn't going to let this drop. Not now. Not when they were so close.
"No." She slid out of the booth. "I made a commitment."
"Then call and say you'll be late."
'There's no
point. This conversation is over."
Zach was on his feet. "No. It's not." Even as he countered her words, he knew he was fighting a losing battle. He recognized that stubborn lift of her chin. She was going to keep that damned appointment—for a lot of reasons. Fine. He'd shelve this for later. But they were going to see it through. And then they were going to see where it led.
"I'll walk you to your meeting," he informed her. "We'll continue this discussion later."
"I'm going a block away, Zach." Victoria took a step backward, putting some physical distance between them. "Besides, if you start acting like my bodyguard, Mr. Cigar will get suspicious—if he's still out there."
Reality intruded, and Zach bit back his frustration. "Fine. But I'll be at your apartment tonight—with an overnight bag. A very conspicuous one, so Mr. Cigar will assume I'm there for more than a nightcap. When?"
She hesitated, then, seeing the unyielding expression on bis face, relented. "Ten. I'll be home by then. I'll also be tired. Too tired to talk."
"Fair enough—for tonight." He'd promised not to prey on her vulnerability. He intended to honor that promise.
He also intended to break down those goddamned walls and have her back.
"With regard to Saturday night's party," he reminded her, conscious that she was backing away, equally conscious that his voice would soon be swallowed up by the enthusiastic customers swarming the bar. "Consider me your escort. We wouldn't want to disappoint your father."
"Or slow down your investigation," she added, giving him a pointed look. "As we've both noted, some things never change."
"No," Zach muttered under his breath as Victoria wound her way through the crowd and out of the bar. "They sure as hell don't."
6:30 p.m.
She was still in that bar on Sixtieth Street with her boyfriend. Hamilton, that was his name. Then she was going over to Sixty-first Street to meet a client. That left plenty of time for him to finish what he was doing and catch up with her.
He nipped off the end of his cigar, simultaneously glancing around to make sure no one was nearby. Ms. Kensington's apartment building was quiet. But then, it always was at this time of day. Everyone who lived here worked long hours. That's why he chose six-diirty to drop by.
He placed the unlit cigar between his lips and leaned against the lobby wall, quickly skimming through her mail.
The usual. Same all week long—bills, solicitations for a free credit card, and an invitation to some legal seminar in Seattle. Nothing personal. And definitely nothing mailed from her sister before she'd left Italy.
He shoved the mail back in its cubbyhole and slammed the aluminum door. Time to head out and see what Ms. Kensington was up to—without letting her see him. His instructions were clear. She was supposed to think he'd stopped keeping an eye on her.
He brushed by a workman with a telephone handset dangling from his belt, not even making eye contact as he passed.
"Her office is done," the man mumbled, focused on getting downstairs to the basement and locating the telephone interface box. "I'll be finished here in ten minutes."
The man with the cigar nodded, continuing on his way.
He stepped outside and lit his cigar, casually walking down the steps and into the flow of pedestrians hurrying up and down East Eighty-second Street.
They'd soon find out if this Hamilton guy was really just an old boyfriend looking to get laid.
Or if he was really something more.
* * *
18
Saturday, April 22
8:05 a.m.
"Father, please . . . I'm frightened." Audrey fidgeted into an upright position in her hospital bed, that motion alone taking a good portion of her strength. She was weak—so weak. But she was even more afraid. The walls were closing in on her. She had to get out. "I can't... take it anymore. Please, help me."
"I am helping you, Audrey," Walter Kensington replied firmly. He sounded detached. The truth was, he was annoyed. This entire conversation was a nuisance. It was also, however, necessary.
He glanced at his watch for the third time in the last few minutes. It was after eight. He had to get Audrey under control and bring this all-too-familiar session to a close so he could get to his appointment.
"We've been over this a dozen times. You're sick," he said tightly. "Look at you. You can barely sit up. You've been fully conscious only since yesterday, and you're about to eat your first real meal. I don't have to tell you how much damage you've done to your body." Or to me. His unspoken words hung in the air. "This particular setback was bad. Very bad. You've got to stop carrying on and let the doctors do their job. It's the only way you'll regain your strength."
Audrey drew an unsteady breath, struggling to control her emotions, to not disappoint her father again. Her eyes widened with panic as he made a move toward the door. "You're leaving again?"
He stopped, standing stiffly and regarding her as one would an annoying child. "I'm late for a meeting."
Sweat broke out on her brow, and she could feel that dangerous pounding in her chest begin again. "Don't. . . leave me," she whispered, despite her best intentions.
His expression hardened. "Stop it. I won't tolerate another bout of hysterics. You've already embarrassed me enough. Pull yourself together."
Her fingers knotted in the sheet, that horrible dread erupting inside her. She began to shake. "I'm trying." Another unsteady breath. "Can't you please... make arrangements ... for Victoria to visit?" she tried. "I know it's against the clinic's rules, but—"
"No, I can't." Now Walter was becoming angry. Audrey was making him late for a meeting he'd anticipated all week, and she was going around in senseless circles. "I've bent the rules as far as I can for you. Any more, and the hospital board will ask you to leave. I won't compromise your status as a patient here. There's no other facility where you'll receive this expert level of care. Look at it this way: the sooner you get better, the sooner you'll be free to see your sister. How's that for an incentive?"
"An incentive ... yes," Audrey repeated, visibly trying to contain her mounting fear.
Recognizing the symptoms—the rapidness of his daughter's breathing, the faraway look in her eyes, the high, trembling quality of her voice—Walter scowled. The last thing he needed was another of her irrational bouts. Each time she lapsed into one, her condition deteriorated. "I'm going to have the nurse bring you a sedative."
All the color drained from Audrey's face. "I don't want... to be doped up again. Not like before."
"You won't be." Walter was already opening the door, signaling the nurse in the hall. "I'm not suggesting anything extreme. Just a mild sedative. It will quiet you. There's no need for heavy medication—if you get better on your own."
A meaningful silence, during which father and daughter exchanged looks.
Audrey knew just what that look meant.
"Do we understand each other?" Walter inquired.
A resigned nod.
"Good. Now take the tranquilizer I'm requesting. Eat your breakfast. Follow the doctor's orders. And don't embarrass me again."
Audrey lowered her lashes. "I won't."
Satisfied that he had things under control, Walter issued a few terse orders to the nurse and headed off.
He was already fifteen minutes late.
8:15 a.m.
Sipping a cup of coffee in her kitchen, Victoria made a final scan of the guest list her mother had faxed her. She was relieved that Benjamin Hopewell's name was on it with the words "will attend" after it. She was equally relieved to see the same notation after Uncle Jim and Aunt Clarissa's names. Having their comforting presence at this pretense of a party would make the night-long ordeal easier. Not that she intended to tell them she was checking into her father's ties to the Hope Institute. No, she'd already made that mistake once. She wouldn't repeat it. But they would know she was on display, courtesy of her father. They'd also put two and two together and realize that, after four painful years apart, she and
Zach had somehow reconnected, that he was back in her life. So they'd expect her to be tense. And they'd do their best to put her at ease.
The very thought of the upcoming evening had her stomach in knots.
And walking into that party on Zach's arm, acting out a part that came far too naturally, wasn't making it any easier.
Determined not to dwell on this subject, Victoria rose, walked down to the second bedroom, the one that served as her home office. She'd work. That would keep her mind off tonight.
She flipped on the computer and sat down behind it, waiting for it to boot up. She'd dial into her office system. That way she could access their legal software to do some research. She needed precedents to substantiate the case she was putting together for Doris Webster, her recently acquired client who'd been emotionally and financially exploited by her husband. In seizing all their assets and taking off with his pert little assistant, the high-powered corporate exec had not only cheated and abandoned his wife, but destroyed her self-image. Mrs. Webster had been a basket case when she came to Victoria's office last week. And all because of the self-serving snake she'd given thirty-five years to.
His offenses smacked of the ones committed by the defendant in Elizabeth Bonner's matrimonial case.
Victoria had made that mental connection the minute Ms. Bonner brought up her client. She'd stored away the parallel for later. Well, later was now. Maybe she could find some data that would help Mrs. Webster and Ms. Bonner's client at the same time.
She logged in with her password, drumming her fingers impatiently on the desk as she waited for the connection to be made. She was grateful for the information computers provided once you were on them, but she hated how much time it took to get where you needed to be.
Her hands were poised on the keyboard when the message popped up: Access denied. User already logged on.