She rolled her eyes.
Just what she was in the mood for. A computer glitch.
She tried again and got the same message.
Great. What was wrong with the network now?
Disgusted, she left her desk, fully aware that just sitting there would do nothing but aggravate her. Instead, she'd divert herself for a few minutes, give the system a chance to straighten itself out.
She went to the kitchen, refilled her coffee cup, and toasted half an English muffin.
Twenty minutes later, she returned to her desk.
This time she got in without a problem. She noticed she had an unread e-mail from the system administrator. Maybe that would explain what had happened.
She opened the e-mail and scanned it. Evidently, there was some wiring problem on her local network. The problem was being dealt with and should be cleared up soon. In the meantime, she should excuse any faulty messages she received that prevented her from logging on, and please try again in a few minutes.
Well, what do you know, she thought. I actually did something right pertaining to a computer, without being spoon-fed beforehand.
Leaning forward, she began her work.
9:35 a.m.
The private office at the Hope Institute was a shambles.
Then again, it usually was when they were through.
The man picked up a cushion from the carpet and tossed it back on the sofa, followed by another. In a matter of minutes, no one would be able to tell that the room had doubled as a love nest the past hour.
The woman concentrated on zipping up her slacks, rearranging the collar of her silk blouse until it lay just right. "We've been in here too long."
"Probably." Her lover abandoned his task and turned to face her. "But I really don't care. Besides, the door is locked, so there's no chance of discovery."
She nodded. "Still, I'd better go. I have to get to work."
"You're going in today?"
Her delicate brows arched. "You sound surprised. I put in just as many weekends as you."
He made an impatient sound. "I realize that. But I assumed you had things to do. Tonight is the party. Or have you forgotten?"
"You know better than that. I'll be there."
"Not on my arm, unfortunately." He walked over, pulled her against him, and kissed her with a pent-up frustration that belied the languid sexual satisfaction he'd displayed just moments ago.
She kissed him back, responding for one long, hot minute before she pulled away, smoothing her hair into place. "I wish I were going on your arm, too," she murmured. "But we both know that's impossible." She walked over to the mirror, quickly reapplying her lipstick and makeup. Regardless of how wild and hot she became when they were together, she had a knack for making herself look elegant and poised at the drop of a hat.
She snapped her compact shut and turned to face him. "We'll have our time together."
"It's too infrequent to suit me."
"I agree." Her lips curved slightly. "We could indulge ourselves at the office."
"Very amusing. That's far too risky—even for us."
"Let's not rule out anything. Who knows? We might just get desperate enough to take that risk." She scooped up her purse and walked by him, pausing to brush her palm across his jaw. "In the meantime, I'll see you tonight."
She unlocked the door and shut it quietly behind her.
He waited a full three minutes. Then he left.
* * *
It was a half hour later when the nurse walked by that same spot on her way to check on a patient. She saw the rectangular scrap of gray plastic glistening outside the office door. Pausing, she bent to pluck it off the threshold. A key card, she noted, but an unfamiliar one. Certainly not one of the pale yellow cards used at the Institute.
She turned it over in her hand and saw 280 Park Avenue printed on its flip side. Ah, that explained who it belonged to.
She'd have to return it next time.
7:05 pm
Victoria applied a touch of mascara and stepped back to inspect her reflection in the full-length mirror.
The mauve cocktail dress was perfect for the occasion. Its crushed velvet material was soft and lovely, its lines flattering in their simplicity. Spaghetti straps and a low, square neckline exposed her neck and shoulders, and the Empire waist cut just beneath her breasts, then fell into a straight skirt that fit her closely from bodice to a few inches above her knee. A simple pair of pearl studs at her ears and a matching pearl choker and bracelet, and the outfit was complete. Even her hair she wore simply—brushed loose and grazing her bare shoulders.
Just the way Zach liked it.
She hated that she cared so much, that she, who lectured Paige regularly that good looks were secondary, was preening and fussing like a high school senior on her way to the prom.
Okay, so she wanted to look good for him. So she wanted to see that flicker of admiration in his eyes. Was that so terrible? She hadn't indulged herself like this in four years. Meg was always telling her how unhealthy that was. Well, now she was behaving in a healthier manner. No need to blow the whole matter out of proportion. She was a normal twenty-eight-year-old woman who felt good when an attractive man—a man she'd once been in love with—appreciated her appearance. Period.
She slipped on her off-white high heels, scooped up her matching evening bag, and glanced at the clock on her dresser. He'd be here any minute.
As if on cue, the phone rang.
Victoria crossed over and picked it up. "Hello?"
"It's me." The echoing quality to Zach's voice told her he was on his cell phone. "I'm running a little late. I stopped to get the results on that cigar."
"And?"
"And they dusted for prints. There weren't any—at least none that were clear enough to lift."
She wasn't surprised. But she was uneasy about the ramifications of Zach's actions. "What did you tell them?"
"That I was doing a favor for a friend—which I am." Zach paused for a moment. "There's nothing else to tell them. We don't have an ounce of proof that someone's following you, other than our eyes and our instincts. And we certainly can't tie this guy to the Hope Institute. Don't worry. I said nothing further about Audrey or your father."
"Thank you," Victoria replied softly. She cast another quick look at the clock. "Where are you? Should I call Robert and say we'll be late?"
"If we are, it won't be by much. I'm already in the car. The hotel manager arranged to have it delivered to the door. I'll be at your place in ten minutes. Barring any unforeseen traffic, we'll be in Greenwich by eight-thirty. You decide whether or not that warrants a call."
"Fair enough." Victoria nodded, mentally reviewing the situation and determining her best course of action. "I'll give Robert a quick buzz. Since my father's designated me guest of honor, it will calm him down to know I'm on my way and not backing out of his party. That will make things easier on my mother."
"Sounds like a sensible approach."
"Thanks for calling. I'll see you soon." Victoria disconnected the call, then dialed her parents' number.
* * *
Outside, parked a few buildings down on East Eighty-second, the technician leaned forward in his van. He adjusted the dials on his audio equipment, although he paid little attention to Ms. Kensington's thirty-second chat with the family butler.
So Hamilton had been checking out cigar prints. That brought a number of questions to mind. Who'd done the fin- gerprint analysis? Why would they do it with no real explanation provided—and at seven o'clock on a Saturday night? It had to be a personal favor.
Okay, let's assume a high-powered guy like Hamilton had friends in all kinds of places.
Still, why would he call on those friends for a trivial matter like this? Just to score brownie points with Victoria Kensington?
Maybe. If so, he was certainly going to great lengths just to get her in bed.
Well, he was about to get some help in that department. Because after t
onight, the lovely Ms. Kensington would have plenty of time to concentrate on her lover. She'd no longer be preoccupied with the man with the cigar.
Tonight, she'd get some help rearranging her priorities.
* * *
19
The Kensington house was ablaze with lights, humming with the arrival of guests, when Zach drove through the estate's iron gates and down the winding drive.
"Now this brings back memories," he muttered, glancing around. "Although there never was this much activity when I brought you home."
"Yes, well, when my father hosts a party, he hosts a party," Victoria returned dryly, watching the parking attendants rushing around like mice, one getting behind the wheel of a Jaguar, the next driving off to park a Mercedes 500 SE. "It's amazing how my parents can make this happen with three days' notice." Her brow furrowed. "I hope Mother's all right. She sounded keyed up when I talked to her yesterday. Then again, she thrives on stuff like this. It's one of the perks to being married to my father—at least in her mind."
Zach shot her a sideways look. "Are you okay? I can feel your tension all the way over here."
Victoria nodded, staring at the dashboard. "I'm fine about being paraded around like a prize thoroughbred. I don't like it, but I can stomach it. What I'm not fine about is poking around for dirt on my father. I'm half hoping we'll resolve it all in one conversation with Mr. Hopewell—that he'll say something to clarify things in a way we haven't considered, and eliminate any chance that my father's guilty of anything criminal."
"I know." Zach reached over and gave her fingers a gentle squeeze. "I'd like it to go that way, too."
"But you doubt it will."
"Yes, I doubt it will."
She threw him a dark look. "The ever candid Zachary Hamilton."
"Would you rather I lied?"
"No."
"Good. Because I'm lousy at it, especially when it comes to you." His gaze swept her, just as it had when she greeted him at the door. "You look unbelievably beautiful."
There was no squelching the hard lurch her heart gave, or the warmth that spread through her. "Thank you." She forced a smile. "You look pretty incredible yourself."
And he did. Zach was charismatic enough in his regular clothes. In a tux, he was devastating.
"I'm glad you feel that way." Zach steered into the circular drive, then waited for the car in front of them to be ushered away. "Party time," he observed, as one of the attendants darted toward them. "Ready?"
"I think so."
"Very well, guest of honor, let's see what we can find out."
He put the car in park, got out, and walked around to assist Victoria. Tossing the keys to the parking attendant, he wrapped an arm around Victoria's waist and led her up the stairs and through the front door.
The house was brimming with people, all dressed in classic evening clothes, all chatting with dignified reserve as they moved from one spacious room to another. The women's heels clicked on the oak floors, mingling with the sound of clinking crystal and polite laughter.
The party was a success.
It took Victoria exactly thirty seconds to determine that. But then, she had years of experience. She'd been witness to countless affairs like this one since she was little—too little to see over the second-floor railing. She and Audrey had gotten past that obstacle by squatting down and peeking through the banister slats, watching the hallway fill up with wealthy and debonair guests.
Being an uninvited observer sure beat being the star attraction.
"Miss Victoria." Robert was right there to greet them, giving Victoria a genuine smile. "You look lovely."
"Thank you, Robert." Victoria indicated her escort. "I don't know if you remember Zachary Hamilton. It's been a while."
Robert inclined his head in Zach's direction. "Mr. Hamilton. Yes, I do recall. It's been several years. Good evening, sir."
"Robert," Zach acknowledged politely.
"Are most of the guests here?" Victoria asked in a low voice.
Robert nodded. "All but a few. Your aunt and uncle were among the first to arrive."
Relief flooded Victoria's face at Robert's underlying message. Reinforcements were on hand. "Good." She glanced about the glittering hallway. "Is Mother in the living room or the salon?"
"The salon. Most of the guests are there, as well. The bar is set up in the dining room, as are the main dinner courses,, which will be served at nine. Hors d'oeuvres are circulating now. You'll find attendants with trays in both the salon and the living room."
"Thanks. First I'll check in with Mother, then I'll find Uncle—"
"Ah, Victoria." Walter Kensington strode over, distinguished and handsome in his black tux, white dress shirt, and gleaming gold cufflinks. "I was just talking about you." He waited stiffly for his daughter's perfunctory kiss on the cheek, his sharp gaze fixed on Zach. "Welcome back to the States, Mr. Hamilton. I'm glad you could join us."
"I'm pleased to be here." Zach extended his hand and shook Walter Kensington's in a firm but impersonal grip.
"You know a good portion of the guests here tonight" Walter said, with a wave of his arm. "Feel free to mingle. Introduce yourself to some prospective clients. Get a drink. Get something to eat. Enjoy yourself."
Victoria clenched her teeth. Her father's words were as good as a dismissal. He was showing Zach the lay of the land, instructing him to find his own way—warning him that any interference into what was intended to be his daughter's debut would not be appreciated.
"Father, it's not necessary for—"
"I'll do that," Zach interrupted her. "I'll keep Victoria just long enough to get her a drink. After that, I'll deliver her back into your hands. I realize there are a number of guests you want her to meet. I have a similar agenda for myself. So I'll leave you to your business, while I conduct mine."
A flicker of respect registered on Walter's face. "I'm glad you understand."
"I do—completely," Zach pressed his palm to the small of Victoria's back, propelling her gently toward the dining room. "Give us five minutes."
"I'll be in the salon."
Victoria was fighting to control her anger as Zach escorted her to the bar and ordered two glasses of cabernet.
"I feel like a damned Barbie doll," she muttered under her breath. "Just dress me up and pass me around in my very own decked-out dreamhouse."
Zach's lips twitched. "At least you're in demand. I'm the superfluous Ken doll, just here for show." He handed her a glass of wine. "Take it in stride. Your father has your evening mapped out. Use it to our advantage. Any one of the people you'll be chatting with might end up giving us what we need."
She sipped her wine, arching a pointed brow at him. "Yeah, right. Meanwhile, you'll find Mr. Hopewell—the person we really want to talk to—and pump him for information."
He flashed her that crooked grin. "I'll share. You have my word."
Victoria felt her lips curve. "I'll hold you to that."
They made their way across the hall to the salon. Walter Kensington saw them immediately and excused himself from his circle of guests.
"Good luck," Zach murmured, his breath ruffling Victoria's hair.
"You, too." She watched as her father made his way to her side.
"Your daughter, as promised," Zach informed him. He lifted his glass of wine ever so slightly in Victoria's direction. "Have fun. I'll catch up with you later." He strolled deeper into the room, greeting a few of the guests with as much ease as if he. were the host.
"Zachary," she heard a plump man with thinning hair say. "I had no idea you were in from Europe."
"I just got in last week," Zach supplied.
"How long will you be here?"
A noncommittal shrug. "I'm not sure. I've got business to finish up and a conference to attend. Both are in New York."
"So you'll be here a while. Excellent."
A while, Victoria found herself thinking. How long will that be?
"Let's start by greeting the
partners in my firm," Walter was instructing her. "Reinforce the fine impression you made on Thursday. Then we'll move on to my prominent clients, most of whom are here, and some of whom you might remember."
"First I want to say hello to Mother," Victoria replied in a firm tone. She'd only allow herself to be manipulated so far. "Then I'd like to do the same to Uncle Jim and Aunt Clarissa. After that, I'm at your disposal."
Her father's jaw tightened, then relaxed as he scanned the room and found what he was looking for. "Your mother's with Alfred and his wife," he proclaimed, speaking of Mr. Tatem. "We'll go over there first. As for Jim and Clarissa, they're milling around the living room. You can find them later."
That was as close to a compromise as her father ever came.
"Fine." Victoria clutched her glass in her left hand, freeing up her right for handshakes. Holding her head high, she maneuvered her way over to the grand piano, where a professional pianist had just begun playing and where her mother stood, chatting with Mr. and Mrs. Tatem.
"Victoria." Barbara Kensington smiled, her pale green eyes lighting a bit—eyes that, beneath their perfectly applied makeup, were far too sad and tired. "When did you arrive?"
"Just now." Victoria leaned forward and gave her mother a warm hug.
"You look lovely."
"So do you."
Barbara Kensington was dressed exquisitely, as always. She was wearing a stunning black satin designer suit, and her light brown hair was arranged in an elegant chignon. Victoria only wished her mother's life was half as enviable as her appearance.
Repressing that thought, she turned her attention to the couple poised next to her. "Mr. Tatem." Her first handshake of the evening. "It's a pleasure to see you again. This must be your wife." A shift in handshakes. "I'm Victoria Kensington."
"Carla Tatem," the blond woman with the keen blue eyes responded with a cordial smile. "I've heard a great deal about you, Victoria. Congratulations on being the newest addition to Waters, Kensington, Tatem and Calder."
Victoria glanced at her father, hoping he would clarify her role at his firm, but he made no effort to do so, nor did he look bothered by Mrs. Tatem's assumption.