* * *
27
"Zach, what are you talking about?"
He pivoted until their eyes met. "I'm involved in a criminal investigation. Well, that investigation's broadened. The illegal activities taking place at the Hope Institute clearly extend far beyond drug dealing. I don't know what the connection is, but whoever's running this sick show does. I'm going in there. And I'm not coming out until I've made sure Audrey's safe and I've got the evidence needed to convict everyone involved."
"How do you propose to do that?"
"With some help." Zach leaned over, picked up his cell phone, and punched in Meyer's number. "It's me," he said in greeting. "Did you get that profile on Beatrice Groves?" A long pause, during which Zach nodded a few times, his jaw clenched, but a purposeful gleam forming in his eyes. "That's exactly what we need. Get it done tonight. I want Miss Groves at the field office tomorrow before her shift at the Institute starts. I'm sure you got her schedule for the next week. Is she on morning or afternoon tomorrow?" Another pause. "Good. That gives us all morning to talk to her. I'll be there early. Yeah, I've got new information. A lot more than we bargained for."
"Zach," Victoria interrupted in a firm voice. "Tell Mr. Meyer I'll be at that meeting, too." Anticipating the agent's refusal, she leaned past Zach to his computer. She ejected the disk and gathered up the printed pages. 'Tell him the new information you mentioned is actually not yours, but mine. If he wants to see it, he should expect to include me at your meeting."
Zach's lips twitched. "Meyer?" he said into the phone. "I won't be alone. The person who got the information for me will be there, too. Victoria Kensington." He grinned at whatever expletive Meyer used, the force of which Victoria could hear from the sofa. "Yeah, she's here with me. And I'd suggest you concede to her demand. I told you, she's as stubborn as they come. And since the information's in her possession, you don't have much choice."
Another pause.
Then: "That's a smart move. Oh, and Meyer? Tomorrow morning, send a car to the service entrance of the Plaza Athénée to pick us up. As you know, Victoria's got that guy with the cigar following her. He thinks she and I are ... occupied in my suite. Let's not give him cause for doubt. Which we won't if we leave and come back through the service entrance. He'll think we're up here the whole time. Yeah, eight-thirty is fine. We'll be ready."
With a crooked grin, Zach pressed End and placed the cell phone on the table. "He agreed."
"I'd hardly say he agreed. You backed him into a corner."
"No, you did." He chuckled.
"You've told him I'm stubborn?"
"Um-hum. And loyal. Both of which you are. As I've said, I wouldn't want to face you in a courtroom." Zach's smile faded, and he inclined his head, studying her intently. "Are you okay?"
"About what—Audrey? Or my father?"
"Both."
"No," she replied honestly. "What did the FBI find out about Beatrice Groves?"
"She lives in a seniors' complex. Meyer's initial check shows that she's been supplying some of her needier and frailer neighbors with free medication. I guess we can all figure out where she's getting it. Meyer's double- and triple-checking his facts now."
Victoria's heart gave an involuntary twist. "Most of Meg's clients are elderly. They can scarcely pay for their groceries, much less their medication. And the government doesn't do enough to help. Zach, if this Beatrice Groves is stealing medication for her neighbors, she's probably doing it as a last resort. I realize it's illegal. But to use something like that against her—"
"I don't plan to use it against her," Zach interrupted. "But she won't know that. It's leverage. It will keep Miss Groves from telling anyone she's helping us. And she will help us— out of that same compassion that makes her help her neighbors. She knows something, Victoria, something that's making her uneasy about the Hope Institute. I sense it. And whatever it is, it'll help me get Audrey out of there."
Renewed fear knotted Victoria's gut. "I'm praying she can tell me Audrey's all right."
"She can and she will. In the meantime, I won't insult you by saying don't worry. But I will ask you to try to think rationally. You know Audrey was fine as of Sunday, when she left you that message. You also reassured your father by buying into his explanation and leaving the matter in his hands. So, there's no reason to believe Audrey's in any immediate danger. And I repeat what I said to you in the car Saturday night— whatever your father's failings, I don't believe he'd physically harm his daughters. That's even if the worst is true, and he's running the show there. Which we're still not sure is the case."
"I hope to God you're right." Victoria tunneled her fingers through her hair. "His name is on every single document, in a confidential file we found on his computer." She pressed her lips together, fighting an internal battle that was tearing her apart. "Even so, I've got to believe his involvement is only on paper. If I don't, I'm not sure I can hold it together."
"Reserve judgment. Wait till all the evidence is in." Zach stood, held out his arms. "Come here,"
Victoria went straight to him. "Thank you," she breathed, her face pressed to his shirt. "I can't tell you what your support means to me."
"Then don't. Tell me you love me instead."
She pressed closer. "I love you."
He kissed the top of her head. "There's nothing else we can do tonight. Let's have dinner. Then I'll start showing you that gratitude I was talking about."
FBI Field Office, 26 Federal Plaza
Wednesday, April 26
9:20 am.
Beatrice Groves was wringing her handkerchief when Victoria and Zach accompanied Meyer into his office to talk to her. Beforehand, they'd spent twenty minutes alone in a secluded room, reviewing the facts and discussing their strategy. The evidence Meyer had compiled against Miss Groves was irrefutable. His men had talked to a dozen senior citizens in her apartment complex, all of whom spoke appreciatively about how she'd supplied them with their medication.
Meyer had no more desire to prosecute her than Zach did. But he was ready to pretend otherwise, if need be.
The other questionable piece of information the FBI had uncovered pertained to Gloria Rivers. It seemed that Miss Rivers, who was indeed the Institute's head nurse, lived in a lavish two-bedroom apartment on the Upper East Side—an apartment whose monthly rent was three times the amount that Miss Rivers brought home as her salary from the Hope Institute. Further digging revealed she had no other sources of income, no recent inheritances, and no affluent friends or relatives. But she did have a substantial retirement fund, an extravagant lifestyle, and no outstanding charge card bills.
All the more reason to see what Beatrice Groves had to say, and how much of what was troubling her related to the head nurse.
Victoria took one look at the elderly woman, and her heart went out to her. Miss Groves was clearly terrified, her lined face ashen, her eyes wide, blinking furiously as she watched them enter the office.
"Good morning, Miss Groves," Zach said cordially, pulling up two chairs so he and Victoria could sit near her, as arranged, rather than across the more formidable desk where Meyer perched himself. "I'm Zachary Hamilton. You've already met Special Agent Meyer." For the moment, he intentionally avoided mentioning Victoria's name.
The older woman's lips trembled as she looked from one man to the other. "Why was I brought here?" she asked. "Am I under arrest?"
Meyer shrugged. "That hasn't been decided yet. It depends."
"On what?"
Zach leaned forward, interlacing his fingers and eyeing her intently. 'The FBI has proof you've been illegally distributing prescription drugs. We could press formal charges. But the truth is, we have bigger fish to fry. We need your help. Give us that help, and we'll settle for pulling the plug on your pharmaceutical Santa Claus routine rather than criminal prosecution."
She wilted in her seat. "They're just poor people who need medicine."
"We realize that. Which is why we'd opt for leniency
—if you cooperate."
"I don't understand. How can I possibly help you?"
"By telling us about the Hope Institute. We're far more interested in what's going on where you work than where you live."
A surprised, slightly wary expression. "Why are you investigating the Hope Institute?"
"I can't divulge that now. Suffice it to say, we have good reasons." Zach paused. "Somehow I think you already know that."
That panicked expression returned. "I don't know anything. I just..." Her voice trailed off.
"We're the good guys, Miss Groves," Meyer stated bluntly. "We're trying to help your patients, not hurt them."
"They're receiving the finest care," she said defensively. "That much I can tell you." More twisting of her handkerchief. "I can't discuss the Institute. I signed a confidentiality agreement when I took my job."
"Is stealing medication part of that agreement?" Meyer shot back. "I doubt it. In fact, I'm sure the Institute would be very unhappy to learn you've been helping yourself to their inventory—regardless of how charitable your cause. Don't make us test that theory."
Beatrice Groves looked close to tears.
"Listen to me, Miss Groves." Zach's voice was gentle, his manner soothing—and Victoria suspected it wasn't entirely for effect. He felt bad about having to browbeat the elderly nurse. The matter we're investigating is serious. Lives are at stake. Saving lives is why you became a nurse, isn't it? It must be why you chose to work at a place like the Hope Institute, where the illnesses you're fighting are so critical."
Mutely, she nodded.
"Then, please, help us. Not only to protect yourself. To protect those in your care."
Zach's sincerity wasn't lost on Miss Groves. She pressed her lips together, loyalty to her employer already battling moral conscience and fear of prosecution. Zach's plea added compassion to the balance.
It was enough to tip the scales in their favor.
"What exactly is it you want to know?" she asked, her voice a bit steadier.
"For starters, how many of the Institute's hospital rooms are empty?"
"None." Beatrice was visibly relieved by the noninflammatory question. "We have a long waiting list. We had two empty rooms. Both were filled Monday."
"I see." Swiftly, Zach brought the conversation around to where he wanted it to be. "Speaking of Monday, you were very upset when you went out to get Mrs. Flanders. Why? Is it because of the four patients the clinic recently lost?"
Beatrice startled. "You were watching me?"
"Not only you. Everyone who was outside."
"I see." Her handkerchief was beginning to fray at the edges. "Yes, I was upset about that. Losing patients is never easy." She paused, her hesitation palpable.
"But?" Zach prompted. "Please, Miss Groves, if something else is bothering you, we must know what it is."
"Or you'll put me in jail," she replied bleakly.
"Miss Groves, no one wants to put you in jail." It was Victoria who interceded, right on cue. It was up to her to finish what Zach started, to gain Miss Groves's trust and secure her cooperation.
"Prosecuting you is not the goal here," she repeated. "Protecting innocent people is. If you care about your job and your patients, you'll help us. In that way, the only people who will get hurt are those who deserve to. Otherwise, innocent patients might be victimized. Patients like my sister."
"Your sister?" In the process of nodding bleakly at Victoria's reasoning, Beatrice shot her a quizzical look, making a baffled gesture with her hands. "I don't understand. Who are you?"
"My name is Victoria Kensington. Audrey Kensington is my sister."
"Oh . . . Audrey." Genuine concern crossed the elderly nurse's face. "So you're the sister she's so eager to see."
"Yes." Victoria's insides tensed, and she gave in to the very real, very personal worry that had been eating her alive these past days. "Is she all right, Miss Groves? I have to know. Is Audrey safe? Is she well? Because the last time I saw her, she wasn't. She collapsed at my feet."
"Oh, dear." Beatrice wet her lips. "That must have been the day she had that bad reaction to her medication and ran away. We were all so worried. It was a relief to get her back. She's doing much better now, although she's still weak."
A bad reaction to her medication. Yes, that's what their father had said. "What type of medication was Audrey receiving?"
"Specifically? I'm not certain. But rest assured, our treatments are groundbreaking."
"I see. In other words, you'd have to consult her chart to know exactly what she's being given."
"No. I don't have access to those details."
Victoria's brows knit in puzzlement. "Because you're not the nurse assigned to Audrey?"
"Because only Miss Rivers knows exactly what medication each patient receives."
Silence.
"Please explain," Zach instructed her.
"It's another of the Institute's rules. As I said, our treatments are revolutionary. I was told from day one that most of the medicines we administer are proprietary combinations of drugs the Hope Institute intends to patent. To avoid the possibility of industrial espionage, Miss Rivers is the only nurse permitted to handle or dispense them. That, of course, doesn't apply to the more common prescriptions. Any of us is authorized to dispense those."
It was obvious Miss Groves was proud of the Institute's progressiveness.
Unfortunately, to the others in the room, that progressiveness smacked of something else.
"These proprietary combinations," Zach pressed, "surely you've caught a glimpse of what the vials read?"
"They're in unmarked containers, with only the patient's name printed on the label. Again, for security purposes."
Victoria felt bile rise in her throat. "And Audrey reacted badly to one of these innovative drug combinations?"
"Yes. But her medication was changed immediately after that. She's much better now, honestly, Miss Kensington." A gentle smile touched Beatrice's lips. "Except that she misses you."
"But my father visits her often, right?"
Another guarded look. "Yes. Every few days."
Victoria didn't need ESP to know what that look and tone meant. She knew from experience. "But he upsets her. His visits make things worse."
"He does seem to agitate her a little," the nurse admitted.
"What about before Audrey was admitted," Victoria asked, forcing out the words. "Did my father visit the Institute on his own?"
"You mean to check out the facilities?" Beatrice frowned, trying to remember. "It's possible. He did look familiar, now that I think about it. It would certainly be understandable for him to want to get a firsthand look at the clinic that would be treating his daughter. Although it seems to me his visit was some time ago."
"How long?"
A shrug. "A year. Maybe longer."
"Miss Groves," Zach said, taking over the reins and steering the conversation in a different direction. "You're an intelligent woman. Didn't the level of secrecy at the Institute ever strike you as odd?"
"Until recently—no. The patients are well cared for, the staff is superb. Oh, of course I noticed the rules are strict. But our patients are very well-to-do. Some of them are public figures. They're adamant about protecting their privacy—including the fact that they're sick, much less how sick. The Hope Institute is sensitive to their needs. We allow them to keep their dignity, at the same time that we provide them with the most extraordinary health care money can buy. The truth is, most of our patients are looking for a last chance. And we're the only ones who can give them that chance—often successfully. The restrictions, the secrecy, it's all insignificant next to that. It also becomes second nature after a while."
"But something changed that for you. What was it?"
An apprehensive expression crossed Beatrice's face. "Monday morning. You asked what was troubling me when I went out to receive Mrs. Flanders. Well, it was more than the loss of our four patients. I'd just seen the families of two
of those patients being ushered into the counseling rooms. Mr. Pratt's son and Mrs. Housley's children."
"Mr. Pratt—that's the patient whose room Mrs. Flanders was taking."
"Yes."
"And the counseling rooms—what are those used for?"
"That's where the families are advised of their loved ones' passing. Our psychiatric staff meets with them, helps them come to terms with their loss."
A puzzled frown formed between Zach's brows. "Why did this trouble you?"
"Because both Mr. Pratt and Mrs. Housley died over two months ago. I don't understand why their families are only being notified now."
"Did you ask Miss Rivers?"
"Yes, as we walked by the counseling rooms. She became very flustered. She practically dragged me out of the building to collect Mrs. Flanders. She never answered my question."
Zach's jaw set. "Has she ever behaved that way before?"
"No." Beatrice shook her head. "She's always composed. I've never seen her lose that composure."
"Not with anyone? Not even with whomever she's closest to at the Institute?"
"Miss Rivers isn't close to anyone—at least not at work. She's an aloof woman. She keeps her distance, probably because of her position as head nurse. Everyone respects her, period. But she's one of the most diligent nurses I've ever seen. She's never missed a day of work. She's always there for at least two shifts a day. And she never lets any of us take over for her—not even so she can grab a bite to eat."
"What about when she goes home? Who administers the patients then?"
"Their individual doctors. Miss Rivers coordinates everyone's schedule to make that possible. And she's on call twenty-four hours a day."
"A regular Florence Nightingale," Zach muttered. He rubbed the back of his neck, leaning back in his seat and glancing at Meyer.
"We have enough," Meyer replied.