It was time to confront her father.
Audrey's message had made it clear he knew where she was, and why she was there.
What else did he know?
And how much was he willing to admit?
The jingling of the phone reminded Victoria that she was standing in her bra and pantyhose and Zach was due in ten minutes.
She snatched up the cordless phone and carried it with her into the bedroom. "Hello?" she said breathlessly.
"Victoria. Did you just come in?" It was her uncle's voice.
"Yes, Uncle Jim, I did. I just finished dinner with Meg and Paul."
"Ah, that's right. It's Tuesday. I was just getting a little concerned because it's nearly ten o'clock and I hadn't heard from you."
"And you're wondering what I decided." She paused at the closet, yanking down a pair of coffee-colored jeans and a cream-colored, short-sleeved knit sweater. As she scrambled into her clothes, she realized Audrey's call had made her handling of this conversation easier.
"Frankly, yes. I was very troubled by your reaction last night. I was hoping you'd had time to think about it."
"I have." Victoria zipped up her pants and slipped on some casual, lower-heeled shoes. "I don't like secrets, Uncle Jim. Nor do I like the feeling that I'm betraying my lather. So I've decided to go to him and discuss the entire matter."
She could actually hear her uncle's sigh of relief. Tin glad."
"Me, too." She thought quickly, then decided it would look too suspicious if she didn't mention that Audrey had contacted her. "There's something else, something that eased my mind a lot. I got a call from Audrey."
"You spoke to her?"
"No, I was out. She called here a couple of hours ago. She left a message, saying she's fine, but that her treatment requires seclusion. She didn't want me to worry." Victoria felt uneasy, as if she were telling her uncle a half-truth by implying that Audrey's call had conjured up nothing but weak-kneed relief, when in fact it had evoked mostly suspicion. But she wasn't going to make the same mistake again. Until she had someming concrete, she wasn't going to unnerve her uncle and upset him with her misgivings about her father.
"That's wonderful. I feel much better knowing she's safe and getting the care she needs." A pointed pause. "You'll tell your father about this, of course."
"Absolutely. Although I'm sure he already knows. Audrey said that Father was the one who told her I was worried. He must have suggested she call."
"So he did make these hospitalization arrangements." Uncle Jim sounded more pensive than surprised. "I guessed as much, given your father's priorities. I know you don't share them, Victoria, and I'm not saying I do either. But please try to listen when he explains his motives. It's the only way you're going to get past this."
"I will." Victoria ran a brush through her hair, thinking there were some things one never got past. She wished she had more time alone to analyze Audrey's call before Zach arrived. But time was growing short.
As if on cue, the downstairs door buzzer sounded.
"Uncle Jim, I'm going to have to hang up now. Someone's here."
"At your apartment?" His voice became very paternal. "It's very late, Victoria. I don't mean to pry, but is it someone you know?"
She swallowed. "Yes. It's Zach. He dropped by my office today and I invited him over for a cup of coffee."
"Oh. I see." Her uncle gave a discreet cough—a wordless declaration that he didn't want to overstep his bounds and pursue a subject that was none of his business. "All right, then, I'll let you go. We'll talk later this week."
"Definitely. Give my love to Aunt Clarissa."
She hung up, wincing as she thought about how her uncle must have interpreted Zach's visit. He probably assumed they were catching up on old times—in more ways than one.
Squaring her shoulders, she walked into the hall and pressed the intercom button. "Yes?"
"It's me. I'm a few minutes early,"
She wet her lips. "Come on up." She released the intercom and pressed the entry buzzer.
Then she drew a deep breath and marched into the kitchen.
By the time Zach rang the bell, the automatic cof-feemaker was beginning to drip.
"Hi." Victoria opened the door and gave him a cordial smile.
"Sorry I'm early," Zach offered at once. "I came straight from dinner." He hovered politely in the doorway, giving her the option of asking him to wait.
He looked tired, she noticed, seeing the weariness etched on his face. He was wearing the same suit he'd had on ear- lier, which meant he'd been dashing from meeting to meeting all day.
"It's not a problem. I got in a little while ago." She eased the door wider, gesturing for him to enter. "Come on in."
He stepped inside, then stopped, gazing slowly around the apartment and taking in the furnishings: the overstuffed sofa and loveseat that took up most of the dusty mauve and pearl-gray living room, the simple gray lacquer dining room set, and the parquet-floored corridor that led down the hall to the two bedrooms and bathroom.
"Nice,".he said in a deep, approving tone. "It suits you." He cleared his throat. "Do you live here alone? Or do you have a roommate?"
Victoria wondered if he was fishing, or just curious— curious, but at the same time strained about asking what would be a perfectly natural question coming from anyone but him.
"It's just me," she replied lightly. "I bought the apartment when I graduated law school—with some help from my uncle and aunt. It was a reach, considering I was just starting out. It still is. A huge chunk of my paycheck goes to Uncle Jim and Aunt Clarissa. But I'm never sorry I did it. I love this place."
"It shows." He continued to look around. "Two bedrooms?"
God, why did such an innocent conversation have to feel so intimate?
"Yes. One of them doubles as a den and an office."
A nod. "It's a great investment. This is a terrific location. And you've made the place very charming."
Thankfully, the coffeemaker chose that moment to intercede, spitting loudly as the final drops trickled into the carafe.
Zach's attention was diverted, and he gave a long, appreciative sniff. "Tell me that's coffee I smell."
She couldn't help but smile. Zach used coffee for the exact opposite reason most people did. It relaxed him, even at night—caffeine and all. "It is. The bad news is, it's decaf. I can't afford another sleepless night. I've got a full day tomorrow."
He gave her one of those crooked grins. "Beggars can't be choosers. Thanks for making it. I'm sure it's the last thing you felt like doing." His dark gaze flickered over her, assessing her, head to toe, in one lightning motion. "On the other hand, I don't feel too guilty. At least you had a chance to change. I've been in this monkey suit since seven a.m."
Victoria felt an unwelcome surge of warmth, both at his physical appraisal and at the easy intimacy of their exchange. Why did it seem so damnably natural for them to slip back into this?
"I changed my clothes the minute I walked in," she told him in a tight voice. "More to keep busy than anything else. Otherwise, I just keep looking out the window."
Zach's hard edge returned. "Is he out there?"
A helpless shrug. "I don't know. I haven't seen him. But I keep feeling his presence. Maybe that's just paranoia."
"Or maybe not." Zach reached into his pocket and extracted the tape. "Let's take a look. Where's your VCR?"
"In the living room. Zach, wait." She stopped him with a - hand on his arm—a hand she quickly retracted. "There's something I want you to hear. It was waiting for me when I got home."
His eyes narrowed. "All right"
She crossed over to the answering machine and replayed Audrey's message.
Zach listened intently, his expression rapt. He asked Victoria to play it through twice. Then he frowned. "Damned convenient," he muttered.
"I assumed that would be your reaction."
He glanced at her quickly, as if to gauge just how resistant to the truth she was.
br />
She wasn't sure herself, but she had to know.
"Zach, you said we'd talk about my father later. I think later should be now. You've got more to go on than you're telling me. The FBI would hardly suspect someone by association alone. I want to know everything." Her chin came up. "And if you dare tell me it's confidential, I mink I'll hit you."
His smile was more tired than amused. "Can I trouble you for that coffee?" he asked, rubbing a palm over his jaw. "We'll run through the tape, see if you recognize the son of u bitch who's following you. Then we'll talk."
Victoria nodded, gesturing toward the sofa. "Make yourself comfortable. The TV and VCR are in the wall unit directly across from there. Set them up if you want. I'll be right in." She paused. "Still black, no cream or sugar?"
He half turned, his eyes meeting hers. "Still the same. Some things don't change."
"I guess not." It was all she could muster. She didn't know exactly how he'd meant that. Nor was she sure she wanted to know.
Retreating to the kitchen, she poured two cups of coffee and placed them on a tray, along with a plate of her favorite chocolate hazelnut biscotti. She stared at me tray for a long time, reminding herself that Zach was here to further his investigation and to help her find Audrey. He was a trusted memory from the r)ast—nothing more. He wasn't going to afford her special consideration, and she wasn't going to spill her guts to him.
Except that she'd already spilled her guts to him, and he'd already afforded her special consideration by agreeing to keep damning circumstantial evidence from the FBI.
For now. But there was a time limit on Zach's ability to run interference for her. Tomorrow. He had to tell the FBI something by then. But if he told them the truth—that she'd been at the Hope Institute looking for her sister—they'd want specifics: How did she know Audrey was there? Who had admitted her? What had led her to the Hope Institute? The answer to every one of those questions implicated her father. That in itself was upsetting enough. But even more frightening, did it also endanger Audrey?
Victoria's hands balled into fists. She had to get to her sister. And the first step toward doing so was to learn exactly how much the FBI had on her father, and how Audrey's being at the clinic affected their investigation—or was affected by it.
Drawing a deep breath, she picked up the tray and made her way into the living room.
Zach was seated at the edge of the sofa, his brows knit in concentration as he angled the remote control and advanced the tape, bringing it to the exact spot where he wanted it.
He glanced up as Victoria entered, then rose courteously to his feet. He took the two cups of coffee off the tray and waited while she placed the cookies on the coffee table. For a long moment he contemplated the biscotti, the angle of his head making it impossible to see, much less decipher, his expression. Then he glanced up, handing Victoria back one cup and lifting the other to his lips.
"Thank you." He took a deep swallow. "Good coffee."
"Coming from you, that's high praise indeed." Victoria found herself wondering what Zach had been thinking just now. Could the biscotti possibly have conjured up the same intimate memories for him as they had for her?
The prospect was unnerving as hell.
She perched rigidly at the far end of the sofa, leaving a whole cushion of distance between them.
If Zach noticed, he didn't let on. "Okay," he instructed, settling himself again. "Now watch carefully. I'm going to run through the entire segment. If you see anyone who even remotely resembles the guy following you, sing out."
"I will."
They watched the tape through three times. And each time Victoria saw only herself and the stream of people walking up the Hope Institute side' of East Seventy-eighth Street.
"Damn," she muttered when Zach hit the stop button for the last time. "None of those people was him."
"That doesn't surprise me," Zach replied. "In order to keep you in his sight, he was probably standing across the street, against the same building as the one our camera's in. Which means he'd be out of our field of view. Thinking he'd be visible was a long shot—one I had to take." His jaw tightened. "I'll find him. You can bet on it."
The severity of Zach's tone was more unnerving than his actual words. He sounded vehement rather than determined—too vehement, considering the person following her was a minor pawn in the FBI's case.
It suddenly struck Victoria that Zach's vehemence wasn't tied to his case.
It was tied to her.
Prickles of fear shivered up her spine. Zach wasn't quick to worry. Not unless there was a reason.
"Do you think this man will do more than just follow me?" she asked tentatively.
"No." He gave her a sharp look—and a direct answer. "But that doesn't mean someone else won't. Don't give this guy anything suspicious to report. Stay away from the Hope Institute."
"I've got to find Audrey."
"You will. But marching in there's not the way to do it. You already learned that firsthand. If you keep pushing, you might jeopardize Audrey's life as well as your own."
"But she didn't sound at all frightened on her telephone message. She said—"
"That message was a way of shaking you loose, and you know it. If you didn't, you would have taken my head off when I suggested it."
Victoria set down her cup with a firm click. "Okay, you're right. That message made me uneasy. It was too calm, too soothing to be Audrey. At first I was grateful to hear her voice, just to know she's alive and coherent. After three days, my imagination was starting to run wild. But do I think she made that call of her own initiative? No. And, yes, my thoughts are going in much the same direction as yours." A deep, purposeful breath. "Let's stop dancing around the subject. Tell me what you know about my father."
Zach fell silent, staring broodingly into his coffee.
"Is it that you don't trust me?" Victoria demanded. "Do you think I'll dash off and warn him?"
"No." Zach's head came up. 'Trust isn't the issue, Victoria. It never was. Maybe I'm trying to protect you."
"I don't want protection."
"I'm well aware of that," he replied in an odd, strained tone. He turned back to his coffee, finished it, and placed the empty cup on the table. "You're not going to like what you hear. On the other hand, maybe it's better you hear it. It might make you realize why the FBI reacted so strongly to finding out that the woman on their surveillance tape was Victoria Kensington."
"Walter Kensington's daughter."
"Yes."
"You supplied them with my name?"
Zach shrugged. "They would have dug it up in a matter of hours. I spared them the trouble. I also bought some time so I could talk to you first."
"Yes, till tomorrow. After which, if I don't give you something believable to tell them, they're going to haul me down to FBI headquarters and grill me."
"Something like that, yes."
"You said I'm not under suspicion. Why not? Why don't they assume I'm working with my father?"
"Because I told them otherwise."
Victoria blinked. "You vouched for my innocence? Without even knowing the facts? Why?"
"Because I know you."
She felt as if she'd been punched. On one hand, he'd given the FBI her name. On the other hand, he'd demonstrated a blind faith in her that was totally uncharacteristic of Zach. He acted on facts, not emotion.
She wished to God she could separate those right now.
Shaking her head, she muttered, "I don't know whether to thank you or kick you."
"Don't do either. Just hear me out. Keep an open mind. And remember that what I'm telling you is in confidence."
"All right."
Despite his bluntness, Zach looked distinctly unhappy about what he was about to say. "It's true we suspect Benjamin Hopewell of keeping his hand in the Hope Institute and its illegal dealings. But even if he's innocent, your father's still heavily implicated. Victoria, he's the attorney of record for the Hope Institute."
r /> She swallowed. "How do you know that?"
"After the FBI traced suspected drug shipments to the Hope Institute, they took preliminary steps. An agent visited the clinic to ask a few routine questions. Miss Evans, that militant receptionist you locked horns with, told him in no uncertain terms that she had nothing to say, that everything pertaining to the Hope Institute was confidential. When the agent pressed her, Miss Evans told him to contact their attorney, Walter Kensington, with any questions he had."
"I see." Victoria was feeling more sickened by the minute. "And did the FBI do that?"
"On what basis? They don't even have enough evidence for a subpoena, much less a head-to-head legal battle with your father. He'd simply deny the charges, refuse them access to the clinic, and deflect any questions, citing attorney-client privilege."
"Especially if the Hope Institute treats the kind of clientele you described," Victoria deduced aloud. "I know the way my father thinks. He'd remind the FBI that the clinic's patients were affluent and well connected, not the kind of people to be taken lightly. Then he'd threaten to call the attorney general, whom he knows personally. And the FBI wouldn't stand a chance." She bit her lip. "Anything else?"
A stiff nod. "Your father's phone records, both home and office, show frequent calls over the past several years to the Hope Institute. The calls you found on his recent bill were just the tip of the iceberg. And while those might very well have had to do with Audrey, the dozens of previous ones didn't."
Victoria stared at Zach, her mind leaping to one surprising, now obvious conclusion. "So this morning in my office, I didn't tell you anything that you—and the FBI—didn't already know."
"Except for what's going on with your sister, no, you didn't tell me anything new." He leaned forward, gripping his knees. "But, Victoria, now that you know just how extensive your father's lies to you were, surely you don't doubt he's the one who arranged for Audrey's well-timed message on your answering machine. He wants to keep you away from Audrey and the Hope Institute. And he doesn't want you to know of his connection to them, personally or professionally."
"In light of everything you've said, no, I can't argue that fact. For whatever reason, my father's working hard to keep me in the dark." Victoria's chin came up. "Zach, I've got to confront him."