Run for Your Life

  But she couldn't.

  He was her Achilles' heel—the embodiment of all her pain and weakness. He was the one who'd carved that emotional hollow inside her, a hollow that, even now, only he could reach. She had to protect herself, no matter how great the temptation to let go.

  She squared her shoulders. "My aunt and uncle are probably in the living room. Let's go."

  Zach nodded, wordlessly accepting the temporary barrier she'd erected. He took her arm and led her through the stream of guests.

  She spied Clarissa and Jim standing near the living room's bay window with a small group of people. She caught her uncle's eye, and whatever he saw there must have communicated some of her emotional turmoil, because he touched Clarissa's shoulder and politely excused the two of them, escorting his wife over to Victoria and Zach.

  "I was wondering if you'd been devoured by the crowd," he teased, returning her fond hug.

  "Almost." She turned to Clarissa, who looked stunning in an ice-blue cocktail dress. "You look exquisite." She pressed her cheek to her aunt's. "Thank you for coming," she whispered.

  Clarissa smiled, understanding Victoria's meaning, but not letting it show. "I return the compliment. You're a beautiful guest of honor." Her gaze drifted to Zach, and her smile became more reserved. It was clear where her loyalties lay. "Nice to see you again, Zachary. It's been quite some time."

  "Too long. And the pleasure is mine." If Zach noticed the cool reception, he didn't show it. He clasped Clarissa's hand, then Jim's. "Looking at the two of you, it's hard to believe four years have passed. Neither of you has changed a bit."

  "It's our nonstop work schedules," Jim qualified in a lighthearted tone. "They keep us young. Clarissa and I are never idle long enough for age to notice us, much less to catch up."

  Zach chuckled. "In that case, there's hope for me, too." He shot Clarissa a questioning look. "You're still at Mount Sinai, I presume?"

  "Yes," she acknowledged. "I'm about to finish my tenth year there."

  "What research are you currently involved in?"

  "Interestingly, we just touched on it. I'm in the middle of a study on the aging process. We're making great strides in isolating the factors mat control it. If we can zero in on what causes it to accelerate or slow, we might be able to eventually add years to the human life span."

  Zach's brows raised. "That's fascinating. Are you researching mental as well as physical aging?"

  "Oh yes." Clarissa nodded. "Seeing a keen mind deteriorate is almost worse than seeing a healthy body do the same. And as for physiological preservation, I'm referring to sustaining the internal organs, keeping the muscles and tissues alive and vital. In other words, health and well-being, not vanity and youthful appearance. This is about quality of life, and longevity itself. Who knows? With enough time and resources, we could actually arrest the aging process entirely." A reproachful pause. "Did I just get on my soapbox?"

  "Not at all," Zach assured her. "I spend too much time listening to people whose only passion is money. Hearing someone whose passion is her work is a breath of fresh air."

  "Now you know how Aunt Clarissa stays young," Victoria added with more than a touch of pride. "She and Uncle Jim. They both devote their lives to enhancing life for others. Mind, body, and spirit."

  "Speaking of which, how are you holding up?" Jim asked quietly. "It's been a long evening, this debut of yours."

  Victoria wondered if her uncle had any idea just how hard the evening had been. "I'm in one piece," she replied lightly. "Although I'm afraid that everyone here thinks I've come on board at Waters, Kensington, Tatem and Calder as a permanent fixture—including my parents."

  Her uncle's smile was sympathetic. "They're proud. Think of it that way."

  "I'm trying."

  "Good. Because your father is on his way over."

  Scarcely were Jim's words out when Walter Kensington appeared at their sides. "Victoria. Here you are. The guests are starting to leave. Your mother's at the door, getting ready to see them off. She's waiting for you."

  Victoria's brows rose. Apparently, she was part of tonight's good-bye crew. And judging from her father's unyielding tone and authoritative stance, she had no choice in the matter.

  She hated being manipulated. She hated misrepresenting herself, which she'd been doing all evening by saying nothing to contradict her father's implications that her employment at his firm was permanent. After all these hours, she wanted nothing more than to refuse her father's request, stay right where she was, where she preferred to be, rather than joining him to act out the final scene in this sham.

  On the other hand, she'd been trained since birth that public confrontation was akin to manslaughter. And frankly, in this case, it wasn't worth the fallout. Nor was it worth the anguish she'd cause her mother. Not for a few good-byes.

  Fine, she decided, feeling her uncle's soothing gaze, her aunt's supportive smile. She'd complete the role she'd been assigned. At least then this party would end and she could go home.

  "Would you excuse me?" she asked, glancing from her aunt and uncle to Zach.

  "Of course." Jim spoke for them all. "See the guests off. Clarissa and I will have a nightcap with Zachary. After that, I think he should take you home. You look exhausted. I know tonight marks an exciting step in your career, but that's no excuse for neglecting your health. Nothing's more important than that."

  Walter's jaw tightened as his brother's message came through loud and clear. He didn't comment on it, instead gesturing for Victoria to accompany him. "Come. Let's make sure you say good night to the appropriate people."

  The "appropriate people" were the same endless line of guests she'd been introduced to three or four hours ago. Except this time the list included Benjamin Hopewell.

  "Victoria." Tall and fit for a man in his sixties, Mr. Hopewell clasped her hand, the tan on his rugged features accentuated by a thick head of snow-white hair. "I didn't get a chance to see you, much less to congratulate you, all night. I'm delighted you've signed on with your father's firm and, as a result, that you'll be working with me."

  "It's good to see you, Mr. Hopewell," she acknowledged, sidestepping his reference to her supposed position at Waters, Kensington, Tatem & Calder, simultaneously fighting the impulse to blurt out her questions about the Hope Institute. She had to trust Zach. If she didn't, she could wind up hurting Audrey rather than helping her. "You're looking well."

  "Am I?" He smiled ruefully. "I'm suddenly feeling quite old. I remember when you came up to my knee. Now you're a grown woman, not to mention a formidable attorney. Where did the years go?"

  "If we knew that, we'd stop them from going there," Elizabeth Bonner declared, joining them as she slipped into her evening jacket. "Are you leaving, Benjamin?" she asked him. "I have some agreements with me I was hoping to turn over to you for review. They're in my car, which is being brought around. Can you wait?"

  "Of course," he agreed politely. "Good night, Victoria," he turned back to say. "It's always a pleasure to see you."

  "Thank you. I hope our professional paths will cross soon." Victoria spoke automatically, her mind veering off in another direction entirely. Elizabeth Bonner's appearance had certainly been timely. Was that coincidental? It didn't seem that way. In fact, it seemed as if she'd intentionally whisked Mr. Hopewell off. But why—to avoid Victoria? Had she been asked to do it? For that matter, why had she spent so much of the evening at Mr. Hopewell's side?

  This bore some reflection.

  "Good night, Victoria," Ms. Bonner was saying crisply. "I'll see you Monday afternoon. That file we discussed will be ready. We'll talk before the end of the day."

  "Yes," Victoria agreed slowly, studying the attractive older woman. "We will."

  * * *

  20

  It was after midnight when Zach drove the car through the gates and turned onto the road.

  Victoria emitted a huge sigh, sinking into the seat and shutting her eyes. "Thank God. Freedom."

 
He chuckled. "That bad?"

  "Worse." She cracked open an eye. "What did you find out from Mr. Hopewell?"

  "Hmmm." Zach glanced at his Rolex. "A minute and a half. That's a record, even for you."

  "Are you going to answer me?"

  "Of course." Zach stopped teasing her and steered the car toward the parkway. "You're going to be disappointed, though. What I got wasn't a confession. Just the opposite, in fact. I'm pretty sure the guy doesn't know the first thing about what's going on in that place."

  "Give me specifics."

  "Okay, specifics. We discussed Hopewell Industries and the entire health-care business. I mentioned the Hope Institute, said I knew someone who'd placed a relative there. He didn't tense up or try to steer clear of the subject. I pursued it, from a business standpoint, asking if he'd regretted selling the Institute, since it was obviously a big moneymaker. His reaction was straightforward and logical. He said no, that even though his company was now strong and on its feet again, he didn't think it was prudent to invest so much capital in a medical facility. I asked if he still did business with the Institute, and he confirmed what we already knew—that his corporation sells medical supplies to them. I even w^nt so far as to ask if he'd kept a seat on the Institute's board, and he said no, that he'd sold the business outright. The details he provided were exactly those the FBI gave me. I don't think he was lying."

  "Great." Victoria frowned. "That only adds new questions. Such as, if Mr. Hopewell's out of the picture, why did my father keep me as far away from him as possible? He never even brought me over to speak with the man, and he's one of Waters, Kensington's biggest clients. And when I finally did speak with him for the first time, why did Elizabeth Bonner appear out of nowhere and usher him off?"

  Zach shot Victoria a sidelong glance. "Elizabeth Bonner? You think she's involved?"

  "I don't know. Maybe I'm being paranoid. Or maybe I've watched too many detective movies. But it sure seemed like she was anxious to get Mr. Hopewell out of that house, and at the exact moment—the first moment—I happpned to be speaking to him. Not to mention the amount of time she spent stationed by his side tonight." Victoria ran her fingers through her hair, angled her head to face Zach. "Does that sound crazy?"

  "Nothing sounds crazy. You made some good observations. What you saw could be coincidence. Or it could be part of Ms. Bonner's efforts to get her name added to the firm's by doing the bidding of a senior partner with the power to put it there—someone who directed her to keep Hopewell busy and away from you."

  "And by that someone, you mean my father."

  A nod. "Unless, of course, she herself is involved. She could be working with your father on The Hope Institute account. The problem with that theory is that my gut tells me Hopewell's not a player here. So why would your father want to keep you away from him?"

  Victoria's fingertip traced the leather grain of the seat cushion. She knew her father's mind, knew what he valued. If his connection to Benjamin Hopewell was strictly honest, there was just one explanation for his behavior.

  "He wouldn't want a scene."

  "What?"

  Victoria didn't realize she'd spoken her thoughts aloud until Zach responded.

  "I said, he wouldn't want a scene." She sighed. "In my father's mind, a scene is defined as anything that might arise out of an inappropriate question or remark. He knows I'm worried about Audrey and that I've doubted his candor with regard to her situation. He also knows I do my homework. So he realizes I'd know about Mr. Hopewell's onetime ownership of the Hope Institute. Bringing up that subject would be right in character for me. For my father, well, not only would he view that as a major indiscretion, but one that might incite an unpleasant display. You get my drift."

  "Yeah, I get it." Zach rubbed the back of his neck. "More rules by Walter Kensington." A pensive pause. "Maybe."

  Victoria turned her head away and stared rigidly out the window. The night was dark and drizzly, and the Merritt Parkway was quiet, with only an occasional pair of headlights slicing the darkness. The trees lining the side of the road whizzed by, the whirring of the tires the only sound in the car.

  "You're angry," Zach said at last.

  "I'm not angry. I'm frustrated, and defensive, and . . . yes, maybe a little angry." She kept her face averted. "You're a logical man by nature. And when it comes to your work, you're objective; you go by the facts. So, I tell myself you're not intentionally trying to implicate my father. Yet you seem to want to believe the worst of him. Why?"

  "I don't want to believe the worst of him, Victoria. I want to get at the truth," Zach stated bluntly. "But as for being objective, I'm not. Not in this case. Because if your father is guilty—and I do mean if—you're going to be hurt. And when it comes to you, I'm anything but objective."

  Tension filled the car.

  Swallowing, Victoria tried to keep her voice steady when she replied. "I understand that. I do. But I don't think you understand how personal my stake is in all this. It's my family we're talking about, Zach, My sister, whose health is a mess. My mother, who's so fragile I shudder to think what she'd do if she found out about ail this, much less if it became public. And my father who, with or without his knowledge, might be linked to a drug syndicate." She had to force out that last part. Even now, the idea made her sick. "So forgive me if I can't be as stoic as you. I don't doubt your concern for me, but for you this is just another FBI case—"

  "No," Zach interrupted. "It's not."

  Something about his tone made her whip her head around. He sounded strained, his voice rough, taut.

  His appearance confirmed it. His gaze was fixed on-the road, but his grip on the steering wheel was rigid, his jaw clenched so tight she could see the muscle working in it.

  "Zach?" she asked tentatively.

  "The other night in the bar, you aske3 what kind of closure I was looking for," he said in a controlled monotone. "The most basic kind. I want to wipe out the bastards who were responsible for my father's death. I never had the chance. Now 1 do."

  Everything inside Victoria went very cold. "Are you telling me that this drug syndicate is the same one who shot—?"

  "That's what I'm telling you."

  "Oh, God." Reflexively, she reached out and laid her hand on his sleeve. She could feel how stiff his forearm muscles were, even through the layers of his tux and shirt. And that was nothing compared to what was going on inside him. She could only imagine what this was doing to him. "Zach, I'm so sorry. I had no idea."

  "Why would you? You're used to my going after close facsimiles. Why would you assume this was the real thing?"

  She swallowed, watching .his profile, remembering how hard it was for him to talk about his father's death. "Have you discussed this with anyone? Do they know how close to home this case strikes?"

  "The FBI, you mean?" A slight shrug. "They're not stupid. They have my entire history on file. I'm sure they figured out I'd have the incentive to help them before they even contacted me. They probably viewed it as an added bonus to my competitive intelligence skills. But, no, I haven't discussed it with anyone. No one but you."

  He glanced down at his sleeve and studied her fingers there before turning his gaze back to the road. "So, believe me, Victoria, I don't want the wrong people punished. This is not about bringing down your father. It's about bringing down anyone affiliated with that drug syndicate, peeling away the layers until we put every last one of them behind bars. Then my parents will be at peace. And so will I."

  Her hand slid up to the steering wheel and covered his as she tried somehow to absorb his pain. No one knew better than she how much this tragedy had dominated his life. And here she was, accusing him of being detached when, in fact, he was as deeply and personally involved in this investigation as she. "I'm so sorry," she repeated softly, her fingers intertwining with his, rubbing against them in slow, gentle caresses. "If you need to talk, I'm here."

  It was meant as comfort.

  It turned into more.
r />   Electric charges sizzled between their joined hands, charges heightened by the emotions underlying Zach's revelation and the intimacy of knowing he'd shared it only with her. Zach captured her fingers and brought them to his lips. He brushed soft kisses across her knuckles, uncurling her fingers to kiss each one. He pressed her open palm to his mouth, savored her warm skin, his fingers sliding between hers, holding them apart. His tongue glided forward, traced the tender recesses he'd exposed, licking her sensitive flesh in slow, suggestive motions that were blatantly carnal.

  Victoria began to tremble, desire slamming to life inside her. She didn't have the strength or the will to fight it. Not this time. Maybe it was the kaleidoscope of events that had erupted in one week's time. Maybe it was just emotional meltdown. Regardless, all she wanted was this, Zach, and the joy of losing herself in the magic they'd once made with their bodies.

  Later, she wondered if they would even have made it home, or if they would have stopped at the closest motel, scrambled frantically into the room and made love before ever reaching the bed.

  She'd never know.

  The unmarked black sedan roared out of nowhere. It tore up the left lane, rounded the curve until it was directly beside them, then began forcing them over to the side.

  "Christ." Zach grabbed the wheel with both hands, struggling to maintain control of the car. Sparks flew from the passenger side as the guardrail tore off paint and metal. Quickly, he jammed his foot on the brake, trying to put some distance between them and the other car.

  The other car would have none of it. It slowed down to match Zach's pace, continuing to crowd him.

  "Is he drunk?" White faced, Victoria tried to peer into the other vehicle. But the windows were as dark as the night, and she couldn't make out anything about the driver.

  "No. He's stone sober," Zach replied, scrutinizing the roadside in the hope of finding a means of escape. "And trying like hell to—"

  There was a break in the divider. Even as Zach jerked the wheel in that direction, the unmarked sedan surged over, striking Zach's side of the car once, twice, shoving him off the parkway.