"Thank you," he said tenderly. "But don't be. I learned how to watch my back a long time ago." His gaze was frank, without reservation or apology. "I intend to watch yours, too. With or without your permission."
Victoria wasn't sure how to answer that, so she didn't. "How do you know where their audio guy's stationed? What if he's right outside and he sees the FBI agent go into my apartment?"
An amused chuckle. "That would be any agent's dream. He'd pick the guy out in a minute, and our phone tapper would be history. Unfortunately, I doubt he's that dumb. He's probably parked a block or two away or in a basement or garage somewhere between here and the Hope Institute. As for the agent being spotted, give the FBI some credit. They're pros. They know just how to blend in and look harmless. No matter where this guy's parked, he won't notice them."
"But he will notice when his equipment stops picking up a signal, and his tape starts coming out blank," Victoria pointed out. "Once the feds remove the bugs, whoever planted them will realize we're on to him."
"Yup." Zach's eyes narrowed. "So we're going to leave those bugs right where they are. Otherwise, not only will their electronics guy know we're on to him, he'll find a way to install new bugs. No, we'll pretend it's business as usual. Period. That way, he'll continue taping your calls, exactly as he's been taping them all week. Except that the information he gets will be only what you want him to have."
Another long-range plan, Victoria thought fitfully, impatience mingling with worry and frustration.
"I hate this," she declared, her hand slicing the air. "Always reactive, never proactive. Dammit, Zach, my sister's in trouble. How long can I go on playing this passive cat-and-mouse game?"
"As long as it takes to get Audrey out in a way that won't endanger her safety or worsen her condition." Zach wasn't pulling punches. He was in his tell-it-like-it-is mode, purposely offering a response based in logic, not emotion. "You don't know how far these people will go, what they're capable of. Neither do I. If you do something reckless, Audrey might pay the price. On the other hand, you're not sure how sick she really is. If she's as bad as your father said, she needs the help she's getting. You can't assume she's being harmed. You can't even assume she was rational on that tape. You can't assume anything. Think like a lawyer, Victoria, not like a devoted family member."
"I'm trying."
"So am I." Zach's tone took on an edge. "Don't you think I want to storm in there, drag out whoever's involved in this syndicate, and choke them with my bare hands?"
Victoria gave a weary nod. "I'm sure you do. Okay, okay. We'll do it your way—at least as far as this electronic surveillance goes. I'll have my own chance to be proactive, starting tomorrow. I'll be inside Waters, Kensington, Tatem and Calder. And I'm going to bust my tail until I find some concrete evidence." She massaged her temples, the events of the last twenty-four hours resurging to drag her under now that her adrenaline was starting to drop. "I'm going to lie down for a while. My brain is about to explode."
"Right. You never did get that space you needed." Zach's tone was nondescript. He scooped up the gym bag he'd thrown together—some toiletries and a change of clothes—so he could leave directly for the field office tomorrow without stopping off at his hotel. "Get some rest. If it's okay with you, I'll take that shower you already had. Then I'll crash, too."
"Help yourself."
Victoria wished she'd chosen a different phrase than that. The shower was fine. So was the crashing. But where he crashed—that was another story. The bedroom was out. She might be emotionally raw and desperately in need of some time to collect her thoughts, but she wasn't stupid. No matter how confused she was, how bone weary and overwhelmed, she was dead sure of one thing. If Zach got into her bed, all hopes of thinking would vanish. "Zach . . ." she began.
"I know what space means, Victoria," he interrupted quietly. "I'll be using the living room sofa, just as I have all week." He leveled that penetrating stare at her. "Do your soul-searching. Take whatever time you need. Face whatever fears you have. But do it with your eyes open. And, for both our sakes, don't choose now to become a coward."
* * *
23
Monday, April 24
12:30 p.m.
If being a coward meant being afraid, then Victoria was guilty as charged.
She stared out her office window, watching the Madison Avenue crowd thicken as the lunch hour progressed. Swarms of purposeful professionals, all with places to go, appointments to keep, agendas to meet.
Usually she was among them.
Not today.
Today she was using the only half-hour block of unscheduled time she had to think.
How ironic that thinking would take precedence over doing. Especially today, when she had a monumental task to accomplish—and that was on top of having to straddle major commitments at two different but equally bustling law firms. She had to make strides in finding some evidence on the Hope Institute—and whoever was at its helm.
Yet, despite all that, her turmoil today was more internal than external.
Dear God, she was so afraid.
First and foremost, she was afraid for Audrey, afraid that she herself would make a wrong move and worsen an already terrifying situation for her sister. She was damned either way. If she continued to dig, she ran the risk of provoking the wrong people. That could endanger Audrey. On the other hand, doing nothing could endanger her more. It all depended on whether Audrey's fears Were simply the result of her own condition or whether they were based on something she'd found out, something that implicated the Institute.
Or that implicated its legal counsel.
Shutting her eyes, Victoria pressed her forehead against the windowpane, wondering for the hundredth time how her father factored into the drug syndicate Zach was investigating. Was he merely the Hope Institute's attorney of record? Was he aware of what was going on there? And how far would he be willing to let things go?
He'd never sacrifice Audrey. That much Victoria had to believe. No matter what else he was, her father wouldn't hurt his own child.
Which brought to mind the frightening incident on the Merritt Parkway the other night. She couldn't accept that it was her father who'd sent that bastard to shove her car off the road.
No, he would never actively hurt his daughters.
But would he turn his back while someone else did?
A shiver rippled up her spine.
Her father claimed Audrey was sick. Very sick. Maybe he was telling the truth. Maybe whatever medication Audrey was on was making her delusional. Maybe her fear stemmed from that. Victoria couldn't rule out that possibility. She couldn't storm into the Institute and demand to see her sister. She couldn't even call and demand to speak to her.
But she could broach the subject with her father.
She'd made that decision in the wee hours of morning, after another sleepless night and more tossing and turning than she cared to remember.
She couldn't just ignore that phone call from Audrey. She had to do something, however tentative, to ensure her sister's well-being. And this was the only solution that made sense. It wasn't intrusive enough to make things worse for Audrey, nor was it so passive that it allowed her sister's cry for help to go entirely unheeded.
She'd approach her father, cautiously, tell him only what he'd be advised of anyway, if he hadn't been already. The nurses were sure to mention Audrey's attempt to call her, whenever he next visited the Institute. Victoria would bring it up first, with concern, not accusation, and hopefully elicit his help in ensuring Audrey's well-being.
If he was innocent.
If he was guilty, her discussion would appease any qualms he had that Audrey's call had left her suspicious.
Either way, Audrey would be protected.
She'd take care of this the minute she got to her father's Park Avenue office—two hours from now.
After that, she had another avenue to probe. And that avenue was Elizabeth Bonner.
What did tha
t woman know, and why had she whisked Benjamin Hopewell away from the party at the very moment he'd been chatting with Victoria? Where did she factor into all this?
Victoria had her work cut out for her.
She turned back to her desk, picking up the cup of now-cold coffee. She sipped at it, not even noticing its temperature.
As for the rest of her fear, it all stemmed from Zach— Zach and the tangle of emotions she'd been grappling with since yesterday.
The facts were the facts. She fallen into that bed with her eyes wide open. It had been every bit her decision to make love with him, not once, not twice, but all night and half the next day. She didn't regret her decision. Not even now, when the inevitable confusion and pain were twisting her insides into knots. It had been worth it. The sheer, exquisite physical pleasure, the blind spontaneity of action and reaction—and, yes, the mindless capitulation to feelings and emotions, even vulnerabilities, all were too magnificent to describe.
But the inescapable What now? loomed larger than life, pounding at her skull and making unresolved circles in her mind.
The passion between them had grown even more overpowering than it was four years ago. So, God help her, had the feelings. But the issues still remained. His, and hers. His, only he could address—something he obviously intended to do, since he'd insisted that they talk before she came to any decisions on her own. Although, what could he say to counter the obvious? The single-minded resolve with which he was approaching this FBI investigation spoke volumes. He was still driven. She didn't blame him. She just couldn't live with it—not when it meant compromising her own priorities in order to satisfy his.
He'd never actually ask her to do that. He hadn't then. He wouldn't now. But it would happen nonetheless. The very nature of his work, his commitment to honoring his father's memory, would ensure that.
And what would that mean for her—following him around the world? Where would that leave her family, her career, her clients? Not to mention her own fundamental need to control her own life, to be independent?
That brought her to the heart of her own issues—issues that had been magnified by so many things: the pain of their breakup, the lengthening list of broken women she'd come into contact with in her professional life, the ongoing worry over her mother and sister. She'd become harder—no, more determined. She clung to her independence like a suit of armor.
Like the protective walls Zach kept referring to.
In essence, they were back where they'd left off four years ago, only with more time and scars between them. Scars deep enough to make them hold back those three magical words—words they'd once murmured over and over but that now seemed too painful to say.
But they were there. She couldn't escape that. The words were there, definitely for her and, knowing Zach as she did—seeing the look in his eyes, feeling the fervor of his Iovemaking—for him, as well.
He wanted to face this head-on, to tear away the self-protection that was her second skin and confront their feelings. She wasn't sure she could give him that.
No, that wasn't the truth. She could give him that. But at what cost? And was she willing to take the risk?
Maybe Zach was right. Maybe when it came to this, she was a coward.
Which left her... where?
A light knock on her door brought her head up. "Yes?" she asked in an unsteady voice.
"It's me." Meg stepped into the office, a concerned expression on her face. "Are you okay?"
Victoria averted her gaze, lifting her shoulders in a half shrug. "I guess. Why? Do I look unglued?"
"You look tired. This plan to dig around at your father's office must be taking its toll."
"It is. In fact, I'm headed over there in a little while to get started." Victoria busied herself perusing some files, keeping her head down so Meg couldn't see her face. Her emotions were too close to the surface right now, and she wasn't about to have them read by her all-too-astute friend. In fact, she'd deliberately avoided mentioning the near collision on the parkway Saturday night for just that reason. Meg was already worried about her. If she learned about the car incident, she was bound to react with that natural heartfelt compassion of hers. At which point, Victoria would burst into tears—something she just didn't do. Plus, she'd have to dodge Meg's questions about the accident and invent explanations she herself didn't believe.
It was simply too much.
"I have one more appointment—Doris Webster," she supplied instead, keeping her tone as conversational as possible. "Then it's pack up the old briefcase and march over to Waters, Kensington, Tatem and Calder. I'm tense about it, I'll admit. I'm also tired—I didn't sleep very well last night. And I had a rough morning. Faye Larimore was here. Do you know that poor woman just became the latest casualty in her company's downsizing? She now has no job and no health coverage. And her son really needs those twice-a-week counseling sessions. Of course, her husband refused to contribute a dime. He'd rather watch her suffer. And until I get her a decent settlement, there's not a damned thing she can do."
Abruptly, Victoria stopped babbling, her fingers gripping the Larimore file. "Meg, why do women constantly put themselves in the position of being victims?"
"Not all women do. And not all men let them." Meg shut the door and leaned back against it. "Do you want to talk about it? And I don't mean the Larimore case. I mean what's eating you up inside."
"The Hope Institute. How sick Audrey is." Victoria was clutching at straws and she knew it. But she hadn't cried on Meg's shoulder the first time. She wasn't going to start now. "There's not much to say. Obviously, I haven't gotten into the files at Waters, Kensington, Tatem and Calder yet. But I will. I'm just hoping Audrey's getting better, and that this place my father's chosen for her is as reputable as—"
"Victoria, I'm talking about Zach. And you know it."
There it was, spoken loud and clear by her friend. Oh, she could sidestep the question, the same way she was sidestepping the crux of the whole Hope Institute corruption. But what was the point? Meg knew. She'd always known. To deny it would be both futile and childish.
Victoria forced herself to meet Meg's gaze. "Yes, I know you're talking about Zach," she admitted, with as much composure as she could muster. "The problem is, I'm not sure what to say about him. About us. About what's happening between us." She turned up her palms in a helpless gesture. "I spent four years forgetting him. Trying to forget him," she amended. "Then he walked back into my life a week ago, and I'm drowning, I'm fighting like hell to break the surface, but it's not working. I'm going under—fast. I've told myself it's memories, it's attraction, it's passion. But I'm lying. I know it, and so does Zach."
Meg tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, quietly digesting her friend's revelation. "Have you slept with him?"
Meg's choice of words were bitterly ironic. "We didn't do much sleeping. But, yes." Victoria massaged her temples. "What's the matter with me? Why can't I just have a wild fling like the rest of the world and chalk it up as great sex?"
"You know the answer to that." A glimmer of realization sparked in Meg's eyes, and she folded her arms across her breasts. "But you need me to say it anyway, don't you? Of course you do. Because you don't want to be the one to say it yourself. Okay, here it is. There are two reasons why you can't write this off as a wild fling. Number one, because you're a one-man woman. You might be hard as nails in the courtroom, and eyes-wide-open about life, but face it— somewhere inside you lives a die-hard romantic. Which leads me to number two. You're in love with Zach. You've been in love with him for four years, and you'll be in love with him for the rest of your life. Does that answer your question?"
"Brutally."
"Good. Now here's mine: What are you going to do about those feelings? Are you going to deal with them, or continue pretending they don't exist?"
"I know they exist, Meg. But that doesn't mean I can—"
"Can what?" Meg demanded, marching forward until she could press her frustrated fists against
the desk. "Give in to them? Victoria, this is love, not a prison sentence. It's something to fight for, not against. Yes, getting it right is going to mean hard work, but since when has that stopped you?"
Pausing, Meg eyed her friend speculatively. "You never told me what made things end between you and Zach the first time. My hunch is you did. At least in part. You're scared to death of being dependent. Well, you're not. You wouldn't be dependent even if you ran off to Europe, married Zach, and had twelve kids. You'd be a partner, an equal, someone who was not only needed, but who needed in return. Instead, do you know what you are? A victim. The very thing you're fighting so hard not to be. Not a victim to a man, but a victim to your own self-imposed barriers. Is that what you want?"
The cold truth of Meg's words punched Victoria in the gut. "I never thought of it that way," she acknowledged. "But even if I did, there's so much more to get past than my emotional baggage. There are some real obstacles here."
"Fine. Then confront them," Meg chided gently. "Overcome them. Stop being a coward. It doesn't become you."
A shaky smile tugged at Victoria's lips. "You're the second person to call me a coward since yesterday."
"I'll bet I can guess who the first person was." Meg shook her head in exasperation. "Victoria, being independent and being alone are two different things. The first is already in your nature. You couldn't change it if you tried. The second is your choice. And if you opt for it, you're an idiot. You have an amazing man who's so in love with you he can hardly see straight. If you let him go, I think I'll have to kill you."
Victoria couldn't help but laugh. "That would make an interesting scenario. Poor Paul would be stuck defending you."
"Not likely. He'd farm me out in favor of his corporate clients. Besides, I'd be guilty, even if it was justifiable homicide."
"Pretty harsh words." Victoria chuckled.
"Maybe. But am I getting through?"
Abandoning the lighthearted banter, Victoria nodded. "Loud and clear. Thanks, Meg. You're a great friend. You've given me a lot to think about."