Run for Your Life

  "I have."

  "A specific case of yours, your mother said. Do you need advice, or to borrow some reference books—the kind your firm can't afford?"

  Victoria bit back her anger. "Neither. I made up that excuse for Mother's sake. My calling you has nothing to do with a case."

  "I see." Walter gave her no opportunity to explain. Instead, he steered the conversation in the direction of his choice. "Does this mean you've given more thought to my offer? That you're finally going to come to your senses and join my firm? You'll be coming in as a junior partner, Victoria. It took quite a few strings for me to manage that, but I happen to think you're a damned fine attorney. So I—"

  "Father, stop." Victoria spoke with quiet control, although her fingers gripped the receiver so tightly her knuckles turned white. "This has nothing to do with my career. As I've told you a dozen times, I'm happy where I am. I don't want to work at Waters, Kensington, Tatem and Calder. I don't want you to use your influence to get me a partnership, junior or otherwise. I want to practice the kind of law, with the kind of partners and the kind of clients I choose. I realize you don't understand that. But it's my decision to make, not yours."

  Walter's hand balled into a fist. "You're being a fool."

  "That's your opinion. I don't happen to share it." She drew a calming breath. "I don't want to argue- The reason I called you was to ask when you last spoke with Audrey."

  "With Audrey? Last evening."

  "Last evening?" Victoria's heart started pounding. "Where was she?"

  "In Florence, where she's been for the past six months." A chilly pause. "Is there a reason for this particular inquisition?"

  Victoria began pacing back and forth across her room, twisting the phone cord around her finger. "Yes, a good reason. I saw Audrey this morning. She was in Central Park, not Florence."

  "Excuse me?"

  "Audrey. She's here in New York."

  Walter fell silent. When he spoke, there was censure in his tone. "Victoria, I don't know who you saw, but it wasn't your sister. Audrey called me collect an hour or two before we sat down to dinner last night. She needed money, as usual, which I wired her, as usual. When we hung up, she was on her way to bed. She planned to be up at dawn to paint the sunrise—using supplies she paid for with the last of the allowance I sent."

  Last night? Victoria shook her head, denying her father's claim. There was no way Audrey could have still been in Italy then. Their parents ate dinner at eight o'clock. A few hours before that meant the call would have had to come through around six-ish, making it midnight in Florence. There was no direct flight from Italy that would have gotten Audrey into Kennedy Airport in time to place her in Manhattan at dawn.

  Something was out of whack.

  Either Audrey had lied to their father, or their father was lying to her.

  "Victoria?" Her father's voice was impatient. "Are you still there?"

  "Yes, Father, I'm here." She gritted her teeth and braced herself for the storm she was about to instigate. "I'm here— and so is Audrey. Not in my apartment, but in Manhattan. I didn't see someone who resembled Audrey, or someone who reminded me of her. I saw Audrey. She was wearing some kind of hospital gown. She looked terrible, all puffy and distorted. Obviously she's sick—very sick. She collapsed at my feet, muttered a few words, then lost con- sciousness. I went to get help. When I got back, she was gone."

  Victoria paused, the silence at the other end positively ponderous. Either her fattier had decided she'd lost her mind, or he was trying to think of an appropriate response.

  "Father?" she pressed. "Are you sure it was last night that Audrey called you? And if so, are you sure she was in Florence? Couldn't you just have assumed she was there?"

  "No, Victoria, I couldn't." Her father's tone was glacial. "The overseas operator connected us. The call was made from Florence. And I might be sixty-three, but I'm not senile yet. Audrey called last night. Whoever that poor woman you saw was, it wasn't your sister."

  "You're wrong."

  Another silence. "I'm beginning to think working in that office of yours is starting to get to you. Audrey was always the scatterbrained one. You I could count on to be levelheaded."

  "I am level-headed. Which is why I know what I saw, and what I heard."

  "What did this person say to you?"

  Victoria wished her father were easier to read. Was he trying to placate her or grill her for information? And why would he grill her unless he knew there was an element of truth to what she was claiming?

  "She said something about danger," Victoria replied, trying to gauge his reaction. "And she mumbled some numbers. The way she said them—three digits, then a pause, then the other four—I'd be willing to bet it was a phone number."

  "Ah. Let me guess. Knowing you, you called this phone number."

  "I did."

  "And? Did they give you any answers?"

  "No. I got a computerized message. It told me nothing. That's why I called you back. I was hoping you could tell me something." Victoria stopped pacing, bluntly coming to the point. "Father, I'm aware of what Audrey's like when she's depressed, what she's apt to resort to." She leaned against the bedpost, gripping the phone tightly in both hands. "I'm also aware of your feelings on the matter. But she's my sister. I love her. I want to help. So if you're keeping something from me, don't. If Audrey called you from New York, if you know something about her state of mind, I have to know. I won't tell a soul, not even Mother. But she's in trouble. I'm sure of it. She's scared and she's sick—too sick to contact us. I need to find her, to know who took her away and why. I need to see for myself that she's being cared for, and that she'll be all right. So, please, tell me the truth."

  "There's no truth to tell." Her father spoke in terse syllables, his words as unyielding as his tone. "Victoria, I've never heard you like this. You're irrational. Maybe it's you who should see a doctor. You've been working round the clock to get that firm of yours off the ground. Maybe the strain is catching up with you."

  Frustration churned in Victoria's gut. "I'm fine—physically and mentally. I just—" She broke off, realizing she was banging her head against a wall. Her father either couldn't or wouldn't tell her what she wanted to know. Fine. She'd get at the truth another way. How, she wasn't sure. Her options seemed to be vanishing before her eyes. But she was determined to find her sister. "What number do you have for Audrey in Florence?"

  "I don't have one. She didn't give it to me. She never gave me any of her phone numbers over the past three years." Abruptly, her father changed the subject, attempting to placate her in a way she found more maddening than his anger. "Uncle Jim and Aunt Clarissa are coming over for drinks this evening. I'm sure they'd be delighted to see you."

  He paused, and Victoria knew he was well aware that this was one invitation she'd be tempted to accept. It was hardly a secret that she felt close to her father's younger brother and his wife. What she found ironic was that her father was using that, of all things, to distract her. Knowing how strongly he disapproved of her bond with Jim and Clarissa, he must be even more eager than she realized to divert her from her search for Audrey.

  Which made her more convinced than ever that he was hiding something.

  "Jim and Clarissa will be here around seven," her father was continuing, clearly taking for granted that she meant to accept his invitation. "I'll send a car to pick you up."

  "I'd love to, but I can't." Victoria felt a sincere pang of remorse. She could use Jim and Clarissa's calming presence about now. On the other hand, maybe it was just as well she didn't seek it out tonight, when she still had so much to sort out. Besides, she'd rather see them alone than with her parents. When the whole group of them were together, the tension was so thick you could cut it with a knife.

  "I'm having dinner with Meg tonight," she explained.

  "Discussing your extensive client list?" Walter asked with pointed sarcasm.

  "Developing it."

  "I doubt the restaurant st
ays open late enough to make headway on a project of that magnitude."

  Victoria ignored the barb. "Good-bye, Father. Give Mother my love." She placed the receiver in its cradle, her uneasiness intensified rather than diminished.

  Clearly, her father was being evasive. He couldn't have spoken to Audrey last night—at least not in Florence. Which meant that either he had spoken to her in New York—in which case he knew of her predicament and was trying to sever communications with her so as to protect his damnable reputation—or he hadn't spoken with her at all and was trying to convince Victoria she'd never seen her for the same reason.

  Either way, he was blocking Victoria's attempts to get at the truth.

  And either way, it wouldn't work.

  * * *

  4

  At 7:40 that evening, Victoria walked down Third Avenue, lost in thought as she agonized over Audrey.

  She should have sensed her sister was in trouble. But how? In the past, Audrey's relapses in her constant struggle with bulimia were always preceded by bouts of depression or self-doubt. She hadn't sounded depressed in her last few letters. Then again, it was hard to tell. Audrey's letters were always a mixture of wonder and melancholy—her artist's soul, as she described it. Tidbits of travel adventures were blended in with expressions of either excitement or dejection over the state of whatever painting she was lost in and emotional outpourings on the current man in her life. Victoria had become accustomed to her sister's extreme highs and lows. So it never dawned on her that a relapse was brewing. Particularly since Audrey had been fine since her late teens.

  She'd looked so well the last time Victoria saw her, nearly three years ago, on that humid August night she'd taken off for Europe.

  "Are you sure this is what you want?" Victoria had asked over the chaotic din at Kennedy Airport's international terminal.

  "Positive." Audrey gave her sister a fierce hug. "I need to get away from him, Victoria. You're strong. I'm not. You can't protect me forever—not from Father or myself. I need to be who I am, to find out who that is. I need to paint, to live on my own. Besides, I'm much better now. Trust me. I have to do this."

  Victoria had nodded, feeling the anxiety and protective-ness of a mother hen who was letting her chick fly. "You'll stay in touch."

  "I'll write. It's too expensive to call. As it is, Father's paying my way. No sense pissing him off more. Besides. . ." A sad smile. "He wants this to be a clean break. The farther away I go, the longer I stay there, the better an investment this is for him. No chance of my screwups doing much damage from four thousand miles away."

  Victoria's guts had wrenched. "Sweetie, if you need me—"

  "I'll know where to find you," Audrey had assured her, lips trembling. "Just as I always have."

  Recalling those words, Victoria flinched. Yes, Audrey had found her. Now it was up to her to do the same.

  With a troubled sigh, she stepped into the thriving pub-like atmosphere of Wollensky's Grill. She scanned the crowded dining room, spotted Megan, and headed over.

  Slipping into her seat, she gave her friend a half-hearted wave. "Sorry I'm late. It's been one of those days."

  "You look like hell," Megan noted.

  "Thanks. That's how I feel." Victoria ordered a glass of cabernet and a burger, grateful they'd picked a casual spot for tonight's meal. And not only because of their limited budget these days, but because the last thing she felt like doing was getting all decked out, putting on heels and makeup. Here, she could be comfortable, dressed in a silk blouse and jeans, her dark hair loose, curling under just slightly in its customary fashion as it grazed her shoulders. Other than a touch of mascara and several brushstrokes of blush to hide her pallor, she was makeup free.

  "Let me guess." Megan shot her a half grin as she nibbled at a piece of bread. "Another fight with your father. This time he's sending in the National Guard to personally escort you to your new job on Park Avenue."

  "Cute." Victoria waited as her glass of wine arrived, then took a healthy swallow before she replied. "But only half true. I argued with my father, but not about that. Oh, he mentioned the partnership—he always does. But our fight was about Audrey."

  "Audrey?" Megan's brows lifted in surprise. "Why? Did you hear from her?"

  Victoria stared off into space, seeing Audrey's bloated face, her glazed eyes. She had to answer carefully, to keep certain personal fears to herself in order to protect her sister. "If I tell you, you have to promise to believe me. I don't think I can stand one more person telling me I'm imagining things."

  "That's not a hard promise to keep. You're the sanest person I know. Too sane, in fact."

  "Not this time. At least not according to the police and my father."

  "The police?" Megan sucked in her breath. "Explain."

  Sticking to the facts, Victoria told her about the incident that had occurred that morning when she went running, and everything that had taken place since.

  By the time she'd finished, Megan's golden brown eyes had grown wide. "Wow," she said with forced lightness, trying to ease the anguish she saw on her friend's face. "And all I did today was lounge around and review my files."

  "Meg, I know it was Audrey." Victoria leaned forward, her brow furrowed anxiously. "The problem is, I don't know how to find her. I've told you what a loner she was. The only one she was close to was me. I called the little art gallery she used to work in down in SoHo. They haven't heard a thing. They reluctantly gave me the phone numbers of a couple of Audrey's acquaintances. No one's heard from her or seen her since she left for Europe."

  "You could try 'reverse searching' on the Internet to see who belongs to that phone number she mumbled to you— although my guess is it's unlisted. You say you checked with all the hospitals?"

  "Twice. The first time, the police made the calls. I tried again from home, just in case Audrey didn't get admitted until later. Not only isn't she a patient at any hospital in Manhattan, but none of them uses yellow hospital gowns. It's bizarre."

  "But you think your father knows something."

  "I'm sure of it." Victoria inclined her head. "Would you like to hear how he changed the subject to divert my attention from Audrey? He invited me over tonight to have drinks with my uncle and aunt."

  A wry grin. "That's a first."

  "Exactly. Look, Meg, my father has no tolerance for weakness and less tolerance for Audrey. If she's ill, if that illness might result in any social embarrassment for him, he'll pretend she doesn't exist. Which means ignoring any call for help she might have initiated. It's no accident that she found me today. She knows I run that same footpath three times a week. She was looking for me. My father must have cut her off at the knees. So, the way I see it, I could dart around like a rat in a maze and get nowhere, or I could follow my instincts and use my father as the starting point."

  "You said Audrey called him collect." Megan drummed her fingers on the table. "If that's true, his phone records will tell you where she called from."

  "Not that he'd volunteer those records, but, yes." Victoria took another sip of wine. "Eventually, Audrey's call will show up on his bill. But what good does that do me now?"

  "Maybe more good than you think." Megan spoke slowly, gauging her friend's reaction. "You're assuming Audrey just arrived in New York, and last night's call to your father was her first. I don't mean to sound suspicious, but if he's hedging about what he knows, isn't it possible he's also leaving out a few details? Like the fact that Audrey's been here awhile?"

  "I never thought of that." Victoria frowned. "I suppose anything's possible. Audrey would definitely have turned to him first. He's cultivated that dependency since she was a child. She runs away from him, yet she turns to him blindly whenever she's in need—financial or otherwise. So if she's been here a few days, or even longer, yes, my father would probably know about it."

  "Let's backtrack. Did you try Audrey's number in Florence, see if she'd left, and when?"

  "I never had a number for her in Flo
rence. According to my father, neither did he. He just wired her money when she asked, which she picked up at whatever Western Union agent happened to be nearby. I can't dispute that. Audrey's a free spirit. She moved around every few days. She liked to come and go as her artistic muse dictated. So she was never in one place long enough to settle in. She wrote to me sporadically. The last letter I got was dated April fifth. And it was definitely postmarked Florence."

  "Fine. Then start there. Sometime during the past ten days Audrey arrived in New York. As for finding out exactly when . . ." Megan cleared her throat, uncomfortable with what she was about to suggest. "That brings us back to your father's phone records. Any chance you can get a look at his last bill without him knowing about it? It won't cover last night, but it might date back a week or two."

  Victoria's gaze met hers—direct, unflinching. "It'll take some doing. I'll have to be careful and discreet. But with a bit of cooperation from Robert, maybe."

  "Robert adores you. He'd never give you away."

  "He also wouldn't knowingly betray my father. So I'll have to tread lightly. I'll do the snooping myself, and just ask Robert to look away." Victoria scarcely noticed the waiter placing her dinner order on the table before her. "Monday morning," she murmured. "My father goes in to work early. Before seven. My mother will be sound asleep. I'll take an early train to Greenwich. I'll do some nosing around, see what I can find out."

  She pulled out her Day-Timer and scanned her schedule for Monday. "My first appointment is at ten. It's Faye Larimore. If I'm delayed, will you fill in for me? She'll need a lot of hand-holding if that bastard of a husband dropped in on her over the weekend."

  "No problem. I'm a good substitute hand-holder." Megan fell silent, pushing her onion rings around with her fork, but not eating them—an uncharacteristic action for Meg. She and onion rings were like a bear and honey.

  "Okay, enough about me," Victoria announced, eyeing her friend. "There's obviously something bothering you. Let's have it—is it a personal or a business problem?"