They both knew that, normally, she would have shot back an impassioned objection, just as she always did when Zach tried to run the show on his own. Not this time. Because this time his reasons for taking such definitive steps had nothing to do with his penchant for taking charge. This time he was deliberately planning their future in order to make it feel real, close at hand.
She only prayed that it was.
* * *
30
Friday, April 28
9.33 a.m
The limo rolled down East Seventy-eighth Street.
"You two all set?" Special Agent Atkins inquired from beneath the rim of his chauffeur's cap.
"All set," Zach assured him.
"As set as we'll ever be," Victoria qualified dryly.
"Yeah, well, that's as good as it gets," Atkins retorted. He gave them a once-over in his rearview mirror, his terse nod telling them he believed they were ready. "We're on." He veered the limo into the driveway that led below the Hope Institute, easing around the underground curves.
Zach squeezed Victoria's fingers, then released them, dropping his hands, into his lap and adopting a dazed expression as he stared off into space.
The moment of truth had arrived.
Victoria stole a quick glance at Zach and, despite her apprehension, had to suppress a smile at how un-Zach-like he looked. David Karr's suit and tie screamed "pocket-protector," as did the well-worn briefcase he kept appended to his leg. His hair was cut short, black tinged with gray, and slicked close to his head. His coloring was sallow, the area around his eyes puffy, and his nose was pencil-thin, as were his eyebrows. Every so often he'd sniff, glance around like a scared rabbit, then rub his palms over his trouser legs and resume staring off into space.
With a deep breath, Victoria assumed the role of Catherine Hughes. She tugged her navy blazer over her buxom figure and adjusted her stylish wire-rimmed glasses on her nose. She'd memorized her alter ego's features, and she knew without looking that she appeared to be a forty-year-old woman, complete with a few telltale lines attesting to that fact—lines that had been added by the FBI makeup artist and that were deliberately visible through Catherine Hughes's smooth layer of powder and foundation. Her fine blond hair was worn in a blunt-cut chin-length style meant to flatter a woman nearing middle age. Her lips were set in a forceful line, and her jaw was tight, assertive, as if she were ready to deliver a killer closing argument. Poised, self-assured, Ms. Hughes was every inch the corporate attorney, a veritable force to be reckoned with.
The limo slowed, and Victoria snapped into action. She collected her Coach leather briefcase, waiting only until Atkins came to a stop before she threw open the door and climbed out. She was already on her feet and in motion by the time the FBI agent scrambled out of the limo. She strode around the back of the car, coming to a halt when she reached the right rear door through which Zach would soon exit.
The double doors of the Institute flew open, and Miss Evans hurried out, accompanied by Gloria Rivers, who pushed an empty wheelchair down the ramp.
"Ms. Hughes?" the pit pull inquired, displaying a smile Victoria would have sworn she couldn't crack. "Welcome to the Hope Institute."
"Thank you." Victoria's tone and expression were cordial, but impersonal. "I assume you're Miss Evans."
"Yes. And this is Miss Rivers, our head nurse." The receptionist gestured in her direction, and Victoria gave the head nurse a curt nod.
"A pleasure," Gloria Rivers responded.
Miss Evans shot an inquisitive glance at the limo. "Shall we assist Mr. Karr?"
"He'd prefer that his driver and I do that. Martin?" Victoria signaled to Atkins, who hurried around and opened the back door.
Zach sat perfectly still, giving no indication he was aware anyone was watching him or that his door was ajar. He continued staring straight ahead.
"Mr. Karr" Victoria said calmly. "We're here." She walked over, gripped the wheelchair, and maneuvered it over to the limo. "Martin and I will help you." A purposeful nod at the burly FBI agent.
Atkins leaned into the car. "It's me, Mr. Karr. Martin. I'll get you settled."
Zach inclined his head just enough to eye his driver spec-ulatively. "Martin . . ." An anxious sniff. "Okay, it is you. That's all right then." He allowed Atkins to assist him out of the car and into the wheelchair—but not before snatching up his briefcase first. He clutched the case tightly to his chest with both hands, staring ahead with that same dazed expression.
Victoria took over behind the wheelchair, gesturing for Martin to get the bags while she wheeled her client in. "Miss Rivers, would you mind taking my briefcase?" she asked, handing Gloria the Coach attache as she spoke. "I'll need it inside. Don't bother with Mr. Karr's. He keeps it with him at all times."
"Certainly." Gloria Rivers cleared her throat. "Wouldn't you rather I pushed the—"
"No. Until he feels comfortable, Mr. Karr would prefer that I be the one to assist him."
"I understand. With regard to the luggage, though, your driver needn't go to any trouble. Our attendants will take Mr. Karr's bags to his room."
"Martin will do that."
This time Gloria balked. "But—"
"Mr. Karr doesn't like strangers handling his possessions. Martin will see to the bags."
"Very well." Gloria gave a nervous cough. "But someone from security will have to accompany him. No unauthorized outsiders are allowed in the Institute. I hope you understand. We're very protective of our patients and their privacy."
"That's the very reason we selected your clinic for Mr. Karr's recovery. Martin," Victoria instructed, pivoting to face Atkins, "a staff member will escort you to Mr. Karr's room. Please deliver his luggage, then wait for me in the limo."
"No problem, Ms. Hughes."
That having been dealt with, Victoria pushed Zach up the ramp, Miss Rivers at her heels.
Miss Evans zipped on ahead. Waiting only until Martin had joined the group, bags in hand, she whipped out a pale yellow key card—the same color as the hospital gown Audrey had been wearing when she collapsed at Victoria's feet—and slipped it into a slot beside the double doors.
The doors swung open.
They made their way down a short corridor to a carpeted elevator that was waiting for them. Miss Evans gestured for everyone to precede her. Then she punched the button marked 1, and the door slid closed, sending the elevator gliding noiselessly up to the main floor.
With a muted ding, the elevator stopped and opened.
At last, Victoria thought, wheeling Zach out with a wave of relief. They were inside the Hope Institute.
Directly in front of them was a partition wall, with specially operated glass doors on either side. Beyond those doors, Victoria could see the reception area she remembered only too well. Obviously, the underground elevator bypassed the only section of the Institute that was even remotely accessible to outsiders and deposited them directly in the main hallway that led to the Hope Institute's private sanctuary.
"I'll leave you in Miss Rivers's capable hands," Miss Evans announced. "I must get back to my desk. But first. .." She walked over to the wall and pressed a buzzer. "I'll wait here with Mr. Karr's chauffeur. Someone from security will be here in a minute to show him to Mr. Karr's room."
Atkins nodded, standing aside with the bags.
"This way," Miss Rivers instructed Victoria, turning on her heel and heading away from the elevator.
Victoria swerved Zach's wheelchair around and followed.
The clinic was immaculate, its walls papered in a soothing peach and yellow print, its white floor tiles so shiny you could see your own reflection in them. After walking down a brief center hallway, Victoria spotted on their left a cluster of rooms that appeared to be offices and conference suites. Farther down, and set a respectable distance apart, were a half-dozen impressive oak-rimmed doors—three on either side of the hall. Patients' rooms, Victoria surmised. She could see a few uniformed staff members clustered outside one of them,
reviewing a file.
Zach didn't react at all. Slouched in the wheelchair, he continued to stare ahead, vacant and glassy-eyed, as if totally detached from his surroundings.
"Right in here." Miss Rivers unlocked the door to the second conference suite and held it so Victoria could wheel Zach in.
The head nurse was just about to shut the door behind them when Beatrice Groves stepped into the room, an apologetic look on her face. "Excuse me, Miss Rivers, but may I see you when you're finished here? We only received Mr. Karr's preliminary file, and I want to make sure the nurses have all the information necessary to make his stay a happy—"
"Mother?" Zach interrupted, jerking upright. "Mother!" His voice echoed with incredulous wonder. He bolted from the chair, making his way over to Beatrice. He circled her, his eyes wide, his breathing shallow and uneven. "It is you... Mother ..." Dropping his case, he embraced her.
Victoria acted instantly, ignoring Gloria Rivers's startled expression and Beatrice Groves's sharp intake of breath to hurry over to her client. "It's all right, Mr. Karr," she reassured him, easing him away from Beatrice. She took time to study the woman, though, and a hint of amazement dawned in her eyes. "Astonishing. What's your name?"
"Beatrice Groves." The elderly nurse still looked taken aback. But she exercised great self-control, years of training having prepared her to remain composed when confronted with incidents such as this. Which was, of course, exactly the way she'd been instructed to act by Meyer. "I'm a senior member of the Institute's nursing staff."
Zach shook his head emphatically. "No. You're—"
"I know," Victoria soothed him.
Beatrice blinked, schooling her features and giving Zach a friendly smile. "Hello," she said, making sure not to agitate Mr. Karr further by denying his claim.
"Her resemblance to Mr. Karr's mother is truly remarkable," Victoria murmured, still inspecting Beatrice.
"It's not a resemblance. My mother's here," Zach announced, clearly agitated by the contradiction. "This is just what I need to get well. She'll take care of me. She always has. Ms. Hughes, you can go."
"That's fine, Mr. Karr," Victoria agreed. "I'll sign the necessary papers. Then I'll go."
"Papers are a good idea. Draft one that says only my mother can take care of me. I don't want doctors or any of these other people at the Institute involved. I don't know them, and I don't want them near me."
"I'll see what I can do. Why don't you sit down and let me talk to her."
"That nurse who brought us in here doesn't believe me," Zach declared angrily, bending over to grab his briefcase. "She thinks I'm crazy. Well, I'm not. Just exhausted. And edgy. But I'm not crazy." He stalked over to a chair, flung down his briefcase. Flipping open the top, he rummaged through the contents. "I'll find the picture of my mother. I still carry it. You'll show it to the nurse."
"I will, Mr. Karr. If you'd make yourself comfortable—"
"What's Mr. Karr's first name?" Beatrice asked Victoria in a subdued tone.
"David."
"David?" Beatrice called, looking directly at Zach. "Why don't you give me the picture and then have a seat at the table. Ms. Hughes and I will work things out."
That seemed to curb his rapidly escalating distress. "I knew you would." He walked over and handed Beatrice a photo, hovering there for a moment.
"Sit down, David, and relax," she instructed gently.
He obeyed, leaving her side with great reluctance, inching his way to the conference table, but never taking his gaze off the woman he thought to be his mother. He pulled back a chair, lowered himself into it, facing Beatrice as if he feared she might vanish in an instant. Fidgeting anxiously, he took out a pen and began fiddling with it, watching the three women talk and waiting for a signal that everyone believed him and that his mother would be allowed to assume her maternal role in his life.
Victoria angled herself toward Beatrice so that her face was averted from David Karr's. "Thank you, Miss Groves," she murmured, her appreciation entirely genuine. Let the truth be known, she was relieved as hell by the elderly nurse's convincing performance. These first few moments between Zach and Beatrice had been among the FBI's biggest worries. Could she or could she not play her part without giving them away? Clearly, she could. Whether it was professional pride or relief that reinforcements had arrived, Victoria didn't care. It eliminated one big chunk of her worry.
"If you look at that photo, you'll see why Mr. Karr is so vehement in his belief," she continued, pointing at the touched-up snapshot of Beatrice. "The resemblance is uncanny."
Beatrice's eyes flickered to the photograph, then widened in surprise. "Oh, my."
Peering over the older nurse's shoulder, Gloria Rivers sucked in her breath. "My goodness. It could be Beatrice's sister. That's Mr, Karr's mother?"
Victoria nodded. "She passed away years ago," she added in an undertone. "Mr. Karr was very devoted to her. Since he became ill, he insists on carrying her picture around at all times. He seems to believe she's still among us. The doctors say it's a defense mechanism. It gives him a sense of security to have his mother close by during this trying time." A thoughtful glance at Beatrice. "If he actually thinks you're she"—Victoria pursed her lips—"it might ease his transition to the Institute."
She mulled that over for a minute, then abruptly came to a decision. "Miss Rivers, I'd like Miss Groves to assume sole responsibility for Mr. Karr's care. I'll agree on Mr. Karr's behalf to compensate the Institute handsomely for the inconvenience, of course, as well as giving a personal check to Miss Groves for her extra efforts."
Gloria Rivers frowned. "Our nurses aren't allowed to accept personal payments of any kind. As for the Institute, this request is highly irregular. What level of compensation did you have in mind?"
"I realize that you'll have to hire a temporary nurse to take care of Miss Groves's current patients. How about twenty-five thousand dollars for your out-of-pocket expenses and ten thousand dollars per week to cover the additional payroll costs? And that's on top of the quarter of a million dollar monthly fee Mr. Karr is already paying."
Victoria could swear Gloria Rivers was going to jump up and down. "That's very generous," she replied calmly, and Victoria gave her high marks for self-restraint. "I'm sure something can be worked out—if Miss Groves is amenable." She shot a questioning look at Beatrice, and Victoria almost laughed aloud at the pretense. If Beatrice said no, she'd probably be fired on the spot.
"I'd be delighted to help Mr. Karr," Beatrice assured her. "And I'd never think of accepting payment, with or without Institute policy. I'm a nurse. Helping patients is my job."
"Then it's settled," Victoria pronounced. She slanted a sideways look at the conference table, where Zach was becoming increasingly more agitated, rubbing his sweaty palms against his trousers, his breathing quick, erratic. "I'll tell Mr. Karr. It will calm him down."
"There will, of course, have to be certain stipulations ..." Miss Rivers added swiftly.
"No stipulations." Victoria shot that down at once. Seeing the head nurse's displeasure, she faced her, her own eyes narrowed determinedly. "Miss Rivers, I'll be blunt. Mr. Karr doesn't require anywhere near the degree of care the Hope Institute can provide. He chose your clinic for its location, its reputation, and its privacy. He's paying an exorbitant amount to stay here. What stipulations could there be? He's not allowed medication, he's had more than enough hours of psychotherapy, and he's seen the finest doctors in the country, all of whom diagnosed his condition the same way: chronic adjustment disorder brought on by stress. The cure? A change of scene, some R and R. Surely an experienced nurse like Miss Groves can provide that."
"Of course she can." Gloria Rivers gave an uneasy nod. "It's just that, as I said, this is highly irregular. In fact, it's never been done."
"Mother?" Zach called out, loosening his tie and rubbing the back of his neck. "I'm dizzy. And I'm hot."
"I'll get you a cool cloth," Beatrice replied.
He looked panick
ed. "You'll come right back?"
"Absolutely." Beatrice glanced at Miss Rivers. "I'll just be a minute. In the meantime, you and Ms. Hughes can work out the details."
Gloria nodded, watched Beatrice leave. Clearly, she was torn by indecision.
"I think we're finished working things out," Victoria stated. "Am I right, Miss Rivers?"
A peevish stare. "I'm in an uncomfortable position, Ms. Hughes," she said in a quiet undertone. "I don't set administrative policy. And, as I said, this is a first."
"There are always firsts." Victoria lowered her voice as well, but her adamant tone and rigid stance were clear indications that there would be no compromise in her demands. "So why don't you give me whatever admission papers I need to sign. I'll look them over and review them with Mr. Karr. Miss Groves can stay here with us to keep Mr. Karr calm. Go find your decision makers. Tell them that, if they want Mr. Karr's money—including the additional amounts we just discussed—they'd best sign an agreement assuring us that Miss Groves will be Mr. Karr's sole caretaker. Rearrange her shifts, do whatever you have to do. Let her sleep on a cot outside his room, if need be—at least for the first couple of weeks, until he's comfortable with the rest of the staff. After that, we'll revisit the situation and talk about who's suitable to relieve Miss Groves. But up to that point, she's it. Is that acceptable? Or do you want a hysterical patient on your hands—one who'll walk right out that door if he's refused?"
"Walk out?" Miss Rivers gasped. "But I understood Mr. Karr specifically chose our Institute—"
"He did. But that was before he believed his mother was here and you were keeping him from her. He's in a very unsettled state, Miss Rivers. Strangers upset him. Look how anxious he's become just from the few he's encountered today. I'm no doctor, but it seems to me he's found the perfect life preserver to cling to—his mother. If you deny him that, or worse, tell him Miss Groves isn't who he thinks she is, I think he'd walk out of here in one of your New York minutes."