Run for Your Life

  Walter raked a hand through his hair. He couldn't argue that point. It was true.

  "You never answered my question," Clarissa reminded him. "Was it Victoria who uncovered all these facts?"

  "No," Walter replied, lying as skillfully as he did in court. "Victoria had nothing to do with this, other than to make me uneasy with the questions she raised. You and I both know it's been several years since I personally handled day-to-day legal work for the Institute. So I asked a discreet, reliable source to check into things for me. I just got my answers this morning. They alarmed me—with good reason, I now see."

  "Really." She shot him a steely glare, her tone as close to threatening as Clarissa used. "Then I suggest you deal with your alarm and your misplaced sense of guilt. Yank Audrey out of the Institute, if that makes you feel better. Believe me, you'd be doing me a favor. She's a constant disruption. As for firsthand, day-to-day dealings with us, you yourself just said it's been some time since you took part in those. Feel free to distance yourself entirely, if it makes your hands feel cleaner. Keep delegating all our work the way you have been. I have no complaints about my current legal counsel. But don't do anything stupid. Any purging of your conscience would be a breach of ethics. You're my attorney. I'm your client. Anything we discuss stays between us."

  "It's a little late to invoke attorney-client privilege. I've been advised that the FBI already knows about the drug smuggling."

  Clarissa went very still. "What?"

  "My source tells me the FBI is about to make arrests." Walter's jaw squared. "I'm not going to prison, for you, Clarissa. Not for actions I knew nothing about. I've got to protect myself—and my law firm. I'll do whatever I can to extricate Waters, Kensington, Tatem and Calder from the firestorm that's about to descend. I've worked my whole life to build what I have—I won't lose it by protecting you and your criminal acts." Staunch determination glittered in his eyes. "It's true I represented you in purchasing the Hope Institute. I drafted your legal papers—all of them. I built the best damned legal fortress around your precious clinic. I even looked the other way about your patent-pending drugs. But that's all I did."

  "Other than making yourself and your firm a fortune in the process," Clarissa threw back at him. "The trust and estate work alone earned you millions."

  "Fine. I'll readily admit that, too. But nothing more." He turned, retraced his steps to the door. "As for the attorney I assigned to handle things for you, I intend to speak to him today. In the meantime, I suggest you find yourself a good criminal defense attorney."

  * * *

  Clarissa stared after him, listening as the door slammed and the elevator began its descent.

  Behind her, the bedroom door swung open and a bare-chested man stepped out, "That was pretty intense."

  "He's on his way to speak with you." She whirled around. "How did the FBI find out—"

  "They didn't." He held up his cell phone. "I just heard from Leaman. He's across the street, just outside the park. You'll never guess who's there, pacing up and down Fifth Avenue and casting furtive glances at the apartment."

  "Victoria?"

  "None other. Leaman lost her for a while, right outside Waters, Kensington, Tatem and Calder, where it seems she made an early-morning stop. When she zipped out of there and jumped into a cab, he had a hunch she might be on her way here. He was right. So you tell me, where did Walter Kensington get his information? From his daughter. A daughter he's protecting. And a daughter whom we've had followed and whose phones we've had tapped for the past two weeks. Had Victoria visited or spoken with the FBI, we'd be the first to know. It's a bluff, Regardless, we can't leave things as they are. The Institute will have to be cleaned up—at least until this potential fiasco dies down."

  "Cleaned up?" Clarissa repeated in appalled disbelief. "You mean, destroy the medications?"

  "Just the current supply," he clarified swiftly. "We only have to look squeaky clean for a while, in case Victoria does go to the authorities. It's just a precaution—but a necessary one, in light of the previous visit the feds paid to the Hope Institute. We'll dispose of the drugs, the urns, the tapes— everything that might incriminate the Institute. Then Victoria can make as much noise as she wants to. There'll be no evidence. She and the authorities will be forced to let it go. After which, it's business as usual."

  Clarissa gave a reluctant nod. "I suppose that's our only option. But I'll want a new shipment as soon as possible."

  "You'll have it." Preoccupied with the current situation, he frowned. "No matter how fast our maintenance staff works, it will take a couple of days to clean up the whole Institute. In the meantime, Victoria can't be trusted to leave things alone. And obviously, neither can her father." He walked over to the window, shifted the curtain, and peered out. "Leaman's going to keep me posted. I'll wait till he tells me Victoria's left. Then I'll get her alone and put out the fire."

  Clarissa leveled a wary stare at her lover. "Put out the fire—how?"

  He smiled, walking over and putting his arms around her. "Nothing dramatic. I'm hardly the Clint Eastwood type. I'll just find an effective way to sidetrack Victoria until our cleanup is over. As for her father, he trusts me. I'll win him over. Relax, darling. I'm very convincing when I want to be." He lowered his head and nuzzled the side of her neck. "You, of all people should know that"

  "I do". She held herself back. She still wasn't certain, and she intended to be, before she let herself sink into his sexual spell. "That accident Walter was talking about—I'm assuming it was a drunk driver who ran Victoria off the road."

  "Um-hum." His fingers slipped inside her robe, cupped her breasts.

  "I'm not being coy. I'm asking you a question."

  "And I'm answering it." He unbelted the robe and let it slip to the floor, walking her backward until she was pressed up against the wall. He pinned her there as he unzipped his pants and wedged his thighs between hers. "I had nothing to do with Victoria's accident. I was still at the party, watching you, and wishing I could do this."

  In one fierce, uncompromising motion, he entered her.

  * * *

  33

  Victoria had made her decision.

  She was going to confront her uncle, and he was going to explain this nightmare away. To hell with being rational. She refused to believe that Jim Kensington, the wonderful, honorable man who dedicated his life to helping others and who'd been the closest thing to a confidante she ever had, was the CEO of the Hope Institute. There had to be another explanation.

  She waited until her father had jumped into a taxi and sped away. Then she marched across the street and up to Leonard.

  "Your father left, Miss Kensington."

  "I saw. I want to speak with my uncle. Please call up and tell him I'm on my way."

  Leonard frowned. "Dr. Kensington's at his office. He won't be back until after two."

  She stared Leonard down. He wasn't going to deter her—not this time. "He can't be at his office. I've been standing across the street all this time watching the apartment. I never saw him leave."

  "He left at seven-thirty. That was before you got here the first time."

  "But you told me my father went up to see Dr. Kensing ..." Victoria broke off, awareness exploding in her head like fireworks.

  Dr. Kensington . .. Clarissa?

  My God, that had never occurred to her. Not in this case. Normally, she always clarified which Dr. Kensington Leonard was referring to. But in connection with her father? Never. He scarcely acknowledged his brother's wife, other than to exchange niceties at family gatherings. She was an accepted appendage to a brother with whom he already had a strained relationship—a relationship that had become even more strained when Clarissa joined the family. As it was, Jim almost always took Victoria's side. Once Clarissa was added to the balance, Walter's hold on his daughter became even more tenuous.

  The thought of Clarissa and her father doing business together was crazy . ..

  "Miss Kensington?" Leonard
asked anxiously. "Are you all right?"

  She forced herself to focus. "Leonard, when you said my father demanded to see Dr. Kensington, did you mean my aunt?"

  The doorman became totally flustered. "I thought you knew that. Yes, it was your aunt he insisted on seeing. But please, Miss Kensington, don't jump to conclusions," he begged, shaken by Victoria's mortified expression. "It really was about business. Your father isn't involved with Dr. Kensington. I know that for a fact." He mopped his brow, frantically searching for a way to console her.

  The irony of Leonard's claim made her insides clench. "I wish you were right," she managed in a tight, bitter voice.

  Her tangible distress seemed to push him over the edge. "I promise you, there's nothing going on between them," he blurted, divulging a truth he assumed would be far less unpalatable than the one she was contemplating. "Your father almost never comes by here unless your uncle's home, and when he does, he only stays a few minutes. It's that other, younger fellow Dr. Kensington's having a fling with—the one who's been upstairs with her since before your father got here."

  All the noise in Victoria's head converged into a pinpoint of silence. "What younger fellow?"

  * * *

  She was on overdrive when she left her aunt and uncle's apartment. Automatically, she crossed the street and walked down to the park entrance. True, she wasn't dressed for a run. But a walk would do her a world of good. She needed to clear her head and plan her strategy.

  She went straight to her familiar path and strode briskly around the reservoir, the events of the past few hours darting around in her head like stray bullets.

  Especially Leonard's revelations.

  He hadn't been happy about divulging the information, not about Clarissa Kensington. But once Victoria explained that her focus wasn't on her aunt's sexual indiscretions, but on something bigger, something criminal and dangerous that might impact her aunt, he relented, willingly telling Victoria what she wanted to know.

  She was well aware she'd misled him into thinking he was helping Clarissa rather than incriminating her. But whatever guilt that realization elicited was minimal, compared to the urgency of getting at the truth.

  Well, now she had that truth.

  The question was, what was she going to do about it?

  From a legal perspective, Clarissa's role as the Hope Institute CEO was, in itself, still speculation. Victoria had nothing to go on but circumstantial evidence: her father's urgent trip to the penthouse and the telling reference he'd made to Leonard about the business matter he and Dr. Kensington were involved in that was about to blow up.

  On the other hand, combined with the rest of what Leonard had told her—the affair Clarissa was having, the detailed, incriminating description of her lover, the snatches of conversation he could recall the two of them having—it should be enough for Meyer to bring them in for questioning. After which, the FBI could quickly find the proof they needed. Search warrants would be issued. Her father's records and those of the Hope Institute would be confiscated.

  So would those of that other slimy bastard. And his records would probably be the most telling of all.

  Victoria's fists clenched at her sides. She should have realized another lawyer at Waters, Kensington, Tatem & Calder had picked up where her father had left off, taking over the Institute's legal affairs. It explained her father's shock that the drugs the Institute was administering weren't really proprietary combinations developed in-house. It also explained his shock at finding out how the Institute was committing fraud, collecting money from relatives who believed their loved ones were still alive. And it explained why her reference to the FBI seemed to come at him out of left field. If Miss Evans had called Waters, Kensington, Tatem & Calder to alert them to the FBI's unsettling preliminary visit, that call had obviously been routed to a different desk.

  Walter Kensington was uninformed and, at least currently, uninvolved. There were too many holes, too many things he didn't know that he should have—i/he were the Institute's active legal counsel.

  No, he definitely wasn't pulling the strings.

  That didn't diminish his culpability. Not with his signature on every document.

  In short, he was being shafted, big-time.

  Did he know about Clarissa's lover? Did he know who he was, how deeply involved he was with her criminal activities, how profoundly his guilt impacted Waters, Kensington, Tatem & Calder?

  If not, he was about to.

  It was up to her to open her father's eyes. That, if nothing else, would convince him to turn over what he had and help the feds. It would mobilize the damage control he'd be desperate to provide for his law firm. And as a result, it would

  soften his punishment and accelerate the FBI's investigation by leaps and bounds.

  She had to go that route. First her father. Then the FBI. For his sake, and for hers. The more concrete evidence she had, the stronger the FBI's case would be.

  She made her way to the park's East Seventy-ninth Street exit.

  Her apartment was just a few blocks away. She'd go there and see if, by some chance, her father had called. If not, she'd call him. The deadline had changed. Everything had changed. She'd give him one shot, hoping he'd believe her and fill in all the missing pieces. But even if he refused, her next step was to call Meyer and tell him everything. Confirmation or not, the FBI had to charge into the Hope Institute and make arrests—now, before Clarissa reacted to what she'd been confronted with.

  Victoria reached her building, glancing around as she climbed the steps. Abruptly, she recalled Zach's advice to stay close to the hotel and away from places that would make her a walking target for Mr. Cigar. Taking a jaunt around Central Park had been a pretty stupid idea. Still, he wouldn't think to look for her there. She hadn't taken her morning run since he started following her. Having lost her in a taxi heading north on Park, he'd probably check out her office, Zach's hotel...

  And her apartment.

  Her fingers trembled a little as she groped for her keys, forcing herself not to turn and scrutinize the area. Okay, fine. He might be out here, waiting to see if she came by. It was up to her to make it look as if she were stopping home for a change of clothes before returning to her love nest. As for the phone calls she'd make in the process, he and his audio friend would never know about them. She'd use her secure cell phone.

  Feigning composure, she let herself in, heaving a huge sigh of relief when she was up the stairs and inside her apartment, the door locked behind her.

  She went straight to the answering machine. Nothing yet. Then again, her father had a lot to digest. He was probably back at his desk, trying to decide the best way to handle things so he and his law firm would be protected.

  Well, she was about to influence his decision.

  She opened her purse, yanked out her cell phone, and began punching in the number as she headed for the living room sofa.

  "Hang up. Now."

  Victoria froze, her finger on the fourth digit of her father's private line. Reflexively, she turned, her eyes widening as she saw the gun aimed at her head. Without a word, she pressed End and lowered her arm to her side.

  "Good. Now put the phone on the end table—the one next to you."

  She complied. By that time, her shock had diminished, and she leveled a cool, appraising stare at her assailant. "Do they teach breaking and entering at Harvard?"

  Ian's smile was as flawless as ever. "Some skills you learn outside the classroom."

  "And the gun?"

  "That's for protection. Besides, I don't plan on using it. I won't need to. Not that it isn't loaded—it is. But, in this case, it's just a little motivation to keep your attention while 1 explain what's at stake. Once you understand the options, I can put the gun away."

  "Cocky as ever. Tell me, how did you know where I was?"

  "Leaman. He's like Santa Claus. He always knows where you are."

  "Leaman." Victoria arched a brow. "Ah, Mr. Cigar has a name."

>   Ian chuckled. "I'm sure he has several. Leaman's the only one he's shared with me. We don't exactly travel in the same social circles. In any case, you thought you lost him, but he's pretty effective. He caught up with you outside your aunt's apartment. As luck would have it, he also heard bits and pieces of both your chats with Leonard. It was enough to make me realize you knew about Clarissa and me. So when you went on your stroll through the park, I hung around. I had a feeling you'd be stopping by to give your father a call. Leaman confirmed you were headed in this direction. I just beat you here."

  Victoria thought about that, grimly dismissing the notion that help would be forthcoming. Even if Atkins was nearby and had seen Ian go into her building, it wouldn't raise any red flags. Ian looked like a walking ad for Brooks Brothers. Hardly a threat.

  So she was on her own.

  Fine. First, she had to find out just what Ian thought she knew, and how much of it was accurate.

  "You made your point," she acknowledged, wishing he'd put down the damned gun. "I'm all ears. Tell me where things stand and what my options are."

  He gestured toward the living room. "To begin with, I want you far away from the door and the phone. Let's have a seat on the sofa. There's no reason we can't be comfortable while we talk. We'll be leaving soon enough." A quick glance around. "You have a charming place here."

  "Glad you approve." She shot a sideways look at the end table and the cell phone lying on it. Talk about a double-edged sword. She needed that phone, especially since Ian obviously planned on moving her somewhere. On the other hand, she couldn't take it. And not only because Ian would stop her, but also because she'd couldn't risk him finding out it wasn't her regular cell. If he did, the entire plot she, Zach, and the FBI had concocted would be at risk, and Zach would be in the Hope Institute without a lifeline.