"Neither. Well, actually it's a personal problem, but not mine. At least, not direcdy. Only inasmuch as I care about you."
"You've lost me."
Meg put down her fork, abandoning the onion rings altogether. "Victoria, you're going through a difficult time. I hate to add to it, but this is something you're going to find out about anyway. You already would have, if you'd had time to read today's paper. But since you didn't—I'd rather you hear the news from me."
Having just taken her first few bites of food, Victoria paused, chewing slowly. Megan sounded solemn, almost worried, a mood that was unusual for her high-spirited friend. Meg was the one who was always preaching to her to take life less seriously and not to carry the world and all its burdens around on her shoulders. Yet here she was, her pix-ielike features drawn, her invariably upturned mouth unsmiling.
Whatever this news of hers was, it was serious.
"Just tell me," Victoria urged. "What is it?"
Her friend stopped mincing words. "Zach's in New York." She opened her purse, unfolded a newspaper clipping, and shoved it across the table for Victoria to see. "He's the keynote speaker at'that SCIP conference being held in New York the week after next."
Automatically, Victoria's gaze went to the headline: "Zachary Hamilton to make keynote presentation on Thursday, April 27, at the annual conference of the Society of Competitive Intelligence Professionals." It went on to list Zach's credentials: president and CEO of Hamilton Enterprises, Inc., one of the world's foremost competitive intelligence companies, with a long list of clients from the Fortune 100. Education: LL.D. from Harvard; joint M.B.A. and M.S. in electrical engineering from MIT; B.S. in electrical engineering with a minor in industrial psychology from MIT.
The article announced that Hamilton had arrived in Manhattan on Thursday evening after a prolonged assignment in Europe. It concluded by proudly declaring that this appearance at SCIP marked his first formal speaking engagement in several years, and his first trip back to the United States in as long a time.
Beside the article was Zach's picture.
That's what got her.
It wasn't the bio. She knew it by memory and, besides, it was only a bunch of fundamental facts. It was seeing Zach's face, even blurred by poor newspaper quality, that twisted a knife in her heart.
Victoria inhaled sharply, staring at the picture. For a timeless minute she battled a drowning sensation as a deluge of memories washed over her in great untamed waves.
Then she pushed away the clipping. "It had to happen sometime," she noted, keeping her tone as light as possible. "He couldn't stay away forever. Besides, I don't think we need to worry. New York is a very big place. I doubt he and I will run into each other. He's here for the conference. In a few weeks, I'm sure he'll be jetting off somewhere else. That's Zach."
Megan tucked a strand of honey-brown hair behind her ear. She wasn't fooled for a minute by her friend's show of bravado, but she knew Victoria better than to push. "You're okay, then?"
"I'm fine. Thanks for worrying about me, and for telling me. But I can handle it."
"Can you?"
"Yes. It's been four years."
"I know. But you're still not over him."
Victoria stared at her burger, wondering how she could possibly swallow past the lump in her throat. "That chapter, of my life has long since been closed."
"Really?" Megan took one forbidden step. "Is that why you've had six dates and zero relationships in four years?"
Shutters descended over Victoria's hazel eyes. "You know very well what I do with my nights. I work. First, I worked to establish a name, then I worked to get enough clients so I could go out on my own with you and Paul. Now, I—"
"Work to forget Zach."
Silence fell between them, made more pronounced by the boisterous conversations and clatter of dishes taking place around them.
It seemed everyone else was celebrating the pleasures of Saturday night.
"Meg, can we drop this subject?" Victoria asked tightly. "I know you mean well, but I'm not up for an interrogation on my social life tonight. In fact, I'm not up for any more heavy discussions at all. Let's just eat, drink, and gossip, like everyone else."
"All right." Meg took the cue, realizing she'd pushed her friend as far as she cared to be pushed. With one of her more customary grins, she handed Victoria the bottle of ketchup. "Start by drowning those fries. Then we'll order a few more glasses of wine each and do some serious damage to our images and our waistlines."
Victoria couldn't help but grin back. "That sounds perfect. Damage it is."
She coated her fries with a healthy blanket of ketchup, determined to give her overtaxed mind a break. No more fixating, not tonight. Not on Audrey. And certainly not on Zach Hamilton.
* * *
Downtown, in the FBI's deserted field office at 26 Federal Plaza, Zachary Hamilton leaned back in his chair, skimming the materials he'd been handed.
"Is this everything?" he asked Special Agent Meyer.
"Everything we've got. What comes next is up to you." Meyer propped his elbows on the desk, intently regarding the tall, powerfully built, dark-haired man who was seated across from him. He'd worked with Hamilton before. The man was as cool as they came, and smart as a whip. Oh, Meyer was pretty sure he had his own agenda—he'd read enough about Hamilton's background to know that, and to suspect what that agenda was. But whatever his personal objectives, they did nothing to compromise his work for the Bureau. He was good. Damned good. And in delicate situations like this one, Zachary Hamilton was exactly what they needed.
"I have some initial surveillance tapes," Meyer added, running a hand over his receding hairline. "They should be delivered here by Monday. I'll send copies to your hotel suite right away."
"Good." Hamilton rose, slipping the files into his expensive leather briefcase, then snapping it shut and locking it. "In the meantime, I'll read this thoroughly and come up with a preliminary approach before the tapes arrive. That way I'll be able to assess the data and develop a comprehensive perspective on what we're dealing with. From there, I'll make a final decision on how best to proceed."
"Okay." Meyer came to his feet as well. "Thanks for coming by. Sorry to drag you out on a Saturday night. But this couldn't wait."
"Not a problem." Zach shrugged. "At least not for me. I didn't have any plans. But you—" A quizzical look. "You have a wife and two kids, if I remember right."
Meyer's tough features softened. "Yeah, you remember right. Two boys. Nine and eleven. Their mom rented a movie for the four of us to watch together tonight. If I know her, the popcorn's probably already in the microwave and my dinner's next to it, ready to be reheated." He patted the slight paunch he was beginning to acquire.
"You'd better get home then."
"I'll be heading out just as soon as I clear off my desk. Fifteen minutes, tops." Meyer stuck out his hand, gripped Hamilton's in a firm clasp. "Until Monday. And, Hamilton— welcome back to New York."
Zach's expression never changed. "Thanks. It's been a long time."
* * *
5
Four years. That's how long it had been since they'd seen each other, how long since they'd shouted their good-byes and forever slammed the door on what they'd had.
Victoria threw back the blanket and perched at the edge of her bed, raking both hands through her tangled mass of hair. She didn't need to consult the clock to know it was after three. She was exhausted from tossing and turning, alternately worrying about Audrey and thinking about Zach.
She wondered where he was staying. Probably the Plaza Athénée. It was a particular favorite of his, combining Europe's old-world charm with the pace and flavor of New York. The accommodations were well equipped and spacious, the staff always certain to provide the privacy his work required. As for the elegance and the posh surroundings, those he enjoyed the same way he enjoyed a fine bottle of wine—quietly and with the casual appreciation of one accustomed to the finer things in life.
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Although, as he had often teased her, it was she who was born to the Plaza Athénée, not he. Until Hamilton Enterprises took off, his idea of a luxury hotel was one of Boston's local bed-and-breakfasts.
Their first night together had been at the Plaza Athenee.
Victoria could still recall each detail: her favorite flowers, yellow roses, placed on every table and in the marble bathroom; their mutually craved and often shared late-night snack—a bottle of Franciscan Oakville Estate cabernet sauvignon and a huge platter of chocolate hazelnut bis-cotti—set up on the dining table along with a stuffed Jack Russell terrier named Jackson, a proxy for the real thing she'd always wanted but wouldn't permit herself until her fledgling firm could afford a more conducive office—one that allowed her to smuggle a dog into it.
Then there were the other wonders.
The city's thousand twinkling lights stretching out before them like a sea of glittering stars.
The endless hours in bed.
Dammit.
With a pained glance at Jackson, who was perched on her rocking chair, she bolted to her feet, yanking on a robe and flipping on a few lights as she headed for the kitchen. She'd make some camomile tea. Maybe that would help her sleep. If nothing else, it would divert her energy and force her to stop dwelling on something that was long gone.
Ten minutes later, she carried her cup of tea back into the bedroom, sipping at it as she glanced through the pile of unread suspense novels on her night table. Tonight was a good time to begin one of them. She'd read until she nodded off. Tomorrow, she'd give Uncle Jim a call, see if he and Clarissa were free for dinner one night this week. She'd invite them here. She hated to cook, but preparing a meal would give her something to do and would keep her mind focused on tasks rather than emotions. And she could pick their brains about the situation with Audrey. Carefully. Without saying anything too harsh about her father or openly accusing him of anything. She was always respectful of the fact that, different from her or not, her father was her father—and that he and Jim were brothers.
Still, she was determined to know something concrete about Audrey's whereabouts by the time her uncle and aunt came to dinner.
She selected a book and tossed it on the bed. Setting her teacup on the night table, she squirmed out of her robe and draped it across a chair. She turned, reaching for the switch on her reading lamp.
For an instant, her gaze flickered toward the window.
Something moved outside.
She caught the barest hint of motion, captured by the streetlight, but it was enough to alert her to the fact that someone was standing directly across the street from her building.
Whoever it was shifted into the shadows.
He didn't continue on his way or disappear into a building. He just remained as he was, a faint outline in the darkness, standing as still as a sentry manning his post.
Victoria stepped away from the window, telling herself she was being absurd. It was probably someone out for a cigarette.
But who? She knew all her neighbors. None of them went outside at three-thirty in the morning to smoke. Besides, there was no glow of an ember, no flicker of a match. Only the outline of a man. And this particular block didn't hire doormen.
Casually, she inched forward again? peering across the way.
He'd shifted back into her line of vision.
This time he realized he'd been spotted.
In the space of an instant, he vanished.
Victoria felt a shiver of apprehension go up her spine.
True, this was New York. But her building was in a residential area, one that was pretty quiet at this hour of night. The few people that did venture by walked briskly along, headed home. But this person had just been glued to that one spot, staring up at her building as if he were watching something. Or someone.
Victoria had the oddest feeling that that someone was she.
Badly shaken, she climbed into bed. She pulled the covers up high, feeling like a child seeking comfort—a child who'd learned very young to rely on no one but herself to receive it.
Reading had lost its appeal.
Instead, she stared at the ceiling, asking herself why she felt so certain it was she that the man had been watching.
Who was he? Why would he want to watch her? Could he be stalking her? Was this connected in any way with Audrey? Or was she just letting her imagination run wild?
Danger. Audrey's broken gasp echoed in her head.
What had she meant by that?
* * *
Fuzzy images swam into view.
While caps moving about a room that should feel cozy but didn't. A wooden ceiling fan, whirring clockwise, pushing cooling puffs of air on her, face. Quiet voices. Sunlight flickering across the bed, blocked by the white caps, then back again.
She moaned softly, wishing she could summon the strength to get up. There was something she needed to do, although what it was escaped her. Her body felt heavy, her mind too hazy to focus.
"She's waking up."
The brisk voice belonged to one of the white caps.
"So I see." A man. One whose voice was familiar . . . very familiar. . .
That triggered a flicker of memory—something frightening and ugly.
But what?
She shifted her legs ever so slightly, and she winced at the resulting pain.
"Good morning." The cap had a pleasant voice. "How are you feeling?"
"Leg . .. hurts .. ."
"I'm not surprised. It's from all that running. It wasn't good for you. You're too weak."
Running. Central Park. Victoria.
With another moan, she struggled to sit up. "Vic... tor... ia . . ."
"You're becoming agitated again." It was another man's voice—one she didn't recognize. "You can't get well if you're upset."
He was right beside her, fidgeting with a lamp beside her bed. No, not a lamp. A silver pole with a plastic bag hanging from it. A plastic bag that moved when he raised it. Something glistened in his hand, something long and pointed that he rested against the bag for what seemed like forever.
"She's got to eat something solid," the cap murmured.
"She will. When she wakes up again. She'll be calmer next time. Won't you ? " The first man leaned over her.
She didn't answer.
She couldn 't.
* * *
Two sleepless nights and another tension-filled day later, Victoria was at the ragged edge of control.
The mysterious man watching her still hadn't reappeared.
And she'd learned nothing new about Audrey.
She'd spent all day Sunday making phone calls, first to every acquaintance Audrey had known since high school, then to every damned bed-and-breakfast in Florence. Finally, she'd given in to her worst nightmare. She'd called the morgue, her hands shaking violently as she provided them with a description of her sister, then paced and prayed until the attendant returned, assuring her that no one matching Audrey's description had been brought in.
Weak with relief, yet unwilling to rest, Victoria had gone back to Central Park and examined the footpath inch by inch. She didn't find so much as a yellow thread.
Nor did she spot the man who'd been outside her build-ing Saturday night.
By the time Monday morning rolled around, she was half convinced she'd become paranoid.
With an aching head and an intensifying resolve, Victoria left her apartment. She was at Grand Central Station before 6 a.m. and on an express train for Greenwich ten minutes later.
The train arrived at 6:45, and she bought a cup of coffee to kill a few minutes, just to be on the safe side. She wanted to give her father's driver plenty of time to leave Greenwich and get on the road. Then again, not too much time. Should her father question her later—if he found out about her visit—she wanted to be able to claim she'd tried to catch him before he left and had just missed him.
The second part wasn't a He. She would have just missed him—but not by accident.
At 7:05, she caught a cab out to her parents' estate, pulling through the iron gates at 7:15.
Robert opened the door to her knock, the expression on his keen, somewhat lined face showing his surprise at the notion of receiving such an early morning caller. He was even more surprised when he saw who that caller was.
"Miss Victoria." He still addressed her that way. After working for her family since Victoria was in nursery school, it seemed absurd for Robert to switch over to something as formal as Miss Kensington. So, Miss Victoria it stayed.
"Hi, Robert." She gave him a rueful smile. "Sorry to barge in so early."
"Nonsense. Come in." He opened the door the rest of the way, gesturing for her to enter.
She stepped inside, glancing around the tastefully furnished center hallway. "Is my father still home?"
If Robert was surprised by her question, he hid it well.
"You missed him by ten minutes." Robert's forehead furrowed in concern. "Is everything all right?"
"Yes. everything's fine."
Victoria had considered her approach a dozen times since Saturday. True, Robert was loyal to her father. On the other hand, he was also loyal to her—and to Audrey. He'd never let anything hurt either of them. But to involve him in this—without knowing exactly what this was—would be terribly unfair. It would compromise his integrity, placing him smack in the middle between her father and her.
Later, she'd be specific—if she had to be. For now, the less Robert knew, the better.
Still, she wouldn't blatantly lie. Not to Robert. He'd see through it. She had to stick to the truth, but as vague a truth as possible. She had to convey her urgency without divulging the details behind it.
"I badly need some information from my father's files," Victoria explained. "Information I didn't ask him for when we spoke on Saturday." Robert would know about the call. He knew everything that went on in that house.
"What sort of information?"
"It's confidential. But I do need it right away." Victoria met Robert's gaze. In a few swift, definitive motions, she unbuttoned her khaki linen blazer, slipping it off and tossing it over her arm in a gesture that told him she meant to stay. "I'm sure I can find it myself. I'll just need a few minutes alone in Father's office."