The elevator stopped. The doors slid open.
"It's this way," Harper said, pointing.
"Thanks." Victoria walked ahead of him, counting the numbers above the doors until she reached her goal.
She peeked through the glass pane on Room 214's door. Beatrice and Zach were both inside.
They were sitting near the windows, eating lunch at a small round table. Beatrice was smiling and chatting, and Zach—or rather, David Karr—was staring broodingly into his food, pushing it around as if he were angry with it.
Victoria took advantage of the few seconds of impulse time she had to act.
Even as she heard Harper's "Remember, no one's allowed ..." she pushed open the door, and poked her head in the room.
"Excuse me, are you Miss Groves?" she blurted out before Beatrice could look up, much less react. "If so, may I speak with you for a moment? I'm Audrey Kensington's sister."
"Hey." Harper grabbed her arm and yanked her away from the door. "I told you not to go in there. Sorry, Miss Groves," he apologized, glaring at Victoria. "This visitor has trouble following instructions."
"That's all right." Beatrice rose, Victoria's diversionary tactics having given her ample time to compose herself. "Audrey's sister, did you say?" She headed toward the door, a questioning look on her face.
"She's very pretty," David Karr commented, inclining his head in their direction. "Who is she, Mother? And who's she visiting?"
Beatrice paused. "Her name is Ms. Kensington. She's visiting her sister."
"Then why is she in my room?"
"To talk to me. Only for a minute," Beatrice added hastily. "I'll be right back to finish our lunch."
David Karr frowned. "Why does she want to talk just to you? Did Miss Rivers tell her I'm crazy? Because I'm not. The doctors said so when they sent me here."
Victoria took Zach's cue. "Of course I don't think you're crazy," she assured him, tugging her arm free of Harper's grasp and taking a step into the room. "I just thought you wanted your privacy. I didn't want to disturb you. So I was going to talk to Miss Groves out here. I apologize if I've offended you."
"You're very polite. Most people are nosy and rude. That's why I don't want them around me. You can come in." He gestured at his tray. "Did you eat lunch yet?"
"Yes, I did." Victoria didn't dare lie. Not with Harper breathing down her neck. Her gaze skimmed Zach's lunch tray. "But I didn't have time for coffee. Maybe I could have a cup with you and Miss Groves before I go back to my sister's room."
A pleased nod. "Yes, that would be good." He scowled in Harper's direction. "I don't want him in here."
Victoria inclined her head at the guard. "It seems Mr. Karr and I have something in common. Neither of us likes you."
Harper shot her a lethal look. "Lady, you are one colossal pain in the ass." He waved her away. "Go ahead in. Do whatever you want. I can't wait till'you're out of my hair altogether."
"I second that," Victoria replied sweetly. She went into the room and shut the door, accompanying Beatrice back to the low table by the windows. As she walked, she expressed her thanks to Beatrice, clearly and audibly, for the excellent care she'd taken of Audrey—just in case her voice carried into the hall.
The area by the windows was definitely out of earshot.
With feigned calm, knowing they were probably being observed, Victoria pulled over another chair, positioning it at the table so her back was to the door, She was going to be doing most of the talking, and she didn't want her lips read.
She waited until Beatrice had joined them to begin.
"Thanks, both of you. You were unbelievably quick on your feet—"
"Are you all right?" Zach interrupted to mutter.
"Fine," she assured him as Beatrice poured three cups of coffee.
"What the hell are you doing at the Institute?"
"I was brought here." Victoria took the cup. "I'll talk. You listen. I'm not in any immediate danger. I'm being held at the clinic for insurance purposes. I know too much. They want me under their thumb until they've finished destroying all the evidence you ran by me this morning. They're doing that now, even as we speak." She sipped her coffee. "I'll supply facts now, and save details for later. My aunt Clarissa's the Hope Institute's CEO. She buys drugs from the syndicate as a kind of self-appointed vigilante for her clinic—you know, a last hope for despondent patients. My father had no idea she was smuggling illegal drugs into the country. He thought the medications were legal. He's totally out of the loop when it comes to the Institute. It's been years since he handled their legal affairs."
"Then who's taken over?"
"Ian Block. He's running the whole show. He broke into my apartment, held me at gunpoint, and told me he'd have Audrey killed if I didn't come with him to the Institute. He's getting rid of anything that's incriminating over the next few days, so the place is clean if the FBI arrives. He and his cronies are probably in the crematorium right now, burning containers and floppy disks." She angled her head from Beatrice to Zach and smiled, as if they were chatting. "But, we've got an ace. Ian thinks I'm lying about working with the feds."
"Because Mr. Cigar and the phone bugs turned up nothing," Zach confirmed.
"Right. Which means you have to call Meyer right away. Get him in here before Ian's managed to flush or incinerate the evidence."
Zach nodded, taking a bite of turkey and chewing it thoroughly. "The rooms here are all filled. Where did Block put you?"
"In Audrey's room. My sister doesn't know anything about what's going on here. She only knows that the place is weird. As for my showing up, she thinks I'm just here for a visit."
"It's better that way for now." Zach leaned forward to add some milk to his coffee, effectively hiding his face from view. "Go back to her room. I'll call Meyer. He's going to need at least an hour to get the warrants. That means I'll have to slow down Block's cleanup by throwing a monkey wrench in his plans."
"How?"
"Let's not waste time on explanations. If I accomplish what I intend to, you'll see for yourself in a few minutes. Trust me. In the meantime, stay put. Get Audrey ready to leave. Tell her you've arranged for her to go home with you. That'll keep her calm. I know where her room is. I'll come get you both." Zach gave Victoria one long searching look. . "You're sure you're okay? That son of a bitch didn't hurt you?"
A wry smile tugged at Victoria's lips. "Which son of a bitch are you referring to? Ian? Or that lug who's guarding me?"
Zach didn't smile back. "Don't push Harper, Victoria. He's obviously part of Block's inner circle, just like Mr. Cigar. Only Harper's more dangerous. My gut tells me so. In fact, I wouldn't be surprised if he's the one who shoved us off the road."
Victoria started. On the verge of firing questions, she caught Zach's eye and fell silent. Later. They'd fill each other in on the missing pieces then. For now, she nodded. "Okay. And to answer your question, I'm fine. No one's done anything worse than threaten me. But, Zach, Harper's outside my door like a doberman. So be careful when you show up." She set down her cup. "I'd better get back." She patted Beatrice's hand. "You've been sensational," she murmured. "It's almost over."
Beatrice's sigh was shaky. "I'll be very relieved when it is."
Coming to her feet, Victoria said aloud, "I'd better see how my sister is doing. It was nice to meet you, Mr. Karr. And, Miss Groves, thank you again for your sensitivity where Audrey is concerned. Her condition is very fragile. You made all the difference."
With a cordial smile, she left the room. Frank Harper, who'd been hovering just outside the door, straightened when she emerged. Giving her a dark look, he escorted her back to the elevator.
Zach watched them go, slicing and chewing another bite of his turkey. Then he met Beatrice's gaze, jerking his head in the direction of his private bathroom. "I'm going in there to call Meyer. I'll need a minute. Keep your eye on the door to my room, although I doubt anyone will come by. And get my wheelchair ready. I'll be taking a little jaunt."
Beatrice picked up her napkin and dabbed at the corners of her mouth. "Where to?"
"The basement."
* * *
35
"There you go, sir. You're in." Harvey Lakeman, the network administrator at Waters, Kensington, Tatem & Calder, stepped away from the computer in Ian's office, gesturing for Walter Kensington to take over. "You should be able to access whatever it is of Mr. Block's that you need."
Walter nodded, stepping forward and staring at the screen. His gaze lifted, moved from Lakeman to Miss Hatterman and back. "Listen to me, both of you. I want you to go out to the secretarial area and wait. No one is to come near this office. No one. That includes Mr. Block. Those are my orders, and I take full responsibility for whatever you have to do to carry them out. Further, what's going on here today stays among the three of us. It's not to be discussed— not with anyone. It's highly confidential, even within the firm. Is that understood?"
"Of course," Miss Hatterman acknowledged, curious but unquestioning.
Lakeman murmured his agreement, as well.
"Good. Then, if you'll both excuse me, I have work to do."
His two employees bid a hasty retreat.
Walter stalked over, locked the door behind them.
Then he returned to the computer. Bending over the screen, he scowled, one hand gripping the mouse, the other accessing the keyboard. He had to dig up the facts. All the facts.
He'd been on the verge of calling Victoria to supply Clarissa's name when Harper's call had come through, instructing him to go straight to the Institute. He'd hoped the meeting with Ian would supply him with answers. Instead, it only raised more questions.
Then again, perhaps those questions were the answers.
He could read Ian Block like a book. Maybe because he reminded him so much of himself at that age. He'd seen Ian's extraordinary potential, and had been instrumental in hiring him. Like Walter, Ian was shrewd, ambitious, Harvard-educated. His mind was a steel trap, his instincts keen. He had everything necessary to make senior partner some day. He was a first-class, brilliant attorney.
Too brilliant to be oblivious to his clients' activities. Especially a client as important as Clarissa.
On the other hand, maybe he wasn't so brilliant after all. Maybe his ego had overtaken his intellect. Because he'd underestimated the very man who had trained him, the man whose mind was one step ahead of his.
He was a fool if he thought Walter had bought his story.
He hadn't.
Poring over the files, Walter searched for any applicable patent searches Ian might have conducted and saved over the past six or seven years. Nothing. Next, he scanned the archived correspondence, looking for a note, letter, or e-mail Ian might have exchanged with some of Manhattan's most prominent intellectual-property law firms—one in which they discussed Ian's referral of the Hope Institute to them. Again, nothing. He even went so far as to check for patent filings or drafts of patent applications showing the specific drug combinations the Hope Institute was filing for, or even memoranda of invention.
No such forms or correspondence had been forwarded to the patent office.
When he finally did find a Hope Institute-related file he didn't recognize, he opened it immediately. And what he saw made his stomach turn.
A permit application made out to the Centers for Disease Control in the name of the Hope Institute, requesting consent to import body fluids from South America. And with it, a letter to some South American drug company, clearly meant to accompany the CDC's accepted application. It began, "Enclosed are copies of the CDC form for importation of agreed-upon medical specimens," and went on to instruct the drug company how to append the forms to their shipments to avoid problems at U.S. customs.
Walter stared at the evidence for one long, sickened moment.
Then he seized the mouse, selected the incriminating pages, and clicked on the print function. While the printer did its job, he leaned over and punched the intercom feature on Ian's telephone. "Miss Hatterman, are you out there?"
"Of course, Mr. Kensington," she responded from the secretarial area.
"Good. Get Charlie Boughman on the phone."
"The DA? Certainly."
"Tell him this isn't about rescheduling our golf game. It's business—urgent business. I need to meet with him. Right now."
* * *
Victoria found Audrey sitting up in bed, drawing in a sketchpad. It was amazing, she noted with a renewed surge of anger, how much stronger and more coherent her sister was when her medication—and that damned sedative—had started wearing off.
Well, this time they were wearing off for good.
Audrey spotted her and put down the pad, smiling and beckoning her in.
"You're drawing," Victoria observed, shutting the door carefully behind her—a tangible barrier between her and Frank Harper.
"Um-hum. It's nothing great, just some pencil sketches. That's all I have strength for now. But it's a start."
"It sure is." Victoria pulled a chair over to the bed. She had to handle this just right, give Audrey enough of the truth so she'd comply without divulging anything to anyone, but not so much that it scared her to death. "Sweetie, I've got a few things to talk to you about."
Audrey squirmed onto her elbows, the effort taxing her more than Victoria would have liked. "What kind of things?" she asked warily.
"Good things." Abruptly, Victoria knew the tactic she'd take. She stuck her hand in her blazer pocket, her fingers closing around her engagement ring. "You remember Zachary Hamilton?"
Audrey nodded. "You went out with him the year before I left for Europe. He's the only guy I've ever seen you lose your cool over. Not that I blamed you. He oozed sex appeal, with those brooding eyes and hard, dark good looks. He was definitely the kind that sends shivers up your spine. It surprised me when you broke up after all those months. Why? Are you seeing him again?"
"Actually, I'm marrying him." Victoria extracted the ring, held it out for Audrey's inspection.
A sharp intake of breath. "Oh, Victoria." She touched the stone gently. "It's beautiful." Gathering up her strength, she leaned forward to hug her sister. "I'm thrilled for you."
"Me, too." Victoria felt tears sting her eyes. She hadn't realized how good it would feel to share this with her sister. "I love him so much it's scary."
"No, it's not. It's wonderful." Audrey eased back, her expression puzzled. "Why aren't you wearing the ring? Why is it in your pocket?"
Victoria stared at the stone. "Several reasons. Mostly because I wanted to tell Mother and Father the same way I'm telling you—before they saw the ring and figured it out for themselves. And second . . ." She swallowed, meeting her sister's gaze. "I wanted you out of here. Which you're going to be, within the hour."
Audrey blinked. "What do you mean?"
"I've arranged for your release. But, Audrey," she added quickly, seeing the elation erupt on her sister's face, "you can't tell anyone about this, not while we're still in the Institute. I'll explain why later. Just trust me. Zach will be here soon. You won't recognize him, not until later. I'll explain that part, too. The important thing for right now is that we get you ready—casually, so no one notices. You're weak, so tell me what you need and I'll pack it. Take only what you absolutely must. We'll send for the rest. Okay?"
Throughout her explanation, Audrey had remained silent. Now, she leaned back against the pillow, scrutinizing Victoria's face. "I was right about this place, wasn't I? Something weird is going on."
"Yes. But not for long." Victoria glanced over her shoulder, saw Harper perched in the hall. "Now hurry."
* * *
The second floor was relatively quiet.
Beatrice pushed Zach's wheelchair toward the stairwell, smiling cordially at the one or two medical attendants they passed along the way.
She stopped when they reached the ladies' room nearest the staircase. The area was deserted.
"The maintenance staff must be busy with the clean
up," Zach muttered quietly. "Every available person is probably down in the room that's got the cryogenic medical containers. I don't know what Block told them—maybe that the supply is contaminated—but they'll be frantically collecting stuff that needs to be destroyed. Block and his inside technicians will be flushing drugs down the toilets and burning containers in the crematorium."
"The room with the drugs and the crematorium are both in the basement," Beatrice reminded him in a whisper. "You've got to be careful."
"They're at the opposite end of the building from where I'm going, but don't worry, I will be." Zach edged a glance around. "You go into the bathroom, as planned. Stall. Don't come out until the lights go out and the panic starts. I'll be on my way up by then."
"But—"
"Do as I say. If I'm spotted, I've got to be by myself. It's the only chance I have of talking my way out of it. You know, David Karr, nut case. If you're with me, there'll be no explanation for why you're standing by and letting me roam the basement. Besides, your white uniform will stick out in the dark like a sore thumb. I'm in street clothes, since I threw such a fit about wearing those hospital gowns. I won't be spotted. Now go."
Beatrice nodded. "Good luck." With one last glance around, she walked into the ladies' room.
Zach stayed utterly still for a moment, making sure no one came by.
No one did.
He acted.
Jumping out of the wheelchair, he covered the short distance to the stairwell. He pushed open the door, slipped in, and sprinted down to the basement. Reaching the bottom level, he eased open the door and peeked out.
He could hear people scurrying about, as well as terse snatches of conversation. But all the activity was coming from the corridor where the crematorium was. The immediate area was deserted.
He stepped out, made his way down the hall in the opposite direction. He reached the locked door marked Utility Room: Authorized Personnel Only.
Groping in his pocket, he yanked out the set of lock-picking tools Meyer had provided in Zach's crash course at the FBI field office.