The apartment had been purchased.
And the game of one-upmanship escalated, as did her father's resentment.
Her proximity to Jim and Clarissa—and their frequent get-togethers—only made things worse.
And that includes tonight. Victoria reminded herself bitterly as she walked the few blocks uptown, which he'll view as yet another transgression.
* * *
Jim and Clarissa Kensington's apartment was on Fifth Avenue near East Eighty-fourth Street, only a few blocks from the false address Victoria bad provided to Select Care ambulance service when she'd posed as Susan Haines.
Their penthouse view was one of the most spectacular and desirable in Manhattan, a striking panorama of celebrated landmarks, famous art galleries and museums, and the lovely section of Central Park surrounding the reservoir. Every time Victoria visited, she marveled at the contrast between the frantic pace of the world outside and the serenity of life inside their spacious two-bedroom apartment.
Much of that contrast, she suspected, had to do with Jim and Clarissa, and the incredibly soothing way they both had about them—a trait that extended to the quiet elegance of their home. All muted tones of beige and brown, the apartment was very much them, particularly the living room, which boasted a sprawling sofa, every imaginable electronic component for Uncle Jim's sound system, and an entire windowbox of lush, green plants.
The plants were all Clarissa's doing. A brilliant doctor dedicated to medical research at Mount Sinai, she also had a skilled green thumb. Her touch made all flora thrive, and she tended the plants with the same meticulous care, the same gentle respect she gave every form of life. Victoria always suspected her aunt would have preferred to lavish that attention on children. But for whatever reason, the personal nature of which Victoria respected, children hadn't entered the picture. Pets weren't an option, given Jim's and Clarissa's long hours and demanding careers. So, plants had become her passion.
Too bad plants couldn't talk, Victoria mused broodingly as she reached her destination. From their vantage point in that sprawling windowbox, they might very well have seen Audrey tearing through the park on Saturday morning. God only knew, she could use a few witnesses.
The doorman, Leonard, was an outrageously vocal man of middle years whose bluntness bordered on audacity. He kept his job only because he made his residents laugh, because his twinkling eyes and portly belly made him a natural at playing a Fifth Avenue Santa Claus each Christmas and—perhaps the most compelling reason of all—because he made it his business to know every resident's most intimate secrets.
Now, he smiled at Victoria and tipped his cap. "Good evening, Miss Kensington." He held open the door. "Hurry. It's really beginning to come down hard."
"Hello, Leonard." Victoria blinked, becoming aware that her lightweight spring jacket had droplets of water on it. "I didn't even realize it was raining." She scooted into the building just in time to avoid the steadier downpour, combing her fingers through her damp strands of hair and inspecting the damage to her black linen slacks and cream silk blouse. "Wonderful. I look like a drowned rat."
He shot her a disbelieving look. "You've got to be joking. You look gorgeous."
A rueful grin. "Thanks. But I know better."
"Clearly not." Leonard leaned forward, speaking in a hushed, confidential tone. "Most of the women in this building pay thousands to have themselves lifted and tucked, and they still don't come close to looking like you." He rolled his eyes. "You wouldn't believe the stories I could tell you. Anyway, you've got nothing to worry about. You're a knockout."
"I've heard some of those stories." Victoria couldn't control her laughter. "But I appreciate your vote of confidence."
He pushed open the inner door. "My pleasure. I'll take you to the elevator. Both Doctors Kensington are expecting you. And that rack of lamb your aunt brought home looked unbelievable. I hope you're hungry."
"Very." Victoria stepped into the elevator and waited while Leonard leaned in and pressed the button for the penthouse.
"Have fun," he called, tipping his cap again as the elevator doors closed. "And remember," he added in a hiss, "other than Dr. Kensington, you're the best-looking woman in this building."
"I'll remember," Victoria hissed back.
What a character, she thought, still chuckling. He'd almost succeeded in taking her mind off Audrey.
Almost.
Her smile faded as the elevator reached the top floor and the doors slid quietly open. Tonight's issue loomed just ahead. She wished she could think of a subtle way to broach it. Close or not, this wasn't going to be easy.
She walked over to the apartment and rang the bell.
Her aunt opened the door, a welcoming smile on her lips. Stunning as always in a pale green silk dress, Clarissa Kensington was willowy and blond, ethereally lovely, and looked a decade younger than her forty-three years. She greeted Victoria affectionately, taking both her hands and giving them a squeeze.
"I'm so glad you're here," she said warmly. "We both are." She glanced over her shoulder and called, "Jim?"
"Victoria." Her husband appeared instantly, hugging his niece. "It's so good to see you "
She returned the hug. "It feels like a year, not a month." Smiling back at her uncle, she thought for the millionth time that except for his imposing height and probing hazel eyes—the latter of which she'd inherited—there was no likeness between her uncle and her father.
Uncle Jim, now fifty-four, was as soft-spoken and easygoing as her father was sharp and intense. He was lanky, his body language relaxed, and he had a wonderful, calming smile and just a few flecks of gray in his wavy dark hair. Even his manner of dress was casual; tonight he wore a camel-and-black crewneck sweater and camel slacks.
"Come in and sit," he instructed her. "I'll pour you a glass of cabernet."
Victoria complied, feeling her uncle's deep, searching gaze linger on her for an extra moment before he went off to get the wine. She knew very well what that look meant, just as she knew her uncle. And the insightful way he'd just studied her meant he'd concluded there was something big on her mind—although, in his customarily patient fashion, he would wait for her to bring it up.
She'd better come up with a way to broach the subject of Audrey, and fast.
* * *
It took an entire dinner and two glasses of wine for Victoria to take the plunge.
Sighing, she settled herself on the sofa after finally accepting Clarissa's staunch refusal to let her help clear the dishes.
"You keep Jim company," her aunt had advised. "I'll get the dessert and coffee. We'll have it in the living room."
With a decisive wave, she'd disappeared into the kitchen.
'Aunt Clarissa's being wonderful," Victoria murmured, tucking a strand of sable hair behind her ear. "And I don't only mean that fabulous meal, either. Although," she added, grinning as she tugged at the waistline of her pants, "she can stop worrying. She's definitely succeeded in helping me regain those pounds she was afraid I'd lost."
Jim smiled, joining Victoria in the living room. "She is an amazing cook. As for being wonderful, she's worried about you. We both are." A pointed glance.
"It's been a difficult few days," Victoria admitted quietly.
"So I gathered." He lowered himself into the armchair directly across from her, interlacing his fingers and falling silent.
Victoria arched a brow. "You're in professional mode— sitting across from me, waiting for me to speak. I hope I didn't frighten you enough to pencil me in for a formal session."
Jim chuckled. "Hardly." He leaned back, crossing his long legs at the ankles in a decidedly more relaxed pose. "Sorry. Force of habit, I guess."
"No apology necessary—now or ever." Victoria rubbed her palms together. "The truth is, I do want to talk. I'm just not sure where to start, or what to say. This is important, but it's also awkward."
"Maybe I can start for you," her uncle surprised her by saying.
Her s
tartled gaze lifted to his, and his smile gentled.
"You've made it clear I'm not to be in therapist mode. So I'm in uncle mode instead—and uncles are allowed to jump the gun." His smile faded. "Actually, I'm not just jumping the gun, I'm overstepping my bounds—big-time. But since I suspect this is a very significant issue for you, I'll take that chance. If that's all right with you?"
Victoria's heart was drumming loudly in her chest. Could her uncle possibly know about her search for Audrey? Would her father have mentioned something about it Saturday night? That idea had never occurred to her. Her father didn't confide in anyone, ever, least of all his brother, and certainly not about a matter that would paint him as a hard-hearted control freak. Still, it was rare for her uncle to assume such a forward role in discussing her problems. So maybe...
Slowly, she nodded.
"Okay," Jim responded. "Here goes. I read in the newspaper that Zachary Hamilton is in New York. I remember a time when he meant a great deal to you, probably more than you actually admitted to me. Does his visit have anything to do with your frame of mind?"
Zach. Uncle Jim thought this was about Zach.
The irony of his deduction was eclipsed by that familiar knot in Victoria's gut—the same knot she felt every time Zach's name was mentioned. She shouldn't be surprised by the conclusion her uncle had drawn. He was a very intuitive man. He and Clarissa had spent more than one evening with her and Zach. And, as Meg used to tease her, only a dead man could avoid getting scorched by the flames that leaped between them.
"Victoria?" her uncle pressed. "Have I offended you?"
"No, of course not." She shook her head. "And no, this isn't about Zach, although I was taken aback when Meg showed me that article. Actually, I probably would have dwelled on it a lot more if it weren't for what is bothering me."
Jim looked perplexed. "Then what is it?"
She met his gaze squarely. "I saw Audrey Saturday morning. Here, in Central Park, while I was out running."
Her uncle's jaw dropped. "What?"
At that moment, Clarissa walked out of the kitchen and placed a tray of fruit on the cocktail table, then returned to the kitchen for the coffee and cake. That done, she glanced from her husband to Victoria and, having decided that whatever was bothering Victoria required additional time alone with Jim, she went tactfully to the windowbox and began misting the plants.
"I appreciate what you're doing, Aunt Clarissa," Victoria said. "But I really wish you'd join us. I'd like your input, both personal and professional. I'm hoping you know something about the private medical clinic I'm about to describe."
Clarissa's pale brows knit, but she nodded, coming to sit beside Victoria on the sofa.
"Private medical clinic?" Jim was gazing steadily at her. "Is Audrey in trouble?"
"Yes," Victoria said without hesitation. "She is." Her uncle knew about Audrey's bulimia. He'd "talked" with her unofficially when his brother had refused to let anyone outside the family be privy to their problems. And eventually, when unbiased counseling and medical attention became essential, Uncle Jim had convinced his brother to let him refer Audrey to his most trusted colleague—his longtime partner and closest friend, Elliot Osborne.
Abruptly, it occurred to Victoria that Audrey might have sought out her uncle and Dr. Osborne when she returned to New York. But, no. One look at Uncle Jim's face told her he was utterly stunned by the news that Audrey was back.
"I'm not asking you to violate patient-doctor privilege," Victoria assured him. "But is it safe to say you had no idea Audrey was in New York?"
"No idea at all."
A nod. "She's ill, Uncle Jim. And she's missing."
"You'd better explain."
Sticking to the facts, Victoria relayed exactly what had happened in Central Park—what Audrey had looked like, how disoriented and bloated she'd been—and all the events that had occurred since then. The only spots Victoria stumbled over were the ones involving her father. And not only because of Uncle Jim's loyalty to his brother, but because putting her hunch into words was harder than she'd realized. Suspecting her father of deliberate cruelty was one thing; speaking her suspicions aloud was quite another. It made them more than mere possibilities. It made them accusations.
You could have heard a pin drop in the room when she'd finished.
Clarissa and Jim both stared at her, stunned.
Her uncle spoke first, his tone so uncharacteristically hard, she flinched.
"Victoria, I don't need to tell you the seriousness of what you're claiming. I realize Walter is less than tolerant when it comes to Audrey's emotional fragility. But to blatantly keep her from you? To lie about bringing her here? Why would he do that?"
"I don't know." Victoria made a helpless gesture. "To spare his reputation is the only reason I could come up with."
"But that still doesn't explain why he'd hide Audrey from you," Clarissa mused, glancing at Jim and keeping her own voice gentle, as if trying to neutralize the tension. "If anything, you're the most calming influence she has. You've been her lifeline at times. And your father certainly knows how discreet you are. If he were trying to avoid embarrassment, he'd simply insist you keep Audrey's presence confidential, then prevail upon you to go to her and help keep her calm."
"I agree." Jim came to his feet, clearly agitated by the conversation. "Your father has his faults, Victoria. We both know that. But if Audrey really was frightened and trying to escape from wherever she'd been placed, he wouldn't ignore that. She's his daughter. He'd want her safe. There are ways to avoid a scandal without locking away your own child against her will."
"I know," Victoria managed. "I've thought of all that. But I can't get past certain facts, like: Why did Father contact Florence Hospital? And why the calls to the Hope Institute?" She inclined her head at her aunt, a hopeful look in her eyes. "Please tell me you've heard of it."
Clarissa frowned, rubbing the nape of her neck.."I don't think so. But that doesn't mean anything. My field is medical research. I'm not aware of every private health-care center in Manhattan."
"Uncle Jim?" Victoria gazed pleadingly at him.
Slowly, he shook his head. "I'm not familiar with it, no. But I can certainly do some digging, if that would help." His lips thinned into a determined line. "But not without mentioning it to your father. I won't go behind his back like that, Victoria. I'd feel dishonest."
"I know you would," she replied in a wooden tone. "I don't feel much better. But I know that woman in the park was Audrey."
"I'm not doubting you on that score," her uncle responded. "If you say it was Audrey, then it was Audrey. I'm as worried about her as you are. My guess is that Walter's worried, too. He's just in denial. It's far easier for him to think of Audrey as safe in Florence than to imagine her frightened and alone in Manhattan." Jim stared off toward the window, uneasily pondering all the unanswered questions. "Maybe Walter did make long-distance arrangements to admit Audrey to Florence Hospital. Or maybe she admitted herself and then contacted him. As for the calls to the Hope Institute, your father could have made those as precautionary—just in case Audrey needed to be transferred."
"Then how did she get here?" Victoria pressed. "If Father didn't help her, if he has no idea she's in New York, how did Audrey manage to pay for the flight? Every dime she has, he wires her."
Jim's shoulders lifted in a frustrated shrug. "She could have borrowed the money from a friend. I don't know. But I refuse to believe Walter is involved in some elaborate kidnapping scheme."
That made the hair on Victoria's neck stand up. "I'm not suggesting anything as sinister as that."
"Aren't you?"
Victoria wet her lips with the tip of her tongue. "I'm not sure what I'm suggesting. I only know I have a very uneasy feeling about Father's involvement in all this. I hope you're right. I hope I'm overreacting and condemning him without basis. I hope the whole situation is as innocent as you say. But the pieces don't fit. Maybe it's the attorney in me, or maybe I've just b
ecome too much of a cynic." Or maybe I just know my father, she silently added.
Looking from her uncle's unsettled expression to her aunt's anxious one, Victoria wished she hadn't allowed things to go this far. She should have followed her instincts to stick to the basic facts and leave her father's part in all this out of the discussion.
The problem was, this whole ugly mess tied together, like the tangled roots of a tree. And Walter Kensington was one of the main roots.
"I'm very tired," she told her uncle and aunt quietly. "And very worried about Audrey. I need a night to sort things out. I'll call you tomorrow, Uncle Jim, when my head is a little clearer and I've come to some decision about how I'm going to handle things. If I do take you up on your offer to help, I'll accept it on your terms. But, I'd want-to be there when you talk to Father."
"Fair enough." Jim regarded her steadily. "And if you decide not to turn to us?"
"Then I'll leave you out of this completely. All I'd ask is that you keep what I've told you in confidence."
"In other words, you wouldn't want me to tell your father we had this conversation."
"I suppose that's what I'm saying, yes." Victoria swallowed. "I'm not out to hurt him, Uncle Jim. He's my father. But his agenda and mine are very different when it comes to Audrey. I've got to get at the truth. Even if doing so risks exposing a family skeleton. The Kensington name will survive. But Audrey . . ." Her voice trailed off. "This whole argument might be moot. If I can't find her on my own or make any headway with the Hope Institute, I'll have no other choice but to go back to Father. Regardless of how deep his involvement is. Because he's the only one with the answers."
* * *
9
Zach paced around the hotel suite, swallowing his second glass of bourbon.
He had to stop. Getting drunk wasn't the answer. He needed a clear head to review that tape one more time, and afterward, to plan his strategy.