Hush

loved best in summer. Tonight, though, it filled her with dread. She’d have to go to bed soon, and potentially face the mystery doorbell ringer again. Before stepping into her building, she looked quickly up and down the block. The only people in sight were two preteen boys whipping a wiffle ball back and forth in front of the building next door.

“Is everything okay, Mrs. Warren?” Bob the doorman asked her as she stepped into the lobby. He must have seen her glance furtively down the street.

“Yes, thanks, Bob,” she said. “I’m just a little nervous about what’s happening. You know, the murder of the doctor I worked with.”

“But is everything okay with the police?” he said.

Great, she thought. All she needed was for Bob to mention the police visit to Jack.

“Oh, they were just interviewing everyone who works at the clinic. For background. It’s all very routine.”

Bob stared at her, his face pinched. He drew a small business card out of his jacket pocket and handed it to her.

“They were here again today,” he said solemnly.

Lake forced a smile as she reached for the card.

“Oh, it’s just a follow-up visit,” she said. “They just need to learn everything they can about the doctor… Well, have a good night.”

Hurrying to the elevator, she stole a look at the card. It was McCarty’s business card, with a cell phone number listed. In ballpoint pen he had scribbled, “Please give me a call.”

Is this how they get you to confess? she thought as she rode to her floor. They show up at your home again and again, asking bewildering questions that leave you feeling as if you’re about to blow. Or, she wondered, was there some new development-something linking her to Keaton? Suddenly she could barely breathe.

As soon as she had locked the door to her apartment and dragged the hall table back against it, she poured a large glass of white wine. She took two huge swigs before punching McCarty’s number into her BlackBerry.

She got his voice mail. Natch, she thought, part of the torture. Let her simmer in her own terror until he finally called her back.

She wanted more wine but she didn’t dare-it was critical to keep her wits about her. After microwaving one of the frozen mac-and-cheese dinners she kept around for the kids, she carried it to her office and opened her laptop to the PowerPoint presentation. It needed more work and she was running out of time. But after skimming the first page a few times, she realized she was too frazzled to concentrate.

By the time McCarty called back, twenty minutes later, Lake was walking in circles around her office.

“Lake Warren?” he asked. Her name sounded foreign when he said it, as if he were inquiring about a complete stranger.

“Yes,” she answered nervously.

“This is Detective McCarty. I take it your doorman told you we dropped by?” There was a sudden surge of traffic sounds behind him. He might actually be in her neighborhood, she realized, coiled and waiting for the chance to come by.

“Yes. He did. I’m sorry I missed you.”

He said nothing back.

“Um, how can I help you?” she asked.

“We were wondering if you thought about what we discussed.”

What the hell was he talking about? Was he implying that they were waiting for her to come clean about something?

“I’m not sure what you mean,” she said haltingly.

“Now that you’ve had a chance to think, do you recall seeing anyone go into Ms. Donohue’s drawer.” The volume of his voice dropped as if he were glancing down and reading something.

She checked her relief. This might be a trap, she told herself.

“Uh, no, I didn’t. I work in a small conference room in the back and I’m rarely near Maggie’s desk.”

There was a long pause. She pressed her lips together tightly, commanding herself not to fill the silence.

“All righty, then,” he said finally. “Thank you for your cooperation.”

“You’re welcome. I-I’m happy to help.”

“Great. I’m sure we will be back in touch.”

As she ended the call, she felt tempted to hurl her BlackBerry. What had his last comment meant? Did they definitely have her in their sights as a suspect?

She barely slept that night. Her body seemed gripped with tension and her throat ached again. At around three, as she tossed back and forth in her tangled sheets, she realized that she’d neglected to fax the kids earlier. The thought of Amy lying in her bunk bed sad and worrying made Lake’s heart ache.

It was drizzling outside when she dragged herself out of bed at six the next morning. Her sore throat seemed slightly improved but her heart had begun to race at the mere thought of the espionage mission ahead. She’d been so cavalier with Archer, jauntily agreeing to his suggestions, but now, as the time approached, she was nervous as hell.

She made coffee and noticed the message light blinking on the kitchen phone. She’d never checked when she’d returned home yesterday. The first call was from Molly, asking if she’d like to grab lunch today. The other was from Jack, saying he needed to talk to her. Go away, she wanted to scream at him.

She waited until ten to hail a cab to the clinic. The smartest approach, she knew, was to try to search through the files when everyone was preoccupied with patients. If she was lucky, she might even be able to avoid Brie altogether.

But she wasn’t lucky. After passing through the packed reception area, filled today with men, too-their sober faces made her think of soldiers being shipped off to war-she immediately came face-to-face with Brie outside her small work alcove. She was wearing crisp white pants and a long-sleeved white shirt, and with her cropped red hair she looked to Lake like a giant matchstick.

“Morning, Brie,” Lake said, trying to keep their exchange light.

“Can I help you?” Brie asked flatly, as if Lake were a stranger who’d pulled up alongside her to ask directions.

“No, I’m just dotting the i’s in my research. There are a few more things I need to read through.”

“Really?” Brie said in mock surprise. “I would have thought you’d be done with that part by now. I mean, your presentation’s tomorrow.”

“I guess I’m just a stickler for detail.” Lake knew sarcasm wasn’t the best approach with Brie, but she hadn’t been able to resist.

From there she threaded the maze of hushed corridors toward the small conference room. All the office and exam room doors were closed again today; behind some of them she could hear murmuring voices. She nearly jumped when Dr. Sherman emerged from one, closing the door quickly behind him. He nodded distractedly at Lake, his face flushed. She watched as he hurried down the hall and slipped into the lab.

In the conference room she dumped her purse and tote bag onto the table. For a moment she just stood there, deliberating. There was no reason to wait, she realized. She had to do it now. She took a pad and a pen with her in case she needed to write anything down.

As she turned the last corner toward the file room she nearly collided with Harry Kline.

“Oh, hey,” he said genially. “How goes it?”

“Fine,” she said as pleasantly as she could summon. She was still pretty sure he was the one who’d ratted her out to the cops-telling them that she’d seemed upset since the murder-and she had no interest in spending any time with him.

“I hear you’re doing your presentation tomorrow.”

“Yup. I’m just here to pick up a couple of files. Nice to see you.”

She could sense him following her with his eyes as she walked away. Just wait, she thought-he’d probably tattle to the cops that she was guilty of failing to engage in idle chitchat.

To her relief, no one was in the storage room-or in the kitchenette catty-corner to it. She had decided in advance that if someone came in after her, it would seem odd for the door to be shut all the way. So she shut it halfway and then dragged a small stepladder behind it. That way if someone pushed the door open further, she’d