Hush

into the lobby.

The doorman nodded a goodnight to the woman and she proceeded into the building. Two men walked past the building but didn’t stop. And then a cab lurched to a stop in front. Please let this be Molly, Lake prayed. She could see the passenger leaning forward in the backseat to pay, and after a few seconds Lake could tell that it was a man. He flung open the door and thrust his body out with assurance. The light of the streetlamp caught his face as he paused to stuff the change into his pants pocket.

Lake stared in disbelief. It was Jack.

22

HE’S AFTER ME. The thought exploded in her mind before she’d even fully processed Jack’s presence. He’d arranged the bungled attack on her tonight, just as he was behind what had happened to Smokey and the bag of catnip. And since Jack knew she’d probably turn to Molly for help tonight, he’d come looking for her here.

But as Lake slunk down in her seat, some other part of her brain kicked those thoughts away. Jack had a sweater tied nattily around his shoulders, and the expression on his face was smug and expectant. No, he wasn’t searching for her. That was the look of a man who had plans for the evening. Jack was here to see Molly.

Her stomach churned at the idea. She hoisted herself up just enough to peer over the steering wheel. Jack was now in the foyer, and the doorman was speaking into the phone. He hung up and nodded to Jack with a smile that suggested familiarity. Then Jack strode past him and into the building.

Lake’s mind raced. How long had this been going on? Was Molly the reason for the breakup of her marriage? The thought of the two of them together, making love, sickened her. At the same time she felt that bizarre rush that comes with clarity. This explained Jack’s prison-break departure from her life. It also explained Molly’s endless questions about the divorce and about whether Jack was interested in reconciling- questions that had begun to go beyond a friend’s concern. Obviously Molly had continued their friendship in order to keep tabs, to learn details about the divorce that Jack might not be sharing. How evil, Lake thought.

But the affair might be just the tip of the iceberg. She wondered if Molly and Jack were plotting together to get the kids. Molly’s former marriage had been childless and she had admitted wistfully to Lake on several occasions that she regretted not having children. Now, with Jack’s help, she could have her own instant family.

Thank God, Lake had never confessed to Molly what had happened with Keaton. It would all be over for her then. Quickly she ran through what she had discussed with Molly-that she thought Jack might be snooping, that she had engaged in minor flirting with someone at work, that she’d been interviewed by the police along with the other clinic staff. Nothing that could incriminate her.

She needed to get out of here. More than likely Molly and Jack were “in” for the night, but what if they decided to head out for a late drink or supper? She fired up the engine, and after driving several blocks, double-parked on a side street so she could plan her next move. Since she’d avoided her closest friends following her split with Jack, there was no way she could phone them now, out of the blue. She glanced down at the screen of her BlackBerry. Archer’s email stared back at her. It seemed crazy to call him, but it was the only thing that made sense now. At the very least he’d be interested in what had happened to her tonight and what it possibly revealed about the clinic.

He answered on the third ring. In the background she could hear the drone of a TV so she assumed he must be home.

“I hope I’m not calling too late,” Lake said. “It’s Lake Warren.”

“Oh, hey. I was going to touch base tomorrow. What’s up?”

“I was attacked tonight. And I think it had to do with the clinic. I-I was just hoping I could talk to you. To be honest, I’m scared out of my mind.”

“Are you hurt?” he asked, sounding alarmed. “Have you seen a doctor?”

“I’m okay. Just shaken. And I ended up in the East River, so I’m sopping wet.”

“The river? My God. Where are you?”

“I’m in my car-in Chelsea. I don’t really know what to do.”

“I’m in the Village on Jane Street, so I’m not far. Will you be able to drive down here? Or should I come and get you?”

She could feel the relief wash over her. He was going to help her.

“No, I’ll be okay driving down there.”

He suggested a garage near his building, since street parking was next to impossible in his neighborhood.

“Why don’t you call me when you get to the garage and I’ll come meet you,” he added.

“That’s not necessary,” she said. “Just give me your address and I’ll see you in a few minutes. And…thank you.”

To her surprise he was waiting in the garage when she arrived, dressed in khakis and a rumpled blue-and-white striped dress shirt. As soon as she stepped out of the car, he shook his head in distress at the sight of her.

“I’m just half a block up the street,” he said. He put his arm lightly on her back and guided her along the sidewalk. The street was dark, the streetlamps partly obscured by rows of leafy plane trees, and the whole way there she could sense how alert he was, cocking his head back and forth as he checked around them. He had his keys out before they were even at his brownstone. After letting her into his ground-floor apartment, he glanced up and down the street before he shut the door.

“So tell me what happened,” he said as soon as he’d ushered her into his living room. It was a large, comfortable space with a big red sofa and books and newspapers strewn all over its surfaces.

“A man attacked me in one of the river parks in Dumbo,” Lake said. “He knocked me down and then he pulled out a knife. I know it sounds crazy, but the only way I could escape was to jump in the river. I swam over to an area beneath a park and hid there until I was pretty sure he was gone.”

“Are you sure you’re okay?”

“Yes-but it was pretty hairy for a while,” she said, her voice catching. “I’m a good swimmer but I don’t know how long I could have lasted out there. I was afraid I’d get tired and the tide would sweep me away.”

Then without warning, she began to cry. Her shoulders shook, and she let out a weird strangled sound. It was partly from relief, she knew-and partly from despair, because though she’d escaped, she wasn’t safe at all.

“Hey,” Archer said gently and put his arm around her, pulling her toward him. Her right cheek pressed against his soft rumpled shirt. “Everything’s okay now.”

“I don’t think so,” Lake said, brushing her tears away. “I think someone from the clinic is after me. They want to shut me up.”

“Tell me why you think that,” he said.

“Look,” she said, “I hope you won’t be mad, but I tracked down Alexis Hunt myself. I wanted to find out what she thought was happening there. I figured if I was going to wade through the files, it would help to know what I was looking for.”

“Okay,” he said, drawing out the word. He’d turned his head and was looking at her sideways, his eyes skeptical.

“What she told me was pretty staggering,” Lake said. “She’s convinced that the clinic transferred her embryos to someone else-a woman named Melanie Turnbull. Sometimes couples give permission for this but Alexis definitely didn’t. She says it resulted in this woman having a baby-and that she probably didn’t realize it was from a donor embryo. Needless to say, Alexis is beside herself.”

Archer opened his mouth in surprise.

“Wow, there was a case like that years ago in California. But could this have been a mistake? Embryos accidentally switched in the lab?”

“No, it all just seems too suspicious. The clinic likes to boast about how successful they are with older women. I think they’re doing this to improve their numbers with women over forty. Plus, there are two instances I know of- Alexis is one-where the patient has fewer frozen embryos than she thought.”