getting through the next few days. Levin and Hoss dominated the discussion, while Sherman mostly shook his head in disgust. Steve and Matt Perkins looked shell-shocked and spoke up only when they were asked specific questions. Finally, Levin suggested that everyone go home and try their best to relax.
“I also recommend that you not discuss this with anyone outside your immediate families,” Lake added.
Everyone streamed out of the office, and as Lake followed them to the door, Levin called to her.
“Do you think this woman can really help?” he asked, rising from the desk.
“Absolutely,” Lake said. “She’s handled situations far worse.”
He crossed the room, buttoning his jacket. She saw him glance at the file in her hands.
“Where did you get that?” he asked sharply.
“From the file drawer in the storage room—I’ve been reading all the clippings.”
“Well, that’s not one you need,” he said, grabbing the file from her hand.
6
IT WAS JUST before six when Lake finally arrived home. Following the awkward encounter with Levin, she’d returned to the small conference room and left a message for Hayden Culbreth, the crisis guru she’d recommended. Then, totally spent, she’d packed up and hailed a cab for the West Side.
After tossing down her bags, she sank into one of the arm-chairs in her living room. She began to sob. Sensing something was wrong, Smokey leapt into her lap. As he nuzzled her chin, Lake stroked him and blinked back tears. Her eyes swept the living room, with its comforting shelves of books and pretty landscape paintings. What she’d told Molly and Keaton was true. Though the past week or so of her life could hardly be described as blissful, she had started to feel at peace again and hopeful about her future. But that all changed in an instant. Everything in her life was in jeopardy now—her kids, her work, her future. She’d given in to a desperate hunger for approval and connection—and to her own raw desire—and because of that she might end up losing custody of her kids. There was even a chance she’d be arrested for murder.
After forcing herself up off the chair, she left a second message for Hayden. Thirty minutes later, as Lake stared at a frozen slab of vegetable lasagna, knowing she had to eat but wondering how she could summon any appetite, Hayden returned the call. Lake outlined the situation to her, and made an urgent pitch for her to come on board as a consultant.
“I’m totally swamped right now,” Hayden confessed in her Alabama drawl, “but I can’t turn this down. I’ve done damage control on everything from drug companies that sold tainted drugs to a CEO who used company funds to rent a water park for his kid’s birthday—but never a murder. That’s very, very sexy.”
“So that’s a yes?” Lake said.
“Yes, but we need to hit the ground running. This is going to be big and move fast—it’ll probably be the plot on Law and Order next week. Can you arrange for me to meet everyone at eight tomorrow morning?”
Lake assured her it wouldn’t be a problem. Next she phoned Levin.
“That’s terrific, Lake,” he said. “I’ll let Dr. Sherman know. I think this first meeting should just be the senior team.”
His tone was almost obsequious; she wondered if he was trying to make up for rudely grabbing the file out of her hand earlier.
Next she needed to summon the energy to write the kids. She skipped the stories and riddles and scribbled a simple message:
“I can’t wait to see you both on Saturday and meet your new friends,” she wrote. “I’ll be there right at ten.”
She wanted to add more but she was already feeling weirdly fraudulent, reminiscent of when Jack was beginning to withdraw and she’d had to act normal in front of the kids. What would she say if she were being totally honest? “Mommy may be implicated in a grisly murder, so there’s a chance I won’t be able to come after all”?
As she slipped the paper into the fax machine, she wondered how she was going to handle bumping into Jack at the camp. Prior to her recent conversation with Hotchkiss, she’d hardly relished seeing him there, but now the idea seemed unbearable.
She nuked the lasagna and pushed it around on a plate as she drained a glass of wine. She tried to calm herself but she kept picturing Hull and McCarty at their precinct desks, searching their notes for clues and combing through evidence reports. The crime-scene people would