it was? She went into Will’s room and touched his toys, fighting off a sob. Above the dresser was a framed collage she’d made for him, designed with snapshots and scraps of souvenirs. Jack’s face appeared twice, flashing the famous grin that had once captivated her. But it seemed satanic now. She fought the urge to smash the glass and ink out his face.
Finally, sick of thinking, she retreated to her room and slipped into bed. She’d expected to toss and turn, but, exhausted, she fell asleep within minutes.
And suddenly she was awake again—jerked out of a dream. She lay there for a few seconds, wondering why, and then heard the phone ring, for the second time, she realized. The clock on the bedside table said 2:57. As she fumbled for the phone, her mind went instantly to the kids.
“Hello,” she said, her voice hoarse from sleep.
“Is this the Warren residence?” a voice asked. It was a woman, she thought, but wasn’t sure. The voice sounded oddly distorted.
“Yes, who’s calling?” Lake asked anxiously. The phone display read “private caller.”
“Is this Mrs. Warren?”
“Please tell me who’s calling.”
“Are you the mother of William Warren?”
Her heart nearly stopped.
“Is this the camp?” she blurted out. “What’s wrong?”
The person said nothing but Lake could hear breathing.
“Please, what’s the matter?” she demanded.
And then there was only a dial tone.
2
LAKE KICKED OFF the sheet and tore down the hall to the foyer. Her purse was on the hall table and she upended it, spilling the contents. She pawed through the clutter until she found her BlackBerry and scrolled to the camp’s emergency number. Five rings, then a deep hello. It was the gravelly voice of Mr. Morrison, the director.
“This is Will Warren’s mother,” Lake said quickly. “He’s in cabin seven—um no, five, cabin five. Did someone just call me?”
“What?” he asked groggily, clearly not comprehending.
Lake explained the situation, trying to keep her voice even.
“No, it wasn’t me,” he said. “But let me go down to his cabin right away. I’ll call you back in ten minutes.”
Pacing the hallway, Lake tried to convince herself that nothing was wrong—the camp director would have known—but as the minutes passed without a call, her alarm ballooned. Had Will been abducted? Did this have something to do with Jack?
Fifteen minutes later, her BlackBerry finally rang.
“There’s absolutely no reason for concern,” the director said. “Will is fast asleep, and the counselor says he’s been fine all night. Sounds like it must have been a wrong number.”
It had to be, she thought. For one thing, Will’s name was just Will, not William and someone really familiar with him wouldn’t make the mistake. And why would anyone she knew call at this hour? Her mind flew back to Jack. Had he orchestrated it, because of his custody fight? But what would he gain from a stunt like that? After crawling back into bed, it took her over an hour to fall asleep again.
The next morning she woke feeling hungover from worry—about the phone call, about her conversation with Hotchkiss. She’d felt so giddy yesterday as she’d dashed toward lunch, and she wondered now when she’d ever summon that feeling again. It was almost a relief to be on the Eighty-sixth Street crosstown bus an hour later, headed to the offices of her new client on Park Avenue, the Advanced Fertility Center.
Her plan today was to finish up her background research about the practice. She’d been recommended for the job by Dr. Steve Salman, an associate at the clinic whose sister, Sonia, had been a friend of Lake’s in college. Private fertility clinics, compared to those affiliated with hospitals and universities, had a bit of a stigma attached to them. The perception sometimes was that making money took precedence over making babies. Lake had been hired to help the clinic overcome that hurdle and to stand out among the burgeoning number of competitors.
It was a challenge she relished. The trick in marketing was to find the unique aspect of a product or company—the unique selling position—and optimize it. To Lake it was like studying a drawing with a hidden object and then, with a thrill, finding it. Like most fertility clinics, this one focused heavily on in vitro fertilization (IVF), the process by which a woman’s eggs are removed from the ovaries, and then, after being fertilized by sperm in a petri dish or test tube, are transferred to her uterus or frozen for future use. The clinic had been particularly successful with women over forty.