I—I know you have some concerns about the Advanced Fertility Center. I’d really like to discuss them with you.”
“Are you a patient there?”
“No, but—there’s a chance I may be able to help you. Can we meet and talk?”
“How did you get my name?” No nonsense. Not the least bit friendly.
“Kit Archer.” Lake hated having to use his name but she could tell if she didn’t, Alexis was quickly going to hang up.
“Do you work with him?”
“No, but I spoke with him. I have some concerns like you do.”
A few seconds of silence followed.
“All right,” she said. “I’m just off Madison on Seventy-eighth. How long will it take for you to get here?”
“You want me to come now?” Lake asked, startled.
“I don’t do lunch, if that’s what you had in mind.”
“Okay, I can come now,” Lake said. “I’m about ten minutes away.”
Lake hailed a cab and collapsed against the backseat. She couldn’t believe she’d done this. Calling Archer was one thing; meeting with a patient was definitely crossing the line. It felt like such a bold move, one that might even annoy Archer if he found out. But she’d already set it into motion, and it was too late to turn back now.
Alexis Hunt’s apartment was in a pricey-looking prewar building. The doorman rang up and then directed Lake to 14B, which turned out to be one of only two apartments on the fourteenth floor. From the voice on the phone and the tiny bit Lake knew of her background, Lake had formed a picture of Alexis in her mind: someone older, hardened and bitter from what she’d gone through, perhaps even furious at the world that boxed smart, ambitious women into marrying late and thus trying to conceive when the odds were against them. So Lake was startled, then, when the door swung open and she was greeted by a fairly pretty, composed woman who seemed no older than thirty-two or thirty-three. She had blond hair styled in a plain, preppy bob, green eyes, and a tiny mouth dabbed with berry-colored lipstick. Though she was slightly overweight, she wore a green-and-white wrap dress that flattered her figure, the kind you often saw on well-heeled suburban women who still dressed to go into town. She didn’t look like a nut job. She looked like someone who was about to share her recipe for spinach and artichoke dip.
“Come in,” was all she said. Lake stepped inside and followed her into the living room.
The apartment was what you might expect in that building—classy but blandly decorated in muted blues and greens. Lake could see a small library off one end of the living room and a dining room at the other, and she guessed there were probably two bedrooms off the long hallway. There was something oddly unlived-in about the space—no mail or keys scattered on the hall table, no magazine left open on the couch.
“I’m still not clear who you are or why you called me,” Alexis said bluntly. She took a seat on an antique straight-back chair, the least comfortable-looking piece in the room. Maybe she doesn’t want to get comfortable, Lake thought. She chose the blue chintz couch but perched just on the edge of it.
“I’ve been looking into fertility clinics,” Lake said. “I came across Kit Archer’s article and tracked him down. He told me about his producer’s discussion with you.”
“So you’re an investigator of some kind?”
“No, not that. I—”
“Are you writing a book or something?”
“No—not a book. It just happens that I have a reason to be researching the Advanced Fertility Center clinic. Mr. Archer told me you have some issues with them.”
A smile suddenly formed on Alexis’s face, a surprising move given her coldness so far. It was a tiny, wicked smile that suggested she was about to dish on a bad boy they’d both known in college. The composure had all been a front, Lake realized, just a thin, fragile coating for the woman’s fury.
“Not issues plural,” Alexis said. “Just one. They completely destroyed my life.”
“How?”
“Excuse me for seeming dense, but I’m still a little confused,” Alexis said. There was a real edge now to her voice, as if a screw had been tightened. “What’s your motive in all of this—and why do you expect me to cooperate?”
“Another person—someone familiar with the clinic—has raised concerns about them,” Lake said. “If they’re guilty of wrongdoing, they need to be exposed.”
“Aren’t we the concerned citizen,” Alexis said mockingly.
I’m losing ground, Lake thought anxiously. She had to try a