She was shivering and her stomach was cramping and she just wanted to be safe in her car.
As she hurried down the street with them, trying not to stub her bare toes on the cobblestone, she constantly surveyed the area. There was no sign of the man anywhere. Ten feet away from the car, with the strangers trailing behind her, she hit the unlock button on her car key and nearly flung herself inside. Before slamming the door shut, she thanked the five strangers for their help. Somewhere in the backseat was her gym bag, where she kept a pair of athletic shoes, but she didn’t dare take the time now to find them. She fired up the engine and pulled away. In the rearview mirror she saw one of the guys shrug, as if asking, What the hell was that all about?
She could barely think straight as she drove. After making a right on a nearly deserted street, she sped out of Dumbo. When she finally reached a busier street, she pulled the car over and punched her address into the GPS so that she could find her way back to the Brooklyn Bridge.
But then she realized that she couldn’t risk going home. What if the man was waiting for her there? Plus, she couldn’t let the doorman see her this way. She could just imagine it turning up in a report in the custody case: “Doorman reports that mother once arrived home sopping wet and smelling of tanker oil and raw sewage.”
Still shivering, she flipped on the heater and tried to focus. Molly’s name flashed in her mind. She would go to her friend’s apartment in Chelsea, she decided. Molly would take care of her and help her decide what to do. Maybe now she would even tell Molly the whole story. She clearly had to start getting some help.
Once over the Brooklyn Bridge, Lake took the FDR around the tip of Manhattan and then headed north. Every few seconds she checked the rearview mirror but it was impossible to tell if she was being followed—all she could see behind her were swirling globes of light. At a red light she rooted through her purse for her BlackBerry and called Molly. She got only voice mail.
“Molly,” she said plaintively. “I—I need to talk to you. Please call me back, okay? As soon as you can.” She tried Molly’s landline next, but when there was no answer she just hung up.
Where is she? Lake wondered. Though Molly had a busy social life, she’d often told Lake she liked to be in bed before midnight. Lake checked her watch: 11:34. Knowing that Molly should be home shortly, or at the very least return Lake’s call in a lather of curiosity, Lake decided to drive to Molly’s apartment building. She’d wait outside until she finally heard back—and then she’d crash on Molly’s couch for the night. She considered the small chance Molly was on a hot date and wouldn’t be coming home tonight. But Lake had no other options.
She proceeded to West Twenty-first Street, frequently checking her rearview mirror. For one whole block there wasn’t a single car behind, so she was pretty sure she wasn’t being followed. The man who’d attacked her had obviously given up and left. She saw his face again in her mind’s eye. Finally, with a start, she remembered where she’d seen him. He was the man in the bar at the Waldorf, the one who’d checked her out after Archer left. He’d been watching her for days, then. Had someone at the clinic hired him? Had he killed Keaton with that knife?
She was so distracted that she missed Molly’s block and had to go around again. Once she was finally there, she double-parked just a few yards ahead of Molly’s apartment building so she’d be able to see her come in. She craned her neck, checking nervously behind her. A few cars came down the street but they all shot past her.
Lake had stopped shivering but she felt miserable in her wet clothes. Still watching the building, she fumbled in the backseat for the bag with her gym clothes and pulled out the shoes and a T-shirt. She scrunched down in the front seat, peeled off her jersey shell and bra and wriggled into the T-shirt. Then she put on the shoes.
Ten minutes passed. She tried Molly’s number again. Still no answer. As she eyed her incoming emails, she saw that Archer had sent her