"Oh, you made me jump," she said. "I didn't think anyone was down here."

"Were you looking for me?" I asked, though she'd come from the direction of the set rather than my office.

"No, I was down in the studio, babysitting that reporter who's doing the piece on Vicky," she said. "He's going to watch her show at nine."

"Do you have to hang around until the end?" I asked.

"No, someone on my team is going to see the guy out. I was just leaving."

"Let me give you a lift home, then."

"Perfect," Ann said, smiling.

"Oh, shoot," I said suddenly. In my hyped-up state, I'd left a folder of info I needed back in my office. "I need to dash back for something."

"I'll go with you," she said. "I always find it creepy here at this hour. It's busy enough by the set and by makeup, but it's so empty everyplace else."

As we hurried down the corridor, the only sound was the clicking of our heels on the floor, confirming her comment. Reaching our destination, I flicked on the lights in the anteroom and walked through with Ann following behind me.

I hit the light switch in my private office and plucked a folder lying on a table. Behind me, I heard Ann gasp in shock. I spun around.

"My G.o.d, what's that?" Ann said.

She had stepped close to my desk and was staring at the chair. I glanced where her gaze had landed. Lying in the middle of the desk chair was a doll-a blond Barbie. But it didn't have long hair, like most Barbies. The hair had been cut into a jagged s.h.a.g, almost identical to mine.

I moved closer and picked up the doll. It was wearing a red dress, not unlike the one I was sporting on the back cover of my book, but shorter and sparkly across the top, typical Barbie wear.

"Look at the eyes," Ann exclaimed.

There weren't any eyes. They'd been poked out with something sharp. And in their place were two ragged black holes.

chapter 9.

"Where did this come from?" Ann asked hoa.r.s.ely.

I felt my hand begin to tremble, and I dropped the Barbie back into the chair, as if it were steely hot.

"I-I don't know," I said. With the stabbed-out eyes, the doll was hideous-looking, like a prop from a slasher movie. "I was here only a minute ago, so someone must have just left it."

"This is sick," Ann said. As she turned to me, I saw how shaken she was. "Was there anyone around when you left?"

I hesitated, thinking. "No," I said finally. "But this is probably why someone kept calling my number from the edit room. To lure me down there so they could leave this here."

"It's clearly someone we work with-no one gets by security downstairs."

"Tom called a postmortem for the producers, so they were all here late tonight."

"We have to call Potts-and Will Oliver," she said. Oliver was the network's own security chief.

"No," I said, shaking my head.

"What do you mean, no? Look, I was totally wrong when I said you were acting paranoid. Obviously, someone wants to freak you out, and it has to be dealt with."

"At some point, yes. But I don't want to open a can of worms tonight-I can explain later. I need time to consider the best course of action."

"Okay, why don't we grab a drink uptown and discuss it?" she said. "Or you can come by my apartment. I'll fix us something to eat."

I pressed a hand to my temple. My head had started to pound. "You know I love your cooking, but I'm completely spent," I said. "We can talk about it at lunch on Sat.u.r.day. And until then, let's keep it to ourselves."

"If you're sure that's what you want." She looked down at the doll again. "You know what's really twisted?" she said. "Whoever did this took the time to make it look just like you-the dress, the hair . . ."

"I know." Who the h.e.l.l was doing this to me?

I thought I heard a sound in the corridor. I froze, straining to hear. But it was just the AC kicking up a notch.

"Let's go," I said. I couldn't stand being there a second longer. I looked at Ann and smiled ruefully. "Though what do we do with Bad Haircut Barbie in the meantime?"

"Why don't I keep it for now?" she volunteered. Ann tugged the silk scarf from her neck, wrapped it around the doll, and stuffed the whole thing in her purse.

In the car, neither one of us said a word about what had happened, not with the driver's ear c.o.c.ked like a TV satellite dish. I could tell he knew something was up, that he could sense there was a secret throbbing beneath our silence.

As soon as I was home, I slipped off my dress and hung it carefully on a hanger, then dropped my bra and underwear in the laundry basket. I tucked my high heels side by side in one of the shoe drawers in my closet. Naked, I closed the stopper in the tub and turned on the water. When the tub was full, I slid into it.

For a moment, I just sat there, feeling the warmth penetrate my skin. Then, with both hands, I slapped the water as hard I could. It sloshed over the sides of the tub and onto the floor.

"No," I screamed. "No." I smacked the water again. And again.

I'd worked so freaking hard to put all the pieces back together, but things were starting to come unglued. People were gunning for me, hoping to trip me up.

I wouldn't let them do that. And I would never allow myself to end up where I was two years ago, kicked to the curb and left to watch on the sidelines as the world rushed by without me. I wrapped my arms around my body and rocked slowly back and forth.

Finally, I dragged my arm from the water and looked at my watch, deciphering the time through the foggy gla.s.s. Ten-thirty. Why hadn't I heard from Richard?

I'd thought the bath would make me groggy, but later, I kept twisting in the sheets, too wired to sleep. From somewhere deep in my mind, words began to surface, words of comfort my mother used to say to me in a hushed voice: Sleep, little robin, sleep. I repeated them again and again but they did no good.

At seven the next morning, I forced myself out of bed. By the time I was in the car, I felt less frayed, but when I walked into my office thirty minutes later, a sense of dread gripped me. I could still picture the doll lying on my desk chair with the ragged holes where her eyes should have been.

For the next hour, I raced through news sites, making notes and shooting a few ideas to Tom for segments next week. I also dashed off an online interview for my book. Since Keiki was still dealing with dog issues, I was all alone in the office. Every noise made my heart jump.

On the way back from a coffee run to the kitchenette, I took a detour, ending up in the newsroom. I had a question for the booker, who was wrapping up a phone call. While I waited, I let my gaze move from cubby to cubby. I worked with these people every day, I made jokes with them and gossiped with them. Did one of them hate my guts?

I snaked through the desks until I was on the very edge of the s.p.a.ce. From that angle, I could see down one of the corridors, the one with Vicky's office at the very end. She probably wasn't in yet, but I could sense her essence like a force field.

Later, on my way out of the newsroom, I ran into Maddy, looking lost in thought as she walked.

"Morning," I said, smiling. I wondered if she might be sulking from the reprimand, but she offered a smile back.

"Hi, Robin," she said. She leaned closer and whispered, "Just so you know, I took everything you said last night very seriously."

"Good," I said, my voice lowered, too. "And you haven't breathed a word to anyone, right?"

"No," she said. "No, never." She bit her lip. "I know you don't want me researching crimes anymore, but is there anything else I can take on?"

I had to stifle the urge to sigh. "Let me think about it, okay?"

The rundown meeting that day seemed more subdued than usual. Or was it just me? At one point I caught Carter staring at me quizzically. He was trying to read me, I realized, sensing something wasn't quite right. I held his gaze tightly, not sure what I was trying to convey.

And then I sensed someone else's eyes on me. I turned my head slightly to find Charlotte staring at me from across the table. Her cheeks were red and itchy-looking-the result of being under work stress these days? She quickly lowered her eyes to her iPad and began scrolling with fake interest through her notes.

Finally, at just after five, I heard from my agent. "Sorry, sorry," he said. He'd been in a contract negotiation.

I recapped the Potts conversation along with the backstory. As expected, Richard was annoyed with me for not informing him in advance about the meeting. "I could have done due diligence, Robin," he said. "That way you wouldn't have been sandbagged."

"I know," I said. "But the bottom line would have been the same. Vicky has a hair up her a.s.s about me. Should I be concerned about the meeting with Potts?"

"I wouldn't be. Your show is performing way ahead of expectations, and you're brilliant on it. I think you were simply a momentary scapegoat."

"Meaning?"

"I've heard rumors that Vicky's been taking meetings. That probably means her contract is up in the foreseeable future, and she's hoping to nab a few offers to wave in front of Potts. He may have gotten wind of that."

"So he's worried about losing her?" I asked.

"Possibly."

"Why only possibly?" The comment had surprised me.

"On the one hand, Vicky is part of the DNA of the network," Richard said. "But she's not the prize she used to be. All that stuff about Punch Daddy? It tarnished her, and her ratings have never completely rebounded."

"If her star is so tarnished, why would Potts take me to task for offending her?"

"You know Potts. He likes to keep everyone in his or her place. I wouldn't worry, Robin. But since he's developed this ridiculous notion about you being overambitious, I would be careful in that regard. Don't do anything to irritate the man."

"Got it," I said. I paused. "There's something else I need to run by you." I described what had been happening, starting with the note at the party.

"Robin, this is serious," he said, clearly shocked. "What are they doing about it?"

"I haven't told them yet."

"Wha-?"

"I will on Monday. Even though I'm a victim here, there's a chance that Potts will view it as extra drama he has to contend with. So I want there to be some cooling-down time between that pathetic conversation with him and when I drop this bomb."

Richard wasn't happy with my strategy, but he agreed to go along. After I'd signed off, I closed my eyes and tried to mentally force my shoulders to slacken. I'd never looked forward to a weekend so much.

At noon on Sat.u.r.day, I took a cab to Barbuto, at Washington and West Twelfth. Ann and I had decided to eat in the Meatpacking District for a change of scenery.

The metal garage-style doors on the front of the restaurant had been rolled up, creating an outdoor s.p.a.ce for summer, and we picked a table just off the sidewalk. Ann was wearing perfectly pressed navy pants and a crisp blue men's-style shirt. Even on weekends, she looked dressed to take a meeting. And per usual, her naturally wavy, light brown hair had been blown into submission.

As we waited for menus, I glanced around the area. Though there were people walking along the cobblestone street-a mix, it seemed, of New Yorkers and tourists-the city felt half-full. As one couple pa.s.sed, they did a double take, clearly recognizing me though I had my hair pulled back in a super-short ponytail.

"Is that happening more and more?" Ann asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Yes," I said. Although I wouldn't have admitted it out loud, the attention gave me a rush, especially after how my week had played out.

"They're also probably wondering what you're doing in the city on a Sat.u.r.day in August," Ann said.

"Next summer should be better-once the show's established, I'll be able to sneak away more. How about you? Do you wish you could be in East Hampton every weekend?"

Since knowing Ann, I'd spent a few weekends at her lovely home out there.

"Truthfully, I can't bear the thought of going anymore," she said. "We have a cleaning lady who comes in, but there's always something left over from Matthew's weekend that I unearth-like a tub of sorbet in the freezer-and I want to vomit at the sight of it."

"Do you really miss him?"

"Miss him? No. I can't stand the thought of him."

Her answer stunned me. Initially she'd pined for Matthew and I'd thought her reluctance to meet other men meant she was still yearning for him.

"Can you sell the house?" I asked, switching gears.

"Now's not a good time, unfortunately. We bought the place at the top of the market, and we can't afford to take a loss on it. But enough about that. Let's get to Barbie."

"Okay," I said. I'd been thinking about the doll nearly constantly since the moment I'd laid eyes on it. "Are you still concerned about me not reporting it yet?"

"No, not anymore," Ann said. "In fact, I actually feel you should continue to hold off-for a few more days."

"How come?" I said, taken aback.

"The Times piece. I should have realized it initially but I was so floored, I wasn't thinking straight. It's important that the article be as close to a wet kiss as possible. If you go to Will Oliver on Monday, he'll have to alert Potts and probably Tom, too, and there's a risk that the situation may leak out. We don't want the reporter getting wind of it. Then the profile becomes more about you being hara.s.sed than about your book."

"Good point," I said. I hadn't considered that.

"The reporter's talking to you on Monday, and I predict the piece will run by the end of the week-they'll want to tie in with the buzz about the book. The minute the article appears, you can hightail it to Oliver. Of course, if anything else happens before then, we'll have to reconsider."

"Makes sense." I smiled ruefully. "I'll let you know if I find a horse head in my bed or a bunny boiling on my stovetop."

Ann leaned in across the table. "You've had time to mull everything over," she said, her gray eyes intent. "Who do you think is doing this?"

"I don't know," I said after a beat. "If the Barbie and the torn book jackets are connected to the note in my purse-and I a.s.sume they are-it means we're talking about someone who was at the party. So I can eliminate the floor crew on the show, the tech people, the a.s.sociate producers, the interns and a.s.sistants. Because I only invited senior producers and above."