"Yes. The drugs have been nearly unbearable. The funny thing is that unlike some women, I usually have no trouble producing viable eggs and embryos. They just don't implant."

"But since you have extra embryos, you won't have to be subjected to the drugs for the next round."

Sydney tilted her pretty face and eyed Lake quizzically.

"I don't know who told you that. I don't have any extra embryos. They implanted all three that were produced this time."

"Oh, I'm sorry," Lake said awkwardly. That was odd, she thought. She was sure the chart had indicated ten embryos had been harvested.

"Besides," Sydney said. "There isn't going to be a next time. That's the thing I wanted to tell you."

Lake paused, considering the news. "Why? Have you decided to try another clinic?" she asked.

"Actually, my husband and I have decided to adopt," Sydney said, smiling. "I haven't even told Dr. Levin yet."

"That's wonderful," Lake said. "Congratulations."

"Deep down I think I've always wanted wanted to adopt. My younger brother is adopted and I completely adore him." to adopt. My younger brother is adopted and I completely adore him."

Lake felt a rush of joy for the woman followed by a surge of disappointment. So this this was the revelation Sydney had hinted at on the phone? Lake had hoped for so much more to help her case. was the revelation Sydney had hinted at on the phone? Lake had hoped for so much more to help her case.

"In hindsight, how do you feel about the clinic? Were you satisfied?"

"Yes.... Yes, I was."

Lake sensed reluctance in the answer, like an undertow. Maybe there is is something else, she told herself. something else, she told herself.

"Did-did you ever feel pressured to keep going?"

Sydney lifted her pale, freckled shoulders as if she had something to say but didn't know how. Here it comes, Lake thought.

"No, never," she said, shaking her head. "Initially I wanted to do whatever it took to get pregnant. If I seem hesitant it's only because the experience turned out to be worse than I imagined-not the clinic per se. Like I said, I hated the drugs. And I despised feeling so desperate and going to those awful support groups. When someone in the group would get pregnant, the rest of us would want to howl like wounded animals."

"So there was nothing about the clinic that troubled you?" Lake asked. She had to force herself not to look crushed. "Something you wish they'd done differently?"

"Why do you keep asking that? I thought you work for them."

"I do," Lake said brightly. "But part of growing and improving is hearing honest criticism."

"That's smart, I guess." Sydney glanced at her watch. "Look, I really do have to dash. I can't say I'm sorry never to be going back to the clinic, but I wish everyone there the best. They do good work."

Sydney stood up and grabbed a purse from near the cash register and began guiding Lake back to the door.

"What finally made you decide to pursue adoption?" Lake asked. She was grasping at straws, she knew.

"It sounds crazy," Sydney said. "But it was that doctor's murder. Dr. Keaton."

It was chilling to hear his name spoken here in this quiet little shop.

"But what...I don't understand. How could that influence you?" Lake asked.

"I was Levin's patient but Keaton came in on the day I was having my last procedure. I told him that if it didn't work, I was thinking about bagging the whole thing. He surprised me by saying that would be okay, that sometimes we just know in our guts what the right thing to do is. Right after I found out I wasn't pregnant, I heard he was murdered. I just took it as some kind of weird sign."

Lake fumbled for a response but none came. Instead she thanked Sydney for her time and wished her luck with the adoption pursuit. As she hurried down the sidewalk, she could hear the shop's steel security gate lowering with a rackety clang.

She hailed a cab going west. Now Now what? she wondered despondently. There had been no big revelation from Sydney. And yet there'd been that odd discrepancy. Her chart had said ten viable embryos had been produced, whereas Sydney Kastner thought there were only three. Levin may have lied to her so that she'd agree to another round of ovulation-stimulating drugs, ratcheting up her bill. It was certainly a possibility, but Lake wondered how she'd ever prove it. what? she wondered despondently. There had been no big revelation from Sydney. And yet there'd been that odd discrepancy. Her chart had said ten viable embryos had been produced, whereas Sydney Kastner thought there were only three. Levin may have lied to her so that she'd agree to another round of ovulation-stimulating drugs, ratcheting up her bill. It was certainly a possibility, but Lake wondered how she'd ever prove it.

The last thing she wanted to do right now was to have a drink with Hilary and Steve. And yet she knew that it would be good to see Steve away from work. He had the inside track there and maybe she could get him to talk about the clinic and see if he inadvertently revealed something worth knowing.

She'd been to their apartment just once before, when Sonia, Steve's sister, had been in town several years ago. It was all the way back on the West Side, in one of the luxury high-rises just north of Lincoln Center. Tonight when Hilary greeted her at the apartment door and Lake stepped inside she saw that "fixed it up" had been a gross understatement. The rooms had been reconfigured and redecorated within an inch of their lives. The furniture was sleek and modern-lots of white leather-and the walls displayed huge abstract paintings with designs that seemed to actually throb.

"Wow, you've done an amazing job," Lake said.

"We had help, of course," Hilary said. "I have a wonderful decorator. I'd be glad to give you her number if you're interested."

"How do you prevent all these white surfaces from getting smudged with little fingerprints?" Lake asked, thinking of Matthew, who had to be close to two now.

"Oh, this room is off limits to little boys," Hilary said.

"When do I get to see Matthew, anyway?"

"In a few minutes. The nanny is giving him his dinner right now. Would you like some white wine?"

They'd wandered to the far end of the ma.s.sively large living room with sweeping views of the Hudson River and New Jersey beyond. On the coffee table was a bottle of white Burgundy chilling in a bucket, a huge wedge of soft cheese, and tiny cloth c.o.c.ktail napkins. Hilary gestured for Lake to sit on the couch and poured them each some wine. Her white capris, Lake noticed, were as perfectly pressed as the napkins. On top she wore a sleeveless white tunic embellished with stones that matched the bronzy color of her sandals. Vanished was the beleaguered look she'd had Monday.

"Where's Steve?" Lake asked.

"Oh, he's running late-there was a problem at the clinic."

Lake tried to keep her face straight. "Oh?"

"A patient had a reaction to one of the drugs," Hilary said, to Lake's relief. "I'm just glad I never had to deal with any of that."

"Me, too. I feel so bad for those women, especially the ones who go through round after round of IVF."

"I guess," Hilary said, shrugging a tanned shoulder.

"What do you mean?" Lake asked, puzzled by her reaction.

"It's really their own choosing. No one is forcing forcing them to do it. And it's such a drain on insurance companies. I don't understand why these people can't be more accepting of their situation-or why they don't adopt, like Angelina did. There are millions of needy children out there." them to do it. And it's such a drain on insurance companies. I don't understand why these people can't be more accepting of their situation-or why they don't adopt, like Angelina did. There are millions of needy children out there."

Lake felt at a loss for words. Hilary had always struck her as shallow, but Lake couldn't believe her insensitivity. She wondered if she'd have the same disdain for someone who used insurance dollars to have a birthmark removed.

"The desire to carry a child can be pretty intense in women," Lake said.

"Well, then, why don't they start earlier? It's not as if there aren't plenty of articles saying that, duh, your fertility drops after thirty-five. In a way I think fertility clinics encourage women to wait longer to conceive because they know they can fall back on procedures like IVF."

"Steve doesn't have any regrets about his career, does he?"

"No. But I think he'd be better off if he'd stuck to his original plan: plastic surgery. It's not so morose morose, if you know what I mean."

Lake could hardly stand listening to her. "But is he happy at the clinic?" she asked. If Steve was involved in anything unethical, it might translate at home as nerves or discontent.

"Well, he's certainly not thrilled with what's going on now now."

"What do you mean?"

"The murder, of course," Hilary said. "How creepy, right?

"You know what I think?" she continued. "A woman did it."

"Oh?" Lake asked, wondering what was behind this speculation. "Why is that?"

"He was a horrible flirt," Hilary replied, looking straight at Lake. Her gray eyes were as cold as two river stones. "I bet he finally made one woman jealous enough to kill him."

Was the comment loaded? Lake wondered. She remembered Hilary catching the look she'd exchanged with Keaton at the dinner that night. She had to fight the urge to look away. To her relief, a Latino woman dressed in a white uniform suddenly appeared in the doorway.

"Matthew's ready to say goodnight, Mrs. Salman," she announced.

"All right," Hilary said. She turned to Lake, all smiles again. "I can't wait for you to see him. Bring your wine if you want."

Lake followed Hilary through the dining room into a sleek white-and-stainless-steel kitchen. Matthew was sitting in a high chair, banging on the tray with a spoon. He'd grown from a gorgeous chubby baby with huge brown eyes to an exquisite toddler. Lake felt a visceral rush of pure delight at the sight of him.

"Matthew, what a big boy you are," Lake gushed. He offered a gummy smile back. Lake turned to Hilary. "He's just so precious."

"He is now now," Hilary said, folding her arms across her chest. "He just started throwing temper tantrums, and you should see him then. She turned to her son. "You're Mommy's little terror, aren't you?"

"Steve must be on cloud nine," Lake said.

"Oh, he is. I just wish he were around a little more to help. Jenny, you can wash him up now-and then you can put him to bed."

"Can you show us how tall you are?" the nanny asked him sweetly. Matthew's arms shot up. The nanny grinned back and pulled him out of the high chair and left the kitchen.

"Oh, let me show you his playroom," Hilary declared. "The decorator did an amazing job on it."

"All right," Lake said. Her head was beginning to pound. She wasn't sure if it was the wine.

Hilary led her down a long hallway, past both the master bedroom and Matthew's. At the end was a small, carpeted room lined with bookshelves and painted with murals. As they stepped inside, a phone rang in another room.

"Excuse me a sec," Hilary said. "The murals were all painted by a children's book ill.u.s.trator," she called as she hurried away.

Lake ran her eyes around the room. So this was where Matthew was parked so he couldn't mess up the living room. How ironic, Lake thought. The woman who'd had no trouble conceiving could barely be bothered with her child. Suddenly Lake felt overwhelmed with the urge to just get the h.e.l.l out of there.

"That was Steve," Hilary said, reentering the room. "He's really sorry but he won't be home for at least an hour." She rolled her eyes.

"No problem," Lake said, relieved for the excuse. "We'll do it another time."

"You certainly don't have to rush off," Hilary said.

"Why don't we just reschedule. I'm sure you have stuff to do."

"Is something the matter?" Hilary asked almost petulantly.

"No, no. I-I've just been fighting off a cold lately."

The two women walked back to the living room and Lake grabbed her purse and said goodbye. Her apartment was within walking distance but she didn't have the psychic energy to get there on foot. She found a cab and climbed gratefully into the back. She wondered if Steve's excuse had been legit. Or maybe he was trying to avoid her. Her snooping may have been reported to Levin, and in turn to Steve. For the past few days she'd felt she was up to her neck in water but still able to breathe; now she felt close to drowning. Her only hope had been to find evidence she could take to Archer, but she'd come up with nothing.

As Lake ma.s.saged her temples, she realized that her face was wet with sweat. She dug in her purse, searching for a tissue. Just beneath her patent-leather wallet she felt something unfamiliar-round and made of rough cloth. She pulled it from her purse. For a second she just stared, confounded. It was a small burlap pouch, about the size of a plum. The neck was closed with twine and the insides were filled with something twiglike that poked through the fabric in places. My G.o.d, she thought-is it marijuana? Had someone stuck it in her purse?

She noticed a tag attached to the twine, blank on the side looking up at her. Slowly she turned it over. On the back was a single word: Catnip Catnip.

19.

SHE'D BOUGHT CATNIP once for Smokey ages ago-but she certainly hadn't stuffed it in her purse. No, someone else had placed the bag there. It was obviously supposed to remind her of Smokey and what had been done to him. Was it a message? once for Smokey ages ago-but she certainly hadn't stuffed it in her purse. No, someone else had placed the bag there. It was obviously supposed to remind her of Smokey and what had been done to him. Was it a message? I was in your backyard. This time I got even closer to you I was in your backyard. This time I got even closer to you.

A word shot like a bullet through her mind: Jack Jack. She'd left her purse with him when she had to dash back up to the apartment because Jack had told her the wrong books on the phone. His whole visit may have been a ruse just so that he could slip the catnip in her purse. If that was true, it meant he'd also shaved Smokey.

Maybe Jack was was trying to unhinge her, to make it appear that she was an unfit mother. But was Jack really capable of such sick behavior? trying to unhinge her, to make it appear that she was an unfit mother. But was Jack really capable of such sick behavior?

Another thought barged through her brain: If Jack was her stalker, then there was no reason to believe that Keaton's killer was watching her after all. In fact, Keaton's death might have no relation to the clinic at all. All the stuff she'd been doing to save herself-going through files, talking to patients-may have been pointless, and the real threat was the man she used to love.

But, she realized with a start, her purse had also been out of her sight at the clinic clinic. She'd left it on the conference room table while she'd searched for the files. Anyone at the clinic could have dropped in the little sack of catnip. Which would mean that the killer did did work at the clinic, knew of Lake's involvement with Keaton, and was sending her another warning. But a warning to do work at the clinic, knew of Lake's involvement with Keaton, and was sending her another warning. But a warning to do what what? she wondered. To shut up or else?

Lake searched in her purse for a tissue and wiped the perspiration from her face. There was something else to consider: She'd left her purse in the living room at Steve and Hilary's when she'd gone to the kitchen to see Matthew, and Hilary had scurried off alone for a minute or two when Lake was in the playroom. What if Hilary had been having an affair with Keaton? Lake remembered how flirtatious Hilary had been with him at the restaurant. And then there was the fight in the car Steve had alluded to. Perhaps Hilary had gone to Keaton's apartment later and discovered he'd been in bed with another woman that night. In a rage she'd killed him. Now Hilary suspected Lake was the other woman but wasn't sure and was trying to flush her out.

And yet that idea seemed as farfetched as Jack hurting Smokey.

"Is this it?" a voice said.

Startled, Lake looked up to see that the cabdriver was speaking to her through the Plexiglas divider. She hadn't even realized that they had stopped in front of her building.

After climbing out of the cab, she glanced furtively up and down the street. The block was empty except for a woman pushing a stroller. As soon as Lake was in her apartment, she dropped the catnip into a plastic bag and shoved it in the back of a kitchen drawer. She couldn't stand the sight of it, but she knew it wouldn't be smart to throw it away.

As she slammed the drawer shut, her eye caught the calendar on the door of the fridge. The kids were due back in the apartment in just a few weeks. She couldn't imagine how she could allow them to live here with the killer possibly closing in on her and the police breathing down her neck. Perhaps she could ask Jack to keep them longer in the Hamptons than planned. She could say she was swamped with a project and needed to work on it 24/7. But if Jack was the stalker, wasn't this exactly what he was trying to do: create the impression of a mommy who was coming unglued?

I have to get a grip, she told herself as she stripped off her top. It was essential to keep her wits about her so she could watch her back at all times. That also held true with the police. She needed to keep a cool head if they showed up sweating at her door again. And if Jack Jack was behind all the cat madness, she had to outsmart him, too. It all seemed overwhelming, but she had to do everything she could to save herself. If she didn't, she would lose Will and Amy-and perhaps much more. was behind all the cat madness, she had to outsmart him, too. It all seemed overwhelming, but she had to do everything she could to save herself. If she didn't, she would lose Will and Amy-and perhaps much more.

She showered and then forced herself to microwave and eat another frozen mac and cheese. After stabbing at the dregs of it in the plastic container, she paced the hall of the apartment. The one sure way to save herself, it still seemed, was to figure out what was going on at the clinic. The discrepancy about Sydney Kastner's embryos bugged her. It could very well point to attempts by the clinic to jack up profits. And she couldn't ignore the odd Keaton connection. He'd consulted on Sydney's case and encouraged her to do what was right for her. Perhaps right before the celebratory dinner, Keaton had figured it all out and confronted Levin.

But how do I I figure it out? Lake wondered. She thought again of the odd letters on Sydney's information sheet. Even if she summoned the nerve to look through files again, she didn't know what she was really looking for. Her thoughts rushed back to Alexis. There was clearly something she hadn't told Lake, something she'd been close to revealing. It seemed Lake's only hope was to convince Alexis to share what she knew. Lake glanced at her watch. It was almost ten. She would phone Alexis in the morning. And she would try to learn what she'd meant by figure it out? Lake wondered. She thought again of the odd letters on Sydney's information sheet. Even if she summoned the nerve to look through files again, she didn't know what she was really looking for. Her thoughts rushed back to Alexis. There was clearly something she hadn't told Lake, something she'd been close to revealing. It seemed Lake's only hope was to convince Alexis to share what she knew. Lake glanced at her watch. It was almost ten. She would phone Alexis in the morning. And she would try to learn what she'd meant by cherchez la femme cherchez la femme.

She slept with the table once again propped against the door. All through the night, Smokey paced up and down the bed as if he sensed how tense she was. The last time she remembered looking at her clock it read 2:27.