At nine-fifty she paid the check and slipped out of the restaurant. As she made her way down Front Street, the dull roaring and clacking of cars above her on the Brooklyn Bridge seemed to echo how agitated she felt inside.

At Dock Street, she turned left and headed down to Water. The block was deserted except for a young couple pulling their car out of a parking s.p.a.ce. As enchanting as the area was, there didn't seem to be any services along its streets-no delis or coffee shops or laundromats-and at this hour pedestrian traffic was nearly nonexistent. She thought she heard a sound behind her-the scuff of a shoe-and she quickly twisted her head around. There was no one there.

At Water she took a right. She wished she'd been able to find a parking s.p.a.ce closer to the restaurant. Across the street an old brick warehouse with carved arches ran the entire length of the block. On her side of the street was a gallery, closed for the day, with an oversize carousel inside. The horses were paused in midgallop, their eyes blank in the small spotlight. The building after that, at the intersection, had apartments on the upper floors, and though some of them were lit up, there was no visible activity inside. It was as if she'd found herself in the back lot of a Hollywood studio after closing time. All she wanted was to be in her car heading home.

She heard a sound again, and this time she was sure it was a footstep. She spun around. Halfway down the block she saw a man walking alone at a steady clip. He was dressed in tight dark pants-jeans, she thought-and a sweatshirt and sneakers, and he wore some kind of trucker cap with the beak pulled low on his face. Her pulse jumped and she started moving faster.

Right away she heard the man pick up his own pace. His footsteps sounded louder and more urgent behind her. Still hurrying, Lake jerked her head around to look. He was walking with long, smooth strides, and though the cap hid his eyes, she could tell he was looking straight at her face.

She was in danger-there was no doubt about it. She turned back and started to run. Behind her she heard the man begin to run, too. The car was a block and a half away and it seemed impossible to reach it without the man catching up to her. "Help!" she screamed-and then again. Her voice was drowned out by the distant roar of subway cars pa.s.sing over the Manhattan Bridge.

The last block toward the car was completely dark. To her left, just before the river, she could see a small cafe and she zigged in that direction, her heart nearly ramming against her chest. But as she sprinted toward the cafe, she saw the tables were stacked along the sidewalk and the inside lights dimmed. Gripping her aching right side, she turned back again. The man was gaining on her. Her only choice was the park. There would surely be people there still, looking at the water. She plunged into the same entrance she used earlier and raced along the path.

"Help!" she screamed again.

But the park was empty. Frantically she scanned the area to the right of the terraced steps for an exit but she saw only a chain-link fence. So she flew down the steps to the pebble beach and began to scuttle across it.

She could sense the man right behind her like a force field, and she yelled, "Get away from me!" Across the East River, Manhattan throbbed with lights, and cars streamed down the FDR Drive, but she knew that no one in the world could hear her.

Suddenly her whole body was being jerked backward. The man had grabbed her pink jacket, twisting the fabric in his fist. She couldn't see him but she could smell him-the reeking scent of aftershave. Struggling, she twisted around. The man let go of her jacket and yanked her arm tightly. Her brain seemed oddly separated from her body; she was thinking and a.s.sessing the situation even as her body felt limp with fear. I have to fight him, she thought. Her purse was on her free arm and she let the strap slide from her shoulder. Before the bag could drop, she caught it and wrapped the strap once around her hand. Then she swung the purse as hard as she could at the man's head.

It caught him by surprise and he staggered backward. At the same time his cap flew off, and in the glow of the streetlamps she saw his face. It was a face she had seen before but couldn't place in her frantic state. She screamed "Help" again but no one came.

She tried to dart around the man but he shot to the right, blocking her path. She dodged the other way, but he blocked her again, and this time an evil smirk took shape on his face. In desperation she looked behind her. There was only the river. As she turned back around, the man charged at her with his full force, toppling her to the pebbled ground.

He'd knocked the wind out of her, too, and she struggled to get a breath. As he lunged toward her again, she hurled her purse at him with all her strength. It caught the edge of his shoulder and then bounced onto the rocks. He smirked again and drew something from his jacket pocket. The light caught the object and she saw that it was a knife-long and glinty and terrifying.

Then there was a sound behind the man, coming from near the trees in the park. He jerked his head back to see. In those few seconds Lake scooted back on her b.u.t.t a few feet across the rocks and then staggered to her feet. Grabbing another breath, she turned around and stumbled to the river's edge. She could hear the man scrambling over the rocks right behind her, ready to grab her again, but before he could catch her, she took a huge step and waded into the river. She dragged her legs a few more feet and then suddenly there was no bottom. She dropped into the dark river water and it swallowed her up to her neck. Behind her she heard the man gasp in surprise.

The water was cold and all her muscles clenched in shock. She paddled a few more feet out from the sh.o.r.eline and then twisted her body so that it faced the sh.o.r.e. The man was at the water's edge, his hands clenched in frustration. She could still see the knife shooting out, the blade an extension of his right hand.

Would he come after her? she wondered. Treading water, she kicked off her sandals and worked her way out of her jacket. Then, with long, firm strokes she began to swim, parallel to the sh.o.r.e. She was going south and she could feel the pull of a sure, steady current-or rather the outgoing tide, she suddenly realized, because the East River was an estuary of the Atlantic Ocean. Her terror ballooned. What if she was dragged down the river into the harbor? She would drown surely-or be sliced in two by a freighter. The trick would be to stay as close to the sh.o.r.e as possible.

Just ahead she saw an area of large jagged black rocks on the sh.o.r.eline, almost primordial-looking, and then, not far beyond them, wooden pylons beneath another small park that jutted out over the river. If she could make it there, she could hold on to one of them. After about twenty strokes she flipped her body around and peered back toward the sh.o.r.e where she'd started. In the glow cast by the park lights, she saw the outline of the man still watching her, his arms outstretched tensely by his sides. But suddenly he turned and sprinted across the pebbles toward the entrance and disappeared into the darkness. Was he going to try to catch up with her farther south along the river?

She continued to swim, pa.s.sing the rocks. Finally, exhausted, she reached the pylons. They were slimy and reeked of a horrible snail-like smell, but she flung her arms around one and held on as tightly as possible. It was such a relief to rest. Though she hadn't swum far, it had been hard to maneuver in her clothes. Farther out on the water a red tugboat steamed along, pulling a black-and-white freighter with Russian-looking words painted along the side. I can't believe this, she thought in despair. I'm floating in the East River. What was beneath her in the bottomless water? Fish and snakes and garbage? Worse?

Where was the man? By now he might be trying to get into the park above her. She had noticed earlier that a chain-link fence surrounded it, one he could easily scale. At that moment she thought she heard a noise on the walkway above the pylons. She pulled herself farther underneath.

The noise quieted after a moment. If it had been him, he would have seen that there was no way to reach her from where he was. But now now what? she asked herself. He may have gone back to the park to wait for her. She had no choice but to stay where she was and pray that he didn't return there. Then she could swim back to the park and flee this place. what? she asked herself. He may have gone back to the park to wait for her. She had no choice but to stay where she was and pray that he didn't return there. Then she could swim back to the park and flee this place.

As she waited, she pictured the man's face in her mind. Where did she know him from? It was recent, she knew, very recent, but she couldn't think of where she'd seen him.

She shivered. Though the water wasn't extremely cold, she knew that if she were stuck in it long enough she would develop hypothermia. She dragged her legs back and forth through the water, trying to make her heart pump harder.

The next few minutes were endless. Far out in the river she could see freighters moving along almost soundlessly, pulled by tiny tugboats. She clung to the pylon as tightly as possible. Don't let me die here, please, she begged. She imagined Amy and Will, living their lives without her.

After about twenty minutes, she let go of the pylon and paddled a little back upriver, fighting the tide, until she could get a better look at the park again. There was no sign of the man. But she didn't dare go back so soon. She swam back to the pylon and grabbed hold again. Her arms ached and warm tears ran over the cool wetness of her face.

When roughly ten more minutes had pa.s.sed, she knew she had to go back. She had started to shiver and her arms were trembling from grasping onto the pylon so tightly. She took a breath and began to swim, quietly as she could, back to the pebble beach. The tide was still going out, and within a minute she felt exhausted from fighting it.

Suddenly, she heard noises coming from the sh.o.r.eline. With a rush of fear, she dropped her arms and treaded water. The sound was definitely emanating from the park. Was the man back? After a few seconds, she figured out the sound was laughter. She raised her head and peered through the darkness. There were four or five dark forms sitting on the terraced steps, talking and laughing. It sounded like a group of teenagers.

She began swimming harder, fighting the tide as best she could. Finally she was at the beach. She didn't try to hit the bottom, just propelled herself onto the rocks like some kind of otter.

"Hey," she heard one of the people on the steps call out, then "Oh my G.o.d." As she pulled herself into a standing position, her wet clothes sucking at her body, five people scrambled down the steps in unison and ran toward her. As they drew closer she saw that they were all probably in their twenties-three guys and two girls.

"Are you okay?" one of the girls called out. "What happened to you?"

"I-I was chased into the water. By a man," Lake said.

All five of them stared at her in disbelief. It would probably have made just as much sense, she thought, to say she'd been on a reconnaissance mission for the U.S. government and had been diving in search of foreign submarines.

"He was attacking me," Lake added, wringing out her skirt. She scanned the area behind them, looking for the man.

"We should call the police," the same girl said. She pulled a cell phone from the pocket of her jeans skirt and flipped it open.

"No!" Lake said, startling them all. "I mean-I will, but I can't now. I have to get out of here in case he comes back. You-you should leave, too. It may not be safe."

A few of them looked around nervously.

"Yeah, we better go," one of the boys said.

"Could you walk me to my car?" Lake asked. "It's just a block away."

"Sure," the same dark-haired guy said. But no sooner had she said the words than she realized that she didn't have her purse. Her eyes raced over the rocks. There it was-still lying where it had landed when she'd thrown it at her attacker. Barefoot, she made her way gingerly over the rocks and grabbed it. Though a small notebook had slipped out onto the rocks, everything else was safely inside-her BlackBerry, her car keys, her wallet. Turning back around, she found all five people staring wide-eyed at her, clearly still dumbfounded by her entire existence.

She urged them again to leave and together they all hurried out of the park. One of the girls nervously grabbed the hand of the dark-haired guy, though the guys looked more perplexed than worried. They think I've had a fight with my boyfriend, Lake thought, and done a drama jump into the river. She didn't care. 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 b.u.t.ton 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 h.e.l.l was that that all about? 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 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? 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 sh.e.l.l and bra and wriggled into the T-shirt. Then she put on the shoes.

Ten minutes pa.s.sed. She tried Molly's number again. Still no answer. As she eyed her incoming emails, she saw that Archer had sent her a message only a few minutes before. He'd returned from his trip sooner than he'd antic.i.p.ated and wanted to catch up tomorrow.

Some movement on the block caused Lake's eyes to shoot back up. A woman with long hair, her back toward Lake, was walking toward the building. Finally-Molly. But as the woman reached the doorway and stopped to speak to the doorman, Lake saw that it wasn't Molly after all. What will I do if she doesn't come home? Lake thought plaintively. Should she get a hotel room? She could imagine the face of the front-desk clerk when her stench blew into the lobby.

The doorman nodded a goodnight to the woman and she proceeded into the building. Two men walked past the building but didn't stop. And then a cab lurched to a stop in front. Please let this be Molly, Lake prayed. She could see the pa.s.senger leaning forward in the backseat to pay, and after a few seconds Lake could tell that it was a man. He flung open the door and thrust his body out with a.s.surance. The light of the streetlamp caught his face as he paused to stuff the change into his pants pocket.

Lake stared in disbelief. It was Jack.

22.

HE'S AFTER ME. The thought exploded in her mind before she'd even fully processed Jack's presence. He'd arranged the bungled attack on her tonight, just as he was behind what had happened to Smokey and the bag of catnip. And since Jack knew she'd probably turn to Molly for help tonight, he'd come looking for her here.

But as Lake slunk down in her seat, some other part of her brain kicked those thoughts away. Jack had a sweater tied nattily around his shoulders, and the expression on his face was smug and expectant. No, he wasn't searching for her. That was the look of a man who had plans plans for the evening. Jack was here to see Molly. for the evening. Jack was here to see Molly.

Her stomach churned at the idea. She hoisted herself up just enough to peer over the steering wheel. Jack was now in the foyer, and the doorman was speaking into the phone. He hung up and nodded to Jack with a smile that suggested familiarity. Then Jack strode past him and into the building.

Lake's mind raced. How long had this been going on? Was Molly the reason for the breakup of her marriage? The thought of the two of them together, making love, sickened her. At the same time she felt that bizarre rush that comes with clarity. This This explained Jack's prison-break departure from her life. It also explained Molly's endless questions about the divorce and about whether Jack was interested in reconciling-questions that had begun to go beyond a friend's concern. Obviously Molly had continued their friendship in order to keep tabs, to learn details about the divorce that Jack might not be sharing. How explained Jack's prison-break departure from her life. It also explained Molly's endless questions about the divorce and about whether Jack was interested in reconciling-questions that had begun to go beyond a friend's concern. Obviously Molly had continued their friendship in order to keep tabs, to learn details about the divorce that Jack might not be sharing. How evil evil, Lake thought.

But the affair might be just the tip of the iceberg. She wondered if Molly and Jack were plotting together to get the kids. Molly's former marriage had been childless and she had admitted wistfully to Lake on several occasions that she regretted not having children. Now, with Jack's help, she could have her own instant family.

Thank G.o.d, Lake had never confessed to Molly what had happened with Keaton. It would all be over for her then. Quickly she ran through what she had had discussed with Molly-that she thought Jack might be snooping, that she had engaged in minor flirting with someone at work, that she'd been interviewed by the police along with the other clinic staff. Nothing that could incriminate her. discussed with Molly-that she thought Jack might be snooping, that she had engaged in minor flirting with someone at work, that she'd been interviewed by the police along with the other clinic staff. Nothing that could incriminate her.

She needed to get out of here. More than likely Molly and Jack were "in" for the night, but what if they decided to head out for a late drink or supper? She fired up the engine, and after driving several blocks, double-parked on a side street so she could plan her next move. Since she'd avoided her closest friends following her split with Jack, there was no way she could phone them now, out of the blue. She glanced down at the screen of her BlackBerry. Archer's email stared back at her. It seemed crazy to call him, but it was the only thing that made sense now. At the very least he'd be interested in what had happened to her tonight and what it possibly revealed about the clinic.

He answered on the third ring. In the background she could hear the drone of a TV so she a.s.sumed he must be home.

"I hope I'm not calling too late," Lake said. "It's Lake Warren."

"Oh, hey. I was going to touch base tomorrow. What's up?"

"I was attacked tonight. And I think it had to do with the clinic. I-I was just hoping I could talk to you. To be honest, I'm scared out of my mind."

"Are you hurt?" he asked, sounding alarmed. "Have you seen a doctor?"

"I'm okay. Just shaken. And I ended up in the East River, so I'm sopping wet."

"The river river? My G.o.d. Where are you?"

"I'm in my car-in Chelsea. I don't really know what to do."

"I'm in the Village on Jane Street, so I'm not far. Will you be able to drive down here? Or should I come and get you?"

She could feel the relief wash over her. He was going to help her.

"No, I'll be okay driving down there."

He suggested a garage near his building, since street parking was next to impossible in his neighborhood.

"Why don't you call me when you get to the garage and I'll come meet you," he added.

"That's not necessary," she said. "Just give me your address and I'll see you in a few minutes. And...thank you."

To her surprise he was waiting in the garage when she arrived, dressed in khakis and a rumpled blue-and-white striped dress shirt. As soon as she stepped out of the car, he shook his head in distress at the sight of her.

"I'm just half a block up the street," he said. He put his arm lightly on her back and guided her along the sidewalk. The street was dark, the streetlamps partly obscured by rows of leafy plane trees, and the whole way there she could sense how alert he was, c.o.c.king his head back and forth as he checked around them. He had his keys out before they were even at his brownstone. After letting her into his ground-floor apartment, he glanced up and down the street before he shut the door.

"So tell me what happened," he said as soon as he'd ushered her into his living room. It was a large, comfortable s.p.a.ce with a big red sofa and books and newspapers strewn all over its surfaces.

"A man attacked me in one of the river parks in Dumbo," Lake said. "He knocked me down and then he pulled out a knife. I know it sounds crazy, but the only way I could escape was to jump in the river. I swam over to an area beneath a park and hid there until I was pretty sure he was gone."

"Are you sure you're okay?"

"Yes-but it was pretty hairy for a while," she said, her voice catching. "I'm a good swimmer but I don't know how long I could have lasted out there. I was afraid I'd get tired and the tide would sweep me away."

Then without warning, she began to cry. Her shoulders shook, and she let out a weird strangled sound. It was partly from relief, she knew-and partly from despair, because though she'd escaped, she wasn't safe at all.

"Hey," Archer said gently and put his arm around her, pulling her toward him. Her right cheek pressed against his soft rumpled shirt. "Everything's okay now."

"I don't think so," Lake said, brushing her tears away. "I think someone from the clinic is after me. They want to shut me up."

"Tell me why you think that," he said.

"Look," she said, "I hope you won't be mad, but I tracked down Alexis Hunt myself. I wanted to find out what she thought was happening there. I figured if I was going to wade through the files, it would help to know what I was looking for."

"Okay," he said, drawing out the word. He'd turned his head and was looking at her sideways, his eyes skeptical.

"What she told me was pretty staggering," Lake said. "She's convinced that the clinic transferred her embryos to someone else-a woman named Melanie Turnbull. Sometimes couples give permission for this but Alexis definitely didn't. She says it resulted in this woman having a baby-and that she probably didn't realize it was from a donor embryo. Needless to say, Alexis is beside herself."

Archer opened his mouth in surprise.

"Wow, there was a case like that years ago in California. But could this have been a mistake? Embryos accidentally switched in the lab?"

"No, it all just seems too suspicious. The clinic likes to boast about how successful they are with older women. I think they're doing this to improve their numbers with women over forty. Plus, there are two instances I know of-Alexis is one-where the patient has fewer frozen embryos than she thought."

Archer placed a hand on his cheek and let out a long breath.

"I clearly hit a nerve with them," Lake continued. "The reason I was in Brooklyn was that I tracked Melanie Turnbull down, too. At first she didn't want anything to do with me, but then she agreed to meet me in a restaurant in her neighborhood. I waited an hour and she never showed. As I was walking back to my car, this man started following me-and then chasing me. And guess what else? He was also in the bar at the Waldorf the night I met you. He must have followed me there, too."

"So you think this woman reported back to the clinic that you'd called her and they arranged for this guy to try to kill you-a guy they'd already hired to keep you in his sights?"

"Yes, it seems that way. Levin obviously had him start watching me after he discovered I was getting snoopy. Then the a.s.signment escalated." Suddenly she felt her whole body sag from exhaustion. "There's so much I've got to tell you. But I'd love to wash up first. After being in that river, I'm worried I'm on the verge of coming down with cholera cholera." She managed a smile.

"Of course. How about a shower? I think that would be better than just washing up."