"Did you ask Keaton about it?" Sherman asked.

"Of course not," Levin snapped. "He certainly wouldn't have admitted it. The only way we would have found out was through outside inquiries."

Lake wondered if Levin had had said something to Keaton-and that was the snag Keaton had coyly referred to. said something to Keaton-and that was the snag Keaton had coyly referred to.

Hayden pressed for more information about the gambling, but Levin a.s.sured her he had no details to share. She then reviewed procedures she wanted people to follow. Lake tried to concentrate on the conversation but her mind was racing over what she'd just heard. Could Keaton's killer have been a mobster or hoodlum hired by a bookie-someone who knew how to jimmy a lock?

At eight forty-five Hayden finished the briefing and Lake walked her out. Because most appointments had been rescheduled, there were only a few patients in the waiting room.

"Let's catch up later," Hayden said quietly to her.

There was really nothing more for Lake to do at the clinic-she'd finished up her research-but she hung around, thinking there might be more talk of Keaton. She craved information, anything that might help her feel less frantic. If the gambling rumor proved to be true, for instance, the police would start pursuing that particular angle. But no one was talking and the halls were deadly quiet. She suddenly just wanted to get out of there as quickly as she could.

After grabbing her things in the conference room, she turned to leave and was surprised to see Harry Kline was standing in the doorway.

"Oh, I heard you were back," she said, smiling. There was something so calm and easy about him; just setting eyes on him seemed to slow her pulse.

He smiled back. "I hadn't planned to come in today but with everything that's happened I decided it would be a good idea," he said.

"I'm sure it's a relief for everyone to have you here," she said.

"Are you doing okay?" he asked. "I heard you were with the group at dinner that night."

"It's upsetting. I mean, I barely knew him, but still...for him to die so horribly. You know this happens in the city, but it always seems so removed. And now..."

Her nerves, she knew, were making her ramble, and when she looked up, she saw Kline watching her closely. Was he using his shrink skills to read her? Did he find something odd or troubling about her manner?

"I'd be glad to talk to you about it-if you think it would help," he said.

"Oh-that's nice of you. But I'll be okay."

"Here," he said, pulling his wallet from his pants pockets. "I'll give you my card, and if you change your mind just call me. It's no bother."

She thanked him, accepting the card. She was touched by his offer, but there was no way she'd tell him a thing.

"Oh, by the way-is everything okay with you you?" she asked.

"What do you mean?" he said, his brown eyes looking puzzled.

"They said you had a personal emergency the past few days."

"Thanks for asking; fortunately things are fine now."

She said goodbye, now desperate to get out of the office. Instead of grabbing a cab, she walked west to Madison Avenue. She thought again of the bomb that Levin had dropped. If Keaton had had been a reckless gambler, possibly leading to his death, it might make Hull and McCarty less intrigued by her. But at the same time she could be in even greater danger than she'd imagined. The person or people who'd killed Keaton might get wind of the fact that a woman had been in the apartment that night. What if the killer been a reckless gambler, possibly leading to his death, it might make Hull and McCarty less intrigued by her. But at the same time she could be in even greater danger than she'd imagined. The person or people who'd killed Keaton might get wind of the fact that a woman had been in the apartment that night. What if the killer had had been in the bathroom and seen her? been in the bathroom and seen her?

Since she was close to Central Park, she decided to walk home through the park, thinking it might quell her nerves. But by the time she reached Central Park West, her feet ached and she felt bedraggled. After trudging the four long blocks to West End Avenue, she was finally home and couldn't wait to walk through her door. As she approached her building, though, she jerked to a stop.

Jack was standing under the awning. He was clearly waiting for her.

7.

WHY THE h.e.l.l was he here? she wondered. Had he stopped by to gauge her reaction to his nasty custody gambit? All she knew for sure was that a face-to-face with him was the last thing she needed now. She started to turn, calculating how to retreat without him seeing her. was he here? she wondered. Had he stopped by to gauge her reaction to his nasty custody gambit? All she knew for sure was that a face-to-face with him was the last thing she needed now. She started to turn, calculating how to retreat without him seeing her.

But before she had fully spun around, Jack spotted her.

"Lake," he called out, less a salutation and more of an order for her to stop. Though he usually wore business casual for work, today he was really dressed down-khaki pants, a pale yellow polo shirt, and, to her shock, flip-flops-as if he were about to split for the Hamptons that afternoon with a bunch of twenty-four-year-olds. He stuffed both hands in his pockets and strode toward her with that c.o.c.ksure gait of his.

In the first weeks after his departure, she had yearned for her encounters with him-on those weekends and occasional week-k nights when he'd come to pick up or drop off the kids. As betrayed as she'd felt, she missed him, literally ached for him some nights. In her mind back then he was like a person who'd gone off his meds. She believed that if she was simply patient enough, he'd straighten out and come back to her.

But it soon became clear there was no way of communicating with him. The first few times he'd brought the kids back, he'd agreed to join her for coffee in the kitchen-with Amy and Will ensconced in their bedrooms-and each time she'd experimented with a different tactic. Calm and slightly detached hadn't worked; neither had a sympathetic ear. Finally she'd resorted to pathetic imploring-please, come back, she'd begged, for the sake of the kids and their fourteen years together. He'd shrugged her off, saying that he'd made up his mind, that they didn't share the same needs and goals and that it was definitely over. Talking to him, she realized, was like driving onto a stretch of black ice on the highway and being hopelessly unable to gain traction.

So for the sake of her sanity-and self-esteem-she'd stopped the coffee klatches and instead went down to the lobby to meet him for each pickup and drop-off. She willed herself not to be so affected by his presence. Sometimes her eyes barely met Jack's during their brief exchanges.

But her reaction this morning was totally different. The sight of him, in light of the recent lob via his lawyer, nearly made her sick.

"Have you got a minute?" he asked as he approached.

"Now's not a good time," she said coolly.

"I just need a few papers from the apartment."

When Jack had conceded that it made sense for Lake and the kids to keep the apartment, they had agreed that he'd be able to store some clothes and papers there until his sublet was up and he bought a place of his own. He usually picked up items he needed when he brought the kids home. This out-of-the-blue request seemed odd, suspicious even.

She knew she couldn't let him go upstairs. He might pick up a hint that something was terribly wrong in her life.

"I'm not even going up right now," she said. "I just realized I left a folder at a client's and I need to go back for it."

"Look, I really need those papers today."

d.a.m.n, she thought, if I don't say yes, he'll tell the psychologist I'm uncooperative.

"All right," she said, keeping her voice flat. "Why don't you tell me where the papers are and I'll bring them down."

He grimaced and shook his head.

"I'm not exactly sure where I left them. I'm going to have to come up and hunt around a little."

She took a deep breath.

"For G.o.d's sake, Lake, I'm not going to bite bite," he said. "It'll take all of five minutes."

She felt a sudden urge to shove him down on the sidewalk.

"Fine," she conceded.

They rode up the elevator in silence. Now that she was standing closer to him, she could see that Jack's slightly round, boyish face was more tanned than it had been in years, and his dark blond hair was coa.r.s.e-the kind of coa.r.s.eness that comes from lots of sun and salt water. Obviously he'd been true to his pledge to live large this summer, to-how had he put it?-go big or go home. She felt a wave of disgust. He might in fact feel ent.i.tled to his new major-player lifestyle, but the deep tan and flip-flops came across to her as desperation.

"I'm just curious," she finally said to him, still trying to keep her voice even. "Were you just going to wait outside the building until I came home?"

"You mean was I stalking stalking you, Lake-is that what you're asking?" There was anger in his voice. you, Lake-is that what you're asking?" There was anger in his voice.

"Of course not. But it seems like an awful waste of time."

"You didn't pick up your cell phone so I called that clinic where you work. They said you'd just left so I took a chance and came over here."

"Did you call me there yesterday, too?" she asked, startled by the revelation.

"Yes-is that a problem?"

So Jack was the mystery caller. "I'm just wondering how you got the number," she said.

"I decided to blow a buck and called 411."

"I meant, how did you know the name of the clinic?"

"You mentioned it at one point when we were talking about the kids."

She didn't remember ever doing so, but she couldn't be sure and decided it was best to drop it. Jack seemed hyped up now, irritated, and she sensed that her smartest strategy was to avoid pushing any b.u.t.tons with him.

She opened the apartment door, with Jack right behind her. Smokey had obviously heard the key in the lock and was waiting in the foyer. He curled his body around Lake's calves and then Jack's.

"Hey, Smokes," Jack said distractedly without bothering to pet the cat.

"Most of your stuff is still in Will's closet," Lake said. "Except your black suitcase-that's in the back of the closet in our room."

Our room. She couldn't believe she'd called it that. room. She couldn't believe she'd called it that.

"What I need is in the suitcase," Jack said. "I'll just head back there, okay? It shouldn't take more than a minute."

His tone had changed slightly. He sounded friendlier, less confrontational, which made her more suspicious. As he strode down the hall toward the master bedroom, she wondered if she should follow him, check out exactly what he was doing. Was this whole "I need a few papers" thing actually a ruse to snoop snoop, to try to spot something he could use against her? Maybe that's why he'd suddenly sounded friendlier-to throw her off her guard. She felt her anger begin to rise.

As she started down the hall behind him, the phone rang. She wanted to keep tabs on Jack, but if she didn't answer it, Jack would hear the message on the answering machine. She stepped quickly into the kitchen and grabbed the phone. Her h.e.l.lo seemed to echo through the quiet apartment.

"Don't tell me that guy who was murdered is Dr. McSteamy from the clinic?"

It was Molly. At full throttle.

"Yes-it was him," Lake said, lowering her voice.

"Why are you whispering?"

"Jack's here. Picking up some papers. Or so he says."

"What do you mean, 'Or so he says'?"

"I'll have to tell you later."

"Okay, so back to McSteamy. I can't believe you didn't tell me."

"I was going to but it's been crazy. Can we talk later? I need to get off."

"Call me, okay? 'Bye."

"Something the matter?" Jack said from behind her, nearly making her jump. With the phone still in her hand, Lake spun around to see him standing in the doorway to the kitchen, two folders under his arm, his head c.o.c.ked in curiosity.

"As I told you-I'm busy today. Do you have what you need?"

"Yup. Thanks. And, by the way, I'm closing on my new apartment next week, so I'll be getting the rest of my stuff out of here really soon."

"All right," she said, leading him down the long hallway toward the front door. Did he expect her to gush with grat.i.tude?

"Are you planning to attend parents' day at the camp tomorrow?" he asked.

"Of course," she said, incredulous at his question. She could feel her blood begin to boil. "Did you a.s.sume I'd spend the day at Barneys along with the other neglectful mommies?"

She regretted the remark as soon as it had shot from her mouth. It was the kind of sniping Hotchkiss had warned her against.

"You shouldn't take everything so personally, Lake," he said, stopping in the foyer. "Are you just driving up for the day or are you going to be using the house this weekend?"

Now what? she wondered. "Why?" she asked. what? she wondered. "Why?" she asked.

"If you're not going to use the house, I'd like to stay there tonight. I have to go on to Boston from the camp and it'd be nice not to have to make two long trips in one day."

"Actually I am am using the house this weekend," she lied. using the house this weekend," she lied.

He studied her face, though she couldn't tell what he was looking for. A sign that she'd just fibbed? She wished he'd just leave already.

"Okay, then," he said coolly after a moment. He reached for the door handle-and then hesitated. "Are you coming?"

"What do you mean?" she asked. It was as if his whole visit was some mind game meant to drive her nuts.

"You said you had to go back to your clients'."

She remembered her earlier lie. "I do. But I have a call to return first."

After he'd left, she leaned for a moment in relief against the foyer wall. Then she hurried down to her bedroom and swung open the closet door. His old black suitcase was exactly where it had been, though slightly askew from having been put back haphazardly. She surveyed the room. She'd totally changed the bedroom a month ago, making it all white and spare, far different from what it had been when Jack had shared the s.p.a.ce with her. But it was less than tidy today, with a few items scattered on the low dresser-a Starbucks receipt, a clipping she'd torn from the Wall Street Journal Wall Street Journal. She walked over and glanced at them. She was pretty sure they had been moved. Jack had had snooped around. snooped around.

Kicking off her shoes, she fell back onto the bed. Everything right now seemed Kafkaesque to her-Jack's behavior, Keaton's death. She thought of her lie about using the house in the Catskills. The kids' camp was only twenty-five minutes from the house, but her plan had been to drive all the way to the camp from Manhattan and return to the city later that day. She had avoided going to the house all summer, mainly because of what was happening with Jack-she was afraid of memories. But maybe it would do her good to be there. The house had always been a refuge for her, and it might be exactly what she needed right now. Nothing there could conjure up Keaton and the horrible mess she was in. It would be great for Smokey to poke around outdoors. And there was no reason she couldn't leave right now.

It took her only a half hour to pull everything together for the trip. She gathered her folders and her laptop, with the hope of working on her presentation at some point during the weekend. She packed the cooler with a small steak from her freezer and a fresh head of lettuce. As usual, Smokey resisted the carrying case, so she spent a few minutes gently easing him inside.

"You're gonna get to be outside tonight, Smokey boy," she told him. "Won't that be nice?"