Kate White - Hush

“There is one thing you should know,” Levin said soberly, “something I had to share with the police.” Everyone jerked their heads toward him in surprise. Lake held her breath in anticipation.

“Yes,” Hayden coaxed.

“The afternoon before we all went to dinner, an old colleague of mine from L.A. called,” Levin said “He told me he’d heard Mark was joining us and wanted me to know there were rumors circulating about him on the West Coast-that he apparently had a gambling problem.”

“And we’re just hearing this now ?” Sherman said, clearly vexed.

“I hadn’t had a chance to say anything yet,” Levin said. “Obviously I didn’t like what I heard and was going to suggest that we investigate as soon as possible. That’s not the kind of person we want associated with us.”

“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 said something to Keaton-and that was the snag Keaton had coyly referred to.

Hayden pressed for more information about the gambling, but Levin assured 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 ?” 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 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 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.

WHY THE HELL 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 cocksure 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.