Kate White - Hush

To her dismay the call went straight to Archer’s voice mail.

“Kit, I’m in a terrible jam. I-Rory tried to kill me. She was the one who killed Keaton. I’m in Bedford Hills, New York. Please call me back as soon as you can.”

She tried Hotchkiss next, knowing she’d get voice mail and yet hoping there’d be some kind of emergency number. Though she would hardly expect him to represent her in this situation, she thought he might be able to recommend someone. No luck. She had a few friends who practiced law and she wondered if she should contact one of them. Won’t it blow their minds to hear me describe this mess? she thought ruefully.

Then her BlackBerry rang and to her relief she saw that it was Archer.

“Tell me you’re all right,” he demanded as soon as she answered.

“Physically, yes-just a little bruised. And woozy. She put something in my drink to knock me out. But that’s not the problem. Rory’s totally crazy and she’ll probably try to make it seem like I attacked her or something.”

“Where are you, anyway? I mean, where in Bedford Hills?”

“I’m on the side of the road in my car. There’s a cop here, or just behind me. Rory tried to run me off the road and she hit a tree with her car. She may be injured but I don’t know.”

“Rory killed Keaton, you said? Were they having an affair?”

“More of a fling, I’d say-last winter. According to her, the baby she’s carrying is Keaton’s-had I told you she was pregnant? But she’s such a nut job, who knows if it’s the truth? I need to get a lawyer fast-is there anyone you know?”

Her eyes caught something bright on the road ahead, and over the sound of the rain, she heard the wail of a siren.

“Oh God, there’s an ambulance coming,” she said, peering through the windshield. “She must be injured.”

“I do know a couple of lawyers who handle criminal stuff. Let me see if I can round up someone for tonight.”

“Thank you. Thank you.”

“Do you have any idea where they’ll be taking you?”

“A police station, I’m sure.”

“Okay, call me back the minute you know which one. And tell them you need to go to an emergency room first to be tested for the drug she gave you. You’ll need that as evidence. Plus it will buy you some time until I can get there with a lawyer.”

“You’re coming, too?”

“Yes. I’ll start driving north as soon as possible. Just call me when you have the exact location.”

As she hung up, the ambulance slid by her, slick with rainwater, and moved carefully up the road beyond the curve. It stopped around the bend, and she could see only the flashing lights through the trees.

She had no idea how long she was supposed to sit here. Surely they’d be sending someone back to talk to her. She tried to assess her situation. What would she tell the police? That she had gone to Rory’s house to see the files. The files would be there as proof and Archer could back up her claims about the clinic. And her head injury would verify that she’d been attacked. But if she told them that Rory tried to kill her because she believed Lake had been with Keaton, that might be enough for the cops in the city to have her DNA tested. And then there’d be proof that Keaton had bedded her. She pictured the smug expression on Hull’s face when he heard the news. And possibly Jack’s, too. Then she pictured Will and Amy. I can’t lose them, she thought.

She’d have to come up with something to explain everything. But Rory would have her own version. She’d say that somehow, when they were looking at the files, she had realized that Lake had slept with Keaton and killed him. She’d slipped a drug into Lake’s tea so she could escape, but Lake figured it out and tried to overpower her. She’d followed her in her car to see where she was headed.

I have to counteract whatever lies Rory will tell, she thought. But how ? With what ? She glanced up quickly, realizing she’d been lost in thought. The rain had stopped instantly in that moment, as if a switch had been flicked. She craned her neck around and saw that more lights now twinkled through the trees. Reinforcements had clearly arrived from the other direction. And a police car was backing down the road in her direction.

Inside was the same officer who had spoken to her earlier. He stopped, stepped out of the cruiser, and approached her car again.

“Ma’am, could you please step out of your vehicle.”

Though his voice was low and even, there was an undertow of disapproval. She opened the door and stepped into the humid night air. The headlights of the cop car hit the immediate area.

“What’s your name, please?” he asked. In the dark, his thick black brows looked like caterpillars sleeping on his face.

“Lake Warren.”

“Ms. Warren, my name is Officer Clinton. We’re going to need you to come to our headquarters and answer some questions.”

“I-I need to go to a hospital first. The woman back there-Rory Deever-she drugged me. And she hit me over the head.”

He had been staring at her blankly, but when she twisted her head so he could see the wound, he pulled back in surprise. He turned away and spoke into his walkie-talkie.

“Why don’t you come with me,” he said, turning back. “Please lock your vehicle.”

She told herself not to act fearful with him. She was the victim, not the criminal, and she needed to come across that way.

“Of course,” she said. “The woman who attacked me-did she hit a tree?”

“I’m not at liberty to divulge that right at this time.”

He opened the rear door of his car and she climbed in. The backseat smelled of old sweat and fried food and it nearly made her gag. She thought they might drive past the accident but the cop turned the car around and headed in the opposite direction. The drive took about twenty minutes and the entire time she could feel her fear throbbing, like a hand that had been slammed in a door. The exam and tests would buy her time but eventually she would have to face the police and their questions. She prayed that Archer had found a lawyer for her.

She was taken to Northern Westchester Hospital, a big sprawling complex with an ER lit up as bright as day. The waiting room was about a quarter full. People who should have been preoccupied with their sprained ankles and palpitating hearts dropped their jaws at the sight of her being escorted inside by a cop. With the cop nearly hugging her side, Lake explained to the triage nurse about the drugging and showed her the blow to her head. Instead of being forced to endure the waiting area of onlookers, she learned she would be sent to an exam room immediately. As she and the cop were led there, everyone’s eyes were on her.

“May I ask where you’ll be taking me afterward?” Lake asked him.

“Why don’t I let one of the detectives explain everything,” he said. “He’ll be here shortly.”

At least the cop didn’t come into the room with her-he remained right outside as a nurse directed her onto an exam table. She asked Lake to wait a few minutes and left her alone. Lake lightly tapped the wound on her head and felt that the blood was still oozing.

“Ms. Warren?”

She snapped her head to the right. In the doorway stood a hulking man with a gigantic mustache, wearing a blue-and-green-checked jacket. Clearly not an M.D. She nodded yes.

“I’m Detective Ronald Kabowski from the Bedford Hills Police. I hear the doctor will be in any second, but I’d like to chat for a minute beforehand-if you’re up to it.”

You’re the victim, she reminded herself. Do not act guilty.

“Thank you for coming,” she said.

“My officer tells me you suspect you were drugged.”