A second later Lake heard a loud cracking sound, like a tree being split in two by lightning, followed by a cacophony of shattering glass. Rory had crashed her car into something.
Lake eased her foot onto the brake carefully, wondering what she should do. As she finished coming around the bend, she spotted pulsing red lights. They were on top of a white police car, ahead of her at an intersection and about to make a turn onto the road. She had no choice but to stop.
She slowed the car and beeped the horn loud and long to get their attention. The police car pulled up parallel to hers on the road. It said Bedford Hills Police on the side. She rolled down her window, and the police car’s window slid down simultaneously. There was just the driver, dressed in a dark blue police uniform. He was about thirty, with a wide face and thick black eyebrows.
“What seems to be the problem, ma’am?” he asked.
“Did you come because of the call-the 911 call?” Her words sounded almost slurred to her.
“Are you the person who made it?”
“Yes-a woman is trying to kill me. She-she’s behind us. She tried to ram her car into mine and I think she hit something.”
The cop’s eyes shot forward, and at the same moment, he grabbed his radio.
“Call for backup,” he said. “High Ridge and Red Fox Road.” He turned back to Lake, his eyes stern.
“Ma’am, please pull over to the side of the road and put your blinkers on. Do not get out of your vehicle. I will be back to you shortly.”
She did as she was told. Once she’d shut off the ignition, she turned around in her seat, but all she could see were the red taillights of the police car curving in the road. Lake glanced down. Her entire front was streaked with glistening mud, and she knew her face was covered with it, too. She must look a fright, she realized, like some crazy person. And it would be her word against the word of someone five months pregnant. How would she ever make anyone believe her?
Inside the glove box she found a few paper napkins and used them to wipe as much mud from her face as possible. She felt a welt just above her eye-from the kick. A worse bruise was on the back of her head. She ran her hands roughly through her hair and touched a huge sticky lump. Wouldn’t the wounds be proof that she’d been attacked? But Rory would only say she was defending herself.
Lake fumbled in her muddied purse for her BlackBerry. Miraculously it was dry. She needed to call Archer-and she needed to get a lawyer. It would be too dangerous to deal with all this on her own.
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.”