Free Pretend You Don't See Her by Mary Higgins Clark Page B

hour was over, but even so there was a lot of traffic. I’ll be an hour
late, Lacey thought as she inched her car across the George Washington Bridge,
where a blocked lane was creating havoc. Jay must be in a wonderful mood, she
thought, smiling ruefully but genuinely worried about keeping her family
waiting.
                 As
she drove along Route 4 she debated how much she would tell them about what was
going on. Everything, I guess, she finally decided. If Mom or Kit call me at the office and I’m not there, they’ll have to
know why.
                 Jack
Regan is a good lawyer, she assured herself as she turned onto Route 17. He’ll
straighten this out.
                 She
glanced in her rearview mirror. Was that car following her? she wondered, as she exited onto Sheridan Avenue. Stop it, she warned herself.
You’re getting paranoid.
                 Kit
and Jay lived on a quiet street in a section of pricey homes. Lacey pulled up
to the curb in front of their house, got out of the car, and started up the
walk.
                 “She’s
here,” Bonnie called out joyously, “Lacey’s here!” She ran for the door.
                 “About
time,” Jay grunted.
                 “Thank
God,” Mona Farrell murmured. She knew that despite Alex Carbine’s presence, Jay
was about to explode with irritation.
                 Bonnie
tugged at the door and opened it. As she raised her arms for Lacey’s hug, there
was the sound of shots, and bullets whistled past them. A flash of pain coursed
through her head, and Lacey threw herself forward, her body covering Bonnie’s.
It sounded as though the screams were coming from inside the house, but at that
moment Lacey’s whole mind seemed to be screaming.
                 In
the sudden quiet that followed the shots, she quickly ran a mental check of the
situation. The pain she felt was real, but she realized with a stab of anguish
that the gush of blood against her neck was coming from the small body of her
niece.

  10
                 IN
THE WAITING ROOM ON THE PEDIATRICS FLOOR OF Hackensack Medical Center, a doctor
smiled reassuringly at Lacey. “Bonnie had a close call, but she’ll make it. And
she’s very insistent, Ms. Farrell, that she wants to see you.”
                 Lacey
was with Alex Carbine. After Bonnie was wheeled out of the operating room,
Mona, Kit, and Jay had followed her crib to her room. Lacey had not gone with
them.
                 My
fault, my fault—it was all she could think. She was only vaguely aware of the
headache caused by the bullet that had creased her skull. In fact, her whole
mind and body seemed numb, floating in a kind of unreality, not yet fully
comprehending the horror of all that was happening.
                 The
doctor, understanding her concern and aware that she was blaming herself, said,
“Ms. Farrell, trust me, it will take a while for that arm and shoulder to mend,
but eventually she’ll be as good as new. Children heal fast. And they forget
fast too.”
                 As
good as new, Lacey thought bitterly, staring straight ahead. She was rushing to
open the door for me—that’s all she was doing. Bonnie was just waiting for me.
And it almost cost her her life. Can anything ever be
“good as new” again?
                 “Lacey,
go on in and see Bonnie,” Alex Carbine urged.
                 Lacey
turned to look at him, remembering with gratitude how Alex had dialed 911 while
her mother tried to stem the blood that was spurting from Bonnie’s shoulder.
                 In
her niece’s room, Lacey found Jay and Kit sitting on either side of the crib.
Her mother was at the foot, now icy calm, her trained
nurse’s eyes observant.
                 Bonnie’s
shoulder and upper arm were heavily bandaged. In a sleepy voice she was
protesting, “I’m not a