“But you tricked me. You lied to me,” I say. My voice is only a shade softer.

He moves back to his desk and turns to thrust a laptop screen in my face. “Look at this,” he says. He scrolls upward. He holds the screen even closer to my face, and I read the New York Post headline:

HANK IS HAPPY. GRETA IS GREAT. A NEW BABY BOY.

This is followed by typical corny copy:

Fashion celeb Greta Moss scored her own winning touchdown today. She delivered Hank Waldren Jr. to Hank Waldren Sr. Mother and Baby and Giant are doing great.

“You see, this is perfect news for Gramatan University Hospital,” says Sarkar. Then he scrolls again. This time he shows me a page on AOL News. An adorable photo of Greta—her full makeup miraculously undisturbed by the ordeal of delivery—and the cute new baby with the equally cute new father holding the little one. The cute caption is:

THE LITTLEST GIANT

If I wasn’t so angry, I’d be willing to admit that it’s a really irresistible picture. These three should model as a family. Hold on, Lucy. You’ve got to stay angry.

“Admit it. It’s really good for the hospital,” says Sarkar.

“Okay, I admit it, but what would really be perfect is this: you and your NYPD and FBI buddies actually find the missing babies instead of helping to feed a media blitz all about a celebrity baby. Like this: The cops find the madman who tried to kill Katra. The cops do their job. Possibly you can get in touch with your pal Blumenthal and tell him to wake the hell up.”

“I think Detective Blumenthal and his people are doing all they can do. I think they are doing their absolute best,” he says. He moves closer to me.

Oh, God, why am I thinking what I’m thinking? I am suddenly certain that Dr. Sarkar may lean in and kiss me. I’m frightened. I should have a plan. Will I kiss him? Will I turn away? Will he—

Instead he speaks, his face close to mine. “I am truly sorry for the deception.” His voice is almost a whisper.

I believe Sarkar is being sincere. I’m tough, but I’m not an idiot. Even I can only stay angry for so long.

“Yeah, okay. But don’t do it again,” I say. Damn it. Am I sounding like a nursery school teacher?

The moment has become intimate, close, warm. I think it might be a good idea to tell him about the video that Troy and I saw earlier—the blond woman in the high heels. This is perhaps the only real clue we have so far. All of a sudden I’m longing to share this knowledge.