Executive

…55

Alex sat on the cold floor of the detention cell, crouched in the far corner. There was a bed in her cell, but she could not bring herself to come near it. Occasional tears would still run down her cheeks, but she had lost the strength to continue sobbing. Memories of all kinds ran through her mind, like snapshots from movies. Her mother saying, "You will leave here with nothing, and I expect the clothes you are wearing to be returned… Oh, and don't ever come back." She rarely thought about her mother anymore, but she would have loved to be able to call her now.

Tom's voice saying, "You need to learn to trust." She had trusted him, and he'd let her down. Dr. Barnaby's desperation-filled voice, shouting, "I'll go straight to my basement, get my handgun out of my safe, and spare my wife the shame and embarrassment to see me brought to my knees and dragged in handcuffs out of our home." She had a new understanding of his anguish, seeing things through her own imprisonment experience. She was going to let him down. She was not going to be able to do anything for him, or for all those people — the dead and the wounded on Highway 98 in Florida. The enduring employees at NanoLance, going through day after day of abuse. Who knows how many more lives would be lost, out there in remote places, in foreign lands?

A loud, clattering noise brought her back to reality. Detective Holt was jingling some keys on a ring.

"You're free to go," he said, "we're dropping all charges."

She stood, unsure of her legs, afraid this was her imagination playing tricks on her brain. She stepped through the open cell door and into the main hallway.

"Are you OK to drive?" Holt asked.

She nodded.

"Your car is right across the street in our impound lot. I'll get an officer to release it to you, and you're free to go."

Forty-five minutes later, she entered her home. She kicked off her shoes and took off her clothes, leaving them on the floor where they dropped. She went straight to the kitchen and poured Martini Vermouth into a tall glass, over a handful of ice cubes, until the glass almost spilled over. She took that with her into the shower. Crouched in the tub, hot water running down over her, she took sip after sip of Vermouth and cried until her tears ran dry.