Abruptly, I felt drained from sharing so much, and I rested my head against the seat.

"Take a catnap if you want," he said.

"No way. You need a copilot in conditions like these."

"Don't worry. I've had enough caffeine to keep me alert till Miami."

I didn't sleep. I stared out the window, thinking about Sharon, trying not to let my faint hopes magnify into something they didn't deserve to be. As we drove through the foothills of the Catskill Mountains, I saw a huge buck standing undecided on the side of the highway. Don't cross, I wanted to yell.

Finally, the rain let up, becoming a drizzle. Alex turned down the window wipers so that they made their hypnotic swish every few seconds. Because of the weather, night seemed to come early. Even in the dark, Alex's light skin was luminescent.

"You know . . ." I said. The sound of my voice made him jerk in surprise.

"I thought you'd fallen asleep," he said.

"No, just thinking. We've spent so much time talking about me and my situation in the past few days, but I've asked you practically nothing about yourself."

He leaned his head back and smiled, staring ahead at the gleaming wet highway. "There's not much exciting to report," he said. "I landed in TV pretty late, so I've been trying to make up for lost time and not let myself be distracted."

"How old are you, anyway?" I said, smiling. "I'm not interviewing you for a job, so you can't sue me for asking."

"Thirty-three. I'm the oldest senior producer on the show."

"I had to play the catch-up game, too, since I'd come from the outside like you did. Would you want an EP job at some point?"

"Definitely, though I'd prefer politics or news in the future. Don't take this the wrong way: Topics like pets on planes and badly behaving rock stars leave me cold."

"Even underb.o.o.bage?"

"Okay, that's probably an exception."

"What made you want to switch into TV?"

"I majored in journalism in college, but I took the law boards as a lark. When my parents saw how well I'd done-a total fluke-they put a lot of pressure on me to go. I have to admit, I had a bit of Jack McCoy syndrome."

"Meaning?"

"Justice for all, that kind of thing."

"You didn't like it in the end?"

Though the inside of the car was dim, I could see his expression cloud.

"No," he said flatly. "Definitely not the right fit. But I picked up a few decent skills, so it wasn't a complete waste of time."

Though I sensed there was more to the story, I decided not to push. I didn't want to alienate him, and I, more than anyone, knew about the desire to keep the past private.

Alex dropped me off just after seven-thirty. For a moment I wondered if he was going to suggest that we grab dinner, but I didn't give him an opening. I felt exhausted from the long ride and churned up from hearing Sharon's story. Besides, a guy who looked like him surely had a girlfriend waiting on a Sat.u.r.day night. I thanked him profusely, and he promised to text me contact info for the lawyer, which he did about an hour later.

Her name was Lisa Follett, and I spoke with her briefly by phone the next day, the quick response facilitated by Alex's friend in the firm. Follett agreed to meet with me early Monday afternoon.

For the first time in days, I dressed the way I used to for the show. It was almost painful to put on one of my TV outfits, which just three weeks ago had seemed to be the bold emblem of my new success. I also felt vaguely ridiculous, like one of those married guys who's been fired from his job but, too much of a wuss to confess to his wife, leaves the house every morning dressed in a suit and tie. But I wanted to impress Lisa Follett, convince her I wasn't a nut job. What I needed most was for her to say that Sharon's story was strong enough to open a door for me with Potts and Carey.

Her office was all the way downtown in Battery Park Plaza. Even the reception area had a drop-dead view of New York Harbor. Based on Alex's description of Lisa as a fierce, unrelenting warrior, I'd been expecting Glenn Close in Damages, but that wasn't the woman who stepped out from behind her desk to greet me. She was about five-three, slight in build, with a small heart-shaped face and fine brown hair. She had a pleasant, easy talking style with a hint of a Southern accent.

"So tell me again why you need a lawyer?" she said after I'd taken a seat across from her.

Kind of a funny question, considering I'd given her the broad outlines on the phone; but I guessed it was part of her technique to obtain a read on me. I went through everything: all the incidents, the advice the employment lawyer had volunteered, what Alex had seen, what we'd learned from Sharon. She was a good listener, nodding, watching me closely, and fielding questions at various points.

"Since you don't want to sue, what exactly would you want a lawyer to do?" she asked.

"Take my case to management. Hopefully, once they hear what happened to Sharon and acknowledge how similar it is to my situation, they'll be willing to find the botnet on my computer. That will prove I never did those searches. And then I want them to give me my job back. I'd love it if you could take this on." I was certain about hiring her. After almost an hour, I'd begun to sense the tiger crouching in her.

She nodded slowly, as if still deciding. Please, I thought.

"It's a challenging situation," she said, "but I feel this new information from the television reporter makes all the difference. I'd definitely be willing to take on the case."

I exhaled with relief.

"I need to put the issue of money on the table now," she added. "This isn't going to be cheap."

"Can you give me a rough estimate?"

"We're looking at about thirty hours of work on my part, and that's at seven hundred dollars an hour. I would also have to involve both an a.s.sociate and a private detective I work with, an ex-FBI guy. He's easily another ten grand. And I'll need a retainer of twenty-five thousand. All of this is nonnegotiable."

It would take a huge bite of my savings, but I didn't have a choice. "Okay," I said, nodding. "What's the next step?"

"You've only one shot at going in there and making your case to this Potts fellow, so let's be sure what we have is as strong as possible. What Sharon is offering sounds good on the surface, but my detective and I need to sit down alone with her and evaluate her story, make certain she's trustworthy. My guy will also have to drive up to Albany and try to corroborate what she's saying."

d.a.m.n. That meant a slower process than what I'd antic.i.p.ated. Also, though Alex and I had told Sharon that she'd be required to talk to people at the network, now I'd be adding a preliminary interview with a former FBI agent, which might spook her. And she'd have to make two trips to the city, not one.

Again, I didn't have a choice. Lisa's strategy sounded smart; I would just have to pray that Sharon wouldn't flinch. I a.s.sured Lisa I would try to arrange for Sharon to be in New York as soon as possible.

She walked me back toward reception and shook my hand. "I know this has been difficult," she said. "But I'll work hard to make it right."

I flagged down a cab and had the driver drop me a block from my apartment building at a small cafe. I picked a table at the back. Being out in public, especially in one of my "Brand Robin" dresses, could trigger renewed press interest, but I was sick of being cooped up in my apartment.

I ordered a light lunch and, for the first time in days, actually tasted the food. The last words Lisa had uttered kept running through my head: I'll work hard to make it right. This was the best I'd felt in days.

As soon as I returned home, I checked on the availability of the apartment my friend had stayed in. It was free over the next week. Then I phoned Sharon on her cell number. When she didn't pick up, I left a message saying I was ready to arrange her trip to Manhattan. I'd no sooner ended the call than I saw Bettina's name on my cell screen.

"Darling, how are you?" she said when I answered.

"Hanging in there. Have you discovered anything on your end?"

"Not very much, unfortunately. The Westport police have turned up nothing, so we still don't know who was skulking around that night. I'm coming up empty with Potts, too. I called him myself, on the pretense of trying to make him see the benefit of the sale, and he seemed truly shaken about you being gone. I know I told you he might be responsible, but I'm sensing now that he isn't."

"That's okay," I said. "I have other leads."

"Wonderful. What are they?" p.u.s.s.yfooting wasn't one of Bettina's particular talents.

"I'll let you know as soon as I'm free to talk about them. Why don't I call you in a day or two?"

"All right. Just know I'm here for you."

At around five, I tried Sharon's cell again. Still voice mail. I couldn't help feeling a pinch of worry. Alex and I had conveyed on Sat.u.r.day that the situation was urgent and that things might begin to move quickly. She'd said that was fine, that her job afforded her flexible hours. Maybe her office would know her whereabouts. I dug her business card out of my purse and tapped the number for the real estate agency.

"McLaren Realty," a woman answered.

"Hi, I'm trying to reach Sharon Hayes."

"Is it about a listing?"

"No, actually, it's a personal call."

"Well, I can give you her cell, I guess. You don't sound like a crazy person."

That was funny. "She's not coming into the office today?" I asked.

"Nope. Or tomorrow. She resigned this morning."

Panic welled in me. "Did she take another job?"

"I don't think so, love. She said something about heading to California."

chapter 24.

My stomach dropped. No, please, this couldn't be happening. Without her, I had nothing. The lawyer had made that utterly clear.

I sent Alex a text urging him to call me right after the show. Then I paced my apartment, my nerves on fire. What if Sharon was taking off not because she'd developed cold feet but because something had alarmed her? Vicky might have learned that Alex and I had made contact.

Whatever the reason, I needed to find her. Maybe the person who had connected Alex to Sharon had information.

My phone rang, and to my shock, I saw Sharon's name on the screen.

"Sorry not to ring you back right away," she said casually when I answered.

"No problem," I said, feeling my pulse slow. "I tried your office, too. They said you'd resigned."

"Yeah, big step for me. I absolutely hated that job, and after speaking to you and Alex, I found the guts to go in and quit first thing Monday. I'm making a fresh new start."

"The woman said you were moving to California."

Sharon laughed. "Oh, I just didn't want her to know my business. Besides, maybe I will go to California after I set the record straight."

"Speaking of that," I said, "I wanted to discuss your trip to the city."

"I'm ready," she said gamely. "I could even come tomorrow."

Lisa had indicated that Thursday morning at nine would work best for her and the private detective. I explained to Sharon about the need to meet with both of them, trying to make it sound like a simple matter of course. I suggested she take the train down on Wednesday, settle in at the apartment, and then I'd accompany her downtown the next morning to be sure she had no trouble locating Lisa's office. Fortunately, she didn't balk at any of it. Alex called five minutes after the show ended. "Everything okay?" he asked.

"I had a little scare, but it's taken care of. And the appointment with Lisa went well. Do you have time for me to fill you in?"

"Yes, and I have news, too. Just give me a chance to hop on the subway and get home. I'll call you from there."

"Do you want to come up to my place and talk here? We could have a bite to eat." I'd blurted it out without even thinking.

"Uh, sure," he said, "as long as it's no trouble."

I laughed. "No trouble whatsoever. I'll just call this place that delivers great chicken piccata. I'm one of those ruthless career b.i.t.c.hes who never learned to cook."

He arrived thirty minutes later, carrying a silver wine sack. I led him into the kitchen where he opened the bottle of Italian red.

Over dinner, I brought him up to speed. When I told what had happened with Sharon and my initial fear that she'd been bound for parts west, he frowned.

"What's the matter?" I asked. "It was all a misunderstanding."

"I worry she's running hot and cold, that maybe she did think of bailing but then reconsidered. We need to monitor this."

"All right, I'm going to check out the apartment tomorrow. I'll be there when she arrives on Wednesday."

"That's smart."

"You said you had something."

"Yeah. I did some snooping and found out who's in Vicky's inner circle. As you'd expect, there's plenty of turnover on her staff, but there are a handful of people who've been with her for a while-the executive producer, his deputy, Vicky's a.s.sistant, and a personal publicist she pays on her own and who works on projects beyond what Ann's team handles. I a.s.sume they're all suffering from Stockholm syndrome."

"I'm pretty sure her a.s.sistant and the publicist were at my party. I saw them in the elevator with an older guy, balding."

"That sounds like her EP. All of them were in D.C. with her the night you were drugged, so I'm not sure who her confederate is."

"What about one of her senior producers, like the one who told Maddy about Vicky being tech-savvy?"

"I wondered about him. He went running to Mommy when Maddy asked him for help. But he's only been there three months. There's a big difference between kissing up to your boss and leaving someone a poison brownie on her behalf."

"Unless he didn't know the significance of what he was doing," I said. "After I started drooling on the air that night, he probably would have suspected that the brownie was the cause, and yet he may have been too afraid to come clean."

"Could be."

"Or," I said, my blood chilling as a thought took shape, "what if the accomplice is someone working on Pulse?"