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But yeah, it was still incarceration. The total loss of all freedom and autonomy, and for me, there was the added frustration and pain of knowing I was innocent.

As much as I wanted to shake it off, focus on being grateful for my rescue, I couldn’t seem to let go of those dark and negative emotions.

Granted, it had only been—well, I hadn’t been free even forty-eight hours. It was going to take time, I understood that. Intellectually, I thought I knew what was going on. But it didn’t seem to alleviate that crushing weight of despair.

It was just too much. And on top of it, losing Astrid. Freyja, and Raleigh—who was just as dead as the other two, as far as I was concerned.

Or so I tried to tell myself.

How ironic, given the nights I’d prayed for silence, privacy, my own safe and comfortable bed, that I was now too nervous, too restless to rest, ears straining for the jingle of Freyja’s tags, the familiar growl of Raleigh’s SUV coming up the road, the clock in the living room striking some magic hour when everything would be all right again, go back to normal.

Listening for all the impossible things.

I thought about what Raleigh had said. What I’d said.

Back and forth. Back and forth. Round and round and round. My thoughts were caught in an exhausting loop.

I did hate him. And I did not believe I could ever forgive him, no matter how sorry he was.

And he did not seem nearly sorry enough, in my opinion. He still believed he had been justified, that he had been in the right. He felt he had been forced to make difficult but correct choices, that I should be able to see it from his viewpoint.

I believed he had betrayed me in every possible way.

There was no middle ground there. No path to reconciliation.

The problem, as I was discovering, was that you could hate someone and still, in some irrational, unreasonable corner of your heart,stilllove him.

It was a relief when the first orange streaks of sunrise appeared beneath the bedroom blinds. I got up, showered—it seemed no amount of soap and water would ever erase the jail smell from my hair and skin—made coffee. I ate a slice of pecan custard coffee cake and tried to savor the buttery, nutty delights of freedom.

I thought over Malcolm’s suggestion that he be appointed director in the interim. It wasn’t a bad idea. Not only would it give me time to catch my breath, it seemed the most likely way to have Astrid’s wishes and intent for the company be carried out.

On the other hand, Malcolm was our sales manager. He wasn’t particularly good at seeing the big picture. In fact, a lot of my job as assistant VP had been trying to run interference between Malcolm and the production and customer service teams.

But then Malcolm had said the other managers were in favor of the idea.

A decision had to be made, but hopefully it could wait until after the holidays.

I rose to pour myself another cup of coffee and saw that the answering machine was blinking again. Someone must have left a message while I’d been dining with Malcolm. I hadn’t noticed after my run-in with Raleigh. I cautiously pressed play. In the weeks before I’d been arrested, my answering machine had regularly recorded anonymous threats and abuse.

Astrid had told me to erase them and shrug it off. “Caz, some peoplewantto think the worst of you. Theypreferit. It’s not about you. It’s about them, and they’ll have a variety of reasons. There are people who think you committed murder and hate you for it. But there are also people who are going to hate you because you’re a Bredahl or because you’re gay or come from a wealthy family or drive a Range Rover or have red hair.”

“I don’t have red hair!”

She’d grinned and ruffled my hair.“Shake it off, kiddo. Happiness is the best revenge.”

I couldn’t help a faint smile, remembering that Dax had said the same thing.

The voice on the answering was the same as on Thursday’s message.

“Hi, Mr. Bredahl. It’s Matilda Seger from theCopenhagen Heraldagain. A great injustice was done to you. You deserve the opportunity to tell your story—”

I erased the message.

I was not about to forget the things that had been written about me in theCopenhagen Herald. The speculation and innuendo—and then the open accusations and calls for my arrest.

No thanks.

Deciding I was edgy enough without additional caffeine, I put my coffee cup and plate in the sink.