“I hope you’re happier now, Cam.” As Luke takes the elevator up to the wing where Tamara Dorsey is recovering, he says it out loud. He often speaks out loud to Camille these days. Nora’s caught him doing it a few times, though she’s been kind enough not to say anything.
There’s a crowded waiting room down the hall from where Tamara is staying, and Luke heads over there, sits down on a vinyl couch, and picks up a two-day-old newspaper, a headline about the still-missing Gary Kimball. “I think he escaped,” says the woman next to him. “They were totally going to arrest him, you know.”
When Luke looks up at the woman, she peers around his mask. “Oh my gosh, you’re Luke Charlebois.” She gives him a shy smile. “I’m Billie Dorsey. Tamara’s mother.”
Tamara Dorsey is a lung transplant recipient. Luke often visits patients like her as an Organ Donor Awareness （ODA） spokesperson. But Tamara specifically requested him, which makes this visit more important. Luke takes Billie’s hand in both of his. Screw elbow-bumping.
“Your organization saved my daughter’s life,” Billie says.
Tears spring into Luke’s eyes—something that never happened to him in the past, but has been close to constant since Camille’s death, his emotions churning so close to the surface. He swats the tears away and hopes Billie doesn’t notice. He’s always prided himself on being the calm in the storm, the strong shoulder to cry on. As insipid as his lines often are on the show, he was cast as stoic Sarge for a reason. But now he’s a mess half the time, his “chill” gone to hell. Billie doesn’t seem to mind, though. Her eyes aren’t exactly dry either.
“Both of her lungs were punctured in the accident.” Her jaw tenses. “Drunk driver. I’m so grateful Tamara made it, but my son . . . He was in the car with her. They couldn’t save him.”
“Oh . . .”
She takes a breath. “It’s really awful to feel this powerless.”
Luke watches her face, how it changes and darkens, that crumbling behind her eyes. It’s as though he’s looking at Camille, and he wants to pull her to him, to hug the pain away.
A nurse steps into the waiting room. “Ms. Dorsey?” she says.
Billie pats Luke’s shoulder. “Are you ready to come with me and meet Tamara?”
“Absolutely.”
Luke follows the nurse out of the waiting room. He turns to thank Billie, but she’s still back there, talking to someone—a silver-haired woman with a telegenic look. The woman presses something into Billie’s hand—a business card, he thinks, and Luke feels the most powerful sense of déjà vu. He’s seen that woman before, somewhere. Maybe on TV.
Acknowledgments
My enduring gratitude goes out to my agent of fifteen years （How can that be true?!）， Deborah Schneider, and of course to everyone at William Morrow, particularly Liate Stehlik, Maureen Cole, Kaitlin Harri, Mireya Chiriboga, and my absolutely wonderful editor, Lyssa Keusch. Big thanks from across the pond to the great Francesca Pathak at Orion and to my fabulous UK agent, Alice Lutyens.
Much gratitude as well to digital forensics expert Josh Moulin, who gave me insight into the dark web.
On a personal note, this book was written during times that were tough for pretty much everyone on the planet, and as I tackled this challenge, I felt especially thankful for the much-needed love and laughs provided by James Conrad （shop Golden Notebook!）， Chas Cerulli, and Dan, Paul Leone, Wendy Corsi Staub, Jamie and Doug Barthel, and my own personal collective, the FLs.
Thanks to my wonderful family, including my mom, Beverly, and all the Gaylins, especially Sheldon and Marilyn, who have made me a very lucky daughter-in-law. I married into a truly superb clan. （Chris, you’re in for a treat!）
Thanks to Marissa, a brilliant, kind, and strong young woman who becomes more of those things every day. And to Mike, who is pretty much the best guy ever.