I frowned. I’d never seen this side of Julia.

The kettle whistled, and Julia scooped instant coffee into the mugs, pouring water over.

“You take your coffee black, right?” she asked.

“Yes, thanks.”

We took our mugs to the living room and sat on the couch, sipping our coffees as we spoke for a few minutes about Josh and chemo, Nate and his big case, the bake sale Moira’s church had run last week to raise money for Josh.

I set my coffee on the table and stood. “Excuse me, I think I hear my phone ringing.”

I hurried down the hallway to the front door, where I’d left my purse. Darting a quick glance over my shoulder, I rifled through Julia’s coats, looking for the item I’d noticed when I arrived.

Julia’s hospital electronic key card was hanging under a navy puffer coat. I was a little surprised security hadn’t taken it, but maybe this was her spare. We were all given two. I plucked it from the coat hook and slipped it into my purse, feeling ashamed and horrified of the person I’d become.

Back in the living room, I sat and picked up my coffee. “So, how’s Kia handling it all?”

“It’s been tough on us. Our relationship is so new, and she can’t really be seen as supporting a lawbreaker. It looks really bad for her.” Julia blew gently on her coffee.

“Does she know about the… delivery method?”

“God, no! She’d definitely turn me in!” Julia laughed, but stopped abruptly, the smile falling from her face. “You won’t turn me in, though, right?”

I smiled at Julia and patted her knee. “I swear, my lips are sealed.”

BACK AT the hospital, I parked and slipped Julia’s key card under the spare tire in my trunk.

Guilt swirled fast and thick in my gut, turning to bile in my throat. I would never need it, I assured myself. It was just insurance, really. If things went bad and vitiligo girl turned me in, somebody had to take the fall for setting up an opioid drug ring. Julia and I looked vaguely alike, and we both worked at the clinic, but only one of us was being investigated for stealing.

Like my dad always said, never get caught drawing dead. And now I had a backup plan.

I just hoped it never came to that.

I hurried through the staff entrance and took the elevator to the pediatric oncology floor. A Winnie-the-Pooh mural greeted me, a Dr. Seuss aquarium, a wall of children’s books. All around me were children in wheelchairs, some wearing oxygen tanks and others too weak to get out of their beds.