We crossed a bridge and headed north, parallel to the river. Ben pointed at a tired-looking log cabin. “An Iraqi vet named James lives there. End-stage prostate cancer. Sometimes his insurance has problems authorizing his oxy. We help him when he needs it. Oh, and see that tent there? That’s where Kelly Anne lives.” He shivered as a private memory rolled over him. “She’s a skank. Stay away from her, or she’ll knife you in the back. We don’t deliver to her anymore.”

“How long have you been doing this?” I asked.

“Years. I had some suppliers a few years ago.” He snorted a laugh. “Before I went to prison, I mean. You wouldn’t believe, one of them was a grandma. She’d never done drugs, so she sold all her OxyContin to me, just to pay for all her other medication. But now we’ve got a doctor on board. And with the fentanyl, we can sell even more.” He smiled faintly, looking a little haunted for a minute. “Vi always said we were a boutique pill shop on wheels.”

Ben crossed a tall bridge and turned down an incline to a dirt road that held about a dozen trailers. He parked next to a neat single-wide with white and gray siding and a tiny brown porch and turned to me. “I want you to meet somebody.”

“No! Ben, I’m not meeting anybody!” I hissed, startled.

“Give it up, Emma. Nobody cares who you are.” He unbuckled and got out.

“Come on.” Gabe nudged me and got out the other side. “It doesn’t look too bad.”

I craned my neck, looking around. Gabe was right: no graffiti, no snarling dogs, no broken bottles or used needles lying around.

I sat for a moment in the front of the truck. My gaze landed on the red notebook in the console. I quickly picked it up and flipped through the lined pages. There was Julia’s name and address. Beneath it, a few patients from my office—patients I’d specifically not given oxy to. And a couple of dozen addresses from Snoqualmie to Cle Elum, Seattle to Whidbey Island.

I returned the notebook and shoved a baseball cap on my head. I could feel eyes on my back as I hurried after Ben and Gabe, but when I turned to look, there was no one there. The windows in the other trailers were dark.

The trailer door was opened by a dried-out wisp of a woman with sad, tired eyes, graying hair, and an angular face.

“Ah, so you’re the doc.” She reached a hand out to shake mine.

I shot Ben a glare, furious he’d told her I was a doctor. “Uh, hi.”

“This is my sister, Emma. Emma, meet Pamela.”

“Come on in, then,” she said. “Meet Eugene.”

She shut the door behind us and slid three locks into place.