Gabe stood frozen in rigid silence. There was so much in his eyes, I was terrified he would give everything away.

Pull yourself together! I screamed silently at him. How had he ever been calm enough to deal drugs?

I turned slowly, deliberately, and smiled at the cop while arching one eyebrow and lifting one hand. “I’m trying to quit, but I’m totally addicted,” I said, opting for casual and chatty.

I knew the consequences of selling these prescriptions: each count of unlawful distribution of OxyContin by a medical professional carried a twenty-year prison sentence. One doctor in Seattle had traded sex for prescriptions; a podiatrist had set up an entire oxy ring; a dentist had unnecessarily pulled teeth to justify prescribing opioids so he could get thousands in kickbacks. These doctors bought yachts and houses, jewelry and status and privilege.

But I wasn’t in it for the money. I just wanted to save my son.

The cop grinned at me, exposing small, straight teeth and matching dimples. “I’ve quit, like, a hundred times. It’s the job, I think. It’s so stressful.”

“Don’t I know it!” I laughed. “I’m a doctor. I know all about stress!”

I lowered my eyelashes, all innocence, and smiled up at him, before turning back to Gabe.

“Could I get those Marlboro Golds, sir?” I asked Gabe.

Gabe finally snapped out of it, grabbing the cigarettes and setting them on the counter. “That’ll be nine forty-two.”

I slipped my hand into my bag and withdrew my wallet, carefully extracting a ten-dollar bill and one of my business cards with my cell phone number printed on it. I tucked the card under the bill and handed it to Gabe.

Gabe wordlessly gave me my change. I took it, waved good-bye, and left.

MY HEART was slamming in my chest as I jogged to my car. Rain had started falling in sheets. I was an idiot to think Gabe would help me, even more of an idiot to bring all those signed prescriptions inside. Now he had them. What kind of an amateur did that? I’d shown all my cards.

I’d broken two of my dad’s most important rules. Keep your hand close to your chest.

And never get caught drawing dead.

“Always make sure you have a plan B, Emma,” he used to say. “Because once you get caught drawing dead, you’re done. It won’t matter what cards you draw, you’ll have zero chance of winning.”

And then a horrible thought occurred to me: What if Gabe had video surveillance? Of course he did. The real question was: What would he do with it?

I drove as quickly as I dared back to Skamania, my windshield wipers swiping pathetically at the rain. I was going to have to set up an OxyContin drug ring on my own. But how, without losing my job, my family, my freedom?