I’d seen bodies before. Pronounced death. Been to the morgue. Made life-or-death decisions more times than I could count. I had watched many people die. I didn’t get squeamish or overwhelmed the way some people did. I’d learned long ago to put distance between myself and the horrible things I’d seen.

But now I was entirely complicit. I needed to call an ambulance, but I also knew there was no hope for Violeta.

I looked at Gabe.

“She’s dead.”

Oh my God. Gabe’s mouth moved, but no words came out.

I stared at Violeta’s body, feeling numb, like I’d stepped outside of myself. Bloody foam gleamed at the corners of her mouth. The scarf in her hair looked like a slash of blood.

I closed my eyes. This couldn’t be happening. Gabe was crying, a quiet keening that seemed to be absorbed by the walls of the old warehouse.

I started to dial 911—but then I thought of everything that had been discussed tonight. The drugs. The prescriptions. The plan. The money.

If we called the cops…

I froze.

The cops. Nate. How would I explain why I was here with a drug dealer? Scripts written on my colleagues’ prescription pads were in Violeta’s briefcase next to a stack of cash and drugs. There was no way he could—or would—smooth this over for me. I’d lose my license. I’d go to jail. Then what would happen to Josh?

I wasn’t going to let my son die.

“Gabe, listen to me.” My voice was sharp with urgency. “We have to get rid of her body.”

CHAPTER 14

WE STOPPED WHEN WE reached a small clearing in the woods and put down the body—that’s what I was now calling it, the body, because I couldn’t possibly call her Violeta anymore—and stood in the swirling mist. The air smelled earthy, like damp soil and leaves and rotting wood. I shook the blood back into my numb fingers. My arms and legs were shaking with exertion. I swiped my hair off my face. It was soaked with sweat.

A full moon peeked out from black-velvet clouds, casting shadows over the muddy path. It was gnarled with roots and mostly covered with brush and decaying leaves. The skeletons of trees jabbed into the charcoal sky.

“We have to stop,” Gabe gasped. His hair was coming out of its ponytail, plastering itself to his forehead in damp, sweaty tendrils. He was still high, his eyes glassy, his stare dull.

I glanced around. He was right. The path disappeared in front of us, trees twisting together and forming an impenetrable barrier. I edged toward the sound of rushing water, carefully pushing through the brush until I reached a small ledge that hovered about five feet above the river.

“We can do it here,” I called to Gabe.