Cover

Faye Kellerman

Prayers for the Dead

Dedication

To Jonathan for a quarter century of love, laughter, and just plain fun

To Jesse, Rachel, Ilana, and Aliza, the keys to my heart—thanks for putting it all in perspective

To Mom, my lifelong friend—love ya, kid

And to Rita—for all the inappropriate giggles

Prologue

“This is a team effort, Grace. You know that.”

Even through morphine-laden stupor, Grace knew that. From her hospital bed, she looked up at her doctor’s face—a study in strength. Good, solid features. A well-boned forehead, Roman nose and a pronounced chin, midnight blue eyes that burned fire, tar-black hair streaked with silver. His expression, though grave, was completely self-assured. Someone who knew what he wanted and expected to get it. Truth be told, the man looked downright arrogant.

Which was exactly the kind of doctor Grace had wanted. What she hadn’t wanted was some young stud like Ben Casey or an old fart like Marcus Welby with the crinkly eyes and the patient, understanding smile. She had wanted someone bursting with ego. Someone whose superiority was touted, worn with pride like Tiffany jewelry. A self-possession that spoke: Of course the operation is going to be successful. Because I always succeed.

Because getting a new heart was serious business.

Grace Armstrong had to have the best and the brightest. Had the luxury to afford the best and the brightest. And in Dr. Azor Moses Sparks, she had gotten numero uno.

Dope was winning the battle of wits with Grace’s brain. Sparks’s face had lost clarity, sat behind a curtain of haze, his features becoming blurry except for the eyes. They peered through the muck like high-beam headlights. She wanted to go to sleep. But Sparks’s presence told her she wasn’t permitted to do that…not just yet.

He spoke in authoritative, stentorian tones. The sounds bounced around Grace’s brain, words reverberating as if uttered through a malfunctioning PA system. Doctor’s voice…

“…what we have here, Grace. A team comprised of me: the primary surgeon; you: the patient; and my staff—the other fine surgeons and nurses who’ll assist me in this procedure.”

Grace liked how Dr. Sparks had emphasized his fine staff. As if he owned New Christian Hospital.

Maybe he did.

She closed her eyes, anxiety now replaced by the overwhelming need to go comatose. But Sparks wouldn’t let up.

“Grace, open your eyes. We still have uncompleted business to finish.”

Grace opened her eyes.

“We mustn’t forget someone very important,” Sparks reminded her. “The most important member of our team.”

The surgeon paused.

“Do you know who that is, Grace? Do you know whose Hands really control this entire effort?”