Step two: Sift through the want ads and apply for a temporary job. Irina had pointed her toward a temp service that hired out nursing assistants, so she’d go there.

Step three: Run on the treadmill in the gym in the apartment building’s basement until I’m too tired not to sleep.

Step four: Do not dream.

That last one would be far easier said than done, but if she did dream of the sniper attack, at least she wouldn’t be hit with the guilt of keeping Fritz a secret. She leaned back in the desk chair and winced. Her tattoo was gorgeous and she loved it, but it was sore. Sergio had outdone himself, thanking her for allowing him to create such a moving memorial. Liza would need to go back in a few weeks to get the shading done, but even without that, the memorial was all she’d envisioned.

She’d completed steps one and two and was trying to remember where she’d put her running shoes when her phone rang. She almost let it go to voice mail but then saw the caller.

It was Mr. Tolliver, her old next-door neighbor. Something had to be wrong. Mr. Tolliver never called this late.

“Hi, Mr. T, what’s wrong?”

“I’m glad you answered. Your dog has escaped.”

“Pebbles? Oh my God. How do you know? Did you see her running by?”

“No, I see her on my front stoop, playing with Sweetie-Pie.”

Liza exhaled, relieved. “Oh good. At least she’s all right.”

“Can you come and get her? It’s after my bedtime. I’m an old man, y’know.”

“Of course I’d come over to get her, but . . . I don’t live there anymore.”

“I figured that. I saw you moving this morning. Did that man throw you out?”

“No. Of course not. I left because . . . I just needed to leave.”

“What are we going to do about your dog, then?”

“Did you call Tom?”

“Don’t have his number,” Mr. Tolliver said tartly. “Just yours.”

Liza wasn’t giving out Tom’s number without his permission. Nor was she calling him herself. He’d ask her to come back and she wasn’t sure she was strong enough to say no. “Can you knock on the front door?”

“As if I haven’t done that already! If he’s there, he’s not answering, because he’s killing his hearing by playing that music so loud. It’s not rock, either. That I could take. It’s . . . opera.”

Liza had to chuckle because he’d said opera like it was dog doo. “Fine. I’ll be over to get Pebbles. I still have a key. I can put her in Tom’s house. Do you know how she got out?”

“She tunneled under the fence. He must have let her out and she got bored. Or lonesome. She went right up to your front door and lay on the welcome mat for the longest time.”

“Oh.” Liza’s heart cracked. She loved that dog so much. “I’ll be there in about fifteen or twenty minutes. See you soon.”