ONE

      Sarah Peterson quietly opened the back door to her new, temporary home in Spokane, Washington, and slunk inside. The warm glow of delight spread inside her as she reflected on her evening. Maybe things were finally starting to look up for her.

      She’d been at an art show this evening, and two people had shown interest in her work. All she needed was one big break, and maybe all of the hardship of these past several years could finally be in her past—and stay there.

      Behind her, the freezing rain pounded relentlessly as a mid-January storm claimed the area. Forecasters had predicted the precipitation would soon turn to snow and conditions outside would become perilous.

      But now, inside the house, everything around Sarah was dark and quiet with the stillness of the evening.

      Good. Loretta must be sleeping.

      And, if Sarah was smart, she’d remain quiet so the woman could continue sleeping.

      Loretta Blanchard wasn’t the type of woman you wanted to wake up—or even look at the wrong way, for that matter. She was a force to be reckoned with, and if she didn’t like you, she would make your life miserable.

      Sarah left her damp coat on a hanger by the door in order not to track any water inside. As she crept through the kitchen, she looked around for Buzz, Loretta’s emotional support dog. The husky always greeted her at the door.

      Strange. Where was he?

      Buzz was one of Sarah’s favorite parts about this job. She’d never met an animal with such intelligent eyes, and his wagging tail was just the welcome she needed on most days. Her muscles tightened as she wondered where the dog was.

      Sarah headed through the dark house toward her bedroom so she could change out of her dress and heels. Her bag slid from her shoulder as she slipped her heels off and carried them up the massive staircase.

      Her boss was a scientific genius who’d created a new medication to help people with arthritis. She’d been at the top of her game until ALS, also known as Lou Gehrig’s disease, had claimed her body and weakened her muscles. However, her mind was just as sharp as ever.

      Sarah stepped into her room, flipped on the light and paused.

      Something felt off.

      Her spine tightened, and she glanced around her room. Everything appeared in place. Her ivory quilt was neat. Her curtains were drawn. Her dresser drawers closed.

      But something was different. She was sure of it.

      Her mom had always said that Sarah had an eye and an ear for detail. It was probably what made her such a good artist today. She noticed things