The first person I need to thank is you, dear reader. Six years is an eternity between publishing books in crime fiction, and I’m deeply grateful that you’ve stuck with me long enough to hold this novel in your hands.
Likewise, I owe so much to my publisher, St. Martin’s Press, and my literary agent at the Jane Rotrosen Agency for their unwavering support. Pete Wolverton, my editor, and Meg Ruley, my agent, were heroic in their ability to wait patiently when I couldn’t write and to gently—but firmly!—nudge me when I could.
I need to thank Luci Zahray, not only for first discovering me, but also for her technical expertise, which she shared for this book.
Rhys Bowen, Lucy Burdette, Deborah Crombie, Hallie Ephron, Jenn McKinlay, and Hank Phillippi Ryan, my sisters at the Jungle Red Writers blog, continue to uphold, inspire, and encourage me. I’m so lucky to be part of this sorority.
Three people who always worked to make my writing better are missing now. My husband, Ross Hugo-Vidal, died in 2017 after a year-long fight with cancer. Our friend Timothy LaMar, who made sure the guns and ammo were always correct, passed away a month later, and my mother, Lois Fleming, who was my best first reader, died unexpectedly eight months after that. My life is much diminished without them; I can only hope this book is not.