“Oh, Jillian, I’d like you to meet my son, Lucas.” I meet those pretty green eyes, now sparkling with amusement. Of course a dog named Peanut would belong to this woman. She named her cadaver dog, Emo, after all. Hell, I knew she recently moved to the area—Sloane mentioned it more than once—but I wasn’t expecting to run into her at my mother’s assisted-living home. That’s a little too close for comfort. “So you do have a first name; Lucas, huh?” “You already know each other?” Mom looks back and forth between us. “We do. How are you doing, Jillian?” She adjusts the small furball she’s holding in her arms. “Good, thanks.” I turn to my mother to explain, “Jillian and I met working on a search last summer.” Despite my immediate attempt to identify our connection as a professional one only, I see Mom’s mind already at work behind the gleam in her eyes. Great.