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question is who he is and why he cared enough to follow you.
    Tourists swarm the back room. Five of them are in front of you, their orthopedic shoes just inches from your feet. They pull shirts from the rack, chatting about hiking to the Hollywood sign. An attendant helps a customer find The Godfather . The song changes again and again.
    When you’re certain he’s gone, you move, taking some of the shirts for yourself, shoving them into the bottom of your knapsack. You pull one over your head, double-checking there’s no plastic tags or metal stickers on the inside. You leave asquickly as you came, sneaking out from under the rack. When you push through the doors, you’re careful to keep your head down, trying to avoid the store’s security cameras.
    Outside, Sunset Boulevard is busy. Restaurants and bars empty into the street. Even when you’re several blocks away, deep into a neighborhood, you are looking for him. He is every silver car, every figure passing in a window. You cut through someone’s backyard and start through the trees.

UNCORRECTED E-PROOF–NOT FOR SALE
    HarperCollins Publishers
    ..................................................................

CHAPTER SEVEN
    THE WOMAN IS waiting to hear her name. She is only waiting to hear her name. She is sick of these fancy dinners, these receptions, these people—all she wants is to receive her award. So when Silvia O’Connor, Bill’s wife, leans over to her, mentioning something about the salad, she is truly annoyed. Silvia is whispering, “Oh, the dressing! These candied walnuts!” The woman tries to smile politely but she just can’t.
    Onstage, Reagan Arthur is giving a speech about the company’s progress. The year-end, the highlights, this quarter and that quarter. She knows it all already. They’ve listed the speech on the program as being right before her award, and she periodically looks down, wondering if the order has changed. The order has not changed.
    Two seats over, Bill has his chin in his hands, looking at Reagan like he’s falling in love. She almost feels badly for him . . . almost. Bill was the person who’d been rumored to win. He’d had a vague smugness about him in the weeks leading up to the announcement. It floated around him like a cheap cologne.
    Now she is waiting to be called, for Reagan to just finish his speech, to just say it already. . . . Say it . Silvia is still talking. Silvia is enjoying the wine.
    She looks around for the cocktail waitress but it’s hard to tell them apart. They all wear the same tuxedo and white gloves. The women have their hair pulled back. The men have slicked everything down. She’s about to raise her hand when one of the waiters strides over, filling her wine glass.
    It happens so fast it confuses her. She feels something flutter over her knee and she thinks for a second that she dropped her napkin. It’s only then that she notices it on the floor. Sitting beside her right heel is a small white envelope. She turns to the waiter, but he is already gone.
    She kneels, opens it. There are two lines of handwritten block type.
    GREYHOUND STATION
    HOLLYWOOD BOULEVARD
    She immediately knows what it is. She has a sudden surge of nervousness, her throat dry. She closes her eyes to let it pass, her fingers going to the pendant necklace, to the small medallion she wears. She is still under the table, still holding the envelope, when Reagan calls her name.

UNCORRECTED E-PROOF–NOT FOR SALE
    HarperCollins Publishers
    ..................................................................

CHAPTER EIGHT
    IT’S NEARLY SIX thirty when you get to the station. Your hands are shaky. It’s seventy degrees and you have the chills. You spent the night in someone’s back shed, but you couldn’t sleep.
    As you walk around the Greyhound building you study everyone’s face. You watch the woman sitting in the corner, a rolled-up sleeping bag beside her. You glance at the middle-aged man outside, two bags