He looked down. There were five painted lines under their feet. Two led down a hallway, one led toward the elevator, and the last one, a red line, led to the exit, which was less than ten feet behind him.

Jeffrey picked up his badge and tucked it back into his pocket. He let Sara walk ahead of him toward the elevator. As if by magic, the doors slid open on their approach. The floor of the car was reddish-pink from dirt, and the faint odor of Pine-Sol and vomit filled the air.

Sara stopped. 'Maybe we could take the stairs?'

'What about the blue line?' Jeffrey asked, only half-joking.

She shrugged and got on. He followed suit, pressing the three button, noticing that there was a two but not a one. They both stood there, waiting for the doors to close. Nothing happened, so he pressed the three button again. Still, nothing happened. He pressed the two button and the doors closed. Above them, machinery whirred, and the elevator moved upward.

Sara said, 'I really shouldn't be here.'

He hated that she felt so out of place. 'I want you here.' He tried to sound more convincing. 'I need you here.'

'You don't,' she insisted, 'but I appreciate the lie.'

'Sara-'

She turned around, studying the notice board screwed to the back of the elevator. 'Meth is Death!' one of the posters warned, showing before and after photos of a beautiful blonde teenager who, after a scant year on meth, turned into a soulless crone with no teeth and festering wounds erupting from her once perfect skin. A number at the bottom was scribbled over, a crude drawing of a joint obscuring the last two digits. Another poster outlining the steps to performing CPR took up most of the remaining space. This one was vandalized with the usual graffiti you found in spaces like this: dirty limericks, phone numbers for loose women, and messages for various people to go fuck themselves.

Finally, the elevator doors groaned open and a bell dinged. A dimly lit hallway greeted them, and Jeffrey guessed the lights had been turned off so that patients could sleep. The emergency exit sign across from the elevator gave off a warm red glow, pointing toward a doorway at the very end of the hall. Jeffrey glanced around, holding the elevator doors open, wondering if they were on the wrong floor.

'There's the stripe,' Sara whispered, indicating the single blue line on the floor. Jeffrey saw that it went to the right, past the emergency stairway and around the corner. He looked up the hall to the left, but all he could see were more patients' rooms and another exit sign.

They followed the painted line to the nurses' station. He realized as soon as they got there that the hallway circled around and that they could have just as easily taken a left and gotten to the same place.

'This is why people hate hospitals,' Jeffrey told Sara, keeping his voice low. 'If they can't make you feel sicker, they drive you crazy.'

Sara rolled her eyes, and Jeffrey remembered the first time he'd told Sara that he hated hospitals. Her response had been almost automatic: 'Everybody hates hospitals.'

The nurses' station was oblong, open at both ends, and packed to the gills with charts and colored sheets of paper. There was one desk with a lamp casting a harsh light over the blotter. A newspaper was folded to the crossword, some of the squares filled in. Jeffrey guessed from the half-eaten pack of crackers beside an open can of Diet Coke that whoever had been sitting there must've been called away mid-snack.

Sara leaned against the wall, arms folded over her chest. 'The nurse must be making rounds.'

'I guess we'll wait here.'

'We could find Lena on our own.'

'I don't think the sheriff would appreciate that.'

She gave him a curious look, as if she was surprised that he cared.

He was about to respond when he heard a toilet flush behind him. 'Guess the nurse just finished her rounds.'

They both waited, Sara leaning against the wall, Jeffrey pacing, reading the signs that had been taped to some of the patients' doors. 'No Water.' 'No Solids.' 'No Unattended Toilet.'

Christ, they knew how to bring you low in these places.

He heard water running from the bathroom faucet, then the familiar squeak of a paper-towel dispenser. Seconds later, the door opened and a gray-haired man in a uniform came out. He did a double take when he saw Jeffrey. 'Chief Tolliver?'

'Jeffrey,' he offered, walking over to shake the man's hand. He realized a second too late that he wasn't talking to the sheriff. The insignia on the dark brown and taupe uniform identified the man as a deputy. 'This is my wife, Dr. Sara Linton.'

'Donald Cook.' The man shook Jeffrey's hand, nodding at Sara. He had a loud, booming voice, and didn't seem to be worried if he woke up any of the patients. 'Sorry if I kept y'all waiting.'

Jeffrey got straight to the point. 'How's my detective doing?'

'No trouble at all,' Cook answered. 'She's been quiet as a mouse.'

In a different situation, Jeffrey would have made some joke about mistaken identity. 'Was she burned? Your sheriff said there was some kind of explosion-'

'She's got smoke inhalation, some cuts and scrapes. Doc says she'll heal up fine.'

Jeffrey waited for Sara to press the man about Lena 's condition, but she just stood there, listening.

This wasn't like her. The hospital was Sara's element. He'd expected her to at least ask for Lena 's chart or try to find the doctor in charge.

Then again, Sara didn't usually tag along when he was working. Jeffrey guessed she was trying not to interfere. He asked the deputy, 'Can you tell me what happened?'

'Best talk to Jake about that.' The man made his way behind the counter and fell back into the desk chair with a groan. He picked up the phone, saying, 'Sorry I can't offer y'all a seat.' He slipped on a pair of reading glasses so he could make out the numbers on the telephone. 'They had a junkie in here last night who puked all over the chairs. Easier to just throw them out and order some new ones.'

'No problem,' Jeffrey said, tucking his hands into his pockets, trying to resist the urge to resume pacing. Though Sara seemed to be keeping her own counsel, he could see that she was just as surprised by the situation as Jeffrey. Lena 's armed guard was a joke. The deputy should be sitting outside her room, not eating crackers and taking a crap when the mood suited him. Sara had been right. Jeffrey should've looked for Lena on his own instead of attempting to play the diplomat.

Cook unnecessarily held up his hand for silence, saying into the phone, 'Jake? He's here. Yeah, brought a doctor with him.' He nodded, then hung up, telling Jeffrey, 'Jake said he's just pulling into the parking lot. Went home to get some supper. We figured it'd take a little longer for you to get here.'

'What was she arrested for?' When the man didn't answer, Jeffrey gave him some options. 'Property damage? Criminal neglect?'

Cook's lips turned up in a grin. 'Not exactly.'

Jeffrey knew what a 'not exactly' meant – they had charged her with something small in order to buy time to figure out how to charge her with something big. He glanced back at Sara, feeling pulled in two different directions. Bringing Sara here was probably not one of his brighter ideas. Everything about the hospital was likely reminding her of the malpractice suit, the fact that somewhere back in Grant County her professional and private lives were being raked over the coals.

With some effort, Jeffrey shifted his focus back to Lena. 'Can we go ahead and see her?'

'Might not be a good idea,' Cook said, sliding a cracker out of the pack. Jeffrey felt his stomach rumble and realized he'd missed supper. Cook must have heard it because he offered, 'You want one?' Jeffrey shook his head, and the man held the pack toward Sara, who shook her head, too.