"This is how I look at it," the paramedic said after a moment. "What happened to you, it's sacred. You heard a man's most personal, intimate words. But it's kinda goofy because you're a stranger."

Nat nodded.

"That's how you feel, right? It's goofy?"

Random, her students would have said.

"Listen, once a man dying in a car wreck told me he had a daughter no one knew about. He wanted to keep it secret but he had to unburden himself. To someone, even a stranger." The paramedic paused, his forehead creased with the memory. "Sometimes they give you a message for someone they love. For their wife, or their son. I used to feel like I wished I hadn't heard it, like it was a burden. I almost quit this gig."

Tell my wife.

But I was talking to one of my buddies, and he said, 'just flip it.' Think about it different, because there was a reason they told it to you. It wasn't a burden, it was a gift." The paramedic patted her arm again. "Okay?"

"Okay," Nat said thickly. If he gave you a message for someone, deliver it. You can't avoid it, anyway." The paramedic smiled, almost ruefully. "In my experience, the loved one will seek you out and give you the third degree. Be prepared for that. They'll want to know, "What were his last words?' 'Did he say he loved me?' "Was she thinking of me?' 'Did she suffer?' They'll ask you everything." He shook his head. "My last piece of advice? Don't pretty it up. Don't tell em what they want to hear. You're just the messenger. Tell the truth."

Tell my wife.

"I got a question from one widow, after her husband died in a car accident. She wanted to know if he'd said the name Sonya. I told her, 'No, I'm very sorry, he didn't say your name.' She said, 'Good. My name's Lillian. Sonya's his girlfriend.'" The paramedic laughed, and Nat managed a smile, because he was trying to cheer her up.

Tell my wife. The words were still there when she stopped laughing. They weren't going away anytime soon.

"If you go to the hospital, they can give you something to calm you down a little. Help you with the pain, too." The paramedic gave her a final pat. "Drugs, I can't dispense. Advice, you don't need a license for."

"I'm fine, thanks." Nat looked out the window to see Angus striding to her ambulance, ahead of the two state police troopers. She wondered who had won the argument, because nobody looked happy. She rose unsteadily. "Here they come. The cops and my colleague."

"Stop. Sit down a minute." The paramedic eased her back onto the gurney, which wasn't difficult. "You can talk to them here. I'll go out and see if anybody needs me."

"Do you need the ambulance?"

"Nah, anybody's who's going to the hospital has already gone. If I get a call from dispatch, I'll throw you out."

"Thanks for your help," Nat said, and the paramedic rose, crossed to the door, and left, letting in a blast of frigid air.

Angus stuck his head inside, and Nat gasped.

Up close, Angus's face was a wreck. Under the gauze pad, his right eye puffed up, a rosy color. A nasty bruise blanketed his left cheek, and black stitches puckered his lip. Blood spattered the front of his workshirt. "How's the patient?" he asked, his blue eyes concerned, nevertheless. "You all right?"

"Better than you, I think."

"Oh, you mean this?" Angus pointed at his mouth with a puffy grin. "Only when I laugh. But we have a more pressing subject than my rugged good looks." He leaned into the ambulance, his long arms braced on each door, effectively blocking two state troopers behind him. "Got the staties with me, since they don't have local police out here."

"No local police?" Nat didn't understand.

It's common in rural areas. They can't afford a local force, so they rely on state police. They interviewed me but they still want to talk to you, to support the charges against Buford. I told them this isn't the place or the time."

Nat shuddered. Buford. His breath. His hands. Tell me you don't feel up to talking to them, and I'll tell them to take a hike."

"Mr. Holt, that's not your call." The trooper's dark eyes flashed under his wide brim, though his voice remained under control. "You're interfering with police business. It's important that we interview her while her memory's still fresh."

"Show a little sensitivity, would you? She's a crime victim, and you don't need her statement. I'm an eyewitness. I gave you my statement." Angus raised his voice, but the trooper ignored him and turned to Nat.

"Ms. Greco, we understand that this is difficult, and we're prepared to make it as easy as possible. We'll interview you here, rather than asking you to come down to the barracks."

"It can wait until tomorrow or the next day," Angus interjected, but Nat waved him off.

"I can give it now. Let's get it over with." Nat didn't want a fight. She'd seen enough fighting for a lifetime.

"They're being ridiculous." Angus pursed his stitched lips. "You should be going to a hospital, not giving a statement to support a charge they can file right now."

"It's fine, thanks." Nat wrapped the blankets closer around her. "Come in, please, everybody."

Angus harrumphed under his breath and stepped into the ambulance ahead of the troopers, ducking his head to fit inside. His boots clomped on the corrugated-metal floor as he crossed to Nat. He sat heavily beside her on the gurney, which squeaked under his weight. He bristled with pique, but when he looked over at her, his eyes softened. "I'm so sorry, about all of this. I wouldn't have brought you here if I had thought it was unsafe."

"I know that." Nat heard the guilt behind his words.

"I can't apologize enough. I'm so sorry."

"We're both okay, and that's what matters," Nat said, meaning it.

"Take this, by the way." Angus set an insulated black jacket onto her lap. "For the ride home. I got it from Tanisa. She wanted you to have it. I'm not sure when you're getting your coat back."

"Thanks." Nat took the jacket, happy to learn that the CO. was safe. In the meantime, the troopers were climbing into the ambulance and closing the doors behind them. They also ducked to walk inside, and the ambulance bounced at the additional weight. They seated themselves on the padded bench opposite Nat and Angus, like the double date from hell.

"I'm Trooper Bert Milroy, with the state police," one trooper said. He was maybe forty years old, with a handsome face, cool blue eyes, and a long, bony nose, red at the tip from the cold. He gestured at the trooper next to him, who had thinner lips and looked younger with faint acne scars on his cheeks. "This is my partner, Trooper Russ Johnston. We'll keep this short, because I know it isn't easy for you." The trooper leaned over, slid a steno pad from his back pocket, and flipped back the cardboard cover. "Do you feel well enough to speak with us? Did you want to go to the hospital or anything?"

"No, thanks." Nat raised a hand, in the blanket. "First, can you tell me what happened in there? Is it really over?"

"Absolutely." The trooper slid a Bic pen from his inside pocket. "The disturbance took only sixteen minutes to put down."

"Sixteen minutes?" Nat almost laughed. "It seemed like a lot longer."

"It was," Angus interjected flatly.

"But what happened?" Nat asked. "There was a riot in the RHU, right?"

"Not a riot. A disturbance."

Angus chuckled. "Let the spinning begin."

The trooper paused, pointedly. "As I was saying, Ms. Greco, inmates in the RHU got into an altercation over a gang issue. Three were killed and four seriously injured."

Tell my wife. "A guard was killed, too." Yes, and two others seriously injured."

"What was his name, the CO. who died?"

Trooper Milroy flipped through his notes. "Ray Saunders, I believe. No, Ron. First name's Ron. His wife was just notified. As I was saying, the prison SWAT team put it down in record time, preventing further loss of life. We've arrested four individuals in connection with the murders. Charges will be brought against Mr. Buford as soon as possible"-at this, the trooper shifted his ice blue gaze to Angus-"but we dot our is."