Nat tried to process it all. "There was fire. I saw smoke."

"A few of the inmates set their mattresses on fire."

"I heard explosions. What was that?"

"The SWAT team."

"The SWAT team uses bombs?" Nat was confused.

"No, the explosions would be the stingers from the SWAT team," the trooper answered.

"What's a stinger?"

"A device that is fired at the floor and explodes in thousands of rubber pellets-"

"Not that many, Bert," the other trooper said, and Trooper Milroy frowned, annoyed.

"Okay, not thousands, but a lot, and they sting. They stop a man in his tracks without lethal force. The SWAT team performed superbly." Trooper Milroy raised his pen. "Now, please tell us, in your own words, exactly what happened from when you and Mr. Holt began your class this morning."

Nat took a deep breath, and between sips of water, began a scary instant replay. She got to the part where Buford ripped her shirt and began to think that maybe Angus had been right, she wasn't ready to tell this yet. Her mouth went dry, and she was strangely afraid, even surrounded by police. She felt an instant kinship with every woman who had ever been the victim of violent crime. Questions entered her mind, about what could have happened. How do you live through something like that? What would Hank say? Her father? What if it had happened in front of Angus? Would she have been able to look him in the eye at school, and vice versa? By the time she finished the story, she'd drained her water bottle.

"What happened after you ran from the classroom?" Trooper Milroy asked, scribbling.

"I ran to get help."

"Did you find any?"

"Yes. I found a CO. coming out of a room. I asked him to help, and he came."

"Can you be more specific?"

Nat paused. She was thinking of the other CO., who now had a name. Ron Saunders. The blood. His fixed stare. She went into a stall.

"Ms. Greco?" the trooper asked, and Angus turned to her, his gaze sympathetic.

"Natalie, you want to stop now?"

"I'm okay," she said, but Angus was frowning.

"Wait a minute." He turned to the troopers. "What difference does it make what happened after Buford attacked her? You just got her statement to support the charges against him. The ADA has plenty to make his case."

Nat considered this, listening. He was right. They didn't need the information, and she didn't want to tell them what Ron Saunders had said, especially not in an official statement. His last words belonged to his wife.

Trooper Milroy said, "Mr. Holt, we need to have a complete statement if we want to avoid putting her through this twice. If our statement is complete, there's no need for prison officials to speak with you, or the D.A." He faced Nat. "Ms. Greco, it's for your benefit."

I still don't see the relevance, legally" Angus shook his head, adamant. She went and got help. She told the CO. where I was. Buford was kicking the crap out of me until he got there. This woman saved my life."

"I did?" Nat asked, surprised. She hadn't thought of it like that. She hadn't had the time to think of it at all. "You almost got killed trying to save mine. I was returning the favor."

"Ms. Greco, we do need to finish here." Trooper Milroy cleared his throat, testy.

"You're finished!" Angus said, but Nat waved him off. She had made a decision.

"Trooper Milroy, ask away. Let's get this done."

"Okay, what happened after you found the CO.?"

"I told him where Angus was, and he ran off. Then I saw that there was an inmate and another CO. lying on the floor of this room. It was very bloody."

"What room?" the trooper asked, his head down as he wrote. The wide brim obscured his features.

"I don't know. I just hit doors until one opened. I noticed that the CO. on the floor wasn't dead. I know CPR, so I tried to save him but I couldn't."

"You administered CPR?" the trooper asked.

Angus looked at her in surprise. "You did that, Natalie? That's amazing."

"Not really. It didn't work. I used my scarf to stop the flow of blood… but it didn't work. Nothing I did worked." There was nothing you could have done. "Then I left and went to see if Angus was okay. There was an explosion but the CO. got us out. And that's it, my statement." Nat sipped from her water bottle, forgetting it was empty. She wasn't a good liar, and Milroy eyed her hard.

"That's all?"

"Yes," Nat answered firmly, and the trooper nodded, closing his steno pad.

The Beetle's engine thrummed and its tires rumbled against the frozen asphalt. Nat and Angus rode back through the countryside, with neither talking much. She didn't tell Angus what Ron Saunders said before he died, because it wasn't his business, either. She watched the Wyeth trees and bay horses whiz by. It seemed impossible that such beauty could exist fewer than five miles from such carnage. She couldn't ever explain what had happened to anyone who hadn't lived it, much less to Hank. She realized with a start that he didn't know where she was. He'd gone out of town today, to a job site with Paul. She reached into her purse and retrieved her cell phone.

"Do you mind if I make a call?" she asked, and Angus shook his head.

"Not at all. Tell him I said hi."

Nat smiled and pressed her speed dial for Hank's cell, but she got his voicemail, so she said, "It's me. Call when you get a chance, on my cell. But don't worry, I'm fine." She snapped the phone closed.

"Good move. Voicemail isn't appropriate for major felonies."

Nat half-smiled. "Agree."

"I hope we're not on the news. I didn't give any interviews, and nobody asked me about you." Angus shook his head. "I'm so sorry this happened."

"It's okay. At least it wasn't a student."

"Either way, it's awful. I'll figure out a way to make it up to you, but right now, I'll just get you home. You're not going back to school, are you?"

"No. I just want to go soak in a bathtub and get lost in a big, thick book."

"You read in the tub?" Angus smiled. "My sister used to do that." Sure, it's the best place. All my favorite books have bumpy pages. A day like this calls for period fiction. Everybody wearing frills and all the talk over teacups."

Okay, then tell me where you live, and I'll get you to your tub."

"Thanks." Do you guys live together?"

"Sort of."

"What's your boyfriend's name, by the way?" Nat told him, but all the time, she was thinking of a different name.

Ron Saunders.

Nat closed her apartment door and stepped into the cozy living room, never happier to be home than at this moment, even as a Major Homebody. She ran a loving eye over the cushy beige couch and matching chairs, which fit neatly on a square sisal rug. Soft, indirect light flooded the room from the window, which overlooked a scenic fraction of the Schuylkill River. Bookshelves surrounded the room like literary insulation. A pile of novels sat stacked on one teak end table, her Priority To-Be-Read pile, and the other end table held her Secondary To-Be-Read pile. A mug sat so often next to the stack that it had made a faint ring on the coaster, like a wedding band.

She dropped her purse at the door, kicked off her pumps, and padded down the hall to the tiled bathroom, large enough for only a downsized tub, toilet, pedestal sink, and two Emergency To-Be-Read piles. One pile sat atop the back of the toilet, and the other on the floor next to the tub, mostly paperbacks, which floated better.

She turned the bathwater on, letting it run while she took off Tanisa’s jacket. She made a mental note to return the jacket and tried not to think about blood or last words. She shed her ripped shirt and bra without dwelling on how they’d gotten that way, then slipped off her pants and underwear, eyeing the stack of paperbacks beside the tub. Josephine Tey, Wilkie Collins, Dorothy Sayers. It was a familiar crowd, but Nat needed a mood elevator. She reached for the new Janet Evanovich, then caught sight of her naked body in the mirror and dropped the book. Hideous scratches crisscrossed her breasts and stomach. Red raised welts swelled like fingernail rakes, leaving snakes of bruises.