"You say you each got phone calls?" Trooper Milroy asked. "What did they say?"

"A man warned us to stay out of Chester County."

"Did you report it to the Philly police, or to us?"

"What's the difference?" Angus frowned. "And if you think about it, the fact that the driver was acting drunk doesn't mean that he was. Maybe he was faking it, to throw everybody off."

"That's pure speculation," Milroy said. "We'll find this guy. Drunks never stop the night they have an accident because we breathalyze 'em. Dollars to doughnuts, he'll come in of his own accord tomorrow morning, with his lawyer."

But Nat had another question. There'd still been no return call from Barb Saunders. "Any suspects on the burglary at the Saunders residence, by the way? The house of the prison guard who was killed?"

"Sorry, that's not our case."

Suddenly, Hank and Paul appeared at the door, their hair messy and cheeks ruddy from the cold. Next to the uniformed troopers, they looked oddly civilian in their dark wool topcoats, worn over sweatclothes and basketball sneakers. Hank's brown eyes softened when he saw Nat.

"Babe, you okay?" he asked, excusing himself as he walked past the troopers. On the way over, he glanced at Angus, who nodded in acknowledgment. Nat cut short the awkward moment by stepping over to him.

"I'm fine." She gave him a warm I'm-sorry hug. He smelled the way he always did after basketball, his waning aftershave heightened by a faint sweat.

"Nothing broken?" Hank pulled gently away, assessing any damage.

"No."

"Thank God," he said, though Nat noticed he avoided her eye.

Paul introduced himself to the troopers, then started in. "I HEARD IT WAS A DRUNK DRIVER. HE COULDA KILLED MY SISTER! HOW THE HELL DID HE GET AWAY?"

Don't worry, Mr. Greco. We have his plate and-"

"YOU HAVE THE LICENSE PLATE? THEN WHY DON'T YOU JUST ARREST HIM?"

"We're a little shorthanded tonight, with all the-"

"THEN WHY DON'T YOU GO? THE DRUNK DRIVER'S NOT IN THE HOSPITAL, OFFICER."

Nat stifled a moan. "Paul, please."

"GIVE ME THE DAMN PLATE NUMBER! MY FATHER WILL HIRE A PL TO FIND HIM. HE'LL BE HERE ANY MINUTE!"

Oh no. Dad? Here?

Trooper Milroy said, "My captain happens to be outside, if you want to speak with him, Mr. Greco."

"YOU'RE DAMN RIGHT I DO." Paul whirled around on his squeaky Iversons. "BE RIGHT BACK, NAT." The decibel level lowered as soon as he left with the troopers, but the tension level increased. The small room contained only Nat, Hank, and Angus. She told herself there was no reason for this meeting to be strained. It wasn't like the three of them were in a love triangle or anything. Still she was having an out-of-hospital-room experience.

"Hank, this is Angus Holt, from school," Nat said, attempting to dispel the undercurrents.

"Nice to see ya." Hank extended a hand, and Angus winced when they shook. Hank said, "Uh, sorry."

"No, I'm sorry about all this."

"Not your doing." Hank smiled in a polite way. "How long you gonna be here, buddy?"

"Day or two. I'm happy Natalie's not hurt."

"Natalie." Hank repeated. "Right. Sure. Nat."

Gnat. Terrific. Time to go. Before my head explodes.

Hank nodded once, then again, plainly uncomfortable. "Nat, did you wanna go or stay?"

"Go," Nat and Angus answered, in unfortunate unison. She added unnecessarily, "I'm discharged, so I can leave anytime. I was waiting for you, Hank." Faithfully. And I wasn't turned on by his chest hair.

"We'll call your dad and tell him to turn around. They must've got held up in traffic."

"Okay, let's go." Nat took her coat from the back of the chair, and Hank quickly stepped over to help her put it on, which he always did.

It felt heavier than usual, and she wondered if the wool was weighted down with guilt, like a new fabric blend. She said lightly, "Okay, well, hope you feel better, Angus!"

"Thanks," Angus said, like a normal person, because he wasn't insane.

"See you, buddy." Hank put a hand on Nat's back, guiding her out of the room. "Let's go home."

Home. It sounded so good. She could shower and change, and they could have a glass of chardonnay, and she could explain everything and make his hurt go away. Hurt that he wouldn't admit to her, or even to himself, buried beneath his easygoing guyness. They could sort it all out, alone together. They were overdue for a talk.

"Your parents are beside themselves." Hank pulled his cell phone from a pocket and pressed speed dial as they went through a wooden door and down a corridor to the wide automatic doors, which slid open. "We'll give era a call and we can all go home."

"Wait." Nat got hit by a blast of cold air. "By home, you mean my parents' house?"

"Big John!" Hank barked into the phone. "I got the horse right here. She's fine. Turn around and we'll see you at home."

Big John. Her father. Her brothers. Paul.

"HANK! WAIT'LL YOU GET A LOAD OF THIS!" Paul shouted, hurrying toward them from a police cruiser parked in the emergency lot.

My head hurts. And for some reason, so does my heart.

"I GOT TWO SIXERS TICKETS!"

"Excellent!" Hank called back, throwing a heavy arm around Nat, and she knew that this would be their last moment alone until midnight.

"We should talk about this." Nat leaned wearily in the doorway to her bathroom, still dressed, while Hank buzzed his teeth in his blue boxers and bare feet. He nodded, holding the electric toothbrush against his incisors. His lips drooped over the brush like a basset hound's.

"Would you turn off the brush?" Nat asked.

"I can hear you," Hank answered, but it sounded like I ckn heor bu. Bzzz.

"Okay, fine. I know you didn't want me to go out to Chester County, but I felt I had to, after we heard that Saunders's widow was burglarized."

Bzzz. "You didn't go see the widow, you went to the prison."

"I couldn't reach her. I didn't think it was dangerous because I was with Angus. He got the same call, by the way."

"You don't belong at the prison. You belong at the law school. You're a professor, not a criminal. Or a criminal lawyer."

Nat let it go. They'd had this conversation in the car. At least he was calmer now. "Let's agree to disagree."

Bzzz. "Whatever that means."

"I just wanted to say I was sorry for going out there with Angus today and not telling you."

Bzzz. "Okay." Hank steered the brush onto his top teeth, holding it in place for ten seconds, which she knew he counted off in his head. For a messy guy, Hank Ballisteri took his dental health very seriously.

"It does seem like there's a cover-up at the prison, and we may follow up on that legally."

Bzzzz. Hank nodded. Four, five, six.

"You know there's nothing going on between me and Angus. I work with him, and that's all. The accident wasn't his fault, obviously. If it was an accident."

"What?" Hank lowered the toothbrush at eight, his mouth foamy with greenish gel. "What do you mean if it was an accident?"

Oops. "I don't know, exactly." Nat wasn't sure yet, and it was late. It does seem odd that I get a threat not to go to Chester County, then the next time I go to Chester County, I get in a car accident."

"You got hit in Philadelphia County, and of course it was an accident. That driver was drunk. Your dad would find him by dawn if the cops gave him the plate number."

"They're not going to give it to him. It's police business."

"If it's about you, it's his business."

"Honestly, no, it's not," Nat said, more emphatically than necessary. But that was the whole damn point. "If it's anybody's business, it's my business."

"Your father is crazy about you. You're his little girl. You should be grateful he goes to the mat for you." Hank frowned. "My dad couldn't be bothered. You don't know how lucky you are."