Stay outta Chester County. Nat couldn't tell if Angus was paranoid or brilliant.
"Well, you two look familiar," a masculine voice said from the doorway. Nat turned. Two uniformed state troopers in black insulated jackets stood in the doorway, the same ones who had questioned her in the ambulance after the prison riot.
"Hello, again," Nat said, rising. She was still thinking about what Angus had said. What if it hadn't been an accident?
"Trooper Bert Milroy, Professor," the trooper said, sliding his black glove from his hand and shaking hers. His eyes looked tired, and his bony nose was still red at the tip from the cold, as if he hadn't warmed up in two days. He jerked a thumb at the younger cop who stood beside him, the one with the faint scars. "You remember Trooper Johnston."
"Nice to see you again," the second trooper said, as Trooper Milroy stepped toward the bed.
"How you doin, Holt?"
"I've been better."
"That was quite an accident out there tonight. You caused a pile-up. No fatals, fortunately. Four cars, you, and another totaled. That section of 1-95 is still closed." Trooper Milroy slid his pad from his back pocket and extracted a ballpoint from under his jacket. "The other drivers report a late-model Ford F-250 pickup, maybe 2002, black, driving erratically. Can you corroborate?"
"Yes," Angus and Nat answered in unison, as the trooper flipped back a few pages, then scribbled as he stood, rocking back on shiny shoes edged with melting snow.
"Did you get a license plate, folks?"
"It was from Delaware," Angus answered. "I didn't get the number."
"Me, neither," Nat said.
“One of the other drivers got it, so we'll go with that." Trooper Milroy turned to Nat. "Did you see the driver? You were on the passenger side, correct?"
“Correct, but I don't remember seeing him." Nat tried to remember. "The truck was higher than the VW. The window was dark."
"Smoked windows?"
"I don't know. It had a Calvin decal.”
“I've seen those." Trooper Milroy made a note, then clicked his pen closed and slipped pen and notepad into his pocket. "Thanks, folks."
"Before you go," Angus said, clearing his throat, "Natalie and I were discussing the possibility that the truck was trying to hit us. Last night, we both got phone calls warning us to stay out of Chester County. Today we went out to the prison and got hit on the way back."
"It does seem very coincidental," Nat added, though she wasn't completely convinced.
"You think the pickup driver tried to kill you?" Trooper Milroy arched an eyebrow under his wide brim, though his tone remained professional. "We have no evidence of that, and you know better than to speculate. Night like this, with black ice everywhere, we got five accidents already. One fatal."
Angus said, "He tailgated us, dangerously so."
"Tailgating's common on that stretch, and our information is that he was switching lanes erratically. Other drivers corroborated it. That's a drunk."
Nat considered it. "He wasn't drunk enough to stay at the scene. He drove away. I don't even know how he did that, if his airbag went off?'
"Could be he disabled it," the other trooper interjected. "My wife drives a little Ranger pickup and she had me disable our airbags, because it's dangerous with the baby, in his car seat."
Trooper Milroy shot him an annoyed look, and Angus scoffed. "This guy didn't drive like a good daddy."
"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."