Lisa Scottoline - Daddy's Girl

"I know, but calm down." Nat sat in a metal chair beside his bed, having sustained no injuries except an achy nose and a throbbing headache. She was oddly calm, either because Angus was so upset or because a car accident wasn't as scary as attempted rape. Airbag powder dusted her camelhair coat, and she'd lost a shoe in the accident. Her wardrobe couldn't take all this excitement.

"Drunk-ass jerk. A hit-and-run. That man should be shot!" Angus said.

"Aren't you against capital punishment?"

"Except for drunk drivers. I'm making an exception."

"What about Willie? And your principles?"

"Willie is the exception to the exception, and my principles hurt when I move." Angus shifted unhappily in the undersize bed, and the top of his hospital gown revealed a sexy tangle of red-gold chest hair that Nat had been trying to ignore.

"Please, relax. The doctor told you to stay still, remember? He's worried your spleen might be perforated."

"Gross! Will it leak spleen juice? In front of the girls?"

Nat smiled. "No, but if it's ruptured, he said you'll need a splenectomy."

"I knew I needed a splenectomy! I've been saying that for years. What's a splenectomy?"

"You don't want a splenectomy, Angus. You heard the doctor. It would have effects on your lymphatic system. You'd be susceptible to infections." Nat didn't remind him of what else the doctor had said. She was hoping it wouldn't be an issue. She sensed Angus hadn't focused on what the doctor was telling him during the examination. I think they're going to admit you. You sure you don't want to call someone?"

“No one to call, except about work. I'll call the clinic tomorrow to file Willie's papers." Angus seemed to quiet, and his gaze shifted to Nat, lingering on her face a moment. "You sure you're okay?"

"I'm fine."

"Did you call Mr. Whatever?"

"Mr. Hank."

"What did he say?"

Arg. "That's not your business." Nat didn't want to think about how hurt Hank had sounded when she'd told him where she was and that she was with Angus. She felt like she'd cheated, though she hadn't. She should have told him where she was going. History taught that the cover-up was always worse than the crime. You would think that she and Machik would learn.

"First the riot, now this." Angus flopped back on his pillow. "Is this cosmic payback, Natalie?"

"For what?"

"My life's work."

"Of course not."

"My head hurts."

"Close your eyes." Nat reached over as he complied, and she dimmed the harsh overhead lights and sat back down. "Payback for what, anyway? You represent the tired, the poor, the huddled masses. You have karma to spare. Pro bono karma."

"Yeah, right." Angus opened his eyes as if he'd just thought of something, or his rib poked his spleen.

"What's the matter?"

"More what-ifs." He shifted up in bed, wincing. "What if this was no accident tonight?"

"You mean our accident?" Nat wasn't sure she understood.

"Yes. What if that truck meant to hit us? What if it was related to the phone calls, last night?"

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.