a T-shirt, and running shoes. Gil had always been religious about getting a run in every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday. It was something that had been drilled into him since his days on the basketball team.

He locked the front door behind him and slowly jogged the first block to warm up, then picked up the pace on the next. Gil rounded the corner and felt his mood improving, the crisp night air making his lungs ache slightly. He had agreed to meet Joe back at the office at 9:00 A.M., but Gil suddenly remembered that he also had promised Susan he would check out a house in Eldorado. Their current home was a three-bedroom that was cramped up next to his neighbors and was starting to need almost constant repairs. Whereas in Eldorado—which was referred to as a bedroom community—the houses were mostly new and were on lots that covered at least a half acre. Then they would have the breathing room Susan craved. If only they could sell the house they had now.

Gil jogged another fifteen minutes before turning around and going back the direction he came, down the cold streets. When he saw his porch light shining brightly in the distance, he picked up the pace in anticipation of getting a shower, a beer, some ESPN, and a warm bed.

Lucy was still at work when her EMS pager went off. At the same time, she could hear the scanner above her desk sending out tones for the same page. It was a 4-Delta call, which meant an assault with serious injury. Copydesk had just finished up their work on the skull story, so Lucy said her good nights quickly as she raced out the door. She called herself into service using the radio in her car and pulled out of the lot. She raced down the dark, mostly deserted streets while pulling off her work shirt and pulling on her navy blue EMS top. She always wore black pants to work in case she went out on a call. She kicked off her work shoes and pulled on her combat boots while driving, switching her feet between putting on a boot and the accelerator.

She was just tucking her shirt into her pants as she pulled up to the fire station and jumped into the ambulance with Gerald. She got on the radio, telling Dispatch they were en route, then took out the street map to help navigate. Behind them, the engine pulled out with three firefighters on board.

She and Gerald didn’t talk while they hummed down the streets sirenless. There was no need to wake up the neighbors with shrieking noise when the roads were empty.

They arrived at the house—a sprawling ranch with an electronic front gate—but were stopped by a sheriff’s deputy blocking their access.

Gerald opened the driver’s window and leaned out, calling, “Hey, Jeanette. What’s up?”

“Hi, Gerald,” she said, smiling. “It’s good to see you. So, we’ve got SWAT on the way.” Which meant the scene wasn’t secure and they couldn’t go in.

Gerald backed the ambulance up and parked across the street, where they waited with the fire engine. The SWAT van arrived and pulled through the gate. Lucy could see nothing more than a dark street, the driveway, trees, and the sheriff’s car blocking their path. People might think SWAT situations were all action, and they were. Just not for EMS. For them, SWAT meant waiting. And waiting. Lucy considered asking Gerald what she should do about Lopez’s suggestion that she act as a reporter while on emergency scenes, but she knew what he would say. That it would be wrong. He would be disappointed that she even considered it.

Just then the cop blocking the driveway motioned them to drive the rig forward. Gerald said, “That was short,” as they pulled up to the home. They got out and grabbed their gear bag, then walked through the mostly dark house, stuffed with heavy replicas of Spanish Colonial antiques. A woman sat on a deep brown couch, a light shining on her face while the shadows on the outskirts of the room crowded around. She was in her forties and dressed in khaki pants and a torn blue blouse. She had a welt on her cheek and a split lip that was already clotted. Gerald knelt down beside her while Lucy took notes. The woman talked about a fight with her husband, who had taken off before SWAT had even arrived. Apparently he had held his