she asked evenly.
“Had worse,” he said with that crooked smile. “You stitch real well. Almost like a doctor.” Olivia said nothing.
She finished, wrapped the hand, and stood. “No work for two days. Dressing change tomorrow at nine.” Tank nodded without looking away.
“Thank you, Officer Carter.” She paused for half a second. No inmate talked to her that way to her face.
But she did not react. She just walked out. The day passed in a blur. Shots, thermometers, pills.
By evening she had slipped back into the role of medic. Her hands remembered every motion. The same hands that had practiced on cadavers and training models in medical school.
At 11:47 p.m., the phone rang in the duty office. “Carter.” The voice of the inmate orderly from Unit Three shook a little.
“Ma’am, segregation, Cell Nine.” “Savel’s having a seizure. Thrashing, foam, the whole thing.
Need medical now.” Olivia looked at the clock. Night.
Going into segregation alone at night was against procedure. But she was the medical officer tonight. “I’m coming.”
“Have the door open.” She took the medical kit, slipped her sidearm into place, pulled her coat over the white one, and stepped into the hall.
The fluorescent lights hurt her eyes. Her footsteps echoed. At the segregation entrance, the orderly was waiting.
“He alone?” she asked. “No, three of them.
Savel, Ruden, Miro. All in Nine.” “They say it’s bad.”
Olivia nodded. “Open it.” The door creaked.
The segregation corridor was narrow, cold, smelled like urine and metal. Cell Nine, last one on the right. The door stood open a crack.
Olivia walked up and pushed it open with her foot. A weak bulb burned overhead. All three men were sitting on their bunks.
Greek on the lower bunk, back to the wall, hands on his knees. Tank standing by the wall, shoulders spread. Scalpel crouched in the corner, fingers playing with the edge of the mattress.
Nobody was having a seizure. Olivia stopped in the doorway. “Where’s the patient?”
Greek slowly lifted his head. “Evening, Officer Carter. We’ve been waiting for you.” She put her hand on her holster.
“Where’s the seizure?” Tank stepped forward. “Seizure’s over. Still need help.”
Scalpel rose smoothly, almost without a sound. “You’re the medic. We’re the patients.” Olivia took half a step back.
“One at a time. We’ll sort it out in the office.” Greek stood up, a full head taller than she was. “Come on in, Officer Carter.
We’ll close the door. Nobody has to hear anything.” She felt the air thicken. “One more step and I shoot.”
Tank smirked. “Go ahead. Eight rounds. Three of us.” Scalpel was suddenly at her side.
She had not seen him move. His hand snapped to her wrist and twisted. The pistol fell and hit concrete.
Tank grabbed her by the shoulders and shoved her inside. The door slammed shut. The key turned from the inside, loud and clear.
Olivia lunged. Knee to Tank’s groin. He grunted but did not let go.
Greek came close and lifted her chin with two fingers. “Easy, doctor. We’re being civil.” She drove an elbow into his throat.
He coughed but did not release her. Scalpel picked up the pistol and tucked it into his waistband. “Nice uniform,” he said quietly, running a finger over the button on her chest.
“Shame to tear it.” Tank shoved her onto the bunk. She hit hard on her back, air knocked out of her.
Greek leaned over her. “We just want you to treat us.” “Our way.”
Olivia tried to drive her knee up between his legs. He caught her leg and twisted. Pain shot through her hip.
“Don’t,” he said almost gently. “We’re all friends here.” Scalpel unbuckled his belt…
