"When I was in medical school at Johns Hopkins," Scarpetta offers as she pours coffee, "I was one of three women in my class. If there was a bathtub full of beer anywhere, I can assure you I was never told. What do you take?"

"Lots of cream and sugar. You shouldn't be serving me. Here I am, just sitting." She pops up from her wing chair.

"Sit down, sit down." Scarpetta sets Nic's coffee on a table. "There are croissants and rather inedible-looking bagels. I'll let you help yourself."

"But when you were in medical school, you weren't a small-town…" Nic catches herself before saying hick. "Miami's not exactly some little mud puddle in Louisiana. All these guys in my class are from big cities."

She fixes her attention on Scarpetta's coffee cup, on how perfectly steady it is as she lifts it to her lips. She drinks her coffee black and seems uninterested in food.

"When my chief told me the department was offered a fully funded slot at the Academy and would I go, I can't tell you what I felt like," Nic goes on, worrying that she's talking too much about herself. "I really couldn't believe it and had to go to a world of trouble to make it possible for me to leave home for close to three months. Then I got here to Knoxville and found myself with Reba as a roommate.

"I can't say it's been fun, and I feel terrible sitting here and complaining." She nervously drinks her coffee, setting it down, then picking it up again, clenching her napkin tightly in her lap. "Especially to you."

"Why especially to me?"

"Truth is, I guess I was hoping to impress you."

"You have."

"And you don't seem the sort to appreciate whining." Nic looks up at her. "It's not like people are always nice to you, either."

Scarpetta laughs. "Shall I call that an understatement?"

"That didn't come out right. People are jealous out there. You've had your battles. What I'm saying is, you don't complain."