Three minutes later, a host of emergency personnel spilled into the house.

A paramedic knelt beside her. “Ma’am, we’ve already been briefed on the situation. Can you talk?”

“Yes.” Barely.

“Where’s the rest of the soup?”

“Microwave.”

“Have you thrown up?”

“Yes. Three times.” Violently.

They stopped asking questions and went to work, which was fine. It took too much effort to respond to questions.

After they lifted her onto a gurney, one paramedic prepped her for an ECG. Another started an IV. Someone took a blood sample. A bright light was aimed at her pupils.

More faces appeared above her. One paramedic had a cell pressed to his ear, relaying information back and forth between the medics attending to her and whoever was on the other end of the call.

Grace closed her eyes. The bustle and noise were exacerbating the pounding in her head. Yet a few words penetrated the fog that was sucking her down into a black vortex.

Mydriasis.

Tachycardia.

Hypotension.

Her MD-trained brain did the translation on autopilot.

Dilated pupils.

Fast heart rate.

Low blood pressure.

They were rattling off all the symptoms her Google search had indicated were signs of yew poisoning.

“Grace?”

At the familiar voice close to her ear, she forced her eyelids open. Nate was wedged between the paramedics, deep grooves etched beside his mouth and across his forehead.

“Hi.” She tried to force up the corners of her lips, but they refused to cooperate.

He cocooned her hand in a warm, strong grip. “A medevac helicopter will be here shortly. The paramedics are on the line with poison control. We’re flying you to Mercy in St. Louis.”

“Okay.” Taking her to a Level I trauma center was smart. She’d need every bit of expertise she could get to pull through this.

“I’m going with you.”

“No.” She summoned up the last vestiges of her waning strength. “Get Eleanor.”

“There are other people who can do that.”

“No.” She gripped his fingers as tight as she could and did her best to focus on his face as it faded in and out. “You go. It’s your job. Come afterward. And please call my sisters.”

Someone nudged him aside, and he let go of her hand.

“I’m staying with you, Grace.” Although he was out of sight, there was steel in his tone.

“Let’s move.” One of the paramedics motioned to his colleagues, and the gurney was raised.

“Nate.” She squinted past the bodies surrounding her.

“I’m here.”

He stepped into her field of vision again, staying close.

“Do your job. Come later. You know this case best.”

He didn’t respond.

“Nate. Please.” She snaked a hand out, between the paramedics.

Once again, her fingers were engulfed in warmth. Despite her hazy vision, she could read the conflict in his features.

“I’d rather stay with you.”

Coming from a former Green Beret who’d been trained to put duty above all else, that admission spoke volumes.

“Do your job. I’ll see you later.”