Blood Debt (23 page)

“Hey, we
know
what's going on.”

“We don't know squat except that some people overreact when they're followed by people who turn out to be the police.” He kept his explanation of exactly what had happened short and to the point—things got out of control only momentarily when Vicki realized he had no idea of where her van was. “Look, can we worry about the van later, when we've got a little more time?”

Vicki's eyes narrowed. “We'd have plenty of time if you'd stop being such a pigheaded . . .”

“Think of it as going undercover.”

She smiled tightly. “Think of it as going under the knife.”

“Vicki, these might not be the people selling body parts, it might be something as simple as selling drugs. All we've got is kidnapping and unlawful confinement.”

“And grand theft auto.” Lightly touching her fingertips to the bruise on his cheek, she added, “And assault.”

“I think he could claim self-defense.”

“Mike, you came out here originally for the same reason we did; Ronald Swanson's name cropped up one too many times to be coincidence. First we find out he's behind a private clinic that specializes in kidney transplant patients and then we find you strapped to a bed. That's enough for me.”

He closed his hand around her wrist as her eyes silvered. “Stop reacting and start thinking. Suppose you break into Swanson's house and force a full confession, what then? You've got nothing that'll stand up in court. If we want to find out what's actually going on, there has to be an investigation.”

“What am I doing? Wandering aimlessly through the night?”

Eleven dead in a Richmond warehouse; but wandering aimlessly was a lot easier to deal with. “Yeah, mostly. Picking this mess apart is going to take resources we don't have.”

“If I get a full confession, I have resources enough to deal with Ronald Swanson.”

“No.”

There was such finality in that single word that the silver fled from Vicki's eyes. “What do you mean, no?”

“If Swanson dies, if you kill him, it's more than I can ignore.”

She pulled her hand free and rubbed the band of warmth where his fingers had been. More than he could ignore. Those were the sort of words that came right before good-bye. “But . . .”

“No buts, Vicki.” He gripped her shoulder, shaking her, willing her to listen. “This is where I draw my line in the sand.”

One heartbeat. Two.

“I'm not really happy about ultimatums, Mike.”

“And I'm not really happy about premeditated murder.”

Put like that, without either the masking rhetoric or the heat of the Hunt, neither was she. She supposed. One corner of her mouth twisted up in a wry smile as she reached out and pushed the overlong lock of hair up off his face. “I guess every relationship means compromises.” A little surprised by the relief that softened his expression—What had he expected?—she laid her hand flat against his chest, reassured in turn by the steady beat of his heart. “Now that's settled, what
do
you want me to do?”

“I want you to leave me here . . .”

“Forget it.”

“Goddamn it, Vicki, would you just listen for a minute? The only way we'll find out what's happening is if we don't spook them. Leave me like you found me . . .” He paused. “Okay, there's no need to drug me again, but other than that . . .” When she didn't smile, he sighed and continued. “Go home, and call the police. Tell them you'd parked to check out a road map when you saw a big guy in a red T-shirt carry a body in the back door. They'll come out and they'll find . . .”

“Nothing. This is a hidden room. The night nurse doesn't even know for sure that it's here; how the hell are the police going to find you?”

“All right, fine. Tell them you were visiting a sick friend, were getting back into your car, saw the guy in the red T-shirt with the body, stuck your head in the back door and saw this room. You took off before he could spot you and after dithering for a couple of hours decided to call the cops.”

“Can I ask you a question?”

His eyes narrowed at her tone. “What?”

“You're a cop, try thinking like one. Would you believe a cock-and-bull story like that?”

“It doesn't matter if they believe it, as long as they check it out.”

“I think I can come up with a story they'll believe.”

Celluci snorted as Vicki turned to glare at Henry. “That's right, you're a romance writer.”

“Stay out of this, Henry.”

“Let's start by remembering that you're working for me, and that I think the detective has made a very good point. If we let them know we're on to them, they'll vanish.”

“So you're all in favor of leaving Mike in danger?”

Vicki pushed the words out through clenched teeth, shifting position slightly to better defend the man in the bed.

Celluci sighed. “Vicki, calm down. Whatever they're going to do to me,
nothing's
going to happen until morning.”

“How do you know?”

“How do you think? I overheard the bad guys talking in the hall right before they drugged me.”

“The bad guys?”

“Big guy who brought me in . . .”

“Cow eyes?”

“I wouldn't know. The closest I've ever been to a cow is in a burger. He was talking to a woman, but I never saw her. I'm pretty sure she was the one using the needle, but he covered my face with a pillow before she came into the room. They don't matter now.” Trying to find a position where his head wasn't pounding, he shifted against the pillow. “All you have to do is make sure the police get here before morning and I'll take them to where I got jumped and let them leap to the same conclusion I did.”

“Which is?”

“That you could bury an army out in those woods.” His voice gentled. “I promise nothing will happen in the time it'll take the police to get here. All you have to do is spin them enough of a story that they have to find me. I'll do the rest.”

“Why don't we take you to the police and you can spin them the story?”

“How did I get out of the restraints?”

She threw up her hands. “Do I have to think of everything?”

“But you're not thinking.” He caught her gaze and held it, unafraid of what he'd find. “We have to set this up so that we, I, can answer the questions they're going to ask. You and Fitzroy
can't
become involved.”

Statements, court dates—no chance at all that the system would only want them after sunset. Vicki turned to look at Henry and saw the two men were in complete agreement. Worst of all, she had to admit to herself it made sense. To herself. Not to them. “You've been drugged all evening. You're in no condition to make plans.”

“My body is tapioca and my head is pounding, but my cognitive processes are unimpared.”

“Sure. And you usually talk like that.” Sighing, she began to flick the hair on Celluci's arm in the wrong direction. “I still don't like it.”

“Stop that.” His hand covered hers. “Vicki, it's going to take you what, an hour to get back to the condo? It's June. Sunrise is at 4:14. You haven't time to do anything tonight, so, please, let the police handle it.”

“The ghosts want Henry to avenge their deaths.”

“Then let Henry make the call. It's the only way
everyone
involved will get what's coming to them.”

Her lips curled back off her teeth. “If they hurt you, Mike . . .”

“You can hurt them back.” He wouldn't have said it except that he was certain he wouldn't be hurt—her answering smile was everything he was afraid it would be. “This is the only way to cover all the bases, Vicki. I'm not asking you to be happy about it, I'm saying that it's the way it's got to be. Now redo the restraints and get out of here, and it'll all be over in a couple of hours.”

“If Swanson dies, if you kill him, it's more than I can ignore . . . This is where I'm drawing my line in the sand.”

The words hung in the air between them.

If she carried Celluci out of the clinic, he'd never forgive her and that was a certainty. If she left him, and Henry sent the police in immediately, what could go wrong?

In spite of the lingering scent of another woman—and for Celluci's sake she hoped it was the woman with the needle—her smile took on a different flavor as she buckled down his wrists. “You know, this has possibilities.” When a gentle caress up the inside of his bare arm raised goose bumps, she took the waistband of his jeans in her teeth and tugged.

“Vicki!”

“Michael . . .”

“Fitzroy, would you please get her out of here.”

She shot him a warning glance. Henry raised a speculative brow. “As tasty as he looks, perhaps now is not the time.”

Celluci grunted as Vicki vaulted the bed, hand still on his thigh. “Touch him and I'll rip you into pieces so small you'll be able to . . .” Then she stopped, straightened, and frowned. “You did that on purpose.”

“Yes.” In spite of their progress, it took remarkably little to evoke a territorial response. He looked past her to Celluci struggling against the restraints and allowed that that particular response could have been evoked almost as easily before she changed. “Don't worry, Detective. I have no desire to feed at this time. Say good-bye, Vicki, and let's go.”

Muttering under her breath, Vicki turned back to the bed and Michael Celluci. She bent to kiss him and paused just above his lips where she could taste his breath. “I'm not sure I can just walk out and leave you here.”

“Bullshit. You can do anything.”

“Don't patronize me, Celluci.”

“Then stop being such a tragedy queen. I'll be fine until the police arrive.” His mouth moved under hers. “Now go.”

“We should go out the front. The back door's probably hooked to an alarm.”

“I don't see anything.” Vicki quickly ran a finger around the door edge. “And I don't feel a wire. Look, the car's right outside in the parking lot. Let's just do what Mike said and go.” She pressed down on the bar and pushed. The ambient noise of the clinic remained unchanged. “See, no alarm. These are sick people in here, probably don't want to terrify them with loud noises. Come on, old man, I'll race you to the car.”

As Henry had observed, it took very little to evoke a territorial response. Once she started running, he had to chase after her. Moving too fast for mortal eyes to follow, they reached the car before the door slammed.

He was awake instantly, on his feet the instant after, unsure of what he'd heard but sure he'd heard something. If he'd learned anything in prison, he'd learned to sleep lightly. The muffled sound of car doors closing brought him to the window of the staff room where, tucked to one side, invisible from the parking lot, he watched a BMW reverse and pull away. The two people in it seemed to be fighting. He didn't recognize either silhouette.

Probably kids looking for a quiet spot to mess around in.
He yawned, thought about going back to sleep, thought about what the doc would say if anything went wrong, and decided it wouldn't hurt to look in on their uninvited guest.

The access door to the electrical room was unlocked. He knew he'd locked it.

Crepe-soled shoes silent against the tile, he entered the hidden room, half expecting an empty bed. The big cop was still tied down and out cold. He flicked on the light, hand raised to shield his eyes from the sudden fluorescent glare. The body on the bed didn't so much as twitch. A closer inspection seemed to indicate that nothing had changed.

But something had.

Hadn't there been a hunk of hair in the cop's face? No way he could brush it back tied down like he was.

He tested the restraints with his finger. The left wrist was in the fourth hole, the right in the third. He usually did them up equally but, even half stunned, the cop had been fighting him and maybe . . .

The cop shifted slightly, muttering a little. That was good. The sedative should be wearing off and a more natural sleep taking over. They used sedatives a lot in the prison hospital as it was easier than actually treating the patients and in his practiced opinion, the cop's chest now rose and fell in an unsedated rhythm.

He frowned. Just over the left hip, there was a dark half circle on the pale blue denim. It looked moist, like . . .

He touched it. It was almost dry but it looked like someone had been chewing on the cop's jeans. He closed his thumb and forefinger over the spot and tugged.

“I don't wanna know what was going on in here,” he said. The skin on the back of his neck prickled as he felt the weight of the cop's stare. When he turned his head, narrowed eyes were glaring up at him. “You got kinky friends, cop. Wanna tell me why they left you?”

“I don't know what you're talking about.”

“Sure you don't.”

Unable to avoid it, Celluci rolled with the backhanded slap. “Fuck you,” he growled.

“Maybe.” The closest phone was in the staff room. “We'll see what the doc has to say.”

“Where are we going?” Vicki spat the question through gritted teeth. Henry was driving again because he'd refused to give her the keys, had put on his Prince-of-Man face and said “No” in a tone that suggested arguing would be a waste of time. She'd gotten back in the car for Celluci's sake and had continually regretted it. In a minute, Henry was going to regret it, too. “The condo is that way.”

“There's a coffee shop on the corner up here, and we need to talk to a police officer.”

“Christ, Henry, this is Vancouver, there's a coffee shop on every corner.” She reached for the wheel.

When Henry maintained his grip, the resulting tussle was short; Vicki having spent thirty-two years mortal had no illusions about surviving the results of a moving car gone out of control. Besides, the seat belts got in the way of her attack.