Blood Debt - By Tanya Huff Page 0,100

only if we wanted to abandon the car, and we don't."

The office door opened into the hall. Vicki moved to the right and waved Henry to the left.

Sensitive eyes turned away from the fluorescent glare streaming in from the hall, Vicki grabbed the hand that reached in for the light switch and yanked the stranger into the room.

Henry closed the door.

Dr. Wallace believed there was very little he hadn't seen. He'd joined the Navy at seventeen, gone to Korea, came home in one piece unlike so many others, gone to university on his military benefits, spent time in Africa with the flying doctors, and finally settled into a comfortable family practice in North Vancou?ver. He'd seen death arrive without warning, and he'd seen death settle in for a long, intimate final journey, but he'd never seen it wear the face that bent over him in Dr. Mui's office.

The diffuse illumination from the parking lot de?fined only shadow features around a pair of silvered eyes. Cold silver, like polished metal or moonlight, and they drew him in to depths much darker than logic insisted they should have been.

He'd always hoped he'd face death calmly when it finally came for him, but now he realized that given any encouragement at all, he'd do whatever he had to to stay alive.

"What do you know about Ronald Swanson?"

Not what he'd expected. Too mundane, too human.

"Did you hear me?"

No mistaking the danger. "He's rich, very rich, but he's willing to spend money on causes he considers worthy." Maintaining a clinical detachment, a lectur?ing tone, helped keep the panic from ripping free. "After his wife died of kidney failure, he began sup-porting transplant programs. He buys them advertis?ing, pays for educational programs-many doctors haven't a clue of how to deal with the whole donor issue. Swanson paid for this hospice."

"That's it?"

Impossible not to tell more even if there was noth?ing more to tell. "I don't actually know him. Dr. Mui... "

"What about Dr. Mui?"

Wallace had a sudden vision of companions thrown to the wolves to lighten the sleigh in a wild race to safety. "Swanson handpicked her to run this place. Before that she was a transplant surgeon, a good one, too, but there was an allegation of carelessness. It turned out to be completely unfounded. Hardly any?one even heard about it outside the hospital."

"Would Swanson have heard?"

"I don't know, but it happened around the same time his wife died." Had his heartbeat always been that loud? That fast? It shouldn't be that fast. A drib?ble of sweat rolled into one eye and burned. "It might have been why he offered her this job."

"An unjust accusation turned her against the medi?cal establishment."

"I wouldn't go so far as to say that." He was bab?bling now; he knew it, but he couldn't stop. "Dr. Mui told me, that is, we spoke after one of my patients came here-that's why I'm here tonight, to check on a patient-that she wanted to work more with people and less with hospital administrators and their legal bully boys. Hello?"

The eyes were gone, the darkness lifted, and he was sitting alone in an empty office, talking to himself. It was over. Best not think too long or too hard on what it had been. He was alive. He wiped damp palms on his thighs, stood, and walked quickly to the light switch by the door.

The room was full of shadows. The shadows, in turn, were full. He suspected they'd never be empty again.

"You handled that very well."

"Don't patronize me, Henry."

"I wasn't." He shifted the BMW into reverse and backed carefully out of the parking spot. The last thing he wanted was to attract attention, license plates could be traced. "You gave him nothing to remember but fear. I was impressed."

"Impressed?"

"Try to remember that you're still very young to this life. You show a remarkable aptitude."

Vicki snorted. "Now you're patronizing me."

"I was trying to compliment you."

"Do vampires do that? Compliment other vam?pires? It's not against the rules?"

Henry turned the car onto Mt. Seymour and sped up, swinging almost immediately into the passing lane and around two trucks in a maneuver a mortal would not have been able to complete. "I know you fight with Michael Celluci to relieve tension," he growled through clenched teeth. "I understand that. But I'm not him, and if you pick a fight with me, you'll find the results are regrettably different-surely it's become apparent that neither of us will be able to stop a disagreement from escalating beyond mere