Blood Debt - By Tanya Huff Page 0,41

horrible, horrible story. Donated organs go to the most needy person on the list. They are not ever sold to the highest bid?der. Ever."

Somewhat taken aback, Celluci spread his hands and arranged his features into his best information eliciting expression. "Not within the system, no, but if someone were to circumvent ..."

"That doesn't happen."

"But it could."

"I believe Mr. Swanson made it perfectly clear that such a horrific concept is impossible."

"No, ma'am. He merely said it would be difficult and expensive. Which is why I wanted to speak with him." He'd been half tempted to wander into one of the rougher sections of the city and see if he could find some gang action, but upon reflection decided he'd rather live a little longer. While he had no doubt he'd survive the gangs, Vicki'd kill him for taking the risk.

Her nostrils pinched shut, the receptionist laid both hands on the desk and leaned forward. "We are ex?tremely fortunate that a man of Mr. Swanson's wealth and social standing is willing to do so much work for the society, but given the demands on his time, he does not spend his days here. If you want to speak with him, you'll have to call his office. You'll find Swanson Realty in the Yellow Pages."

It was as efficient a dismissal as if she'd hung up on him. Thanking her for her time, Celluci turned and left the office.

I pity the fifteenth caller, he thought as he waited for the elevator.

Swanson Realty actually was in the book, and from the size of the accompanying ad, Ronald Swanson was indeed doing very well for himself. Unfortunately, there was no way a company that size would put through a call to the owner unless the caller identified himself as a homicide detective. Too bad he was just a guy on vacation.

Frowning, Celluci let the phone book fall back into its plastic case and left the booth. For the first time, he had a good idea of how Vicki'd felt when her dete?riorating eyesight pushed her off the force. He didn't much like the feeling.

Fortunately, it wasn't important he speak to Ronald Swanson. He'd mostly wanted the meeting for his own peace of mind. Since the man had obviously given some thought to the impossibility of setting up an organ-legging operation, Celluci'd hoped he could get him to expand on his reasoning.

Patricia Chou had almost convinced him Vicki was right about the organ-legging, and that meant-Ms. Chou's personal vendetta aside-Swanson was as much a suspect as the faceless crime lords of Vancouver.

But one body, one kidney, wasn't going to generate much in the way of profit.

So, somewhere, there had to be more bodies.

Or there were going to be more bodies.

He didn't much like either option.

The room was small with a single window up near the ceiling. The bottom four feet of the walls were a soft pink and so was the blanket on the bed. He guessed it was supposed to be soothing, but it made him think of Pepto Bismol and he didn't much like it.

He didn't much like the pajamas either, but the driver had made it perfectly clear he was expected to shower, then put them on.

At least the son of a bitch hadn't stayed to watch.

He locked the bathroom door behind him before even unlacing his boots and got in and out of the shower as fast as he could, unable to cope with an extended vulnerability. Unfortunately, the pajamas left him feeling little safer.

At least they don't have a hole in the front for my dick to fall out of.

Bag of money clutched tight against his side, he tried the exit. Locked. But he'd expected that. They wouldn't want him roaming around bothering their rich patients.

When the handle began to turn under his fingers, he hurriedly released it and backed toward the bed, heart pounding. He relaxed only slightly when the fa?miliar form of the doctor entered the room pushing a stainless steel cart.

"Good afternoon, Doug. Are you comfortable?"

" 'S okay. What's that for?" He eyed the equipment laid out on the top shelf suspiciously.

"Donor specific blood transfusions enhance graft survival. So... " She ripped open a cotton swab with brutal efficiency. "... I'm going to need to take some blood."

Later, when it was over and he was lying in bed feeling weak and dizzy, his fingers plucked at the bag searching for reassurance. It wouldn't be so bad, he thought, refusing to acknowledge the fear that closed his throat and lay