Blood Debt - By Tanya Huff Page 0,92

again."

Dr. Mui's lips pressed into a thin line. "No," she said and left.

A few moments later, as he was testing the re?straints yet again, the door opened. Tensed muscles relaxed slightly as he saw it was nothing more danger?ous than the big man carrying a bowl. "Doc says I've got to feed you."

"And you are?"

"Sullivan. That's all you've got to know." It didn't take long for Celluci to realize why Sullivan was smiling. The instant oatmeal, had been micro-waved hot enough to burn the inside of his mouth and the big hand clamping his jaw shut kept him from taking in any cooling air until he swallowed. When he coughed orange juice out his nose, the mild eyes glit?tered. Vicki'd called them cow eyes, but they looked more like puppy eyes to him. Unfortunately, the puppy appeared to be rabid.

The cloth that scrubbed his face hard enough to lift skin, squeezed soap into his mouth.

"Christ, where did you learn your bedside manner?"

"Kingston Penitentiary."

"You worked in the infirmary at Kingston Pen?"

Sullivan nodded.

"Why?" Celluci spat out soap. "Because you've got a deep abiding need to nurture?"

The smile, constant throughout the torment, broad?ened. "Because I like to hurt people, and there's not much sick people can do to stop me."

Hard to argue with, Celluci admitted, grunting in pain as Sullivan heaved himself onto his feet helped by a fist grinding knuckles deep into thigh muscles.

He slept most of the morning, waking once to have a bottle of water poured down his throat.

"You need to replace your fluids," Sullivan told him as he choked.

Lunch was a repeat of breakfast as far as Sullivan getting his jollies was concerned only it involved soup and a shackled trip to the toilet. Celluci knew the escape attempt was doomed before he tried it, but he had to try.

"Do that again," Sullivan growled as he slammed the detective's head into the wall. "And I'll break your legs."

He was still searching for a witty response when his head reimpacted with the wallpaper.

"On Thursday afternoons, Ronald Swanson always visits the hospice he created as a tribute to his dead wife." Followed by the cameraman, Patrica Chou took several quick steps across the parking lot and shoved her microphone in the face of the man climbing out of the late model Chevy. "Mr. Swanson, a few words, please."

He looked down at the microphone then up at the camera and finally at Patricia Chou. "A few words about what?" he asked.

"The work that's being done here. The dire neces?sity for people to sign their organ donor cards so that places like this don't need to exist." She smiled, look?ing remarkably sharklike. "Or perhaps you'd like to use the time explaining rewarded gifting-a disingenu-ous oxymoron if I've ever heard one. Do you actually believe that camouflaging the payment changes the underlying reality that organs would be provided for remuneration?"

"I have nothing to say to you."

"Nothing? Everyone has something to say, Mr. Swanson."

Irritation began to replace the confusion. "If you want to speak with me again, make an appointment with my secretary." He pushed past her, shoulders hunched, striding toward the building.

The cameraman danced back out of the way with practiced ease, never losing his focus. "Do we fol?low?" he asked.

"No need." She switched off her mike and indicated he should stop taping. "I accomplished what I came here to do."

"Which is?"

"Rattling Mr. Swanson's cage. Keeping him off bal?ance. Nervous people make mistakes." "You really don't like him, do you?"

"It's not a matter of like or dislike, it's all about getting a story. And believe you me, there's a story under all that upstanding businessman philanthropic crap."

"Maybe he's Batman."

"Just get in the car, Brent, or we're going to miss the library budget hearing." The library budget hear?ing, she repeated to herself as she peeled rubber out of the parking lot. Oo, that's cutting edge journalism, that is. She wanted Swanson so bad she could taste it. I wonder what's happened to that detective....

"I just ran into Patrica Chou in the parking lot." His tone suggesting he'd have preferred to run over Patrica Chou in the parking lot, Swanson closed the door to Dr. Mui's office. "Something has to be done about that young woman."

"Ignore her." Dr. Mui stood and smoothed the wrinkles from her spotless white lab coat. "She's only trying to goad you into creating news."

"Why me? This city's crawling with television crews and movie productions. Why doesn't she go bother an actor?" He swept his palm back over