his third-grade teacher-who, if he remembered correctly, had never liked him much. "Don't be ridicu?lous, Detective. The labs do the work they're sent. There's no need to involve them in the details."
Okay, no evil labs. While that bit of good news had no bearing on his present circumstance, it was encouraging in a larger sense. "What about during the operation? You're going to need an assistant-because as good as you may be you don't have three hands-and with two people under, you'll need an an?esthesiologist as well."
"What makes you think there'll be two people under, Detective? Packed in sterile ice, a kidney can safely last almost forty-eight hours after removal."
"Two separate operations would increase the risk of detection." He kept his voice level, disinterested, as though he were not going to be intimately involved in those operations. "My guess is you do them both at once. Sequentially if not simultaneously."
Dr. Mui inclined her head, acknowledging his the?ory. "Very perceptive of you, Detective. Your point?"
"I was just wondering how you keep those other people from talking."
"Why?"
Shrugging as deeply as the restraints allowed, he gave her his best let's charm the truth out of this wit?ness smile. "I haven't much else to do."
"True enough." The corners of her mouth might have curved upward a fraction, but Celluci couldn't be certain. "The other people involved know only what they must to perform their specific function, so even if they did talk, there'd be a limited amount they could say. However, as they are obviously breaking the law themselves, the odds of them talking fall within a reasonable risk. And you'd be amazed at how little it takes to convince some people to break the law."
Celluci snorted. "No, I wouldn't. But murder... "
"Who said anything about murder? They only know what they need to. Now, try to get some sleep. You're going to have a busy day tomorrow."
Tomorrow. The word lingered in the room long after the doctor had left.
"Check the IV in about an hour and give him a bowl of broth."
"Ball game'll be on in an hour," Sullivan protested, looking sulky.
Somewhat surprised at the way she'd opened up to the detective, Dr. Mui ignored him. Her world had been built from certainties, and if she hadn't believed that Sullivan would obey her implicitly, she'd have left him where she found him.
Lips pulled back off her teeth, her fingers closed around the carved handle with enough force to crack the wood, Vicki yanked open the door and stepped into the clinic.
Michael Celluci's life no longer added its familiar beat to the muted roar.
"Shit god-fucking-damn!"
"Very expressive." Entering on her heels, Henry managed to slide by without actually making physical contact. Keeping her under careful surveillance in case her anger should widen its focus, he added, "And given that the detective has apparently left the build?ing, what exactly does it mean?"
Vicki jerked her head toward the nurse's station. "It means it's a different shift and there's a different nurse on. She's not going to know squat."
"Not that the last one was particularly helpful," Henry observed quietly to himself, allowing a prudent distance before he followed Vicki across the lounge. With her attention so fixated on rescuing Celluci, the ride to the clinic had involved nothing worse than an extended snarling match-unpleasant but survivable and no worse than he'd seen Celluci live through on a daily basis. He wasn't sure whether this meant their relationship had progressed or deteriorated, but if she'd growled "old woman" at him one more time, he'd have been sorely tempted to have defined it by tossing her into traffic.
Unaware that death stood behind her, the nurse turned from the drug cabinet and found herself falling into the dark light of silver eyes. The brown glass bottle she held slipped from suddenly nerveless fingers.
Henry caught it before it hit the floor. "We were here later last night," he said as he straightened. "I can feel healthy lives mixed in with the sick. I doubt all the visitors have left yet. Do what you have to do quickly and don't attract any attention." It was the voice he'd used while teaching her to Hunt; with any luck she'd listen to it. Setting the bottle carefully on the edge of the desk, he moved to stand in the doorway.
Awareness narrowed to the life she held and the life she searched for, Vicki heard Henry's voice as part of the clinic's ambient noise, a noise all but drowned out by the cry of the Hunt