Blood Debt

rhododendrons on the way down to the cottage, but a broken branch nearly tripped him up on the way back and brought it to his attention.
    Although wisps of cloud blew continually over the moon, there was light enough to see that a large animal had gone crashing through his expensive underbrush. There'd been a recurring problem in the neighborhood with mountain lions eating household pets, but Swanson had always assumed the big cats were less obtrusive travelers. In his experience, only people caused that kind of destruction to private property.
    Had the orderly not been missing, he'd have gone back to the house to call the police. As it was, he stepped off the path.
    It wasn't a difficult trail to follow, even in the dark. Small plants had been crushed, large ones bent or broken. Then the moon went down.
    Picking his way carefully down the slope and into the clearing above the retaining wall, Swanson swore softly to himself as his dress shoes slid on the damp grass and he went down on one knee. He put his hand on what he thought was a fallen log and felt cloth.
    The moon came out.
    "Oh, my God. Oh, my God. Oh, my God."

    "So, now what do we do?"
    Celluci sucked air through his teeth as he lowered himself down onto the bed. He'd walked up from the car to the elevator and the elevator to the condo under his own power. Mostly. "Now we figure out a way to bring in the police without involving the two of you."
    "We tried that," Vicki snarled, reaching behind her for the first aid kit that Henry carried, "and it didn't work."
    "So we try it again. There's a body in Ronald Swanson's backyard…"
    Which we are not going to discuss, his tone added. "… we might as well make use of it."
    She began to wrap the elastic bandage around his wrist, the gentle rhythm of the motion a direct contrast to the brittle anger in her voice.
    "Swanson's rich and respected. The police find a body in his backyard, and they're not going to immediately connect it with him, especially when he wasn't home and no doubt has a rich and respected alibi. And second, it's not just Swanson that we want, and there's nothing to connect Sullivan's body to Dr. Mui except that he worked at the clinic.
    Which Swanson pays for. I'll bet long odds that the two of them could come up with an acceptable reason for that son of a bitch to be spending a few days in the cottage."
    "Then perhaps I should go talk to Dr. Mui."
    Celluci opened bloodshot eyes and stared past Vicki at Henry. "Talk to her?"
    Henry nodded. "She has a condo in the next building."
    "So you said in the car."
    "So I should go see if she's home. We can make a decision when we have more information."
    "You're only going to talk to her?" When Henry nodded again, Celluci exhaled noisily and added, "So why not tell her to go to the police and confess all?"
    "You go on," Vicki announced quickly before Henry could answer.
    "I'll explain to Mike why that wouldn't work." It had been easy to deal with his presence when all her attention was on Celluci, but now the skin between her shoulder blades kept protesting another standing behind her. They needed to give frayed emotions a little more distance if they didn't want to return to the old animosity.
    Henry read the subtext off her face, noted how she kept in physical contact with Celluci at all times, and left the room without comment.
    It made no sense for him to envy their intimacy, especially not in light of what had happened in the warehouse. It made no sense and was dangerous besides. He kept telling himself that as he walked away.
    Celluci waited until he heard the outside door close, then he caught Vicki's hand in his—trying to prevent her from pouring rubbing alcohol into the scratches on his arms. "All right. Explain"
    "It's simple, really." Twisting free of his grip, she swabbed the worst abrasions clean, ignoring his complaints. "We can't force anyone to act contrary to their own survival."
    "Pull the other one, Vicki. People expose their throats to you."
    "Most of them enjoy it."
    Eleven dead in a Richmond warehouse. "Some don't."
    She heard the memory of death in his voice and sighed. "If Henry told Dr. Mui to turn herself in, she'd walk out of her apartment, maybe even make it to the car, but then, unless she had no strength of will at all—and considering what she's been doing in her spare time, strength of will doesn't seem to be something she lacks—then she'd suddenly ask herself just what the hell she was doing. Henry'd have to stay