Blood Debt

her. Everything after that…
    He smiled, unable to stop himself. Everything after was a breaking of traditions he'd held unbreakable, a slaughter-induced passion, a blood-soaked truce, and something that had a chance of becoming a reclaimed friendship in spite of the odds.
    He couldn't hate Celluci when he'd gotten back more of Vicki than should have been possible.
    "It smells like a sedative. Try and wake him."
    Vicki jerked toward the door, moving to put herself between the threat and the body on the bed. It took her a moment to realize it was Henry who'd spoken and a moment after that to remember, in this instant at least, he was no threat. "A sedative? How can you tell?"
    "Experience."
    "I really don't want to know how you got that experience, Henry."
    She turned back to Celluci, tugged off one running shoe, grabbed the softer flesh in the arch of his foot between thumb and forefinger, and pinched.
    His leg twitched.
    "What are you doing?"
    "It's an acupressure technique. I'm working a pressure point in his foot that'll help him shake off the drugs."
    "How… ?"
    "I don't know how!" she snapped. "An old staff sergeant showed it to me. We used to use it on barbituate ODs; if it didn't work, they were probably dead. Come on, Mike. Shake it off." She pinched him again.
    This time he grunted and tried to yank his foot away. By the time his eyes fluttered open, Vicki had both hands clasped around his face.
    He blinked blearily up at her, then the lids began to sink and the irises to roll up.
    "Michael Frances Celluci, don't you dare close your eyes while I'm talking to you."
    "Christ, Vicki… you sound like… my grandmother."
    "Do I?" His lips were dry, so she moistened them with her tongue, licking the blood from the corner of his mouth.
    "That wasn't… a challenge," he pointed out when she pulled away.
    His gaze flicked past her. "Where am… oh, shit."
    "I wanted to make sure there were no broken bones before we moved you."
    "Considerate." Then he frowned. "We?" He turned his head until he could see Henry, still in the doorway. "What is this… truce?"
    The two men locked eyes for an instant, then Henry said softly,
    "The van disappeared with you. Someone had to drive."
    "You could've let her borrow… your car."
    "I don't think so. The last time she borrowed my car, she got broadsided by a truck."
    "Yeah… but the werewolf was… driving."
    "Enough with the male bonding. It's a truce. Okay?" Vicki gently pulled Mike's jaw around until he faced her again. "And since the nice people who cut out kidneys are sure to come back, are you all right?
    Can we move you?"
    "No."
    "No? No, what?"
    "No, you can't move me."
    "What's wrong? What have they done?" Her voice promised an eye for an eye at the very least.
    "So far, only kidnapping." His thoughts were clearing, but his body remained weak. He tried to sit up and didn't have the energy to protest when Vicki lifted him, tucked a'pillow between his shoulders and the wall, and lowered him gently back down again. "You've got to leave me here." He struggled to find the words that would convince Vicki to do as he said—never an easy proposition even at full mental strength. "You take me out of here and we're never going to find out what's going on."
    "Hey, we know what's going on."
    "We don't know squat except that some people overreact when they're followed by people who turn out to be the police." He kept his explanation of exactly what had happened short and to the point—
    things got out of control only momentarily when Vicki realized he had no idea of where her van was. "Look, can we worry about the van later, when we've got a little more time?"
    Vicki's eyes narrowed. "We'd have plenty of time if you'd stop being such a pigheaded…"
    "Think of it as going undercover."
    She smiled tightly. "Think of it as going under the knife."
    "Vicki, these might not be the people selling body parts, it might be something as simple as selling drugs. All we've got is kidnapping and unlawful confinement."
    "And grand theft auto." Lightly touching her fingertips to the bruise on his cheek, she added, "And assault."
    "I think he could claim self-defense."
    "Mike, you came out here originally for the same reason we did; Ronald Swanson's name cropped up one too many times to be coincidence. First we find out he's behind a private clinic that specializes in kidney transplant patients and then we find you strapped to a bed. That's enough for me."
    He closed his hand around her wrist as