“Oh, ho, I’m the older and wiser man, and I can tell by the way you say her name that she’s no ordinary-looking woman.”
It annoyed Cruz that he was so transparent. “Cole Hansen’s a violated parolee, not a runaway,” he corrected. “I had to violate him to keep the heat off me and Dr. Jones.”
Slater smiled slyly. “Dr. Jones, huh?”
“Cut it out. We’ve got three murders, attacks on a respected member of the community, homeless people in jeopardy, and a violated parolee on our hands.” He rose to pace the floor of the small office. “We don’t have time for jokes.”
“I got plenty of room at my ranch,” Slater offered again, “and it’s secluded enough to avoid notice. Trick will be to get them out of the ‘ordinary-looking’ Doc Jones’ house.”
He smiled at his little joke and rubbed the top of his close-cropped head. Gray threads ran through the thick brush of hair. “How do you figure the Lords got to them anyway?”
Cruz shook his head, continuing to pace. “No idea. Whatever this is about, though, I bet somehow it all leads back to Anson Stark.”
“Maybe,” Slater said slowly. “But if so, we’ve gotta be careful. Whenever money’s at stake, the risk increases.”
He gave Cruz directions and a set of keys to his ranch north of Placer Hills. “I’d better see what Flood thinks he’s got on the cases.” As they left the office, he placed a hand on Cruz’s shoulder, halting him. “Safety first, Chago, safety first.”
Cruz didn’t need the warning. He didn’t call ahead to warn Frankie about the move to a different safe house. She’d resist the change, especially if Cole was not recovering well, and he didn’t need an argument with her right now. Safety first, he muttered to himself.
“I’m not leaving my patient,” Frankie insisted when Cruz arrived at the Rosedale house and explained the plan to her. “Not until his fever drops and the wound stops seeping.”
He’d brought groceries and was stacking them on the counter, when he paused. Hands on hips, he glared down at her. She looked frazzled and he didn’t blame her. The last forty-eight hours had been brutal for both of them.
He stepped away from her because even while his survival senses were ringing alarm bells, part of him wanted to take her in his arms and soothe her. “All right, okay.”
Finished with stocking the refrigerator, he rummaged through it, muttering, “No beer? What kind of doctor doesn’t drink beer?”
She trailed after him. “The kind who – ”
“No, don’t tell me,” he interrupted. “The kind who keeps a giant bottle of vodka in her bedroom.”
“The kind whose mother was an alcoholic,” she corrected calmly.
He felt foolish, straightened up, and looked at her over the top of the fridge door. “Oh – sorry. And I guess the vodka is – ”
“A nice little disinfectant and pain killer in an emergency.”
He smiled gently. “Not a reminder to stay on the straight and narrow?”
“Well, maybe that, too,” she admitted, sinking onto a kitchen bar stool. “Seeing as how I’ve kept it in my bedroom since before med school.”
He leaned against the counter, holding a carton of milk and a package of sliced lunchmeat. “We’ve got to figure this out because you and Cole can’t stay here.” He drank from the milk carton with the abandonment of a child and then stuffed his mouth with several slices of ham.
“Who at the prison has the know-how to remove a kidney without someone dying?” Cruz asked Frankie as they moved into the living room.
“Has to be one of the nurses, night-time, probably. No one else would know the mechanics of it, but it would still be a great risk.”
“Another doctor?”
“Dr. Vincent comes in to cover for me, but he’s old, nearly retired. I doubt he’d – ”
“Where would they do it?”
“The SHU clinic is pretty quiet at night, but at least one guard would have to be part of the scheme,” Frankie answered. “They’d have to pack the organ in ice and transport it for immediate use.” She shook her head in perplexity. “I don’t see how they could manage it.”
“Unless ... ” Cruz began, trailing off.
“Unless, what?”
“Unless they don’t plan on using the organ at all.”
Frankie looked shocked. “But – but why would they remove a perfectly good kidney simply to – what, dispose of it?”
“A demonstration of loyalty?” Cruz suggested. “Or intimidation?”
Frankie bit on her lower lip, concentrating. “If that’s true, they could dispose of it easily enough in the hazardous waste containers.”
“A ritual for leadership in the gang,” Cruz continued. “Do you have the names of those inmates who had abdominal scars? We could cross-check them against known members of the Lords of Death.”