He determined they would be out of there in less than ten minutes. Should be enough time, by definition.

"Scott, come here." Jeannie's excited voice snapped him out of his reverie.

He walked over to the row of filing cabinets set next to the morgue's answer for a workstation.

"What've you got there?" Scott reached for the papers Jeannie held out to him.

"Donor consents." Jeannie smiled. "Forged donor consents for bodies brought in as John Does. Looks like Walter forged relatives' consents to donate organs after the corpses were finally identified."

Scott skimmed the first few documents. He frowned. "How do you know that?"

"I know the codes." Jeannie pointed to the autopsy number. "See the letters JD before the number and year? All incoming John Does are coded that way. Corpses with identification are coded as letter A with a number and the year."

"Okay. I can see that some of the John Does are later identified and their real names are typed in, but how do you know the consents are forged?"

"Look at 'em! Pull out and compare the first two."

Scott did so, holding them side-by-side.

She pointed. "The hand-writing on the relatives' signatures is the same as the witness signature."

"And the witness in all of these is Walter Monnier." Scott flipped through the twenty or so consents. "But these are for all sorts of post-mortem harvests, not just corneas."

"Yeah. But look to whom the organs other than the corneas are released." She pointed to the lines at the bottom of the page indicating who'd picked up the various body parts.

Scott glanced at the place Jeannie indicated. "They're in code again."

She pulled him to a chart on the wall above the file cabinets. "See that? It lists all who have authority to take anything out of this room. I recognized the Epi Study code right off because the receipts for the Eye Bank donor corneas are in my files for the time up through the convention. The other code is listed up here as..."

"SRP." Scott looked down. "Okay, so Walter forges consents for organ donation. Ships the corneas to Rutherford's Epi Study and the other assorted organs to SRP where they are re-sold. That only proves that Monnier committed a crime, not that Rutherford had knowledge or ordered him to do it. Maybe Lopez ordered it."

"Granted, but I have proof that Rutherford's study knowingly billed out the donor corneas after the Eye Bank cut the project off as SRP corneas, so that is proof of fraud."

"Jeannie, hon, I believe you, but all that proves is that someone in Rutherford's office did that. You said so yourself. Rutherford is setting it up that Randolph, probably with Sally's help, committed all the bad acts. I bet he'll lead the police to a bank account in the name of Randolph with ill-gotten gains deposited, back-dated and all, to prove it."

"Don't forget Charles linked Rutherford to SRP."

"Okay, but all Rutherford has to say is that he is not in the day-to-day running of the company. That he is as shocked as anyone about what has happened, and so on 'ad infinitum'."

He grasped Jeannie's hands and pulled her to him. Resting his chin on her head, he said, "The man is cunning. These consents are, I'm sure Charles will tell you, circumstantial evidence. To prove a crime, you'll need more than this."

"I 'know' that, but surely it's enough to get the program suspended until the university investigates. The doctors on the Medical School Review Board will support that action. Once the patients hear about the misrepresentations and faulty consents, they'll come forward with even more evidence, maybe enough for civil suits." Jeannie heaved a gulping sigh. "At least, we'll stop him from hurting and ripping off more innocent people."

Scott tipped her chin up and placed a light kiss on her full lips. "Yeah. That's a good start. But you'll be tweaking the gator's tail, darlin'. I don't want you or Little Bits to be his next targets."

Jeannie gasped, then went silent. Her eyes reflected she'd accepted the danger for herself, but the mention of Little Bits had thrown her. First fear, then concern, and finally steely determination stared at him from her eyes.

"Okay, it's almost summer break. I'll send Brigitte to the Retreat House with Sister Mary Cecille. She should be safe enough there for a month. After that, we'll reassess the situation. How does that sound?"

To Scott it sounded wonderful. "We" would reassess meant she'd already begun the process of accepting him in her day-to-day life now and in the future. Yeah, it sounded great.

"That's a plan." Scott picked up the consents which had fallen to the floor.

"Let's fire up the copier and make copies of these, then put them back."

"No. Let's take the originals with the time and date stamp and leave the copies.

No one will notice the difference except Monnier. Maybe we can put the fear

of being outed in him."

Scott shook his head. "You do realize that makes you an even bigger danger to the man. He'll figure it had to be you who took them. Monnier could do time for his crimes. These documents prove he's been falsifying papers and stealing body parts. He'll come after you."

Jeannie's look of grim determination never wavered. "But you'll be watching

my behind. I put my money on you."

Wiggling her fingers, she said, "Now gimme those papers. I'll copy them, then we can go to the Eye Bank lab next."

Scott handed over the consents. Yeah, he'd watch her behind all right, all the way to his Mama's house in the bayou. Jeannie didn't know it yet, but he was taking her out of the line of fire -- all the way out.

The Eye Bank, like the morgue, was a ghost town.

Jeannie flipped on the lights and headed for the storeroom. "Scott, would you

look in those cabinets over there?"

He looked over and found gray metal storage units along the far wall.

"Shouldn't we be wearing gloves or something?"

He didn't want his or Jeannie's fingerprints anywhere in this room.

"Good idea." Jeannie trotted over to some open shelving and pulled out a pair

of small and a pair of large latex gloves. "Here, use these."

Scott pulled on the gloves. "What am I looking for?"

"I'm not sure, but you'll know it when you see it."

"Great."

There were three cabinets. He opened the doors to the first. Plastic containers

of all sizes and shapes, lids and labels, along with preservative solutions and disposable blades filled the cabinet. The second contained blank forms and other paper products.

The third cabinet looked more promising. It contained used, but clean, containers with their original labels still intact. They probably only used these when they ran out of new ones.

Shoving them around he saw the SRP logo several times. Monnier wasn't trying hard to hide things. Rutherford would be appalled that his henchman was so careless. Scott pulled a couple out from the back. The lens measurements, date of shipping, and inventory number were marked on the labels. Both of these had come in before the annual ophthalmic convention, when supposedly the Eye Bank was supplying all tissue.

Scott took them and closed the door. He'd bet they wouldn't be missed.

"Scott! Come here!"

He shoved the containers into his lab coat pocket and ran into the storage area. The room was the same size as the outer room, but it was set up more like a morgue with refrigerated units alongside one wall, a sink and cutting area with drains and waste disposal unit on another, and a small computer workstation on a third wall.

Jeannie was examining something she'd taken from a cooler unit. Her tense body language sent a corresponding chill through his body.

"Jeannie, what is it?" Scott hurried over to look.

In a Styrofoam container filled with ice was a human heart -- a child's heart.

"Shit. What's that doing in an Eye Bank lab refrigerator?"

"Exactly." Jeannie looked back at him. "The paper work said it was delivered to SRP at this address at 0800 hours today by air medical courier. Look at the Customs paperwork."

"Customs?"

Scott had a bad feeling about this. He reached over Jeannie and grabbed the plastic sleeve containing lab and blood work ups and the delivery papers. On top were the customs documents. He read the pertinent data. "Jesus H. Christ. This heart came from Brazil. The medical courier is listed as One World, Inc."

"One World, Scott." Jeannie's eyes filled with tears. "Dr. Rutherford has connections to One World. Now why would a child's heart harvested by One World, labeled as shipped to SRP, come to the Eye Bank lab? I can't believe it's coincidence that Walter, designated tech for Rutherford's Epi Study, also works here."

"Why, indeed."

Charles's words at the Rock 'N Bowl came to mind..."body mafia." Jeannie's fear-filled eyes indicated she'd reached the same terrifying conclusion. What everyone suspected was true. One World, SRP and all those involved were selling body parts.

Scott took the paperwork and strode back into the outer lab where he'd seen a copier. Jeannie followed him carrying the heart.

"'Cher', put that back. Now!" he said. "We're gonna copy these papers, then get the hell out of here before someone comes to get the heart. It's 1000 hours. They can't keep the heart on ice much longer. Some surgeon is gonna be coming for it, and soon. That means Monnier is gonna be hoofing it back here to make the delivery."

Jeannie gasped and ran from the room. She carried the heart out in front of her, as if it would explode in her face.

When she returned, Scott smiled at her. Wanting to wipe the forlorn look off her face, he said, "Chin up, 'cher'. We've got something to go to the Feds with now."

"We do?"

"Yeah. I've been reading up on body-part trafficking since we talked about it with Charles. The Bellagio Task Force report I read said that Brazil is notorious for its hit squads. They kill homeless children, then harvest body parts. Maybe One World is horning in on the market of these hit squads. They are killing children, probably per specific orders and medical criteria, harvesting the organs, then sending them to Rutherford to fill the requests and direct the other usable organs to other doctors searching on the black market. We've got them now. This has to be considered illegal in the United States, even if it's not in Brazil or wherever."

"How have we got them? Remember, Charles said the Customs people won't do anything about interfering with another country's internal laws. He said the feds were more interested in possible drug smuggling. I was listening." Jeannie collected the papers from the machine to speed up the process. "Besides, the paperwork looks legal. The heart came through Atlanta customs, then was couriered here. No problems."

"Yeah, but do you see any consents?"

"No."

"That's just as illegal in Brazil and most other countries as it is here." Scott put all the originals back into the plastic sleeve and walked into the storage room. Jeannie dogged his heels. "In Brazil, you have to opt out of donating organs, but can only do so after you reach legal driving age. Before then, the parents or natural guardians have to sign. It doesn't often happen, because the majority of citizens are either Catholic and don't believe in organ donation, or they are natives who believe the souls are lost by removing organs from the bodies of their loved ones."

He replaced the paperwork, shut the unit, then opened several of the other units where other organs lay waiting to be picked up. He whistled.

"This is theft, plain and simple."

"What are we gonna do?"

Jeannie looked at him. Her eyes were wide with fear, but her mouth had firmed. She wasn't going to run from this. That had been a child's heart. He knew she was thinking of Little Bits.

"We're gonna do what we have to, after we get Little Bits out of New Orleans and I move in with you for the duration."

"Okay, let's get out of here."

Jeannie walked to the exit, then flipped off the lights. She cracked open the door slightly. Her gasp, then the stiffening of her body, alerted Scott.

Someone was coming!

He reached around a frozen Jeannie to shut the door. It snicked softly. After locking the door, Scott urged Jeannie forward.

"Come on, we've got to hide."

She jerked at his touch, a hiccup of fright startled out of her. "There's another door to the hall. I saw it in the storage room. It's behind some shelving."

Scott pulled her from the outer area into the storage room. "That's my girl. Let's hope it's not locked with a keyed dead bolt or something," he said, closing the storage room door behind them.

The storage room glowed red from the emergency lights mounted in the four corners of the room. A green exit light just peeked over the temporary shelving at the end of the computer workstation. Scott only hoped there was enough room behind it for them to either hide or escape.

Using his excellent night vision, honed in the bayou for night fishing and hunting and perfected in the marines for recon missions, Scott led Jeannie to the shelving.