sounded harsh with frustration at being on the sidelines.

"Jeannie is going to give you a bottle with her allergy capsules. Charles took

one the night he died. We found a partially digested one in his stomach contents."

"Thanks, Jeannie. I've got it. She wrapped it in a hankie. I'll have some cops I

know run the prints through NCIC. Andrew will have to have all the capsules tested. If we're lucky, the killer doctored more than one to make sure he got his kill."

Scott grimaced. Lucky? Yes, he'd say so. Jeannie could've been killed at any

time.

"We'll have the stomach contents and tissue for testing also. We'll nail what did it, but will we be able to tie it to the person who ordered it done?"

"Patience, Scott." Tony's I'm-in-charge-and-on-the-scene voice reassured him. "We'll get there. Now, go back to work. Things are under control here."

"Tony?"

"Yeah?"

"He might have doctored other things in the house."

"Got it, buddy. Project massive-dump-time begins as of now. Anything that looks suspicious, I'll bag it and preserve it as evidence."

"Tony -- I owe you."

"No, you don't."

Scott hung up the phone.

"Things okay on the home front?" Andrew had stopped to watch Scott.

"Yeah. The capsules are allergy meds that Jeannie takes. Charles took one. They're dumping all the food and meds just in case the son-of-a-bitch doctored anything else in the apartment."

"Sounds like a good idea to me." Andrew waved his hand at the containers of gut contents. "Whatever the toxin was, it killed him almost as soon as the gel cap began to dissolve. I found most of it and a lot of time-release beads. He absorbed the toxin and his system immediately started the process of shutting down."

"Are you saying the time-release beads didn't have time to become absorbed?"

"You got it."

Scott whistled. "That's some poison. What would be your best guess?"

"On the toxicity rating scale, with one being large amounts of the poison to kill and a six being minuscule amounts -- I'd say this puppy would be a six. Very small amount and very lethal."

Scott came back to the body and regloved. Picking the colon up where he left off, he resumed his examination.

"So what poisons would those be? Cyanide and the like?"

"Yeah, cyanide would act that fast. Some heavy metals, too. But he didn't have those kinds of symptoms. You said Charles lost all muscular control, then stopped breathing. Right?"

"The paramedic said he was in full respiratory arrest with little then no pressure when they arrived -- less than four minutes after the call went out."

"Fast-acting shit. Some poisonous plant oil, maybe."

"Will we be able to find it in that?" Scott tilted his head toward the containers with the stomach contents.

"'We' won't have to." Andrew grew solemn. "The CDC lab's computerized chemical analyzers will be able to find it if anything can. That's our specialty. The bastards picked the wrong man's brother to murder."

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE.

'One week later.'

"Hemlock."

Andrew Carter's voice echoed like thunder in Jeanette's living room.

Scott glowered, his lips pressed together so tightly they had to hurt.

As for herself, she was numb.

The past week had been hell.

First, she'd sent her daughter to the Retreat House on Lake Pontchartrain before the end of the school year in order to protect her. God help any attacker trying to get to her daughter through the vigilant guard of Sister Mary Cecille and the other nuns.

Then, insulated in a frozen limbo, Jeanette stood between Scott and Andrew as Charles was buried in Atlanta.

After flying home, she'd tendered an overly business-like, written resignation to Dr. Rutherford by first-class U.S. mail, return receipt requested. No way was she facing the devil in person.

Finally, just this morning, she'd started her new job at the Medical Center Clinic run by Dr. Payton and Dr. Warren. The end results of Rutherford's immoral practice of medicine confronted her throughout the long, interminable day. She'd cried so much for his victims she had no tears left.

All through this time, Tony or one of his security people had been her constant companions. When Scott and Andrew were present, they spoke about anything but what they were doing -- or whom they were seeing.

Her life had become a prison.

Yet now, she -- and they -- had to face the truth. No one could protect her from what they'd all managed to avoid acknowledging out loud. Someone tried to poison her, and Charles had died in her place.

With Andrew's one word, the game of fooling herself, blaming his death on a freak aneurysm or a weak heart, was at an end. Rutherford wanted her dead. He'd tried to poison her.

"Jeannie?" Scott's voice wrapped her in its concern. "You all right?"

"No, but I'll live." Jeanette choked on a sob. "You know -- it should've been me."

"No!"

Jeanette jumped at the raw anguish in Scott's roar. Chancing a glance at him, she shrank from what she saw.

He wasn't upset; he was in a rage.

"Don't ever think that. You aren't responsible for what that amoral bastard did."

Intellectually, Jeanette could accept that. Only Rutherford was responsible for his evil actions. But, emotionally, she had a hard time swallowing the fact. She wasn't ready to pass through the rationalization phase and go on with the grieving process. It had taken her a long time to get over Paul's death.

Also, Charles's death had a whole other twist to it. On any given day she could've taken that capsule -- and he wouldn't have. No -- rationalization and acceptance wasn't in the cards for a long, long while. This was much more immediate and a whole lot closer to home.

"Scott's right." Andrew interrupted the strained silence. "I've always found when someone you care about has been taken from you, actions often help more than talk. What we need to do is nail this sucker."

Jeanette was embarrassed. Here she was acting like a weeping widow over Charles while his twin brother, who had all the more right to be grief-stricken into immobility, had been thinking of a way to make Rutherford pay. He was one hundred percent correct. Some action definitely would make her feel better -- or at least help her forget the image of a dying Charles contorted in pain, gasping for breath.

"I'm sorry, Andrew. You're right. Action sounds good. So, when are y'all going to clue me in as to what we're gonna do about Rutherford?"

Scott sent Andrew a questioning look.

Andrew nodded. "Tell her."

"Andrew and I have met with investigators from both the DEA and U.S. Customs." Scott moved to sit next to her on the couch. He picked up one of her hands and held it in his, his fingers gently massaging as he spoke. "As Charles had found out, the agencies have lots of suspicions, but no proof that Lopez is a drug smuggler. They knew about the body parts, but bringing transplant organs into the country is not on its face illegal."

"But..."

"But what about the body mafia?" Andrew finished for her.

"DEA knew nothing about that until we connected the dots for them and pulled U.S. Customs into the meeting. It seems the United Nations Task Force on Illegal Body Part Trafficking had asked U.S. Customs to police itself. Customs had conducted a somewhat half-assed investigation, but had gotten nowhere."

"Then it's hopeless?" Jeanette grew cold at the thought of Rutherford getting away with all his crimes.

"No. It's not." Andrew paced as he spoke. "All we have to do is help the DEA and Customs people get the evidence to file federal charges against Lopez. We showed the agencies the proof that Lopez and Rutherford are working together. They agreed if we could find physical proof of the crimes committed -- read drug smuggling here, because that is all they are interested in -- then they could charge both men and freeze their assets and those of the companies they own."

"How will that help prove they murdered Sally, Alex Randolph, Stu Thomas and Charles?"

"It won't," Scott said. "But federal charges on drug trafficking would put them away for a far longer period of time then anything else we can currently pin on them. And crooks have a way of selling each other out to avoid prison."

"And there are the murders of foreign innocents for the body parts," Andrew said. "Everyone involved in that would be tied up in courts both domestic and international for years. They'll go away for a long time -- and you and your daughter will be safe."

"That's the most important thing -- you and Little Bits." Scott kissed the back of the hand he held.

"So -- how do we get the evidence?"

Jeanette sensed they were keeping something from her. It wasn't going to be as easy as it sounded. There had to be a catch. There was always a catch.

"Remember when you, Charles and I were discussing all this and I mentioned that One World had one-month rotations for medical residents?"

"No!" Jeanette sat up and gripped Scott's hand so tightly her hand cramped. "You aren't going to go. I won't let you. You can't leave me ... I can't lose you, too." She ended on a wailing note.

Jeanette flung Scott's hand away from her and stood. She moved away, afraid she would hit him in her anger. She couldn't recall ever being this mad. How dare he throw his life away? Why couldn't he see that putting Rutherford away wasn't worth losing his life? If he cared for her, he would stay -- let some DEA man go.

Hell, she'd go herself before she allowed him to go.

"I have to go." Scott's voice was firm. "Paul would've gone, and I love you as much as he did -- maybe more. What kind of a man would I be if I didn't protect you any way I could? How could I practice medicine knowing that my peers are transplanting organs taken from murdered innocents? This may be the one chance to prove these guys are evil scum bags. Not just anybody can infiltrate One World -- it has to be another doctor."

'Stupid, macho man'.

Jeanette stiffened, then turned around. What had he just said?

"Who tried to infiltrate? What happened to the other doctor?"

"I didn't say anything about..."

"Yes, you did." Jeanette stalked over and poked him in the chest. "You said something about not just anyone could get into One World. It has to be 'another' doctor. Did the DEA already try to get someone on the inside? What happened?"

"Scott, it isn't going to wash." Andrew looked grim. "Tell her the truth."

"Yes, tell me the truth." Jeanette stared Scott in the eyes. "What has already happened down there? Where are they located now? In Central America? South America? No, I remember. Brazil."

Scott turned his head and contemplated the open doors to the balcony. For a while she thought he wasn't going to answer, then he turned back. His eyes asked for understanding. She knew she wasn't going to like what he'd say.

"A Brazilian doctor doing his residency at University of Miami Med Center volunteered to help the DEA track down the proof for the drug smuggling."

Scott looked toward the dusky courtyard once again, seeking what? A way out of this mess? A way to make her accept him going to his death?

He sighed, shook his head. He turned, his eyes filled with resolution. "He sent several reports back. He'd found some evidence on the body-part trafficking and was just about to follow a lead to the drug operation when he stopped transmitting. Some native fisherman found his body in the Pantanal Region of Brazil. His throat had been cut, and his heart and other organs removed."

"No. You can't go." Jeanette grew calm, frozen in an icy rage.

"I've already signed up." Scott looked at her, eyes pleading for understanding. "I leave in a little over a week."