“Fair enough.” Dr. Partridge put the stethoscope in her ears. She listened to Ginger’s heart and lungs and then gently parted the fur to examine her skin, first on her head and then her neck. After a moment, she inhaled sharply.
“There’s evidence that she may have been exposed to some kind EEG-monitoring activity. There are indentations where neurological nodes would have been placed to monitor her brain waves. The fact that these indents in her skin look almost permanent means she likely would have been exposed to consistent and long-term neurological studies.”
“So not necessarily damaging?” I asked.
“Not necessarily,” the vet said and then shined her flashlight in Ginger’s eyes. “She seems neurologically intact. But the brain can survive and deal with trauma in many different ways. She seems like a good, calm girl, but I can’t say she hasn’t been harmed, either.”
She continued her search along Ginger’s skin. “There’s a subdermal incision here near where the chip was implanted. It’s recent and…” She palpated the area, her face turning grim. “Something metallic that isn’t part of a normal microchip.”
“What is it?” Basia asked.
“I don’t know without extracting it,” the vet said. “It might be your fancy GPS tracker.”
Gwen’s phone buzzed and she glanced down. “I told Gray about Tango Bio Research Solutions in New Jersey. She looked it up online. All she could find is that it’s a private—not a government—research facility. No public records. No mission statement. No website. Zero transparency.”
“Sure,” Basia said. “Because that just screams ‘ethical science.’”
The vet took a step back. “I’m going to be honest, ladies, if this dog escaped from a lab like this, you need to take her to Animal Control or a shelter first thing in the morning. That’s my advice. There is nothing else I can do for her.” Dr. Partridge’s gaze softened, but her tone was firm. “If you don’t turn her in, you could get in a lot of trouble. And if she’s been part of unauthorized experimentation, then the proper authorities need to handle it.”
“We’re fully aware of that,” I said. “We intend to alert the proper authorities to handle this.”
“You mean the AWA?” Dr. Partridge asked.
“What’s the AWA?” Basia asked, looking confused.
“The Animal Welfare Act,” Gwen responded. “It requires research institutions in the US to register with the government and follow minimum standards for care, housing, and veterinary treatment, including minimizing pain and stress and implementing as many alternatives to painful procedures as necessary.”
When we looked at her in surprise, she shrugged. “I’m a microbiologist. I took biology classes in college and graduate school, and I’ve worked in labs, duh.”
She had a point, so I nodded and continued speaking to the vet. “Anyway, we’ll be asking the authorities to investigate and ensure this lab is fully registered and compliant with the requirements of the law. We’re not giving her back until we are sure Ginger is being treated properly.”
I picked up a piece of the foil and wrapped it around the dog again. As I finished, Dr. Partridge leaned over Ginger and quickly wrapped some bandage tape around the foil and the dog, securing it.
Before anyone could say anything, Gray abruptly swung open the door with a loud thump. “Sorry to break up the party, but we’ve got company.”
My blood ran cold. “They found us already?”
“They did.”
“Are you sure?” I asked, stepping into the corridor. Through the dark-tinted glass, I saw two black SUVs parking. Their engine lights were still on, and the headlights glowed like predatory eyes.
Ginger stood, fur rising, a low growl vibrating through her chest.
Dr. Partridge looked alarmed, surprised by Ginger’s sudden change in behavior. “You’re right, she is clearly afraid of whoever is coming for her. Whatever is happening…you need to go. Now. You can keep the leash and collar, just use the back door. It’s through here.” She opened the examination room and pointed deeper into the clinic. She then yelled at the vet tech, “Dusty, if someone comes in, keep them there for a few minutes.”
“On it, boss,” Dusty called back.
“Thank you,” Gray said to the vet, patting her on the shoulder and heading to the back door with her car keys in hand. Basia and Gwen quickly followed.
“Yes, thank you so much,” I said, grabbing the rest of Ginger’s foil and shoving it in my pocket. Dr. Partridge handed me the spare leash. I thanked her as I clipped the leash on. I hightailed it after Gray with Ginger on my heels. In the dim light, the foil clung to Ginger’s fur as if she wore battle armor.
When we stepped outside, the dog pressed closer to me, her body tense and vibrating. She was ready and so was I.
For exactly what, we had no idea.
Chapter Eighteen
Lexi
