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“Dr. Charish’s research suite shares the third floor with the NuQuesCor genetics program. They only have critical staff on duty and are restricted to the rooms on the east side.” He whipped out a map. “For your convenience, I marked the way to Dr. Charish’s main lab area.”
“You mean Marcus Ivanov’s research suite and lab area?” I said sweetly. “He’s an owner. Not Kristi.”
“Er, I . . . yes? That is, Dr. Charish—”
I snagged the map from his hand. “Mighty kind of you to mark this for me. What’s your name?”
“Billy Upton, ma’am. It’s a pleasure to meet you.” He stuck out his hand.
“Likewise,” I said and shook it.
“Here’s your fob so you can get into the secured area once you’re on the third floor.” He handed me a lanyard bearing an inch-long nub of black plastic.
I slipped it over my head. “Thanks for your help, Billy.”
“Anytime, Miss Crawford.”
Bemused, I took the stairs to the third floor then followed the highlighted route on the map. The fob got me past a locked door and into the lab suite, where I navigated a maze of corridors, passing offices and break rooms and doors marked “Autoclave” and “Microscope/Fluorescence” and “Cell Culture.” Lab coats and other protective equipment hung on hooks outside several of the rooms, including one bearing giant biohazard placards and “LEVEL 3 BIOHAZARD” emblazoned on the door in bright red letters.
Eventually, I reached a large room with multiple bays for focused work. Three long tables took up the center of the room, with drawers and storage beneath. A sink and safety shower occupied one corner, opposite a large fume hood. Counters filled with every variety of analytical equipment ran along the left wall, while glass-fronted cabinets loaded with chemicals and supplies hugged the right. An enormous walk-in refrigerator took up a sizable chunk of the back wall.
Jacques worked to set up a second whiteboard for Dr. Nikas while four techs I didn’t know held a quiet discussion over photos and paperwork strewn across the back table. The four wore identical starched white scrubs and lab coats, all male, all fit, and all thirty-something. Kristi’s crew, and likely doing double duty as her eye candy.
Kristi had slipped a lab coat over the outfit she’d worn for the TV interview. She and Dr. Nikas conferred near a computer station, comparing information on the screen to that on a tablet she held. Beside them, Marcus fidgeted, seeming stressed yet oddly energized. Probably because he was finally doing something.
Brian, Kyle, and Rachel stood spaced around the perimeter of the room—out of the way, but close enough to intervene at the slightest threat. Two men in dark suits with obvious shoulder-holster bulges occupied the gaps between the Tribe security people. One had a black eye and a bandage across the bridge of his nose. Average height. Medium build. The other stood at least six-foot-five, broad-shouldered and intimidating. His nose looked like it had been broken half a dozen times, and his dark hair was cropped close, exposing a wicked scar where his left ear used to be.
Kristi’s muscle.
The two stepped toward me. Kristi glanced up as they moved. “Stand down, boys. Believe it or not, Angel is invited.” She bestowed a winning smile upon me. “My bodyguards. One can never be too careful.” She passed the tablet to Dr. Nikas. “I’ll be with you in a tick, Angel.”
“Whatever,” I muttered then gave the two thugs my own brilliant smile. Black Eye seemed familiar, though I’d been around so many Saberton security people it wasn’t surprising. He hadn’t been out in the swamp for the gator hunt, so I’d most likely seen him at Saberton New York.
Marcus came over to me. “C’mon. You have to see the pen.”
“The what?”
“You’ll see,” he said with a wink then led me out of the lab, down the corridor, and around the corner. Halfway down that hall, he pulled open a grey metal door and gestured for me to step through.
I did so, only to find myself face-to-face with a massive, milky-eyed alligator.
Well, not quite face-to-face since there was a chain-link fence between us. Plus the gator’s face was several feet lower than mine, but it was still just as much of a shock. Especially in the middle of a friggin’ research building. I had no idea what the room was originally used for, but it was the size of a basketball court, with the gator pen occupying the nearest quarter. An eight-foot-tall fence topped with razor wire surrounded a broad swath of grassy turf with a shallow pool at its center—temporary home for two twelve-foot zombie gators and half a dozen smaller specimens, ranging from three to six feet.
“This is . . . impressive,” I finally said.
Marcus chuckled. “Crazy, huh? These were here when Dr. Nikas arrived last night.”
“Very crazy. Saberton caught all the zombie gators?”
“Not Saberton. Kristi’s people. And there might still be more infected ones out there. No way to know for sure.”
I frowned. “So Kristi was already setting up to work here.”
“Her people were, at least. Her plane didn’t land at the Tucker Point airport until around midnight.”
The other gators began to trundle toward us. The one already by the fence let out a weird growl-moan.
“They seem to like you,” Marcus said.
