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The welcome buzz and click of the scanner freed the door, and she wrenched it open. Rushing out, into the light, into the air, she practically tripped over Lacroix. He reached out a hand to steady her, but she batted it away. She needed space.
"The locks have a built-in delay feature. You have to wait a few seconds before they'll open again. What did you think you'd find in there, anyway?"
She could barely hear his voice over the pounding of her pulse. Pressing her back against the cool tile wall, she forced herself to take a deep breath. The antiseptic air burned her throat, but she swallowed it in welcome gulps. When she could trust herself, she looked at him.
His eyes narrowed. "Are you all right?"
"Yeah, I'm okay now." She grinned, trying to make light of her panic attack. "I don't do too well in small, dark places."
"I understand. I used to have a similar fear, of being buried alive."
His face blurred, and she imagined him being thrown into a shallow grave. She shuddered, the picture in her mind so realistic, she almost seemed to be there with him. Shovel after shovel of dirt fell on her helpless body, weighing her down, blocking out the light, cutting off her air....
"Ms. Morgan!"
The shout roused her, and she realized Lacroix was shaking her. He stopped, but his hands remained clamped on her shoulders, two points of concentrated fire. They were close enough that she could smell the musky aroma of the man beneath his cologne.
She looked up at him. The pallor of his face made his eyes seem twice as green. She must have given him quite a scare.
She shrugged her shoulders, but he didn't remove his hands. Their heat spread over her collar bones and up her neck, melting the last of her tension.
"We can end the tour, if you wish."
"I'm fine." She moved her shoulders again, and this time he lifted his hands away. The cold tile wall behind her absorbed the residual heat from his hands, leaving her at the mercy of the hallway's chill. She dismissed the feeling with another shrug and concentrated on her work. She'd only seen one room, and no researchers. "What do you do in that lab?"
"It's not currently in use. That's why it wasn't part of your tour. We have much to see, and a limited amount of time."
"Then let's get moving." She pushed herself away from the wall.
Lacroix nodded. "Stay close to me this time."
"No problem." Her flippant tone couldn't quite hide her shaking voice, but he didn't embarrass her by mentioning it. He also didn't seem upset at her attempt to breach his security system,
making her wonder if the empty labs had been a setup that she was meant to find.
Leading her down the strangely empty corridor, he opened doors every so often to let her look at ongoing research. Each time, he gave her too vague a description of what they were working on for her to tell by looking if that's what they were really doing or not. She tried to get him to clarify his remarks, but his elaborations were masterpieces of noninformation. Work stopped whenever the researchers spotted them and Lacroix never entered any of the labs, so she had no opportunity to examine the labs in detail or question the researchers. They might be doing the research he claimed, or they might be synthesizing some poison more addictive than cocaine. The money had to come from somewhere, and drugs were still the best bet.
Her heart gave its traitorous vote for legitimate research, and Rebecca gritted her teeth in frustration. She knew the Institute was a setup. No one went to that much trouble to disguise a normal business. It had taken her the better part of four months to unravel the complex chain of interconnecting businesses that funneled money from dummy companies and institutional investment accounts into this mystery in the desert. But until she knew who was behind it, or what was being disguised, she knew nothing. Maybe the Institute did exactly what Lacroix claimed, but used its income and expenses to launder money from another source. She had to get more information from Lacroix.
After they peered into another room, she asked casually, "How many of the labs are in use?"
"Lab space is assigned based on the needs of the research projects. The different experiments require a variety of square footages and hardware."
Another non-answer. But this time, she wouldn't let go. "So how much of your space is being used?"
"We're currently operating at over 90% of utilization."
At last, something she could use! She noted the percentage in her pad, and scratched a quick reminder to look up utilization rates of other facilities.
He stopped and opened a door to another lab, then gestured her inside. After checking to make sure the lab was occupied and well lit, she hurried in, determined to find out if the lab was in use for its stated purpose. He followed her inside.
A young man in a wrinkled white lab coat sat at the counter, hunched over a microscope that was far more complex than the simple magnifiers she remembered from high school biology. A scattering of Twinkie wrappers surrounded him, perfuming the room with the odor of preserved sugar. It was sickeningly sweet, but a welcome change from the antiseptic air of the hallways. He must have heard the buzzing of the scanner, because he lifted one hand and made vague shushing motions at the door.
Lacroix frowned. "Dr. Chen."
The researcher bolted upright, almost falling off his stool in his haste. He swiveled to face them, speaking with a lilt more appropriate for a California beach bum than a brilliant scientist.
"I didn't know it was you, okay?" His face wrinkled as he tried to place Rebecca. "You're new."
