There she found a loading dock with hydraulic lift, dumpster, corrugated metal door, and a normal-sized door with no window. A stack of discarded large animal cages stood near a hedge of boxwoods to the right. She crab-walked behind the hedge, squatted down, and waited.
A short while later, a buzzer blared. The sound of a dog barking penetrated the night.
Run!was Kayla’s first instinct, but when a guard dog didn’t race out and attack, and no searchlights strobed the area, she realized the yapping must have been broadcast through a speaker. It was fake.
A muscular employee in a white laboratory jacket exited through the normal door. He let the door slam shut and fumbled for something in his pocket. Kayla considered confronting him, knocking him out with a swift karate chop to his neck, and swiping his security card. Sure, the idea was idiotic. Allowing for his size, the attack might not work. And if it did, someone might miss him.
But what other opportunity would she get? She couldn’t call the police with no cell reception. Plus she had no evidence. In her haste to flee her uncle’s cabin, she’d left the backpack with the copies of Sara’s notes in the hatchback.
Had Blond Guy or Simmons searched Peter’s vehicle and found them? If not, maybe the authorities overseeing the crime scene would locate them and, given her uncle’s identity and his connection to Ashley’s murder investigation, might contact Hanrahan.
More ifs!
And what if the inspector, after visiting the site and seeing Peter’s car at the cabin, assumed Kayla had killed her uncle and fled on the Suzuki?
The jangle of keys refocused Kayla’s attention. The employee was disappearing around the corner of the building.
As Veronica would say:Go, go, go.
Kayla glimpsed the broken-down cages, raced to them, and wrenched a closing bar from its slot.
CHAPTER SEVENTY-EIGHT
Seconds later,a car engine sputtered to life in the parking lot.
No,Kayla thought.No, no, no.The employee was leaving. The opportunity to strike and nab his keys was lost.
She returned to her spot behind the building. Ten minutes passed before the door opened again. As before, the fake dog barked. This time a female janitor emerged from the building. She propped the door open with a garbage can. With her dreadlocks secured in a band and a headset covering her ears, she zipped up the white jumpsuit clinging to her ample frame and started humming. She wheeled out another garbage can and placed it on the hydraulic lift next to the dumpster. Then she did something baffling. She tiptoed to the door she’d exited and peeked inside the building. Satisfied with whatever she’d hoped not to see, she began to croon “Formation,” one of Beyonce’s famous hits.
While the woman sang with feeling, eyes shut, Kayla stealthily dashed through the open door.
The room she entered was small, fitted with a desk, phone, chair, and water cooler. She crossed to the door on the far wall and passed into a hallway labeledA Ward.She countedten rooms along the corridor. The doors featured porthole-style windows. Oscillating security cameras hung in the near and far corners of the hall. If she timed her movements right, she could peek into each of the rooms, establish what was going on, and duck down to avoid discovery.
Go, go, go.
In a few rooms she viewed scientists filling test tubes and logging results. Nothing looked problematic or out of the ordinary. Precisely what should be going on in a research facility.
Nervous laughter burbled up her throat as a memory came to her. At the age of twelve, Ashley and she stole into a candy factory. Ashley was the instigator. Kayla dragged her heels. The owner caught them but didn’t press charges. The dozen chocolate bonbons she’d downed had sat in her stomach like stones. For weeks. The taunting from Ashley?—
Aclickcaught her attention. The door at the far end of the hallway was opening.
A young Asian man stepped into the hall. He didn’t look in her direction as he held the door open with his shoulder and spoke to somebody just beyond the door. “Yes, Sir. Injection time.”
Hide.
Kayla twisted the doorknob to the room marked:Laundry. Locked.Who locks a laundry? she wanted to scream.
“What did you say?” the young man asked. “No, Sir, no response. These things take time.”
The door beyond the laundry was ajar, a bolt jutting out to prop it open. Kayla tiptoed to it—Operational Services—and slipped inside. She detected the scent of Lysol. The janitorial room.
“Yes, Sir, we’re recording everything,” the young man said.
Kayla heard thesquish-squishof the man’s athletic shoes. The door at the opposite end of the corridor squeaked open. Slammed shut. She dared to peek out. Coast clear. She twisted the bolt, closed the door, and switched on the light.
White jumpsuit-style uniforms hung on a rod. Caps lay on a rack overhead. Supplies sat on two cleaning carts. Hastily, she donned a jumpsuit and placed a hat on her head. She reentered the hall and headed to the door markedB Ward,the one the young man had passed through. She peered through the porthole. Empty.
She crept past the first room on her left but backtracked when she detected movement within. Upon closer inspection, she saw stacks of cages filled with mice. A maze stood on a counter next to an exterior window. At the far end of the maze hung a yellow gate. A slanted mirror provided a view of the activity.
