Karen Olson - Driven to Ink

I turned off Flamingo Road and took an access road into a large parking lot. Bitsy held up the map that she’d downloaded, then looked up at the buildings in front of her.

She pointed to one. “That’s it.”

I hated to admit that I needed the navigation help.

I parked the Jeep, and we climbed out. Bitsy came around the side of the Jeep, stuffing the map into her purse. We both looked up at the building.

“What if they don’t let us in?” I asked.

She made a face at me. “You should stay in the car, then. I’ll do it.”

We started walking.

The life sciences building was boxy and concrete, with a green lawn and trees. In fact, there was a lot of green lawn around here, and it seemed an oxymoron in a desert city that was suffering a drought. Wouldn’t any of these scientists see the contradiction in this? Wouldn’t they make some noise and get the administration to revert to a natural desert environment?

Tim says I should work in city government so I can turn down all those permits for waterfalls and waterways.

A few people passed us on the walkway, both on foot and on bikes. Even though it wasn’t the University of the Arts in Philadelphia, I felt somehow at home here. Maybe it was the whole college-campus atmosphere that translated from school to school. Maybe it was the green grass and the trees. But I wasn’t quite so uncomfortable anymore as we made our way around to the entrance.

The security guard at the desk made us take pause.

“What do we do?” I asked.

Bitsy barely blinked. She flashed some sort of ID and walked right by. I tried to act as confident as I followed her, not making eye contact with the guard.

He didn’t stop us.

We were on the perimeter of an atrium filled with flora and fauna indigenous to the Southwest. Benches were scattered throughout, and a few students were lounging on them, some with laptops, some texting on their phones, some wearing iPod earbuds.

Bitsy turned to the right, and I followed.

“Where to?” I whispered.

“Why are you asking me?”

“Because you’re the one acting like you own the place. What was that card you showed him?”

Bitsy grinned and pulled out her laminated supermarket card.

I had to give her credit.

“But we need to keep moving,” she said, stuffing it back in her bag. “Otherwise they’ll know we don’t know where we’re going.”

“But we don’t.”

“Ye of little faith.”

When we turned the next corner into the next hallway, even Bitsy had to admit we were going to have to ask someone for directions. The building was too big to try to find anything on our own.

A guy in a Nickelback T-shirt with a black backpack slung over his shoulder started to skirt around us, and I said loudly, “Excuse me?”

He stopped and turned. “Yes?”

“We’ve got an appointment in the Laboratory Animal Care Services department,” I said, “but we’re lost. Can you help us?”

He rolled his eyes. “You’re kidding, right?” And he practically ran off.

I frowned at Bitsy. “What was that about?”

She shook her head. “Who knows? Let’s keep wandering.”

I didn’t know how much wandering we could do without being found out, and as we passed classrooms and labs, I began to think this whole road trip was incredibly futile.

Until we turned another corner and ran into a familiar face.

Dr. Colin Bixby was as good-looking as I remembered. I just wished he’d stop looking at me as if I were a leper.

“What are you doing here?”Colin Bixby demanded.As though I were stalking him or something. I hadn’t even tried to reach him after thinking he was trying to kill me a few months back. I respected the fact that he wanted nothing else to do with me.

I hadn’t forgotten, though, how hot he was. Long and lanky, with spiky dark hair, green eyes that flashed sexy all over the place.

He’d folded his arms across his chest, and those sexy eyes weren’t quite so endearing today. I shifted from one foot to another, wondering how to talk to him.

Bitsy noticed the tension and spoke up. “We’re looking for the Laboratory Animal Care Services department.”

He noticed her then. “Oh, you.”

“Excuse me, Dr. Bixby,” Bitsy said, and I recognized her tone. Uh-oh. “We are merely looking for directions. We would appreciate it if you could help us, and then we’ll leave you alone.”

His eyes slid from Bitsy back to me.

“Are you on some sort of wild-goose chase again?”

Caught.

But I’d never admit it.

“I’m looking for someone.”

“A man named Dan Franklin,” Bitsy said.

“Another victim of your crazy imagination?”

I didn’t want to get into it. So I’d been wrong. He didn’t have to keep bringing it up.

“Listen, Dr. Bixby,” I said, hoping that keeping things formal might convince him I hadn’t meant to run into him. “We’re supposed to meet with Mr. Franklin. He came into the shop for a tattoo, and there’s a problem.”

Immediately Colin Bixby’s hand went to his chest. I knew what was under that lab coat. A small Celtic knot just over his left nipple. I’d tattooed it myself, when he was still speaking to me and I thought that maybe we were connecting in more ways than one.

“What sort of problem? Does he need medical care?”

“We’re not sure,” Bitsy said quickly. “That’s why it’s imperative that we find him as soon as possible.”

“Why doesn’t he go to the emergency room?”

He was asking valid questions, but we had to keep up the charade.

“Maybe if you could come with us,” I suggested.

Bixby rolled his eyes. “All right, fine. But you know, we don’t usually let the public into that department.”

“Why not?”

“Let’s just say the animal rights people don’t like us doing research on animals. Even though we are complying with all guidelines for those animals’ care, according to federal regulations.” He sounded like a brochure for the Humane Society.

But who was I to say anything? He was leading us down the hall toward an elevator.

“So what are you doing here?” I asked. Last I knew, he was an emergency room doctor at the University Medical Center.

“I teach a class once a week,” he said as he pushed the elevator button.

“It’s lucky we ran into you,” Bitsy said.

He pushed the button again, as if he couldn’t wait for the elevator to get there. It was clear he didn’t feel lucky.

Inside the elevator, he swiped his card and pushed a button for a floor that didn’t have a number, only LL. As the elevator jerked downward, I asked, “How’s your mother?”

He looked at me as if I had three heads. I knew, however, that his mother lived down the hall from him in his condominium building, and I was just making small talk, thank you very much.

He was having none of it. Until the doors slid open, his eyes watched the floors drop away on the little flashing sign.

We were in the basement. LL. Lower level, most likely.

Steel doors flanked the hallway.

“Don’t the critters need sunlight?” Bitsy asked, indicating the concrete walls and fluorescent lighting that made our skin look jaundiced.

Colin Bixby snorted. Not a pleasant sound.

“Those animals are being tested on,” I said in a stage whisper. “They don’t exactly need sunshine and three meals a day.”

“Those animals, as you call them, are treated humanely. They have a sleep schedule, an eating schedule. We make them as comfortable as possible.” Bixby’s tone was definitely frosty. And he was staring at my arm. The one with the koi that Jeff had tattooed.

“That’s new,” he said matter-of-factly.