Tiger in the Hot Zone (Shifter Agents Book 4)

by Lauren Esker

  They flew nonstop from Seattle to Tucson. In addition to Peri and a wan-looking Trish Begay, their party also included Dr. Lafitte. Each of them had a case of samples to hand-carry, labeled MEDICAL MATERIAL. Noah, alone among the group, was armed. It felt deeply strange to carry his weapon through the security checkpoint.

  Their flight arrived at the Tucson airport as sunset tinted the cloudless sky, giving them a glorious view as they flew in, golden with blue shadows stretching long across the desert in the slanting evening light. Trish was yawning as they retrieved their luggage, and Lafitte immediately whipped out her phone to let Stiers know they'd landed. Peri looked alert and interested, gazing at everything around her as if she wanted to catalog it in her brain.

  "You've never been to Arizona before, right?" Noah asked her.

  She snorted a laugh. "Heck no. I've never been anywhere. I spent most of my teen years in Boise. Before that ... well, you've met the cult. And after that, I hopped across the border to study journalism in Pullman. The farthest from home I've ever been was a school trip to D.C. one year when we were learning about civics."

  Noah decided to keep his mouth shut about family vacations to France and the Caribbean when he was a teenager. Sometimes it really struck him how far apart his world and Peri's had always been, in so many ways.

  Lafitte hung back from the group as they left the baggage terminal, chatting happily with Stiers; the conversation had drifted from business to their daughter and general marital chitchat. Outside, it was still fiercely hot despite the lateness of the day. Even the breeze was hot. The airport's bright lights drove back the oncoming blue dusk.

  "Home sweet home," Trish said. She drew in a deep lungful of the dry, ovenlike air. "Mmm. It just doesn't smell like anywhere else, does it?"

  To Noah, it mostly smelled like airport. "Did you grow up in Tucson?"

  "Nah, I'm from Holbrook—that's up in the north. But I went to school here."

  Various things Trish had said over the months they'd worked together drifted back to him. "And your aunt runs the Tucson SCB lab division, doesn't she? I'm looking forward to meeting her."

  "Aunt Mavis, yeah. She's great. You'll love her. Though I've got family all over around here. Well, not so much down at the border, but up on the rez and over in New Mexico. I'm Diné—Navajo," she explained to Peri, who was listening with visible curiosity, "and there have been Navajo deer shifters in this corner of the world since, oh, forever basically."

  "Is that what they call skinwalkers?" Peri asked. Noah could almost see her reporter's brain coming online, taking mental notes.

  "Nope," Trish said. "Totally different thing. Noah's not a witch, is he? Or a silver-and-crosses werewolf?"

  "You're saying skinwalkers are a myth?"

  "Not necessarily, though I've never seen one, but they definitely are not the same thing as my family. And it's as impolite to mix up the two as it would be to call Noah a devil just because he can shapeshift."

  "Oh," Peri said, taken aback. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to be rude."

  Trish's ready smile came out. "It's okay, you didn't know. It's usually considered bad luck to mention skinwalkers, though, so it's probably a good idea not to—"

  "Ladies," Noah interrupted, "can we not have this conversation in an insecure location? Anyway, I think I see our ride."

  Far down the row of cars idling at the Arrivals curb, a blond man was just stepping out of a a dusty Ford Mustang, waving at them. Noah waved back, with some hesitation given recent events. Mustang Dude loped over to meet them.

  He was tall, late thirties or early forties, and deeply suntanned, casually dressed in an open-necked khaki shirt and jeans. A gold wedding band glinted on his left hand. He was also a shifter, but for the first time Noah found himself retreating from that familiar tingle of shared recognition. Memories of Julius were still too fresh.

  "Special Agent Cameron Thiessen, Southwest SCB. Call me Cam." Thiessen held out his hand. "Good flight?"

  Noah kept his hands back and moved to intercept Lafitte when she reached out to accept. "Don't take this the wrong way, but you mind if we see some ID?"

  Thiessen nodded, his friendly smile never faltering, and reached into his pocket to flip out his badge. Noah and Trish showed theirs, while Peri and Lafitte looked on, and only then did Noah relax enough to accept the other man's firm handshake.

  "Sorry about that. We've been through some rough times up in the Seattle office."

  "That's what I heard. C'mon, get in and let's talk." Thiessen smiled apologetically as they jammed as much of their luggage as would fit in the Mustang's trunk. "It's gonna be a tight fit for this many people. Sorry 'bout that. I didn't realize I was picking up four of you. Shoulda checked out a bigger car from the motor pool, but I couldn't resist taking my girl Annie here for an outing."

  "Please tell me you didn't name your car," Peri said to Noah.

  "I plead the fifth." Noah patted the Mustang's bumper. "Besides, I'd hardly even call this a car. The Camaro, now ..."

  The women looked startled, but Thiessen grinned, a white flash of teeth in his tanned face. "You a Chevy man? Sorry to hear it, dude. You'll have to walk."

  The friendly car-related shit-talking continued as they all piled into the Mustang, Noah taking the front seat because of his longer legs, while the others crowded into the back with the overflow luggage on their laps. They left the airport and merged onto the highway, driving away from the light on the western horizon—sunset's fire and the glittering lights of Tucson—and into the rising shadow of night in the east. Thiessen and Noah spent most of the drive talking cars, hitting it off with the camaraderie of friendly rivalry, like that of sports fans supporting different teams.

  "You a local?" Noah asked him.

  "Nah, I'm from Iowa. Did a tour in Iraq and moved down here when I got out, married a local girl. I guess the desert got in my blood."

  They were in open country now, the world a dark sea with the sky still fading from deep blue to black, spangled with a mad artist's paint splatter of stars. Here and there, a spread of lights indicated ranches or subdivisions. Tucson was a much brighter glowing chain of lights strung out along the horizon behind them.

  "Not to complain, but where are we going?" Peri asked.

  Trish was the one who answered. "The Southwest SCB isn't like the Seattle branch office. It's not headquartered in town."

  "I didn't realize it was this far out," Lafitte said. "When I've had things couriered down, they always went to a Tucson address."

  "We do have a small office downtown for dealing with the public," Thiessen said. "But the main facility is out in the country. You guys have to divvy up everything, your ops center and medical division and training facility. But we have it all under one roof." He slowed and turned off the highway onto a side road. "And here we are."

  He pulled up to a gate lit with brilliant floodlights. A tall wire-mesh fence, topped with razor wire, marched away through dead-looking brush and rocks to either side. While Thiessen leaned out the window to swipe a key card through an automated check-in terminal, Noah took note of the prominent "WARNING! ELECTRIC FENCE!" and "RESTRICTED AREA - NO ADMITTANCE WITHOUT AUTHORIZATION" signs on the wire.

  "Okay, this is what I was expecting from you guys back in Seattle," Peri murmured. "All you need is a guard tower or two, maybe a landing pad for the black helicopters."

  Overhearing her, Thiessen chuckled. He left his window rolled down as he motored slowly through the retreating gate, letting in a warm breath of night air that was oddly spicy-scented. "No men in black, I promise. But we have enough going on out here that we don't want the general public poking around. And we do have a helicopter landing pad."

  Noah reached back and held out his hand, palm up, until Peri placed her hand in it. Her small fingers were cold. Noah squeezed reassuringly.

  "The Southwest office gets most of the SCB's research funding," Lafitte said. "They're doing some amazing work down here. I can't wait to see their facili
ties."

  Thiessen drove toward a rambling complex of concrete buildings. It didn't impress Noah at first glance. Everything was low, blocky, and utilitarian-looking, stripped of color by the harsh floodlights and the scouring of the desert wind. The buildings clustered around a steep hillside, crisscrossed with telephone and power lines and bristling with antenna arrays.

  Noah couldn't help thinking of Peri's dad's UFO landing site and its brilliant night lights. "Do the local staff commute or live on site?" he asked.

  "Both. We have living quarters on site, and we're going to put you up here for now, since it's a lot more secure than a hotel. It's a pretty easy commute to Tucson, though, and even closer to smaller towns in the area, so most people live offsite unless they're pulling long hours on a case." He drew up to a row of garage doors as the third from the right slid ponderously open.

  Inside, Thiessen drove down a ramp into what turned out to be an extensive underground parking garage. Lafitte whistled softly.

  "Obviously you guys are where all the funding is going, not just the research dollars," Noah said as they got their luggage out of the Mustang. "We get to park in a shared public garage in downtown Seattle, and we were lucky to get that much. Competition for spaces is fierce." In his absence, he had no doubt someone was snaking the spot where he usually parked the Camaro.

  "We got lucky, that's all," Thiessen said. "This used to be a Cold War-era military facility, so we got to take it over and add our own embellishments—well, that's what I hear, anyway. Before my time. We're on the main power grid, but we also have an on-site generator and enough supplies to live comfortably for a couple of months if we need to."

  Peri looked both impressed and nervous.

  "I'm starting to see why this is where they decided to assemble the hot zone response team," Noah said. "Er ... you've been fully briefed?"

  Thiessen nodded. "On the basics, anyway. I'm just your limo driver, though. Your local liaison is—ah, there she is."

  He'd parked by a small concrete foyer with a security door; an elevator and stairs were briefly visible through it as a woman opened the door and hurried over to them. She was medium height, brown-skinned and dark-haired, wearing a shoulder holster over a short-sleeved, dark green shirt.

  When he got a good look at her face, Noah started in spite of himself. One of her eyes was pale green, lidless and lacking whites, with a small pupil in the center that gave her a staring, wall-eyed effect. The side of her head was shaved, with a lizard-skin pattern tattooed in dark browns and greens across the side of her face and head. Or ... was it a tattoo? She was definitely a shifter, even though he'd never seen one who had visible marks of their shift in that way. She held a small case in one hand.

  "I'm Agent Catalina Delgado," she said briskly, "and before any of you go any further, you get a shot. I was told one of you is a doctor?"

  "I am." Lafitte held out her hand for the case. "What is this? You can't possibly have a vaccine; we don't even know what the pathogen is yet."

  "No, it's a general antiviral cocktail. We're all taking them just in case. And you," she told Thiessen, "get a double dose, since you were in the car with them. Sorry."

  "Oh, come on, Cat," Thiessen said. "They were cleared by Medical up in Seattle."

  "Chief Costa's orders. Not my fault."

  Noah held out his arm for the first dose. Lafitte was efficient; the quick sting faded almost immediately.

  "What about humans?" Lafitte asked as she turned to inoculate Trish. "I'm not a shifter; neither is another of our party. Do they still need the shot?"

  "No special orders on that," Delgado said. "You're the doc."

  "There's enough here for all of us, so I suppose we may as well. It won't hurt either of you, and we don't know what kind of pathogen we're dealing with, or whether humans can be carriers." With a quick glance at Delgado, she added, "I'm Dr. Willa Lafitte, by the way. I'm in charge of medical operations up at the Seattle branch office, and I agree it's a sensible precaution."

  "I'm just following orders," Delgado said. "Not trying to haze the visitors, I swear. But you, on the other hand ..." She turned to Thiessen. "I brought you a Band-Aid for your owie, because I know how you complain every time medical exams roll around. Here."

  She gave him the little packet, and Thiessen burst into laughter. It was a Spongebob Band-Aid.

  "This is payback for your birthday party last year, isn't it?"

  Delgado planted one hand on her hip. "It is absolutely payback. You gonna wear it?"

  "Only if you put it on me." He held out his arm.

  "Does your wife know what a hopeless flirt you are?" She pressed it to his forearm, where the needle mark had already faded. "You look fetching. And you also stand relieved. I'm the designated tour guide for the evening. You're supposed to run the samples they brought from Seattle over to the labs, and then you're free." She turned to the others. "We'll get some RFID badges for you, and I'll show you where you'll be staying."

  She was wearing a photo ID on a lanyard around her neck, which she held under an infrared scanner to unlock the doors. The elevator was industrial-sized and easily accommodated all of them. According to the buttons, they were on level G1. There was also a G2 and B level below them, and above them, 0, 1, and 2. Delgado pushed the button for level 1.

  They emerged into a hallway with tall glass windows looking onto what appeared to be a xericulture picnic area. It was hard to see in the dark; the building blocked the floodlights (they were at the back of it, Noah guessed) so he could only catch glimpses of winding gravel paths lined with boulders, picnic tables, and scrubby desert plants. The dark bulk of the hillside bounded the picnic area, and the hallway curved to intersect it. It looked like part of the building was inside the hill.

  Thiessen split off with a cheerful nod, loaded down with sample cases, heading for a door at the other end of the hall. Meanwhile, Delgado took them deeper into the building's maze of hallways. She scanned her badge at another door and admitted them to an office—or probably a computer lab, Noah thought, looking around at the large flatscreen monitors and high-end printers. Every desk was cluttered and crowded too close together in a way that made him nostalgic for the basement Public Affairs Office at the Pacific Northwest bureau.

  "Hey, Vir, this is the Seattle team. They need badges."

  The only person in the office swiveled his chair around and pulled down a pair of purple-tinted glasses to inspect them over the tops of the frames. His dark hair was shaved in the back, long on top, and dyed purple at the tips; a purple stud glinted in his ear. "Four of you, right? I've already got the blanks set up. Just let me get some pictures."

  He swiped a digital camera off the desk and pointed each of them in turn at a blank space on the wall, surrounded by corkboards crowded with memos, flyers, and sheets of color swatches. Delgado sat on the edge of a desk and watched the proceedings. Noah thought at first it was his imagination, but by the time they were all done having their pictures taken, he was sure of it: her brown hand, resting on the desk's metallic gray surface, had paled until it nearly matched the desk.

  "I just need your SCB IDs to get your employee numbers," Vir said.

  "Trish and I are regular SCB." Noah pulled out his wallet to retrieve his ID. "The others are consultants."

  "Right. Guess I'll pull your numbers from your files."

  Peri turned out not to be in the system yet. "I can auto-generate a number for her," Vir explained, typing some more. "The system logs which doors you use your badges to open, so we know where you are and where you've been. Or at least where the person carrying your badge is."

  "Wow, you guys are way more organized than we are." Noah picked up a blank clip-on holder to look at it; there were a number of them scattered on one of the desks. "We don't have anything like this."

  "It's mainly because so much of what we do here is research," Delgado said. Seeing Lafitte perk up, she grinned. "Sorry, not my area. For tonight, I'll give you the budget tour and show yo
u to the dorm, and then whoever wants to can head over to the labs. The rest of you can get something to eat or just crash if you want."

  "Is Aunt Mavis working tonight?" Trish asked. "I'd love to say hi."

  "Oh, right! Your name should've clued me in. Sure. I'll run you over to the lab as soon as we get all of you squared away with your quarters and whatnot."

  "Okay, done." Vir hit a button, and in the corner, a printer started humming. A moment later he handed each of them a small plastic card with their photo, name, number, and a bar code, still warm from the machine. "Just put it in one of those—" He pointed to the clear plastic clip-on holders. "And wear it while you're in the building. What am I forgetting ... oh right, your room keys." These turned out to be magnetic cards like hotel keys. Vir handed one to each of them. Each had a number scribbled on it in permanent marker, 216 through 220.

  As they left the office, still working to clip their badges onto various exposed bits of their clothing while towing their luggage, Peri hung back to whisper to Noah, "Did her hands change color?"

  Noah smiled and gave a brief nod, pleased that she'd noticed too.

  "What is she?"

  Lafitte, just in front of them, overheard and murmured, "She's a half-shifter, I believe."

  Up front, Delgado was talking to Trish, who seemed to be animatedly collecting all the local gossip since she'd left for Seattle. Noah was pretty sure Delgado wasn't paying attention to the conversation at the back of the group. At least he hoped not.

  "What does that mean?" Peri asked, her eyes wide.

  "Some people can't shift completely either way. It's very rare, though. My guess would be she's some sort of lizard—"

  Turning, Delgado called back, "Chameleon, to be specific."

  It was the first time Noah had seen the usually composed Lafitte flustered. "My apologies. That was rude of me."

  Peri turned pink. "No, she was just answering my question. Agent Delgado, I didn't mean to be impolite. It's just that I was curious. I only found out about shifters a few days ago. All of this is still new to me."

  "Well, like she said, it's a rare condition for us. I guess you could call it a shifter disability. I can't shift fully, the way most of you can. Though, in my case, it comes with special perks." Delgado stopped, bringing all of them to a halt in the hallway, and placed her hand on the institutional-beige wall. Her fingers paled rapidly, the new color spreading inward from the sides of her palm and the tips of her fingers, as if her hand was being submerged in beige paint.