Chapter 29 #2
“No,” I agreed, my throat tightening. “They’re not. In fact, it means they’re likely going to demonstrate her potential to a prospective client or clients.”
“So, how does all this tie into this Al-Rashid person?” Gwen asked.
“I don’t know yet,” I admitted. “But he’s a key player somehow. He may be the one overseeing the research or writing the checks. We need a plan to find out.”
Barbie leaned forward, lowering her voice. “I have one. I break into the lab and get the dogs out.”
“Whoa,” Gray said in surprise, holding up a hand. “Hold on. Breaking and entering is a big jump for a reporter.”
“My dog—my baby—is in there.” Barbie’s eyes hardened. “Lexi said she already got into the security system. She can just unlock the door for me, and I go in and get the dogs out.”
“Unfortunately, it’s not that simple,” I said.
“First, I need blueprints to know where they’re most likely holding the dogs.
Then, I need to do more research on the security system.
While I’m familiar with it, I need to get a better feel for how the lab is using it.
We have no idea if they have an internal security guard sitting somewhere scanning badges as staff comes in.
And that’s just the first of a list of potential problems with that kind of plan. ”
“Well, whatever is happening is going down tomorrow morning,” Barbie said. “We don’t have the luxury of time to save my Tootsie or your Ginger.”
“She’s got a point,” Basia said.
A headache was brewing behind my eyes. “Okay, let’s take this back to the casino penthouse. We can discuss things further there.” I closed my laptop and took a sip of my coffee. I winced. “Yuck. My coffee is already cold.”
We started collecting our things when a woman wearing a white lab coat walked in.
She looked tired, mid-thirties, hair pulled back in a loose knot, and shoulders slumped.
She ordered quietly at the counter, paid, then, when her food arrived, carried her tray to a table a few rows over from us.
She shrugged out of her lab coat and draped it over the back of her chair.
That’s when I saw it. Clipped neatly to the front pocket was an ID badge. White plastic. Blue logo.
Tango Bio Research Solutions.
The woman pulled a paperback from her bag and began to read between bites of her hamburger. At that moment, my gaze met Basia’s. She’d also seen it, and her expression was calm, focused.
I felt a skitter of alarm.
Before I could say anything, Basia stood, holding her drink, and walked away from the table. A visibly pregnant woman navigating a McDonald’s with careful steps and impeccable timing.
No one else in our group noticed, as they were busy gathering their stuff, but I held my breath. I had no idea what she was going to do.
Basia reached the woman’s table, paused, and shifted her weight. Her soda tipped. Not dramatically, just enough to look like a legitimate stumble.
The drink sloshed across the table, splattering the woman’s book with liquid and splashing onto the edge of her lap.
“Oh!” the woman yelped, pushing her chair back.
Basia gasped, hand flying to her chest. “Oh my God, I’m so sorry. I’m such a klutz. Are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” she said, grabbing a napkin and blotting her lap. “It’s just cold.”
“Ugh,” Basia said, grabbing napkins and handing a few to her. “I have pregnancy brain and balance. I’m basically a hazard at this point.”
At this point, the rest of our group were staring at Basia, wondering what was going on.
The woman from the lab laughed nervously and Basia leaned in, blotting the table, apologizing some more. Her body angled perfectly between the woman and the lab coat hanging on the chair. Basia moved her hand once and the badge was gone.
I felt something between awe and terror bloom in my chest.
The woman laughed at Basia nervously. “It’s okay, really. I just finished my shift anyway. I’m on my way home.”
“Oh, that’s terrible,” Basia said sympathetically. “You had to work on a Sunday?”
“Yeah,” the woman sighed. “And since I didn’t feel like cooking, McDonald’s was the winner for a late lunch.”
“That’s rough,” Basia said with genuine warmth. “Let me get you some paper towels.” She headed to the bathroom and came back with some wet paper towels and a folded fifty-dollar bill.
“Here,” Basia said, handing her the money. “Use it for dry cleaning. A new book. Or all the above.”
“Oh, no, I can’t,” the woman protested. “It’s too much.”
“I insist,” Basia said, shaking her hand. “I’m really sorry if I caused you any trouble.”
The woman hesitated, then accepted the bill. “Thank you so much. That’s really kind of you.”
Basia mopped up the liquid on the table as the lab worker gathered her things, slipped her lab coat back on, and headed for the door. The second it closed behind her, Basia turned and walked back to our table. She set the ID badge down between us.
We stared at it without saying anything.
Gray broke the silence. “Damn, girl, you just stole a secured access badge in a McDonald’s. Well done, and welcome to the family. I couldn’t be prouder of you.”
I rolled my eyes at Gray, but a blush colored Basia’s cheeks. “We needed options,” she said simply. “Now we have one.”
Barbie let out a low whistle. “I’ve interviewed covert operatives, whistleblowers, and federal agents,” she said. “And I’ve never seen anyone pull something that clean without breaking eye contact. So, I’m asking this as a journalist: Who the hell are you people?”
Gwen smiled faintly. “Just friends trying to right a wrong. It’s kind of our thing.”
I wasn’t sure I approved of Basia’s move, but it was done, so I slid the badge into my pocket. “We need to go. Now. But before we return to the penthouse, we need to go back to the lab and drop something off.”
Everyone froze and looked at me in shock.
“Back to the lab?” Gray finally managed to ask. “Are you out of your mind?”
“I’m not crazy, and we won’t be spotted,” I said. “I have an idea, and this has to be done for an important technical reason. I’ll fill you in later.”
Gray sighed, but everyone else was quiet as we headed to her car. When we were nearly there, Gwen turned to Basia.
“I hope you don’t have any regrets about stealing the ID. You did the right thing. Remember, it’s all part of the mission to save Ginger and Tootsie.”
“Honestly, Gwen, I don’t have a single regret,” Basia said, her eyes narrowed with determination. “Not one.”