“That’s why I’m in charge.” A drop of hot grease hit me below the collarbone. I hissed and wiped it away, realizing as I did that I’d managed to remove my shirt sometime during the night. This led to the unpleasant but suddenly important question of whether or not I was wearing pants. “Kelly has more to tell us, and she’s going to tell us. We just have to give her time to realize that she doesn’t have a choice.”

“I don’t like it.”

“Never asked you to. Look, I’m pretty sure I don’t trust Dr. Wynne, but I still have to admit that he’s a damn good doctor, and she worked with him. Maybe she’s not the most efficient data-delivery mechanism ever. She still risked a lot to come here and help us out. She’s a dead woman walking. She’s got nothing left to lose. That makes her a damn good ally.”

“It also makes her a damn big suicide risk.” Becks stood, taking her gun kit with her. “How long before you’re ready to roll?”

“Give me twenty minutes to shower and clean up. We want the CDC to let us in, don’t we?” I gave her my best camera-ready smile. Becks rolled her eyes, looking unimpressed, and stomped out of the room.

The door slammed behind her. I yanked the sheets off, relieved to see that I’d managed to keep my jeans on through the night. Accidentally flashing my female colleagues has never been one of my secret aspirations.

The hotel might be shabby, but it was good enough to have a full decontamination shower, with an attached clothing sterilization unit for people who didn’t have sufficient gear for fieldwork. It was a nice touch that probably didn’t get used too often. I stripped down and shoved my clothes into the sterilizer, hopping into the shower and triggering the bleach nozzle. The water came on at the same time, spraying me down with a heated combination of sterilizing chemicals, bleach-based antiseptics, and something that smelled like cheap lemon disinfectant. I squeezed my eyes tightly shut and started scrubbing.

The amount of bleach in the average shower is why blonde highlights have become so common. They’re almost a badge of safety for some people—“See, I’ve been decontaminated so many times that my hair has lost all natural color.” Gorge always hated that. She re-dyed her hair at least twice a month, keeping it dark brown and snarling at anyone who said she was being girly. I always liked the way her hair dye smelled, caustic and sweet at the same time. A lot like George.