Chris winced as he watched her go. “I shouldn’t have said that. Rachel takes this job really seriously.” He heaved out a sigh. “I’ll buy her a big box of chocolates to apologize.”
I snorted. “A gift card to a boxing studio might be better choice, and not quite as sexist.”
“Oh. Yeah. Your idea is better, especially since I kind of sexually harassed her just now.” He grimaced, clearly annoyed with himself.
“Y’think?”
“Not often enough, obviously!” He glanced to Kristi. “You ready, Doc?”
Kristi gave Philip a questioning look, as if seeking permission. Philip nodded. “You go and have a nice time off, and I’ll see you when you get back,” he said, then released her hand. Kristi gave him another hesitant smile, then left the room with Chris.
I waited until the door had closed again before clearing my throat. “You and Kristi are awfully, um, friendly,” I remarked.
He dropped into a chair, face scrunching as if he smelled rotten eggs. “I’ve done a lot of work with her,” he said.
I narrowed my eyes. “What kind of work?”
“The kind that encourages compliance.” He looked briefly pained. “She’s a risky asset.”
Compliance. I shuddered. Some sort of conditioning, probably, and I had zero desire for details about how that worked. I knew Philip had some sort of military or special ops background, but I didn’t know any specifics, which was fine with me. “She’s lucky Dr. Nikas insists on the mental health breaks.”
“Her living arrangements here are comfortable, but none of the rooms have windows.” He made a face. “I’ve been crashing here since you extracted me from Saberton, but at least I get to go outside when I want. I’d go nuts if I couldn’t feel the sun on my face.”
“Then it’s a damn good thing I made you a zombie and not a vampire.”
Chapter 5
Dr. Nikas entered carrying a tray the size of a cookie sheet, with Jacques right behind him pushing a cart full of electronic doodads, wires, and I had no idea what else.
“Ah, not there, Angel,” Dr. Nikas said as he spied me in the procedure chair. “I need you and Philip much closer for this.”
“How close?” I asked, then gave Philip an exaggerated wink. “Holding hands close or spooning close?”
Philip chuckled, but Dr. Nikas had already slipped into his intense focus and completely missed my attempt at humor. “Sitting back to back will do,” he said as he set the cookie sheet down on a counter. To my dismay there wasn’t a single damn cookie on the thing. Nothing but syringes full of various colored liquids. Lots and lots of syringes. Yikes. Good thing I lost my fear of needles when I got turned.
Dr. Nikas moved to me and, without warning, firmly drew his index finger down my cheek, then stepped to Philip and did the same, this time with his middle finger. While Philip and I exchanged bemused glances, Dr. Nikas touched both fingers to his tongue, frowned, and looked off into space. Taste diagnostics, he called it, and the weird-as-hell process apparently gave him a ton of information in a few seconds. I didn’t know how it worked, but I’d seen him do it a few dozen times, and it always yielded impressive results.
Dr. Nikas muttered something then proceeded to add incomprehensible symbols to the whiteboard. Jacques brought two ordinary rolling stools into the room, and I plunked myself down on one, gave it a good spin, and pulled my feet up. Once around. Twice. Three times. The thing had smooth action. Four and slowing. I caught a glimpse of the exasperated look on Jacques face, and slammed my feet down to bring my spectacular test drive to a stop then flashed him an innocent smile. Probably better not to piss off the Needle Vampire.
Without a word, he gestured for me to sit back to back with Philip, then lowered Philip’s stool so we were closer to the same height. No way was I going to complain about having Philip as a backrest.
Once we were positioned properly, Jacques placed an IV catheter in Philip’s right arm and then another in mine, which I assumed was so all of the weird stuff on the cookie sheet could be injected. Once that was done he began attaching monitoring equipment to us: EKG pads, straps around our heads, the little finger clampy thingies that measure blood oxygen and pulse, blood pressure cuffs, and several other things with trailing wires. I had no idea what the wire-thingies measured and was more than a little afraid to ask.
Lastly, he moved over to the cart and returned with a roll of duct tape. I watched him warily. “What’s that for?” I asked.
He gave me a thin, triumphant smile as he crouched beside me, then proceeded to tape the wheels of my stool to the floor. The bastard had to have brought it in specifically for this reason.
“Aw, c’mon!” I said. “I only broke one little thingamabobby the other day.”
His face grew more grim than usual as he taped the last two wheels, but when he finished and straightened, his eyes told a different story. Large, hazel, and amazingly expressive, they’d become my best gauge for whether I’d amused him, annoyed him, or Really Pissed Him Off. Whew. I was still in the safe zone.
All the attached junk made it awkward to get comfortable while perched on a stool. I swiveled the seat a bit and shifted against Philip’s back. “It’s a good thing I like you,” I murmured to him.
“Of course you like me,” he murmured right back. “Only an idiot wouldn’t like me. I’m dangerously likable.”
I began to snicker, but some monitor beeped, and Dr. Nikas’s worried frown reminded me to behave.
After some fiddling with equipment, Dr. Nikas picked up two syringes with blue contents, passed one to Jacques, and then Dr. Nikas injected me as Jacques injected Philip. They repeated this process three more times with yellow, green, and milky pink. Finally just Philip received an injection of a colorless liquid.