Van de Vliet went down the hall and then through the heavy steel air lock and into the laboratory.
"Deb, can I have a word with you?" He motioned for her to follow him to the computer cubicle in the back, past the head‑high racks of solvent vials and the giant autoclave.
"Is she going to be okay?" Debra asked.
"I think so. It's in her interest that we keep her here and away from a hospital. Gunshot wounds raise a lot of questions. I seriously doubt that that pistol was licensed in her name, given how little she seemed to know about its operation." He settled into a chair and began stroking his brow. "Did you manage to take care of that matter with Alexa Hampton?"
She nodded. "You know, she's not yet entirely with the program."
"Yes, but she will be. Putting her mother in the clinical trials was probably crucial." He grimaced. "God, what a nightmare. A medical experiment that got away from us has turned into guns and virtual kidnapping and God knows what manner of felonies. If this thing gets completely off the track, we could all go to prison. But the real tragedy is that all the successful research we've done here will be buried in infamy."
"It's not going to turn out that way. The results here have been so spectacular." She was gazing at him with eyes that seemed too worshipful. More and more, she made him self‑conscious. She needed a father, but he did not need a daughter. He still lived on the memory of Camille.
"This has all got to be resolved soon, Deb. There's a reporter who found out that we had to drop a patient from the program—which would be Kristen—and W.B. thinks he's a little too close for comfort. Now Kristen's mother shows up. It's all starting to unravel."
"Don't worry," she said, getting up. "This Hampton woman is going to be back today. So I've got to get started on her blood."