The Last Hour (Thompson Sisters) by Sheehan-Miles, Charles (reading well .txt) 📕

up at me as I walked toward the seat and said, “Good lord, you must be seven feet tall.”

One of the two women across the table from him, a short redhead with an unnaturally snub nose, said in a sharp voice to the balding one, “Best watch it, Renfield, you don’t want to end up with another sexual harassment case.”

He waved a hand in a scoffing manner and said, “That was blown all out of proportion.” Then he turned to me and held out a hand. “Doctor Warren Renfield. Also a microbiologist.”

I took his hand and smiled. He held on considerably longer than was appropriate, and it made my skin crawl.

The redhead said, “I’m Lila Renfield. I’m an epidemiologist and this reprobate’s wife, though that may not last if he ever holds your hand that long again.”

Lori, to my right, said, “Don’t listen to them, Carrie. They constantly fight about everything. It’s really very tiresome.”

The final two at the table were introduced. To Lila Renfield’s right was Han Zheng, an epidemiologist, and to her left was Karina Harris, another microbiologist. I was at least somewhat familiar with the work of everyone at that table: all of them had published on the growing MRSA threat, and all of them had substantial research to their credit.

“Perhaps we can get started,” Doctor Moore said. “If all of you are finished socializing.”

Lori said, “Richard, it’s hardly socializing to welcome a new member to the team. Especially someone with such an unusual specialty.”

Richard raised his eyes. “You’re all familiar with Doctor Thompson’s work?”

Everyone at the table nodded. And I’ll admit, I was intimidated. This wasn’t a group of graduate students playing around in a lab in Central Texas. This was the primary team working on MRSA at one of the nation’s premier medical research labs.

Zheng, one of the two epidemiologists at the table, said, “I’m quite familiar with your conclusions, Doctor Thompson, but I’m afraid I’m doubtful.”

“Carrie, please,” I said. “And ... why?”

“First of all, I’m curious what led you to believe that the cats were transmitting the pathogens in the first place.”

I sat back in my seat. “Initially it was just curiosity. We were looking into the dislocation of habitats in the Sierra Nevada, and trying to track the mountain lions to figure out where they were settling. And it turned out they were moving not far off from major highways, going east, which in some cases brought them into contact with major population centers.”

“Aren’t mountain lions solitary animals?”

“They are. This was an overall population study.”

“I see. So it’s ... correlation. You observed outbreaks of community acquired MRSA at the starting point and end points of your lion’s migration paths?”

I shook my head. “No. The evidence is pretty definitive. Doctor Beckley’s work was what made that possible, actually ... the strain she studied from the recalled meat in New York last year had the same mutations as the Sierra Nevada strain we were looking at. So last summer we went hunting some of the animals we’d already placed tracking devices on, and found the same strain living symbiotically in their fur. One of the lions actually got an infection and was dying by the time we got to her. The research will be published next month.”

“Oh, I see,” Zheng said. “I’m intrigued. And you were one of the authors of the paper?”

Moore interjected, “She was the primary author.”

 Zheng raised his eyebrows. “I’m impressed.”

From there, the conversation veered off of me and my research, for the time being. The Renfields, Lila and Warren, bickered for nearly thirty minutes about the significance of variations of MRSA found in Atlanta area hospitals versus Chicago, and my eyes were starting to glaze over by the time Moore shifted the conversation. Finally, after nearly three hours, Moore broke up the meeting. It was well after two in the afternoon by that time, and I was getting so hungry I was lightheaded.

As I stepped away from the table, Lori Beckley said to me, “If you aren’t busy this evening, why don’t you join me for a drink? It’s always good to have an ally in this bunch.” Her eyes swept across the other members of the team as she said the words.

Ray had already told me he was expecting to be on duty all night, so it was easy to answer, “Sure, I’d like that.”

Four hours later, the two of us were sitting down for drinks at Rock Bottom in Bethesda, and she said, “I’ll be honest with you. When you first walked in ... twenty something, tall, beautiful ... I misjudged you.”

“Really?” I asked, half sarcastically.

She smirked. “Moore has an unfortunate history of ... touching inappropriately. Though as far as I know it hasn’t happened in a long time. But he sees himself as a dashing celebrity in the world of epidemiology.”

“Is there such a thing?” I asked, incredulously.

She chuckled, her laugh a low, catlike purr.

“Touché,” she responded. “In any event ... I was afraid that you were brought on the team as um ... eye candy. I apologize.”

I smiled bitterly. “I’ve been accused of that before.”

“Well, you certainly fended that off. I enjoyed your tangle with Zheng.”

“I didn’t expect it to be quite so ... combative.”

“That’s the culture Moore fosters. He believes competition brings out the best in all of us.”

“Sometimes it brings out the worst,” I replied. At that point the waitress arrived, and we ordered our drinks, a gin and tonic for me, and something disgustingly sweet for her.

She told me a little bit about her own history with the team. She’d been at NIH for nine years, working on antibiotic resistant strains the entire time.

“You enjoy the work?” I asked.

“I do. Though for the last two years it’s more paperwork than anything. I’m coordinating large grants at half a dozen institutions, and I don’t get to do much real science any more. I envy you with your story of going out and tagging mountain lions.”

“And are you married? Kids?”

She shook her head, giving me a