Heroic Measures (continued)

He heard Isabel follow close behind.

“Nice dinner last night?” she asked, sounding both curious and slightly piqued.

Walter slowed, frowning.

What had they not invited her along? Where had she gone after they had returned to the institute? She had not accompanied them to Zing’s lab, disappearing somewhere along the way. Why had they not noticed?

“Yeah,” he replied, tried to sound noncommittal despite the hollow feeling of guilt in his stomach. “Mediterranean place. It was okay.”

Isabel was silent behind him. Walter could imagine her nodding at his response.

“Do anything interesting afterward?”

Points on the center of Walter’s cheeks burned.

“Not really,” he managed to say, although his voice cracked on the last syllable. “We just went home.”

“Alone?”

“Yes!”

Isabel snickered and Walter stopped, turning around to fix her with an angry glare. She met it almost defiantly.

“Just asking . . .” she said in a tone too sweet to be sincere.

Breathing out an irritated sigh, Walter spun away and continued walking toward the lab. It was not until later that he realized that it was several seconds before Isabel’s footsteps caught up with his own.

#

When they reached the lab, they saw no immediate sign of Dr. Zing. Nor was there any evidence that either Red or Vivian had been there. Of course, unless the one of them had bothered to leave a written note, that would have been difficult to determine in any case.

“Would it hurt him to put up a “Will Return At” sign?” Walter murmured.

This earned him a barely stifled giggle from Isabel. Despite his earlier annoyance, it brightened his disposition toward her.

They turned together to leave the lab, almost literally running into Red as he entered. He did not look as if he had slept well. The dark smudges under his eyes spoke of insomnia rather than an evening spent in late-night revelry.

He gave Walter a weak smile, almost as if he were in pain. “Walt.” Glancing at Isabel, he acknowledged her coolly, “Isabel.”

She seemed unperturbed by his chilly reception, flashing him a bright smile of greeting.

Red paused in the door, surveying the interior of the lab over Walter’s shoulder. “I’m guessing good ol’ Dr. Zing isn’t here?”

Walter shook his head. “He’s not in his office either,” he reported. “Or at least wasn’t when we were there a few minutes ago.”

Red began to roll his eyes and then winced slightly.

“Are you okay?” Walter asked him. His voice hung heavy with concern.

“Yeah,” Red replied, somewhat unconvincingly. “Rough night.”

The complete lack of any smile to accompany the remark told Walter that, whatever it was that afflicted his friend, it was probably not related to night-long fun and games.

Did he go out on patrol after we left the restaurant? Walter wondered. That might explain it.

Isabel reached for Red’s wrist. Red pulled it away.

“I’m fine,” he insisted, but his lack of sharp annoyance toward Isabel told Walter that it was untrue.

“You can either let me check,” Isabel explained calmly. “Or you can let Dr. Hansen do it.”

Red met Isabel’s gaze with a flat, irritated stare. Finally, he thrust out his forearm and she took it, wrapping her fingers around his wrist so that she could measure out his pulse.