The 6th Extinction by James Rollins

first three duties were already under way, allowing Painter’s team to proceed directly with their investigation.
    He knew where he wanted to start. The first responders—a U.S. Marine search-and-rescue team—had saved the life of a witness, a local park ranger who had happened to be on-site when the base exploded. Painter had heard about the firefight atop a neighboring hill, which raised a substantial mystery: Who were those hostiles and what did they have to do with what had transpired at the base?
    Only one person potentially had those answers.
    And from what Painter had heard en route—she wasn’t talking.
    10:19 P . M .
    Jenna didn’t bother to check the doorknob. She knew she was locked inside. She paced the length of the space. Judging from the chalkboard in front and the rows of seats, she figured it was a small classroom. Out the third-story window, she spotted a dark ski lift in the distance, along with a row of stables. Directly below her, an ambulance slowly sidled away from the entrance to the building.
    The departing EMS team had already seen to her injuries: wrapping her arm, suturing the small laceration across her collarbone, then finally injecting her with antibiotics. They offered to shoot her up with pain relievers, but she opted to simply pop some ibuprofen.
    Have to keep my head clear .
    But her growing anger wasn’t helping.
    Nikko, sprawled on the floor, watched her, his gaze tracking her as she stalked from one side of the classroom to the other. A bowl of water and an empty food dish rested beside him. A tray holding a cellophane-wrapped ham sandwich and a carton of milk sat on one of the desks. She ignored it, still far from having an appetite.
    She checked her watch.
    How long are they going to keep me here?
    The Marine who had rescued her—Gunnery Sergeant Samuel Drake—had told her she would be debriefed by someone from Washington. Yet it had been over an hour since she had arrived here.
    So where the hell is this guy?
    The base commander had stopped to check in on her, asking her some questions, but she had stonewalled him. She would tell her story once, but only after getting some answers first.
    A scuff and rattle drew her attention back to the door.
    Finally . . .
    She withdrew a few steps and crossed her arms, ready for a fight. The door opened, but it was not the man she had been expecting. Gunnery Sergeant Drake entered. He looked refreshed, his dark brown hair wet and combed back. He wore a loose pair of khaki trousers and a matching T-shirt that clung tightly across his chest, exposing muscular arms.
    While she wanted to be perturbed at the intrusion, she found her arms uncrossing, doing her best to look casual. She was sure she failed miserably.
    He smiled at her, which didn’t help matters.
    “Just bringing a gift from a friend,” he said, his voice a deep bass that felt warmer than before, no longer curt and hardened by the weight of command. “Thought maybe you’d be willing to share.”
    He lifted an arm to reveal a large brown paper sack, slightly damp along the bottom edge.
    “What is it?” She took a step closer, then a familiar aroma struck her.
    It can’t be .
    “Baby back ribs from Bodie Mike’s Barbecue,” he confirmed. “Also coleslaw and fries.”
    “How . . . ?” she asked, stammering in confusion.
    He grinned wider, showing perfect teeth. “We’ve got people flying back and forth between here and Mono Lake, coordinating the evacuation. It seems a friend of yours decided to send back a care package from Lee Vining before the town was evacuated. He thought you might be hungry after all of the excitement.”
    Only one person knew she was here.
    She smiled for the first time in what seemed like ages. “Bill, I could kiss you.”
    Drake’s dark eyes twinkled with amusement. “If you want, I’m sure I could relay that back to him?”
    “How about I just split the fries with you instead?” She moved to one of the desks.
    “What about the