by Lara Lacombe
Dinner sounded appealing. It had been too long since she’d eaten a meal with an attractive man. Even if he’d only made the offer to be polite, it would be a nice way to end the evening.
And it would give her a chance to get to know him better. He was intriguing, to say the least, and before she went out on a limb and asked him out, it would be good to know if they were compatible.
She opened her mouth to reply, but her stomach interrupted, growling loudly in the otherwise quiet car. He grinned, and she felt her face heat.
“Should I take that as a yes?”
“What did you have in mind?”
“There’s a little Mexican place a few blocks away. They make a corn enchilada that will change your life.”
Hannah couldn’t help but smile at that description. “Well, when you put it like that, how can I refuse?”
“Great!” He sounded genuinely pleased, and a warm glow spread through Hannah’s chest at the thought of spending more time with him. Apparently, he felt the same way, which likely meant he was attracted to her, too. Maybe she wasn’t as rusty at the whole dating thing as she’d thought? She fought to hide a smile. Gabby would be proud of her.
He pulled up to a small, plain white house wedged between two office buildings and scored the last parking space in the tiny lot. The smell of tortillas and spices hit her as she climbed from the car, and she inhaled appreciatively.
Owen caught her reaction and smiled. “Just wait,” he told her. “It’s even better inside.” He stretched his arms above his head and arched his back, sighing in pleasure. The movement pulled his shirt up, and Hannah caught a tantalizing glimpse of his stomach and the line of dark hair that disappeared into the waistband of his pants.
Her earlier guess had been correct—he appeared to be toned in all the right places.
He turned to face her, and she jerked her eyes up to meet his. Hopefully he hadn’t caught her ogling him!
“After you,” he said, waving her forward. She moved automatically, her brain still preoccupied as she pictured that teasing hint of his body. What would he look like without the shirt? Probably magnificent, she thought, if the preview was any indication.
She mentally shook herself, steering her thoughts onto safer ground. Yes, he was handsome, and yes, he had a nice body. But she was a grown woman, not a giggling teenager, and she needed to control herself so she didn’t end up looking like a shallow idiot at dinner.
Besides, she had all night to relive the moment. Alone, in the privacy of her apartment.
The place was busy, but they were seated quickly at a small table in the back. A cluster of votive candles bathed the tiled tabletop in a warm glow, and the circle of soft light gave the illusion that they were alone in their own private space. The overall effect was rather romantic, and a small part of Hannah wondered if Owen had considered that when making his choice. No, her practical side chimed in. He’s here for the food, not the ambience.
Still, she couldn’t help but notice how well the candlelight suited him, giving his skin a golden glow that made him look lit from within. It softened the rougher edges of his jaw and cheekbones, and he appeared relaxed. Approachable, even. A far cry from the quiet, imposing man who had visited her office yesterday.
A waiter brought glasses of water, a bowl of chips and two bowls of salsa. She smiled her thanks and was pleased to notice Owen did the same. She’d done some waitressing in high school, and to this day she was still amazed at how badly some people treated those who served food. Seeing Owen’s polite gesture was just one more confirmation that he was a nice guy.
But Jake had seemed nice at first, too.
The thought of her ex drew her up short, and she frowned. Jake had no place in her life, and she wasn’t going to let him ruin her chances at a nice dinner.
“Does anything look good?”
Pushing thoughts of Jake firmly out of her mind, Hannah glanced over the top of her menu to find Owen watching her.
“Your ringing endorsement of the corn enchiladas was pretty convincing,” she said, quickly reading the description. “I think I have to give them a try.”
Owen glanced up at the waiter. “Make that two orders, please.”
The waiter nodded, collected their menus and left. Owen leaned forward and grabbed a chip, breaking it into two pieces before dipping into the salsa.
“So tell me about yourself,” he said, popping the chip into his mouth. “Where are you from? How’d you get into chemistry?”
Hannah reached for her water and took a sip. “I’m from Fort Worth, but I moved here for college and came back after graduate school. My parents still live in Fort Worth, and I try to visit them a few times a year.”
He nodded. “And the chemistry?”
She smiled. “Is it really that strange of a career choice?”
Owen tilted his head, considering her question. “Not strange, no. But I’ve never met a chemist before. Makes me wonder how one goes about becoming one.”
She reached for a chip, dipped into the salsa and took a cautious bite. It was fresh and tangy with just the right hint of spice, and she went back for another.
“I got a chemistry set at a rather formative age,” she explained between bites. “Plus, I watched a lot of Sesame Street, and my favorite character was Beaker.”
He was quiet a moment, then his face brightened. “The little guy with red hair who always got hurt?”
She nodded. “That’s the one.”
He laughed, a rich, pleasant sound. “I remember him. Poor little guy.”
“He turned out okay in the end.”
“I suppose.” He reached for a chip of his own. “Well, with a childhood like that, I guess you had to be a chemist.”
Hannah shrugged. “Pretty much. Now it’s your turn. Why a cop?”
He chewed for a moment before responding. “My uncle,” he said finally. “He was a cop, and I thought that was the coolest thing in the world. I was always so fascinated by his utility belt—all the tools and stuff attached. It was a powerful image that stuck with me.”
She reached for a chip at the same time he did, and their hands accidentally brushed. It was nothing—a mere whisper of skin against skin—but the contact arced through her arm like lightning. She could have sworn she saw his eyes darken with heat, but it was probably just a trick of the candlelight.
“What did your parents think when you told them you wanted to become a police officer?” She had to keep him talking. It gave her something to focus on besides the butterflies in her stomach and the residual sparks tingling up her arm.
He shrugged, the movement drawing her attention to his broad shoulders. They looked even bigger now with the edges extending beyond the candlelight’s glow.
“My dad was fine with it. He knew it was something I’d always wanted to do, and I think he expected it. My mom was a tougher sell.”
“Did she think it was too dangerous?”
He nodded. “Exactly. She was convinced I was going to get killed on my first day. I think she still worries, but she’s gotten better about keeping quiet.”
The waiter returned, sliding two steaming plates on the table. He refilled the water glasses and then disappeared again.
Hannah inhaled appreciatively, the warm, tangy scent filling her nostrils and making her mouth water. “This looks amazing.”
“Tastes even better,” Owen replied. He waited while she cut a bite and kept his eyes on her face as she brought the fork to her mouth.
As soon as the food hit her tongue, she realized he hadn’t exaggerated. The enchilada was the perfect combination of sweet and spicy, and it tasted divine.
“Oh, my God,” she breathed, closing her eyes to savor the flavor. When she opened them again, she found Owen watching her, a pleased smile on his face.
&nb
sp; His expression made her catch her breath, and she had to remind herself to swallow. He seemed genuinely happy that she liked the food, and he still hadn’t taken a bite of his own dinner. It was almost as if he wanted to see to her pleasure before taking care of himself.
The ramifications of that thought hit her hard, and she felt her face heat. “Aren’t you going to eat?”
He nodded, the smile still in place. “Yep. Just wanted to make sure you like it first.”
“I do,” she said. “You were right—it’s amazing.”
They ate in silence for a moment, then Owen spoke again. “I bet your family was proud when you got the job at ChemCure.”
Hannah nodded, a little surprised by his statement. It had been a steady job, sure, but it wasn’t like she had put her life on the line every day to keep people safe.
“They were happy, yes. I think they were relieved that all the time I had spent in school had paid off.”
“I bet.”
He waited until she took another bite, then said, “And after the accident? Did they come help you out?”
Hannah chewed mechanically, the food turning to a lump in her mouth. The last thing she wanted to talk about was the accident. It had been hard enough going back to ChemCure, seeing Sandy and Marcia again. She had hoped this dinner was an indication that Owen was interested in her, but it seemed he was more interested in her connection to the chemicals found in his victims.
She swallowed, pushing her disappointment down. What did she expect? He was working a case that had few leads—of course he was going to want to question her about anything she might know.
“My parents came down for a bit to help me during my recovery,” she said neutrally. “But I’d really rather not talk about it.”
“I’m sorry,” he replied. “I know this afternoon must have been hard on you. I didn’t mean to make it worse.”
“It’s okay.” She smiled, searching for something else to say. “So how long have you and Nate been partners? He seems nice.”
It was Owen’s turn to pause. “He’s a good guy. We’ve only been working together for six months, but so far, I have no complaints.”
“Did you have another partner before him?”
Owen winced like he was in pain, but covered it by clearing his throat. “Uh, yeah. I did.”
“But something happened?” she asked quietly. It wasn’t really a question—it was clear from his reaction that the thought of his old partner bothered him.
“Yeah.” He looked down at his plate for a moment, aimlessly stirring his fork. Then he scooped up another bite and held it up in a salute. “So, best enchiladas you’ve ever had, or what?”
She heard the forced cheer in his voice, but accepted the change in topic. It seemed he had his own secrets to keep, and she could respect that.
“Most definitely.” She took her own bite, and they chewed in silence for a moment. Even though he wasn’t talking, she could tell by the set of his shoulders that Owen’s demeanor had changed. The mention of his old partner had cast a shadow over him, and she wanted to bring back his earlier ease.
Without stopping to think, she reached out and laid her hand over his. His eyes widened briefly and he stared at her hand over his, like he couldn’t believe what he was seeing.
Feeling self-conscious, Hannah started to pull away. But before she could move, he lifted his hand up and threaded his fingers through hers, linking them together and keeping her in place.
Her heartbeat picked up speed when he slid his thumb over her fingers in a gentle caress. He continued to study their hands for a moment, and she felt her eyes pulled to the sight, as well. It felt so natural, so right, to be touching him like this. Their hands fit together perfectly, as if they were designed to make this connection. His skin was warm, and she enjoyed the slide of their fingers as they explored each other’s touch.
After a few seconds, she looked up to find him watching her, a look of wonder on his face. There was a vulnerability in his eyes she’d never seen before, and she squeezed his hand, wanting him to know she was here.
He opened his mouth, but before he could speak the waiter returned, gathering their plates and clearing the table. They separated to give the man more room, and she immediately missed his touch.
“Will that be all?” the waiter asked. Owen nodded and shifted in his seat, reaching for his wallet. Hannah grabbed her bag as well, but before she could fish out her own wallet, Owen had handed the man a card.
“I didn’t mean for you to pay for me,” she said.
He waved away her objection. “It’s my pleasure. It was the least I could do—you saved me from another frozen TV dinner.”
“Well, thank you,” she said. “I do appreciate it.”
He signed the bill and looked up. “Ready?”
Was she? The meal was obviously over, but part of her wished they could stay at the table longer, to linger in the candlelight and hold hands again. It was silly, she knew, but it had been so nice to feel connected to a man again. She usually didn’t feel lonely, but sharing that moment with Owen made her realize how much she really missed touching someone.
“Let’s go,” she said, reaching for her bag as she stood. The moment between them was gone, and no amount of wishing would bring it back. Better to move forward.
They were quiet as he drove her back to Gabby’s office.
He pulled up next to her car and turned to face her. “Thanks again for your help today.”
She smiled. “No problem.”
“Let me give you my card. In case you think of anything else.” He lifted the armrest between them and pulled out a card and a pen. In an echo of Marcia’s earlier action, he wrote a number on the back. “My cell phone,” he said, offering it to her with a mildly sheepish smile. “It’s the easiest way to get in touch with me.”
“Thanks.” Hannah took it, careful to avoid touching his fingers. She didn’t need a reminder of how nice it felt, and if she made contact now, she might never get out of the car.
“I may need to get in touch with you again,” he said, stalling her exit. “Just in case I have some additional questions,” he continued.
“In that case, let me give you my personal number, as well. I’ll be out of the office all next week for spring break.” She dug through her purse, searching for a scrap of paper. Nothing but grocery receipts and gum wrappers—not the kind of thing she wanted to leave him with.
He let her struggle for a moment, then passed her his notepad and pen. She accepted with a smile, trying to ignore the fact that they were still warm from being pressed close to his body. They probably smell like him, too, she thought wryly.
She scribbled down her number quickly and passed it to him. She had to get out of the car, now, before she did something ridiculous like sniff his pen.
“Good luck with everything,” she said, climbing out of the car and into the furnace that was a Houston evening. The muggy heat helped clear her head, and she breathed deeply, pulling in the heavy air with a sense of relief.
“Take care,” Owen replied. He waited while she climbed into her own vehicle and started the engine. Only after she flipped on the lights and gave him a wave did he drive off. It was difficult to tell in the low light, but Hannah thought she saw him watching her in the rearview mirror as he pulled away.
* * *
The situation was rapidly spinning out of control.
Marcia pushed back from her desk and rubbed her eyes, too tired to care if she smeared her mascara. Besides, there was no one around to see it—everyone had left hours ago.
The detective’s visit had rattled her. On some level, she’d known the police would eventually show up, asking questions about the chemicals used at ChemCure Industries. But she hadn’t expected them to make the connection so soon. Her partners had assur
ed her the evidence had been obscured, describing their actions in nightmare-inducing detail. They’d told her it would take weeks, if not longer, for the police to realize they weren’t dealing with another garden-variety serial killer.
At least, that was how it was supposed to work.
She reached into her bag and withdrew a large bottle of antacids, shaking out several tablets. Lately, she’d been taking so many of the things that the chalky taste didn’t even register anymore. It took several swallows to get the powder down, and then she leaned back in her chair and rested her hands on her roiling belly. Think, she had to think.
Her part in this operation was simple on paper. She supplied the chemicals, and she didn’t ask questions. While she was curious to know what they were doing with the compounds, her innate self-preservation prevented her from asking for details. That didn’t stop her partners from offering them, though. Sometimes she thought they wanted to make sure she knew everything as a kind of insurance policy. That way, if things went to hell, they’d take her down with them.
No honor among thieves.
She shuddered, wondering for the millionth time how things had gotten so twisted. When her boss, Dave Carlson, had approached her three years ago with a special project, she’d jumped at the opportunity, seeing it as a means of securing her position at the company. At its heart, Big Pharma was still a good old boys’ club, and Marcia knew if she wanted to succeed, she had to find a way to break in and make friends.
At first, she didn’t really dwell on the fact he insisted she keep her work secret. Company audits usually were confidential, and since she was tasked with determining the success/fail rate of experiments, it made sense she wouldn’t talk about it. The company scientists would raise a stink about all data being useful, would say that even the experiments that didn’t yield the expected results were still meaningful. So she just assumed Dave wanted to keep things under wraps until the data was in and the project was complete. Besides, Marcia was used to keeping things close to the vest. Too many people had stolen her ideas and stepped on her neck as they climbed the corporate ladder for her to trust anyone.