Killer Exposure

by Lara Lacombe

  But as time went on, she realized Dave insisted on secrecy because the project she was working on was outside the bounds of the company. While ChemCure Industries was trying to modify the nitrogen mustard compounds to make more effective drugs, Dave was only interested in the data from the failed experiments, the modifications that had increased the toxicity of the chemicals. She wasn’t working on an internal audit to track company efficacy—she was compiling data that would allow someone to create highly destructive compounds.

  But why?

  She’d made the mistake of asking that very question. That night, the lab had exploded in a fiery blast of glass and metal and toxic fumes. She’d arrived at work the next morning to find a piece of shrapnel in her desk chair, with a note taped to the twisted metal.

  Curiosity killed the cat. Do you want to be next?

  Since then, Marcia hadn’t had the guts to say no. Anything Dave asked for, she did, knowing that at any moment, he might decide she was no longer an asset to his “project.” Fear was her constant companion, hanging around her neck like an invisible anvil. And while she was almost positive Hannah Baker had been collateral damage, Marcia knew if she asked, it would not end well for her. If Dave had no problem destroying the life of an innocent employee—what would he do to her?

  She reached for her phone, gripping it hard to counteract the shaking of her hands. Her breaths were shallow as she waited for him to pick up. How would he respond to this development? Would he blame her?

  “What?” He sounded impatient, and her stomach clenched in reflex.

  “The police were here tonight asking questions about the nitrogen mustard compounds.”

  He was quiet for a moment, the silence heavy. “And how did you respond?”

  “I denied any involvement and offered to assist in any way I could.”

  Dave didn’t respond, and a flicker of fear danced across her skin. Had she done the wrong thing?

  “That’s good,” he said finally. “Did they buy it?”

  Marcia swallowed. “I think so. I tossed in a little flirting as well, which the detective seemed to enjoy.”

  “I’m sure he did.” Dave’s voice was smug and knowing, and Marcia felt her cheeks heat. “What is his name?”

  “Owen Randall.” She paused, unsure if she should reveal Hannah’s presence, as well. Would Dave target her if he knew she was involved?

  “Anyone else?” Dave asked.

  In the end, self-preservation won. “Hannah Baker,” she said, pushing aside the flare of guilt that accompanied her words.

  “The same Hannah Baker that was injured three years ago?” he asked sharply.

  “Yes.” Marcia closed her eyes, knowing she was trapped.

  “What does she know?” he demanded.

  “I’m not sure. She didn’t talk.”

  “But she was with the police,” he mused. “Which means she knows something.”

  “I suppose.”

  “Very well.” The words were crisp and clear, and she knew he had arrived at some sort of decision. “These complications will be dealt with. If this detective contacts you again, continue to distract him.”

  “And Hannah?” Dread settled over her, pushing her down into the chair with a relentless weight.

  “I thought you didn’t like to know the details,” he taunted.

  “I don’t.”

  “Has that changed?”

  She sighed. “No,” she said quietly.

  “Then don’t ask.”

  He hung up, and Marcia lowered the phone to her desk. She was tired, so tired. And while she hated that the handsome detective and Hannah were now targets, she couldn’t help but feel a small sense of relief.

  Better them than me.

  Chapter 5

  Hannah stepped out of the shower to hear her phone ringing. The catchy jingle told her it was Gabby calling, and for the first time in a long time she decided not to answer. Gabby would want to know how the trip to ChemCure Industries had gone, and if she and Owen had found out anything to help the case. She’d also ask if anything had happened on a personal level, and that was a question Hannah wasn’t ready to hear.

  Especially because she didn’t know how to answer it.

  She ran a comb through her wet hair, working out the tangles as she thought. She couldn’t deny she was drawn to Owen, but she didn’t know what to make of her attraction. It had been years since she’d noticed a man in that way, and the fact that she was feeling this way now was a little unsettling. Things had been so much simpler before her accident—she’d gone on dates and even thought she’d found “the one.” She had viewed men as interesting and entertaining companions, not people to shy away from out of fear and insecurity.

  But the accident had destroyed more than the skin of her back. It had wrecked her confidence, as well. The cosmetic damage was bad enough, but in the wake of the explosion, she had questioned her actions in the lab that day, replaying her motions in an endless loop until she thought she’d go crazy. Had she left the chemicals out? Was the explosion her fault? She was normally so careful, so safety conscious. Never before had she made a mistake of that magnitude, but anything was possible.

  ChemCure Industries hadn’t helped. While they didn’t blame her outright, the company made it clear they thought she was at fault. The added burden of their conviction made Hannah even more unsure. Although she knew better than to leave such volatile chemicals next to each other, she couldn’t very well blame her coworkers when everyone was pointing the finger at her. And maybe they were right. The doctors said that short-term memory loss was common following a concussive injury. It was possible Hannah had left the chemicals out and had forgotten about it due to the explosion. It was a reasonable explanation, but deep in her gut, Hannah didn’t fully believe it.

  Still, it had taken a long time to get to a place where she no longer second-guessed her every move. She had thought those days were behind her, until she met Owen. He stirred up feelings in her that had long been dormant, and Hannah’s nice, orderly world was once again in disarray. She felt as if she was standing on the deck of a ship, tossing and turning in the middle of a storm.

  She wasn’t going to bother pretending she wasn’t attracted to him. But what she couldn’t figure out, what had her on edge and feeling jumpy, was if Owen felt an attraction to her, as well.

  He was friendly enough. His earlier gruff manner had thawed as they’d spent more time together, and his flashes of humor had left her feeling warm, as if she’d been standing in the summer sun. And then there was the dinner they had shared, and that loaded moment when they’d held hands. Those hadn’t been the actions of a man who was only interested in his case.

  Part of her wanted to throw caution to the wind. But while the thought of being so bold was tempting, fear kept her from acting. The fear of rejection. Or worse, the fear of delayed rejection. What if he did say yes but pushed her away after seeing her scars? No matter how strong she felt, no matter how tough she tried to be, Jake the Snake’s retreat in the wake of her injuries had hurt her badly, and she didn’t want to go through the experience again. After all, Jake had been her fiancé, the man who was prepared to stand in front of people and pledge his life to her. If he was so willing to walk away, what would stop Owen from doing the same?

  Hannah crawled into bed, determined to stop thinking about bad memories and hypothetical scenarios. She ran her fingertips over the glass phoenix sculpture on her bedside table, drawing comfort from the cool, smooth figure. It had been her grandmother’s, and she’d given it to Hannah soon after the accident.

  “You’ll rise again, my dear. This is just a temporary setback.”

  Years later, her grandmother’s words still soothed her. As a child, Hannah had spent many hours gazing at the figurine and its swirls of red, orange and yellow gla
ss. She couldn’t count the number of times she’d begged to hear the story of the phoenix, that magical bird who rose anew from its ashes. It was a fascinating tale, one that held even more meaning for her now. And while she tried every day to put the explosion behind her, she could never truly forget it or the damage it had caused.

  Maybe her attraction to Owen was a good thing, she reasoned. A sign she was really moving forward, heading toward the day when she could open herself up to the thrilling vulnerability of a relationship. Perhaps this crush was a way of taking those first tentative steps back into a full life again.

  So why not ask Owen on a date? There was no law that said she had to show him her scars just because they shared a meal. She eyed his business card on her bedside table. Should she call him now? Or was it better to wait? After all, she didn’t want to seem too desperate...

  A glance at the clock made her decision. It was too late to call, and besides, waiting a few days was probably for the best. It would give her time to figure out what to say. Gabby would probably be all too happy to offer suggestions, and Hannah knew her friend would be thrilled to hear she was taking the plunge.

  Hannah turned off the lamp on her bedside table and snuggled under the covers, smiling to herself. Tomorrow, she’d call Gabby and share her decision. Maybe they could take an afternoon and go shopping for date clothes—it would be great to have a girls’ outing, especially for such a special occasion. She drifted off to sleep, enjoying the pleasant thrums of anticipation at the thought of what tomorrow would bring.

  * * *

  It was the sound that woke her. A faint, insistent scratching at her door. Hannah lay in bed for a moment, focusing on the noise. Was it just a tree branch outside her window? Or something more sinister?

  She heard the unmistakable click of her dead bolt turning, and her breath froze in her chest. Someone was breaking into her apartment!

  The door opened slowly, the squeaky hinge letting out a long whine of protest. She’d been meaning to oil it for months, but now she was grateful for the noise. Her heart began to gallop out a pounding rhythm, making it hard to hear over the rush of blood in her ears. Where was the intruder? Was he going to come closer, or just grab her TV and run?

  A loud crash broke the silence of her apartment, and she strained to hear over the noise. Would the intruder run now that his presence was known?

  But no. Whoever was in her apartment, they seemed to be hell-bent on destroying her things. She heard the bangs and thuds of furniture being turned over and the splintering of wood. She held her breath, not really trusting her own ears. Who was doing this? And why?

  She churned her legs frantically, kicking the covers off so she could roll out of bed. Her feet hit the floor and her knees nearly buckled, but she grasped the bedside table for support. Now was not the time to fall apart!

  With shaking fingers, she grabbed her cell phone. Something white fluttered to the floor, and she reflexively picked it up as she moved to the sliding glass door in her room. It opened onto a balcony, and while three stories up was too high for her to jump, there was a small storage closet tucked to the side. The door was flush with the wall and not easily seen, and she headed for it now, knowing it was her only chance.

  Heavy footsteps on the wooden floor of the hallway made the bed shake. He was coming closer—she couldn’t stay here any longer.

  Hannah pushed open the door, holding her breath as it slid along its tracks. Please don’t make noise! If the intruder heard her, he would know in an instant where she had gone. She knew it was only a matter of time until he found her—her apartment wasn’t very big, and only had one entrance—but if she could stay hidden long enough, the police might arrive before he got to her.

  She slipped through the opening and into the warm night air, forcing herself to slowly close the door behind her. It wouldn’t do to leave a calling card directing him to her hiding place. She took a few quick steps and flung open the door to the storage closet, hesitating only a second before climbing inside. She hunkered down into the corner, trying hard to ignore the cobwebs and the millions of imagined bugs keeping her company.

  Her phone screen was bright in the inky blackness of the closet. Would the light shine through the cracks around the door? She pressed the phone to her ear, hopefully dimming the glow.

  “Nine-one-one, what is your emergency?”

  “Someone has broken into my apartment,” Hannah whispered.

  “What is your address?”

  Hannah rattled it off, keeping her eyes on the door and straining to hear. Was the intruder in her bedroom? Was he coming closer to the glass doors?

  “Where are you now, ma’am?”

  “I’m in a storage closet on my balcony. Please come quickly—I don’t know how long it will take for him to find me.”

  “Police are on the way. Please stay on the line.”

  Hannah nodded, then remembered the operator couldn’t see her. “Okay,” she said, her voice shaky with fear and stress.

  Gradually, she became aware of something pressing into the skin of her hand. She opened her fist to find the white paper she’d picked up on her way out of the bedroom. It was Owen’s business card, now crumpled, the numbers he’d written on the back smeared with her sweat.

  But still legible.

  Moving on instinct, she accessed her text messages while keeping the operator on the line. There wasn’t much time, and she didn’t want to keep the phone away from her ear for longer than necessary. Even as she typed, she wasn’t sure what she expected Owen to do. It wasn’t as if he could ride to her rescue and banish the bad guy. But knowing he was there made her feel a little safer, something she wasn’t going to question right now.

  She pressed Send and settled back to wait, trying to focus on the steady stream of reassurances coming from the operator. The woman was so calm, so confident the police would arrive in time.

  Hannah hoped she was right.

  * * *

  Owen had given up trying to sleep hours ago. What was the point? His brain wouldn’t turn off, and he’d rather work than lie in bed and stare at the ceiling.

  He’d chatted with Nate on the way home from the ME’s office. Nate’s initial interviews at the Thomas Street clinic hadn’t turned up much, but that wasn’t surprising. With over fifty employees, it was going to take time to question everyone.

  “The culprit might not even be an employee,” he’d said to Nate. “It could be a fellow patient.”

  “God,” Nate groaned. “That’s just what we need. Talk about searching for a needle in a haystack.”

  “I know,” Owen replied. “But first things first. Let’s clear the employees before we start eyeing the patients.”

  “Sounds good.”

  Owen had told Nate about Marcia’s behavior and was gratified to hear his partner agreed that something was going on.

  “But it might not be what we think—she could be hiding some other problem, like a stack of unpaid parking tickets,” he’d suggested.

  Owen hadn’t considered that, and felt a surge of annoyance at having missed the possibility. “True. We can run a search on her tomorrow.”

  He’d arrived home and tried to zone out by watching the Astros game on TV. But no matter what he did, he couldn’t stop thinking about the case. He was missing something, he was sure of it. But what?

  He knew from experience that if he kept going over the facts he already had, he’d eventually see them in a different way. Something would click, and all the pieces would fall into place. But until he got to that point, he had to keep turning them over and over, examining each piece of information from all angles.

  Times like this made him miss John even more than usual. His old partner had been a master at seeing patterns in a collection of disjointed facts. What he wouldn’t give to talk to him about this case!
>
  And, if he was really being honest with himself, he wished he could talk to John about Hannah Baker, as well.

  There was just something about her, something that called to him. She seemed so fragile, but he’d seen the determination in her eyes today at ChemCure Industries. She hadn’t hesitated to go back to the scene of what must have been a horrible accident, and he respected the hell out of her for it. Not many people would have been willing to dredge up painful memories to help someone they barely knew, but she’d done it. That simple act alone made him want to get to know her better.

  He’d asked her to dinner on an impulse. Given how upset she’d been after the company visit, he’d half-expected her to refuse. But he was glad she hadn’t.

  He had really enjoyed sitting across from her, watching her reaction to the food. The way she’d closed her eyes and moaned a little after the first bite had been sexy as hell, even more so because she had no idea she’d done it.

  In fact, he’d be willing to bet Hannah Baker had no idea how attractive she was.

  Her accident probably had something to do with that, he mused. Even though she hadn’t wanted to talk about it, he’d pieced together enough to know that she had been hurt badly. He couldn’t tell if the injuries still caused her physical pain, but it was clear they affected her emotionally.

  Of course, he knew all about that kind of suffering.

  He flexed his hand, still feeling the echo of her touch. She hadn’t hesitated to reach out and offer him comfort, something he hadn’t expected. Normally, he kept his emotions bottled up, and on the rare occasions he let anything slip, he was quick to cover it up or pretend like it hadn’t happened. But Hannah hadn’t let him hide. She’d acknowledged the moment without making a big deal out of it, something he appreciated.

  Her hand had been so small in his, but it had fit perfectly, as if it belonged there. It would be easy, too easy, to get wrapped up in this woman. To tease apart her defenses and learn her secrets. To share his own.