Killer Exposure

by Lara Lacombe

  * * *

  Owen glanced at Hannah as he drove, trying not to be too obvious about it. She was quiet, so quiet he wondered if she was still functioning. Not that he would blame her if she had shut down. She’d had quite a scare tonight.

  Officer Benton had pulled him aside while Hannah had been packing. Apparently, she and her partner had just missed catching the intruder. He’d taken off as they’d entered the building, and since no one had gotten a good look at him, they didn’t have a description to use for neighborhood canvassing. He’d held his temper, knowing it wasn’t the officers’ fault that the perp had escaped.

  He was just glad Hannah was safe.

  The destruction in her apartment was overwhelming in its scope. In his experience, random burglars didn’t break into an apartment just to wreck stuff. That meant whoever had done this either knew Hannah or was trying to send her a message. But who would want to target her like that?

  And what would have happened if the police hadn’t arrived when they did?

  He shuddered at the thought. Based on the evidence, the man had been methodically working his way through the apartment, room by room. He’d started with the living room, then made it to the kitchen before heading to her bedroom. The fact that he’d left her bedroom for last was telling—perhaps he hadn’t meant to hurt her. After all, he had to know that Hannah would hear him breaking her things and try to get away.

  But there’s only one door.

  That thought gave him pause. Hannah had escaped by hiding in a closet on her balcony, a closet that wasn’t visible from the street, so the intruder had no way of knowing it was there. Because she had a third-floor apartment, the burglar had to know she couldn’t jump. As he considered all the facts, the pattern of destruction in her apartment took on a new, sinister meaning: Had the intruder deliberately started in the living room, knowing Hannah would wake and hear him? Had this all been a means of scaring her before he finally entered the bedroom to harm her?

  Owen clenched his jaw at the thought. It took a special kind of sadist to get off on causing other people fear. And based on what Officer Benton had told him, Hannah hadn’t been able to come up with any potential suspects. Of course, she was still recovering from the shock of the evening—maybe after she’d had time to think, something would jog her memory.

  He pulled into the hotel parking lot and cut the engine. “I’m going to get you set up with a room,” he said softly, so as not to startle her. “Do you want to wait in the car, or would you rather come with me?”

  Hannah’s hazel eyes were huge in her pale face. “I’d like to come with you, please.” She wrapped her arms around herself before adding quietly, “I don’t want to be alone right now.”

  His heart clenched at her admission, and he wanted nothing more than to gather her into his arms and hold her, to convince her with his body that she was safe and would stay that way. She had felt so nice in his arms as he’d carried her to her room. He actually hadn’t wanted to let her go, and would have continued holding her if he could have gotten away with it. His body agreed with him, and even now, he felt a strong urge to find out exactly how well they would fit together in other ways...

  Before he could embarrass himself, he climbed from the car and moved to the passenger door, holding it open for Hannah. She moved gingerly, as if her bones hurt. He glanced down to check her feet—had she cut herself, after all?—but it was too dark for him to tell. He offered her his arm, knowing she wouldn’t appreciate being carried into the lobby. She wrapped her hand around his biceps, gripping tightly, as if she was afraid to lose him.

  “Are you hurt?” he asked in a low voice. If she was injured, he might need to take her to a hospital rather than the hotel.

  Hannah shook her head. “I just can’t stop shaking.”

  He felt it now, the faint tremor that ran from her hand to his arm. No wonder she was moving slowly; she was probably afraid of falling over with each step. Not knowing what else to do, he covered her hand with his own. “This won’t take long. We’ll get you a room and then you can take a hot shower to try to relax.” His libido was all too happy to imagine that scenario, and he tamped down hard on his burgeoning fantasy. Now is not the time!

  Fortunately, it didn’t take long to procure a room. At this time of night, there was no line at the front desk, and the clerk worked quickly. The young man gave him a knowing smile as he passed the key across the desk, but he blinked in the face of Owen’s hard stare.

  “Uh, here’s your key, miss,” he said.

  Hannah seemed to focus on him for the first time. “Thank you,” she murmured, reaching out to accept the card.

  A few minutes later, Owen unlocked the door and carried Hannah’s bag inside. The room was spacious, with a small kitchenette, a living area and a bedroom nook taken up by a king-size bed. It wasn’t home, but it would fit the bill for a few days.

  Hannah stood just inside the doorway, still hugging herself. Owen set her bag down on the coffee table and walked back to her. “You okay?”

  She nodded jerkily. “Yes. Just...processing.”

  “It’s a lot to take in.” He reached up and brushed a stray cobweb out of her hair, a remnant of her time in the outdoor storage closet. “Want to take a shower?”

  Her breath gusted out in a sigh. “God, yes.”

  “Bathroom looks to be over there.”

  She took a step forward then stopped, her expression stricken. “You’ll be here when I get out?” Her voice was high and thin, on the edge of panic.

  “If you want me to.”

  “I do.”

  He swallowed around the sudden lump in his throat. “Then I’ll stay.”

  Hannah nodded and grabbed the bag on her way to the bathroom. The door clicked shut, and only then did Owen allow himself to sink onto the thin couch. She wants me to stay. He shook his head, recalling the expression on her face when he’d arrived at her door. She’d looked at him with such profound relief it had nearly brought him to his knees. In that moment, she had viewed him as a hero. It was such a heady sensation—he’d felt ten feet tall and bulletproof, convinced he could leap tall buildings in a single bound or fix anything that was broken with just a touch. If only that were true...

  It had been forever since anyone had seen him as a source of comfort. He’d tried to be there for John’s widow, but Casey had pushed him away. Her anger and grief had been overwhelming forces, and he’d been powerless to help her in the wake of John’s death.

  “Just go,” she’d screamed at his last visit. “You can’t give me back my husband, and that’s all I want.”

  That’s all I want, too, he’d thought. Still thought.

  To his shame, he’d left Casey alone. Even though she had made it clear she wanted nothing to do with him, he still felt like he’d abandoned her and let John down. Several times over the past few months, he’d picked up the phone to call and check on her, only to put it down again without dialing her number. What could he say? It wasn’t as if he was a shining example of coping.

  “When this is over, I’m going to call her,” he muttered. Maybe she’d hang up on him, maybe she’d scream at him again, but at least he’d know he tried.

  The sound of running water brought his thoughts back to Hannah. She was holding up well, under the circumstances. Hopefully, the hot shower would go a little way toward restoring her peace of mind. Although he hated to do it, he was going to have to ask her some tough questions when she came out. She didn’t seem like the type to make enemies, but someone was out to hurt her, and he needed to find out who.

  Before it was too late.

  Chapter 7

  Hannah stood under the hot spray, letting the water cascade down her body in warm rivulets. She was still cold, but she no longer felt frozen through. Just a few more minutes, and then she’d climb out and face Ow
en again.

  She knew he’d have questions for her, questions she couldn’t answer. Ever since Officer Benton had asked if she had any enemies, she’d been obsessing over the people she knew, trying to determine who would be capable of such violence. And more important, why they would want to hurt her.

  So far, she’d come up empty.

  She turned, letting the water hit her back. The fire had destroyed many of the nerve endings there, so she didn’t really feel the water hitting her scars. Still, old habits were hard to break.

  The small bathroom was steamy and warm when she stepped out of the shower. Moving quickly, she patted herself dry and dug lotion out of her bag. Her scars dried out easily, and if she didn’t keep them moisturized, she’d be plagued by itching. Not a distraction she needed while talking to Owen.

  Part of her still marveled at the fact that he’d come so quickly. She wasn’t his responsibility, and yet he hadn’t hesitated to answer her call for help. She knew it was his job to respond to trouble, but she’d called him on his personal phone, when he was off duty. He didn’t owe her anything, and yet he’d been there, striding into the apartment looking like a man on a mission.

  Her hands tingled with the memory of being held by his. Something about his touch had burned through the fear that had surrounded her, melting it like the sun on snow. He made her feel as if things were going to be okay, a reassurance she desperately needed right now.

  She shrugged into her robe and flipped the collar up to cover her neck, took a deep breath and entered the room on a cloud of steam. Owen turned to face her, triggering a wave of self-consciousness that made her want to squirm. She wasn’t used to having a man watch her enter a room, especially when she was fresh from a shower.

  “Feel better?” Had his voice gotten lower? Maybe it just seemed that way since she was in her pajamas and robe. There was something intimate about talking to a man in a hotel room, her hair still damp from the shower.

  “Much. Thanks.” And it was true. Even though she had never seen the intruder, having her home invaded had made her feel dirty somehow. The simple act of washing had done a lot to restore her composure.

  “Good.” He was silent a moment, then sighed before speaking again. “I have to ask you some questions. I’m sorry.”

  She shrugged. “That’s all right—I figured you would. What do you want to know?”

  He looked at her then, his eyes full of apology. “I need you to tell me about your accident at ChemCure Industries.”

  Her hand flew to her neck before she could stop it. “Why do you need to know about that?”

  “Because I think tonight’s events are connected to the explosion.”

  “I don’t see how.” Her stomach twisted, and her earlier sense of peace dissolved. Why, of all things, did he want to know about that?

  “Try to see it from my perspective,” he said, his tone gentle. “You’re a college professor who leads a quiet life. By all accounts, you have no enemies, no one who would want to hurt you. But hours after your return to ChemCure, the scene of a horrific accident in your past, an intruder breaks into your apartment and starts destroying everything you own? That’s quite a coincidence.”

  Put like that, it did seem like the two events were connected. But the accident had been so long ago—how could it be relevant today?

  “The two events don’t have to be connected,” she pointed out weakly.

  “True,” he conceded. “But let’s consider all the angles. There might be something about the accident that gives us a clue as to why you were targeted tonight. Will you tell me what happened at ChemCure? Please?”

  It was the please that broke her resistance. After all, it was the least she could do, after everything that he’d done for her tonight.

  She crossed to the sofa and sat, keeping a tight grip on the terry cloth of the robe.

  “I’d been working at ChemCure Industries for five years. It was my first job after finishing graduate school, and I enjoyed it.”

  Owen whistled softly. “You must have been good at it to be head of the lab at such a young age.”

  Pleasure bloomed in her chest, spreading tendrils of warmth through her limbs. “I did all right for myself,” she demurred.

  He chuckled. “I’m sure you did.”

  “Anyway,” she continued, “I had come back to the lab to check on something that night. I was running a timed experiment, and I needed to collect data.”

  “But you were the senior scientist,” Owen interjected. “That sounds like something a more junior team member should do.”

  “Ordinarily, yes. But this was a special experiment. I was testing the toxicity of a new compound, one we had high hopes for. I wanted to make sure everything was perfect, so I insisted on doing it myself.”

  “How did people respond to that? Was there any resentment to your taking over on that experiment? Did people feel snubbed?”

  She frowned, trying to remember. “Not that I recall. We all knew this was a big deal. If anything, the other team members were happy for me to take the lead. That way, if the drug didn’t work like we wanted, their performance wouldn’t be scrutinized.”

  “I see. Did you notice anything unusual when you came back to the lab?”

  “No. But I wasn’t really paying attention. I was focused on my experiment so I could collect the data and go home.” She shrugged. “As much as I liked my job, I still didn’t want to live in the lab.”

  He grinned. “I can understand that. Did you get your data?”

  “I don’t know. I heard a hissing sound behind me, and the next thing I remember is waking up in the hospital.” In terrible pain.

  “So the explosion was behind you?”

  “Yes.”

  “How bad were your injuries?”

  Hannah lifted one shoulder, trying to seem nonchalant. “I had third-degree burns all across my back and neck.” Unbidden, the doctor’s voice popped into her head: Miss Baker, I’m so sorry to have to tell you this...

  “But not your legs?” Owen looked confused.

  “The doctors thought the force of the explosion was at the level of my back, which is why my legs weren’t affected.” Almost complete destruction of the skin...Skin grafts are required... Physical therapy will be extensive...

  “My God,” he said softly. “That must have been incredibly painful.”

  What an understatement! The first time she’d had to undergo debridement to remove the dead skin off her back, she’d screamed until her voice had given out. She offered him a faint smile. “What doesn’t kill you and all that.”

  He studied her for a moment, his expression serious. “Was there anyone there to help you?”

  Hannah swallowed hard. “My parents came down from Fort Worth.”

  “That’s not what I meant,” he said so softly she could barely hear him.

  She dropped her head, not wanting to meet his gaze when she confessed this next part. “No. My fiancé took one look at my injuries and left. He couldn’t handle it.”

  Owen cursed, long and low. “I’m so sorry.”

  “Don’t be,” she replied, hating the sting of his pity. “I’m fine.”

  “Yes, you seem to be,” he said slowly.

  “What is that supposed to mean?”

  He spoke deliberately, as if he was choosing his words with care. “I think whoever he was, he hurt you more than you care to admit.”

  Was she that transparent? Apparently so. Her pride smarted at the news that three years after the fact, the pain caused by Jake’s abandonment was still plain for others to see.

  Hannah cleared her throat, needing to change the subject. The last thing she wanted was for Owen to start seeing her as a victim. “So how do you think the explosion is linked to the intruder?”

  He sighed
and ran a hand through his hair. “I’m not sure. Like I said, it was a hunch. Did ChemCure ever figure out what caused the explosion?”

  “Two volatile chemicals had been left next to each other on one of the countertops. It was only a matter of time before they reacted.”

  “Any idea who put them there?”

  She shook her head. “Not really. They said I must have been the one to do it, but I honestly don’t remember making that kind of mistake.”

  “Can you think back to the days before the explosion? Did anyone seem angry with you, or was anyone acting strangely?”

  She’d asked herself that very question hundreds of times. “No, not really. Nothing stands out to me as being odd—everything was business as usual. That’s what makes it so frustrating.” She stood and began to pace, needing to move, to release the tension that had been building ever since Owen had asked her to talk about the accident. “I’ve tried so hard to find a reason for why this happened to me but I can’t. As hard as it is for me to say it, I think it really was just a random accident, and I was in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

  “And that bothers you?”

  “Hell, yes! Do you have any idea how frustrating it is to have your life turned completely upside down with no warning or explanation? To wake up one morning to find that life as you know it is over, and your new reality involves pain like you’ve never imagined it? Of course I want to know why it happened!” She stopped, feeling strangely empty after the outburst. “But life isn’t like that.”

  “No, it’s not.” Owen rose to his feet and moved until he was standing in front of her. Hannah kept her gaze on his chest, not wanting to meet his eyes and see the pity she was sure would be there. She probably sounded crazy to him. A deranged, bitter woman railing against life and looking for someone to blame for her troubles. Way to make an impression, she thought sadly.

  “Believe it or not, I do have some idea of what you’re talking about,” he said softly. His breath was a warm caress across her face, and she closed her eyes, savoring the sensation. It might be the last time a man got so close to her, and she wanted to remember every second of it.