Killer Exposure

by Lara Lacombe

  “You do?” Was that her voice, sounding breathy and low? She’d never spoken like that in her life, didn’t even know she could.

  “I do. And let me tell you—” Was he getting closer? She felt warmer, as if she had stepped out of the shade and into the sun. “You are one hell of a woman, Hannah Baker.”

  That made her eyes fly open, and she looked up, certain he’d be smirking down at her. But he wasn’t. His expression was serious, his deep blue eyes filled with an intense emotion she couldn’t name. Was it longing? Surely not. She was probably just imagining it, projecting her own desires onto him.

  Her doubt must have shown on her face. He chuckled softly. “Don’t believe me? What am I going to have to do to prove it to you?”

  Before she could gather a response, he lowered his head and pressed his lips to hers.

  Hannah stiffened, the contact arcing through her like a bolt of electricity. His kiss was soft and gentle, his lips gliding across hers in a sweet exploration that had her wanting more. But she didn’t know how to respond. Shock froze her muscles and shorted out her brain, and it was all she could do to remember to breathe.

  Owen drew back a little, and she immediately missed the feel of his mouth on hers. “I’d really like to keep kissing you,” he murmured. “But only if you want this as much as I do.”

  His words broke her paralysis, and Hannah lifted her hands to cup his head. She didn’t know what to say, and her brain wasn’t helping her come up with some clever response. Instead, she rose to her tiptoes and captured his bottom lip between her own. It was warm and wet, and he hummed appreciatively when she slid the tip of her tongue along the slick surface.

  She wasn’t aware of his arms banding around her until she was pressed up against his chest, her breasts pinned against his muscles. The contact thrummed through her, and she felt her limbs go warm and soft as he continued kissing her, continued exploring her mouth and caressing her body.

  The knot of her robe dug into her stomach, an annoying obstacle that prevented her from fully connecting with Owen. She released his head to tug at the belt with short, desperate pulls until the fabric parted. She pressed against him with a sigh, enjoying the feel of his flat, hard torso against her body. He felt so perfect, so right.

  Owen took full advantage of the access her open robe granted. He ran his hands inside the robe and tugged up her nightshirt until his fingertips caressed the skin underneath. An effervescent tingling spread through her in the aftermath of his touch, making her shiver.

  Through it all, he kissed her. Gentle, teasing, demanding—his kisses captivated her, made her forget about ChemCure Industries, the intruder, everything. Her whole awareness shrank to this room, this moment. This man.

  Slowly, so slowly, his hands left her waist and circled round to her back. His touch was questioning, tentative, as if he was asking permission before crossing a border. Hannah sucked in a breath, a black swirl of uncertainty entering the kaleidoscope of sensations surrounding her. This was the moment of truth. What if he felt her scars and was repulsed? Could she handle that rejection, after everything else that had happened tonight?

  He traced one fingertip down her side, trailing along the ridge that demarcated the healthy skin of her side from the scar tissue that covered her back. She went still, suddenly feeling like a rabbit caught out in the open.

  Owen drew back slightly, just enough to free his mouth from hers. “You are so beautiful,” he whispered. His lips were warm against her brows, her cheeks, her chin. “Just lovely,” he murmured, working down the front of her neck.

  His words unlocked emotions she couldn’t name. Jake had never tried to make her feel special, never been so patient with her. He hadn’t been a bad guy, but it wasn’t in his nature to go slow, to make sure she was enjoying herself as much as he was. With Owen, it was different. He made her feel as if she was the only woman in the world. Like she was cherished.

  Warmth rose in her chest, flowing out into her arms and legs with every beat of her heart. With it came a powerful urge to give back, to make Owen feel as appreciated as she did in this moment.

  She lowered her hands until she found his, still hovering at her sides, waiting for permission to touch her. With careful deliberation, she placed her hands over his, guiding his palms until they pressed flat against her lower back. He froze, his mouth on her neck. Then the breath gusted out of him on a long sigh.

  “Hannah,” he said softly.

  She kept her eyes closed, focusing on the contact of his body against hers. What was he thinking? Was he turned off by the unnatural feel of her scars? Or was he so aroused he didn’t even notice? It was hard to ignore the evidence of his desire pressing against her belly. Perhaps he was too preoccupied to register anything else.

  After a few endless seconds, his hands began to roam, moving up and down her back with exquisite gentleness. She released the breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding in a shuddering sigh, then tilted her face up to find his lips again.

  Owen continued his exploration while he kissed her, his touch both inquisitive and playful at the same time. Hannah smiled against his mouth, reveling in the joy of this moment. Before, she’d always felt as if her scars would be a huge turnoff, that no one would ever want her again. But Owen was quickly disproving that theory, and she’d never been so happy to be wrong.

  He pulled back again to look at her, his lids heavy with arousal. “Hannah—” he began, then broke off quickly, an almost comic expression of disbelief taking over his features. “You’ve got to be kidding me,” he murmured, reaching into his pocket and withdrawing his phone.

  “Randall,” he said sharply. His eyes widened, and he glanced at her before he moved a few steps away.

  His abrupt change in demeanor left Hannah feeling exposed. Moving quickly, she tugged her nightshirt down and pulled the fabric of her robe together, knotting the belt tight with fumbling fingers.

  Owen turned back to face her, shoving the phone into his pocket. His brows drew together when he saw she had put herself back together. “That was my partner, Nate. You met him yesterday.”

  Hannah nodded. “Is everything okay?”

  “No.” He ran a hand through his hair. “Another body has washed up. I have to go work the scene.”

  “I understand.” She swallowed hard and offered him a faint smile.

  He studied her for a moment, his eyes growing warm. “I’m sorry to have to leave you,” he said, his voice dropping as he moved closer. “Believe me, I would much rather finish what we started.”

  Hannah felt her face heat and fought the urge to squirm under his scrutiny. “Some—some other time,” she managed to say.

  A slow, lazy grin stretched across his face. “You can count on it.” He was right in front of her now, invading her space, leaving her nowhere to hide. Before she could respond, he bent and pressed a swift, searing kiss to her mouth. Then he pulled back, keeping his eyes locked on hers.

  “This isn’t over, Hannah. Don’t try to run from me. From this.”

  She nodded, not trusting her voice. Was he in her head? How did he know her insecurities came rushing back the second he stopped touching her?

  “I’ll call you later. Try to get some sleep—you’ll be safe here. I’ll phone in and have an officer sit in the parking lot, just to make sure.”

  “Thank you,” she said. She stood and walked him to the door. “Please be careful,” she blurted out. Maybe the events of the evening had made her jumpy, but the thought of Owen attending a crime scene in the middle of the night made her nervous.

  He gave her another heart-melting grin. “Don’t worry. Nate will protect me.” He stepped outside, stopping on the threshold to turn back. “I want to hear you lock up.”

  She snorted. “After tonight’s events, I’m not likely to forget.”

  “Humor me.
I’ll feel better.”

  “Well, when you put it that way...” He winked at her as she shut the door, making her heart jump in response. She turned the dead bolt and swung the privacy bar into place, trying to be extra loud so he would be sure to hear. Then she turned around and pressed her back to the door, sliding slowly down until her butt hit the floor.

  Wow. Just wow. Her head was still spinning at tonight’s turn of events. She’d gone from one emotional extreme to another in the space of a few hours, and she was left feeling uncertain and out of sorts. It was a sensation that was uncomfortably close to the way she’d felt in the aftermath of her accident, when she’d woken in the hospital with no knowledge of where she was or what had happened.

  It was enough to make her want to hop in the car and drive, to leave the confusion and emotion and arousal and sheer terror of the night behind. She would have, too, had Owen’s voice not been in her head. He had gotten under her skin, and although their future was still a big question mark, her curiosity insisted she stick around and discover how things played out.

  She raised her fingers to her still-swollen lips, marveling at the memory of his kisses. Her slumbering libido, which had been dormant for so long Hannah had assumed it was in permanent hibernation, was now fully awake and cheering for more. And there would be more, if Owen’s dark promise was any indication.

  Goose bumps of anticipation rose along her skin, and Hannah rubbed her hands up and down her arms to dispel the chilly tingle. She rose to her feet and walked the few steps to the bed, drawing back the covers to slide inside. She still felt too keyed up to sleep, but at least now it was memories of Owen keeping her awake rather than the faceless intruder.

  * * *

  Marcia fumbled for her phone, one eye on the alarm clock on her bedside table. It took her a second to shake off sleep and register the glowing red numbers: 3:00 a.m. Nothing good ever happened at three in the morning.

  She cleared her throat, trying to sound more awake than she was. “Yes?”

  “We’ve entered into phase two of the program. The first patient was discarded tonight.”

  “Why are you telling me this?” she demanded, hoping Dave mistook her shaky voice as annoyance rather than nerves.

  “You need to distract the detective. Point him in the wrong direction.”

  “What do you want me to say?” Better to get it verbatim from the source so she couldn’t be accused of making a mistake later.

  “Be creative. I’m sure you’ll come up with something.”

  She sighed, trying to keep the disappointment out of her voice. “Very well. I’ll call him in the morning.”

  “Good. And one more thing.”

  “Yes?”

  “The woman. Hannah Baker.”

  Nausea coiled in her stomach like a writhing snake. “What about her?”

  “She managed to evade our first attempt. Make sure she doesn’t escape a second time.”

  “But what am I supposed to—” The steady drone of a dial tone interrupted her, the sound loud in her ear.

  Marcia slammed the phone down and leaned back against her pillow, her breaths coming shallow and fast. Why did they keep calling her when things went wrong? What the hell did they think she could do about it? She was a corporate shark, not a criminal mastermind!

  She flipped on the light, knowing she was done sleeping for the night. She had to come up with some way to distract the detective, a task that wasn’t as easy as it sounded. If she came on too strong, it would rouse his suspicions. If she was too subtle about it, he wouldn’t notice her at all. She had to strike just the right balance, like an acrobat walking a tightrope.

  And if that wasn’t difficult enough, she was now expected to ensure Hannah Baker stayed in one place long enough to be “dealt with,” whatever that meant. A chill danced across her skin as the implication of those two seemingly innocent words sank in. Poor Hannah. Hadn’t the woman been through enough already?

  I could warn her, she thought wildly. Encourage her to take an extended vacation until the danger had passed. As soon as the ridiculous thought crossed her mind, she dismissed it as impossible. The danger would never pass, not as long as Dave Carlson and his ilk thought Hannah knew something. If they suspected Marcia had helped Hannah evade them, there would be no end to the damage they did in the name of revenge.

  She reached for the bottle of antacids on her bedside table and shook two tablets into her palm. She knew from experience that they wouldn’t take away the constant pain gnawing at her belly, but they should dull it enough that she could think.

  She glanced at the clock again. Three-thirty. It would be several hours before she could legitimately call the detective. Plenty of time for her to come up with some kind of workable plan.

  But what if I can’t?

  The thought sent a frisson of fear down her spine. If she couldn’t figure anything out, she’d have to start running.

  And hope they didn’t catch her.

  Chapter 8

  The sky was the color of orange sherbet by the time Nate and Owen rolled into the morgue’s parking lot. The technicians had moved the body hours ago, and Owen and Nate had left the scene, not wanting to interfere while the crime scene investigators collected evidence.

  Not that there was much to find. From all appearances, it was another dump job. Still, Owen held out hope that this time the perpetrator had made a mistake and left behind some clue that would lead them to his door. It was a long shot, but they needed a break.

  He cut the engine and turned to look at his partner. “Do you get the feeling we’re spinning our wheels with this investigation?”

  Nate nodded. “Oh, yeah. Big-time.”

  “I just have this nagging feeling that we’re missing something—that the answer is right in front of us, but we haven’t seen it yet.”

  “I know what you mean. Hopefully, the doc can give us some answers.”

  Owen swallowed a mouthful of lukewarm coffee, needing the caffeine. “You and me both.”

  They found Dr. Whitman standing behind her desk, rummaging through files.

  “You’re already done with the autopsy?” Owen couldn’t keep the surprise out of his voice. Normally, it took her most of a day to complete the procedure. For her to be finished so soon was unusual.

  She glanced up, acknowledging them with a nod before returning her focus to her desk. “Not yet. I’ve completed my external exam, and from what I can tell, this victim was treated the same as the others. Extreme postmortem mutilation, most likely to obscure evidence. Look here.” She held out a file, opened to images of the first victim. “See the cuts along the torso and neck? They’re the same as today’s body.” She pointed to another set of images on her desk, inviting them to look.

  Owen grimaced, the coffee in his stomach turning to lead. He was no stranger to death, but the damage done to these poor people was extreme. “You’re sure this was all done after death?”

  She nodded, sharing his expression. “Fortunately for them, yes. Whoever you’re after, they’re not doing this because they get off on torture.”

  “So why did you stop after the external exam?” Nate asked. “Needed a break before you opened them up?”

  Dr. Whitman shook her head. “No. I’m waiting for my consultant to arrive.”

  “Consultant?” Owen said. “You’ve never needed a consultant before.”

  “Every case is different,” she replied calmly.

  “Who’s your consultant?” he asked, raising a brow. He had a sneaking suspicion he knew just who she had called, and he didn’t like it one bit.

  “That’s not really your concern, Detective,” she said evenly. His other brow shot up, and he felt his irritation rise to the surface.

  “It is if your ‘consultant’ jeopardizes my case,” he retort
ed.

  He felt his partner’s hand on his shoulder. “Owen,” Nate said quietly. “Take it down a notch.”

  He took a step back, embarrassment flooding through him. Way to be a professional. Was it any wonder people still questioned his ability to do his job, when he kept letting his emotions get the best of him?

  “I’m sorry,” he said, running a hand through his hair. “That was out of line.”

  “Yes, it was,” Dr. Whitman said, giving him a hard stare. “But I’ll let it slide because I know you’re exhausted.” She looked past him, to the door of her office. “Come on in.”

  “Are you sure? I don’t want to interrupt your meeting.”

  Owen closed his eyes at the sound of Hannah’s voice. He hated being right, especially now. He inhaled slowly through his nose, digging deep for the patience he didn’t feel. “I don’t think this is a good idea.”

  “Why not? I need her to tell me if the lungs of your victims show the same kind of pathology as her failed experiments.”

  “She had a rough night. She can’t have gotten much sleep. Besides, she doesn’t need to see that right now.”

  “‘She’ is right here, so you can stop talking about me like I’m invisible,” Hannah said. “And I’m fine, thanks.”

  “What happened, Hannah?” Doc Whitman rounded her desk to stand by her friend.

  Hannah shifted on her feet and looked down, clearly uncomfortable with the question. Owen stepped in. “Her apartment was broken into last night, and the intruder did a lot of damage. I took her to a hotel down the street so she could rest and feel safe.”

  “Hannah! Why didn’t you call me?”

  Hannah shot him a quick glare before responding to Gabby. “You just moved in with Brett. I’m not going to crash on your couch when you’re still in the honeymoon phase.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. You know you’re always welcome.” Dr. Whitman frowned at Hannah. “But he’s right—are you sure you’re up for this today?”