Killer Exposure

by Lara Lacombe

  “I’m fine,” Hannah said, irritation giving her voice a sharp edge. “I’m not a child that has to be coddled.”

  “Can’t you have her look at pictures or something?” Owen put in. “Does she have to be there when you cut them open?”

  “I’m afraid so,” the doctor replied slowly. “I need her there so she can help me decide which samples to take for analysis.”

  “I don’t like it,” he muttered. He hated the thought of Hannah being exposed to this side of his life. He’d built up a tough, emotional callus so that the sight of the victims didn’t really bother him on a personal level anymore. But it had taken him years to get to that point. Hannah had no experience cultivating that kind of reserve, and her defenses were already down after the events of last night. He admired her desire to help, but not if it cost her her peace of mind.

  “I’ll be fine,” she said, resting her hand on his arm. The contact arced through him, a visceral reminder of the feel of her skin against his own.

  “I don’t want you exposed to this.” He placed his hand over hers and met her eyes, trying to make her understand. “This isn’t like dissecting a lab rat. And after what was done to the body...” He trailed off, not wanting to go any further.

  “I’m not looking forward to it,” she said wryly. “But if my being there helps Gabby find something, some clue that will help you solve this case...” She shrugged. “Then I have to do it.”

  The selfish part of him wanted her to do it. Wanted to suit her up himself and shove her into the room so she could give him the information he needed. If only it were that easy!

  “Okay,” he said finally, knowing she was going to do it no matter what he said. The least he could do was be supportive. “I’ll stay here until you’re done.”

  “You will?” Nate sounded surprised, and Owen realized he was right. It would be hours before she finished, hours he couldn’t afford to spend twiddling his thumbs in the hall.

  “I’ll come back for you,” he amended.

  She gave him a faint smile, and he had the distinct impression she was humoring him. “That sounds good.” Then she turned to Doc Whitman. “Ready?”

  The doctor glanced from Owen to Hannah, speculation gleaming in her eyes. “Sure,” she replied easily. “Let’s get to it.” She grabbed her keys off her desk and gestured for everyone to walk out ahead of her.

  Owen stepped into the hall and caught his partner’s expression. Nate’s grin was obnoxiously large, and it was clear he had something to say. Please, not now...

  Fortunately, Nate had the decency to wait until the women were halfway down the hall before starting in. “So,” he began, sounding positively gleeful. “Big night, huh?”

  “It wasn’t like that.”

  “Really? Then why are your ears so red?”

  Owen reflexively reached up, only to quickly drop his hand at Nate’s burst of laughter. “Jerk,” he muttered, without any real heat.

  “You know I’m just messing with you.” Nate gave him a friendly pat on the back. “I’m glad to see you rejoining the ranks of the living, my man.”

  “I’d be happier about it if the uniforms had actually caught the guy who broke into her apartment.”

  “What happened? Did she arrive home to find a mess?”

  “No, she was there.” Owen filled in the details for his partner, but he didn’t talk about Hannah’s lab accident. That felt personal somehow, and he didn’t want to break the trust she’d placed in him.

  “Do you think this is related to our case?”

  Owen shrugged. “I’m not sure. On the surface, I’d say no. But I can’t shake the feeling that this wasn’t a coincidence.” He paused, fatigue and a lack of caffeine clouding his mind like heavy fog. “Think about it—hours after we involve her in our case, an intruder breaks in and methodically destroys her things. That doesn’t seem random to me.”

  “I agree. But I don’t see a connection to our victims.”

  “That’s what bothers me about it, too.”

  They were silent as they climbed into the car. By unspoken agreement, Owen headed for the precinct. There was paperwork to take care of, and there might be some preliminary reports from the scene. It would be enough to distract him while he waited for Hannah’s call.

  His phone buzzed in his pocket. He glanced at the display before answering but didn’t recognize the number. “Hello?”

  “Good morning, Detective,” a woman purred.

  “Who is this?” It came out a little harsher than he meant, but he wasn’t in the mood for games.

  “Marcia Foley,” she said, her voice losing a bit of its warmth.

  Great. He was going to have to play nice, at least until he figured out if she was useful to his investigation. “Ms. Foley, I didn’t recognize your number. How are you today?”

  “Just fine,” she replied, slipping back into temptress mode. “I got tired of waiting for you to call, so I decided to take the bull by the horns.”

  “And what can I do for you?”

  “It’s really more what I can do for you, Detective.”

  Owen’s curiosity perked up at that. Did she have information for him? Or was she playing him? He caught Nate’s eye. Marcia Foley, he mouthed, then put her on speaker.

  “You have my attention, Ms. Foley.”

  “I have some information that I think might be helpful to you. Perhaps we could meet somewhere to discuss it? Over lunch?”

  He glanced at the clock. It would be several hours before Hannah was done. He could probably fit in a quick meeting with Marcia before heading back to the morgue. “That sounds nice. What’d you have in mind?”

  “How does Brasserie 19 sound?”

  Nate whistled softly. The French restaurant was known for its romantic atmosphere, rich food and prices to match. Not exactly a casual dining spot.

  “Uh,” Owen began, but Marcia cut him off.

  “My treat, of course.”

  Owen glanced at his partner, who offered him a shrug. Why not?

  “That sounds nice,” he hedged. “But I don’t think we’ll be able to get a table at such late notice.”

  “Nonsense,” she said. “I know the maître d’. Just say the word, and I’ll make a reservation.”

  He clenched his jaw, trying to muster up the energy to deal with Marcia Foley. He wanted so badly to hang up on her, but if she really did have information that was pertinent to the case, he couldn’t afford to make her angry. Best to play along until things got too ridiculous.

  “How does eleven sound? I know it’s early, but I’ve been up since three working.”

  “Oh, you poor thing,” she clucked sympathetically. “Eleven it is. I’ll see you there.”

  She hung up before he had a chance to respond. “She sounds like a piece of work,” Nate said as Owen pocketed his phone.

  “Believe me, she is. And I’m really not in the mood to deal with her today.”

  “Oh, I don’t know. She might be a good distraction for you. Keep your mind off other women.”

  Owen glared at him, and Nate held his hands up, laughing. “At least you’ll get a decent meal out of it.”

  “I suppose,” he muttered. But even the promise of good food didn’t make the thought of lunch with Marcia Foley any more appealing.

  “I’d go in your place,” Nate offered, “but it sounds to me like she’s hoping for more than just a professional lunch.”

  “You could come with me,” Owen said hopefully.

  Nate shook his head, not bothering to hide his smile. “Nope. This is all you. Besides, I’ve got a couple of leads of my own to chase down.”

  “I thought partners were supposed to look out for each other. What could be more important than protecting my virtue?”

  “I’ve got
to finish tracking down some of the clinic employees,” Nate said.

  “Fair enough,” Owen replied. He parked at the precinct and tried to ignore the heat as he climbed out of the car. It was still fairly early in the day, but it already felt like an oven outside. Nate eyed him up and down as they walked into the building. “You’re gonna have to change,” he remarked.

  “What?” Owen looked down to see what his partner was talking about. He was wearing the clothes he’d pulled on last night, after the message from Hannah: dark sweatpants, gray T-shirt, boots. Damn. Nate was right—he looked like a homeless man, not a respectable detective.

  “I don’t have time for this,” he said, exasperation bleeding into his voice.

  “Dude, relax. I have a spare pair of slacks in my locker. We’re about the same size.”

  “Yeah? You don’t mind if I borrow them?”

  “Wouldn’t have mentioned it if I did.”

  “Thanks,” Owen said, feeling absurdly touched by the offer. It was the kind of thing his old partner, John, would have done.

  “No problem,” Nate replied. “I’m sure we can find you a clean shirt somewhere, too.”

  “One-stop shopping at the precinct,” Owen said, shaking his head at the absurdity of it.

  “Nothing better,” Nate agreed. He pushed open the door to the squad room and threw a wicked grin over his shoulder. “C’mon, Cinderella,” he announced loudly. “Let’s get you ready for the big ball.”

  * * *

  The call came just after Marcia sat down, her back to the wall of wine bottles that served as both decorative statement piece and functional storage in the otherwise-white color palette of Brasserie 19. The number on her phone display made her stomach clench, but she pasted on a smile as she lifted the phone to her ear. It wouldn’t do for her to look anything other than composed while in public.

  “Hannah Baker is at the city morgue.”

  Marcia’s heart sank, and her hands grew cold. “Won’t that make the detective suspicious?”

  “She’s not dead. Not yet, anyway.”

  Relief made her light-headed. It wasn’t too late to warn Hannah of the danger she was in. “How do you know where she is? Are you following her?”

  “Nothing so obvious. Although she escaped, last night was not a total loss. My associate managed to attach a tracking device to her purse before he had to leave her apartment.”

  “Why are you calling me now?”

  “You need to stake out the morgue and make sure the next time she enters the building, it’s in a body bag.”

  “I can’t,” Marcia replied, trying to stay calm. “I’m meeting the detective in a few minutes for lunch.”

  Dave Carlson made a low, dissatisfied sound. “You told me to distract him,” Marcia pointed out.

  “Very well. Keep him there as long as possible.”

  “What are you going to do?” She glanced around, checking out the other diners. No one seemed to be paying her any special attention, but it made her nervous to have this conversation in public.

  “I’m going to take care of the problem. Make sure you do your part to help.” He hung up, leaving the subtle threat in the air.

  Marcia returned the phone to her purse, then wiped her sweaty palms on the folds of the pristine white tablecloth in her lap. Detective Randall was due any minute, which meant she had only a few minutes to regain her composure. She picked up her water glass and took a sip, pleased to see her hand was shaking only a little.

  Was there time to warn Hannah Baker? Could she even risk it? She ran her fingertip across the smooth surface of her phone, considering. If Dave had planted a tracking device in Hannah’s purse, how could she be sure he wasn’t keeping tabs on her as well? Marcia never left her phone unattended, but Dave could easily tap into her phone records to see who she was calling. If she did warn Hannah, it wouldn’t take long for Dave to connect the dots back to her.

  She could tell Detective Randall. Surely he had the resources and know-how to keep Hannah safe. But the timing gave her pause. Dave now knew she was meeting the detective for lunch. If the detective ran straight to Hannah and whisked her away to safety, it would be obvious who had told him about the danger.

  The risk was just too great. She couldn’t afford to do anything but wait.

  She glanced out the wall of windows, catching sight of Detective Randall as he approached the restaurant. With his easy, long-legged stride, he moved with an unconscious grace that was appealing, projecting confidence with every step. More than one female head turned to watch him go by, but if he noticed, he didn’t show it. He had the look of a man who was in complete control, both of himself and his surroundings.

  And she was going to lie to him.

  Marcia rose as he entered the restaurant. He pulled down his sunglasses and glanced around, then offered her a smile when he caught sight of her. She smiled back, her heart threatening to beat out of her chest when he started walking toward her.

  Showtime.

  * * *

  Dave Carlson slipped the phone back into his pocket with one hand and reached for the stress ball sitting on his desk with the other. It would be much more relaxing to squeeze the life out of Marcia Foley, but this would have to do for now.

  The woman was more of a liability than ever.

  In the beginning, she’d seemed like the smart choice. Cold, calculating and willing to do almost anything to advance her career. She had no friends and no problem stabbing coworkers in the back to promote her own interests. It was how she’d gotten her position in the first place. But somewhere along the way, she’d grown a conscience. Not a real one—even now, she was more worried about the consequences to herself than to others. But her concern was enough to make her sloppy.

  He was too close to wrapping up this project to have her wreck things now.

  His investors were quite pleased with the progress that had been made thus far. He’d identified a collection of toxic compounds, each one showing more damage than the last. The test subjects had all responded as expected, and the team had been happy to move things into the next phase of testing. It was only a matter of time until they delivered the remaining half of his fee and he could retire to some tropical island, to spend the rest of his days working on his tan and sipping cold drinks on the beach.

  He knew they wanted to weaponize the compounds, but he didn’t care. As long as their checks cleared, Carlson had no problem with doing as they asked. Nor did he have any interest in digging deeper, to find out who exactly was behind this project. Some things were better left unknown, and since he wanted to live to enjoy his retirement, he was content to let the identity of his investors remain a mystery.

  He’d thought it would take longer for the police to identify the compounds found in the victims. That had been the plan, at least. But he would just have to adjust accordingly. If Marcia did her job and kept the detective distracted, there would still be time to finish their work.

  But that left Hannah Baker as a loose end, which was something he couldn’t tolerate. If she had just stayed out of it... But no. She was at the morgue, probably helping the medical examiner nail down the chemical structure. She always had been a meddlesome woman, poking her nose into different projects, offering advice or suggestions on things she had no business discussing. It was no surprise that she hadn’t changed.

  But what did shock him was the way she’d managed to escape death not once, but twice.

  Hannah Baker must have been born under a lucky star to survive not only the lab explosion, but last night’s attack as well. The man he’d hired had been instructed to kill her and ransack her apartment so that it looked like a random burglary gone bad. Unfortunately, the idiot had reversed the order of those two events, giving Hannah warning and time to escape.

  He couldn’t afford for her to escape aga
in.

  Her death would raise suspicions, but hopefully the detective would be so distracted by trying to find her killer, it would give them time to finish up the study and leave town. They only needed a few more days at the most.

  He sighed, resenting these complications. For a second, he debated calling his investors and warning them. But he knew how they’d respond, and he didn’t want to give them any ammunition against him. It was better for him to take care of things himself, to give no appearance of any trouble.

  First, he’d deal with Hannah Baker. Then he’d handle Marcia Foley.

  * * *

  Hannah pushed her hair out of her face, trying to ignore the way her hand shook. Owen had been right—seeing an autopsy was nothing like dissecting a lab animal.

  She’d thought she’d been prepared. After Gabby had called her, Hannah had spent the intervening time mentally preparing herself for what she would see in the morgue, trying to build up layers of detachment. She’d never seen a dead body before, and had no idea what to expect.

  Gabby had tried to help. “It’s not a person anymore, it’s a shell,” she said on the elevator ride down.

  Hannah nodded, trying to ignore the uncomfortable squirming of her stomach. Intellectually, she knew that the body she was about to see belonged to someone who was long gone. But it was hard to shake the nervous anticipation that plagued her.

  They stepped off the elevator and walked down a nondescript hall toward a plain brown door marked Suite 1. Gabby stopped and turned to face Hannah. “There’s one more thing,” she said, her expression almost apologetic. “There was extensive...trauma to the body after death.”

  A chill swept over Hannah. “What do you mean?”

  Gabby winced. “Whoever did this is trying to make it harder for the police to do their job. So they mutilated the body to obscure evidence.”

  Hannah shuddered. “Why are you telling me this?”

  Gabby held her gaze. “Because I want you to know that what you’re going to see isn’t pretty. But believe me when I say that this person didn’t feel any of it.”

  Hannah fought the urge to take a step back. “There’s a reason I didn’t go to medical school,” she said, trying to keep her voice light.