by Lara Lacombe
“I know.” Gabby’s eyes were warm with sympathy. “And if you want to back out now, I understand.”
It was tempting, so tempting to back out. When Gabby had asked for her help, Hannah had accepted immediately and without reservation. But now that she was about to enter the room, to see a body that had been desecrated, helping Gabby was no longer an abstract concept. This was real. She was about to see things that would stay with her forever, disturbing images she’d never be able to forget. Was she really ready for that?
Gabby watched her quietly, with no trace of impatience or frustration. Hannah realized that her friend was giving her the opportunity to back out, to spare herself the unpleasant, unnatural experience of watching a body being cut open. But if she chose to walk away, would she be able to live with the consequences of that decision?
Gabby hadn’t asked her here on a lark, or because she was lonely. She’d done it because she thought Hannah could help. And Hannah trusted her friend’s judgment. While she wasn’t looking forward to experiencing what lay beyond that door, she’d feel worse if she walked away now, before she’d even tried.
Taking a deep breath, Hannah attempted to smile. “I want to help. Let’s do this.”
Gabby grinned at her. “There’s my girl.” She reached up to tug at the bouffant cap Hannah wore, pulling it farther down her head. “You’re going to do great.”
Now, standing on the sidewalk outside the building, Hannah wasn’t so sure.
Gabby hadn’t lied about the condition of the body. Hannah couldn’t close her eyes without seeing flashes of the bruised, broken skin, the angry red slashes that covered the woman like a horrific road map. Even knowing the damage was all done postmortem didn’t diminish the impact.
She took a deep breath of hot, humid air, trying to clear her sinuses. According to Gabby, since the body had been discovered that morning it was fairly “fresh,” which she claimed cut down on the smell of decay and rot. But Hannah could still detect a faint stink of death that no amount of bleach or disinfectant could cover up.
Her phone buzzed in her hand, and she glanced down. Almost there. The knowledge that Owen would arrive soon brought a measure of comfort, and for a moment she imagined herself wrapped in his arms again. It would feel so good to sink into his embrace, to let him surround her with his warmth and strength. Part of her was shocked at her ready and eager acceptance of this man in her life. After all, there was no guarantee that he had any interest in sticking around after she had played her part in solving his case. But she ignored that voice of doubt, choosing instead to focus on the here and now. Maybe he would walk away later, when all was said and done. Maybe they didn’t really have a future. But she refused to let her fears and what-ifs stand in the way of enjoying the time she had with him now.
Last night’s encounter had shaken her in ways she was still trying to understand. Owen’s enthusiastic exploration of her body and her scars had been an unexpected surprise, one that had made her feel alive again. She wanted to see him now, not just to help her forget the sights and smells of the autopsy, but to discover if he still made her tingle with awareness. Had last night’s magic been due to adrenaline and nerves, or was it an indication of something real between them?
She shivered, still feeling cold from her time in the autopsy room. The green scrubs she’d worn had been a thin barrier against the industrial air-conditioning that kept the morgue a constant temperature in the Houston heat. A bright patch of sun lit the asphalt just past the curb, and she headed for it, shaking her head as she moved. It felt strange to be seeking out a sunny spot—usually, she couldn’t wait to get inside and out of the heat.
Warmth settled over her like a blanket, and her limbs started to thaw. Hannah closed her eyes and turned her face up to the sky, enjoying the bright glow against her eyelids as the rays sank into her skin. Much better.
The rev of an engine reached her ears, but she didn’t open her eyes. A busy street ran near the building, making traffic noise an inevitable nuisance. But then an escalating roar broke her reverie, and she glanced down, horrified to see a large black sedan barreling toward her.
Her heart leaped into her throat, and Hannah threw herself backward, trying to reach the relative safety of the sidewalk. She made it, but the car seemed to follow her, angling after her like a heat-seeking missile. In a moment of horrible clarity, she realized the car was actually aiming for her. This is not an accident! She scrambled to her feet and managed to dodge to the side, but it wasn’t enough. The car hit her right side with terrific force, knocking the breath from her lungs and throwing her across the sidewalk. Her head spun as she sailed through the air, and then she came to a sudden, shocking stop against the ground.
Too stunned to move, Hannah stared up at the sky, blinking hard against the too-bright rays of sunlight. She tried to breathe, but she felt like an elephant was sitting on her chest. She couldn’t get her rib cage to expand, couldn’t pull in air. Her heart thumped out a panicked rhythm, but before she could try to draw another breath, a sickening pain hit her all at once, like someone had flipped a switch in her body. Everything hurt, a hot, incendiary agony that she couldn’t control and couldn’t escape.
I’m burning alive, she thought, feeling the flames of pain race along her limbs. She tried to move, to roll out of the fire, but her body ignored her commands. Tears leaked from the corners of her eyes as her vision narrowed, until finally, the fire consumed her.
Chapter 9
Owen grudgingly pressed his foot on the brake pedal, sighing as the car rolled to a stop. He wanted nothing more than to run the light, but as a police officer in an unmarked sedan, he couldn’t very well break traffic laws just because he was anxious to get back to Hannah.
Lunch with Marcia had been a special kind of torture. She hadn’t had any useful information for him at all, but had spent the time feeding him office gossip and insinuations that had nothing to do with his case. And the way she kept touching him... He shuddered, remembering her hands on his arm, his hand, his knee. He’d done everything he could think of to discourage her, even going so far as to tell her flat out that he wasn’t interested in anything but a professional interaction. But she’d merely smiled like the Cheshire cat, as if she knew a secret he didn’t.
He’d nearly yelped in triumph when Hannah’s text had come through. Not only was he curious to know if she and the doctor had found anything during the exam, but he wanted to be near her again. If only he had enough time to swing by his place for a shower first—being around Marcia had made him feel dirty somehow.
The phone buzzed in his lap, and he glanced down, hoping it was another message from Hannah. He’d told her he was almost there, but perhaps she had gotten tired of waiting for him. He had just picked up his phone when the light changed, triggering a short honk from the guy behind him.
“I’m moving, I’m moving,” he muttered. “Hold your horses.”
He completed the turn before eyeing his phone again, only to frown when he saw the message wasn’t from Hannah, after all, but from Marcia. Didn’t the woman ever give up?
Enjoyed our lunch. Let’s do it again soon.—M
Owen snorted. Not likely.
Tires squealed ahead, distracting him from the phone. He jerked his head up in time to see a boxy, black sedan pulling back onto the street after hopping the curb. The driver peeled out, smoke rising from the back tires as they spun against the hot asphalt. Before Owen could get a plate number, the car turned onto Old Spanish Trail and zoomed off, disappearing into traffic.
Owen reached for his radio, deciding to call it in. People shouldn’t drive so recklessly—
His hand stalled as he approached the morgue. There was a small cluster of people gathered on the sidewalk, all circled around something on the ground. He slammed on the brakes and threw the car into Park, his heart dropping as he took in the scene. Peo
ple only gathered like that when something was wrong, and given the odd behavior of the sedan, maybe someone had been hit. This hunch was confirmed when he saw a pair of shoes sticking out of the circle of onlookers, a breach in the wall of pedestrians.
Moving quickly, he radioed in for an ambulance and relayed the last-known location of the car, along with a description. It was a long shot, but maybe a patrol car was nearby and could stop the driver.
He jumped from the car and approached the crowd, noting the drops of blood splattered on the pavement. He needed to get control of this scene now, before the well-meaning bystanders ruined evidence. “Make room, folks. I’m a police officer.”
One woman turned to face him, her eyes wide with shock. “He just came up on the curb after her—like he was aiming for her! I was in the lobby, and I saw the whole thing!”
Owen nodded and pointed to a shady spot. “That’s good. I’m going to need to ask you a few questions, but in the meantime, please stand over there for me.”
The remaining crowd formed a tight cluster around the body on the ground, keeping him from seeing anything. He raised his voice. “People, I need you to back up. Give me some room. An ambulance is on the way.”
He forced his way into the circle, noting with disgust that a number of people had their cell phones out and appeared to be recording video of the victim. “Put those away,” he snapped. “Don’t you have any decency?”
There was a man kneeling on the ground next to the injured person. “I need a bandage!” he cried out.
Owen crouched next to him while a woman in the circle passed down a wad of paper towels. “Is she still alive?” The victim lay motionless on her back, her face obscured by a swath of hair.
The man didn’t bother to spare him a glance. “For now. She has a compound fracture of her right upper arm, and I think she may have a head injury.”
“Are you a doctor?”
“A pathologist. I usually deal with dead people.”
“Well, you’re doing great. Help is on the way.”
Owen reached out to push the hair off the woman’s face. It didn’t seem right for her to be lying there with her features covered in a dirty, bloody mass of tangles. Moving gently, he brushed his fingers over strands that had once been light brown. Time seemed to stop as he looked at her face, his brain screaming with recognition while his heart cried out in denial.
Hannah.
His blood froze in his veins, making him cold all over.
“Hannah.” Her name came out husky and raw, little more than a strangled sound pulled free from his impossibly tight throat. “Oh, please, no.”
He was dimly aware that the pathologist was staring at him. “Do you know her?”
“Hannah, please. Wake up. Please just open your eyes.” Not again. He couldn’t stand to lose another person he cared about. He was barely holding it together after John’s death. Losing Hannah would put him over the edge.
His vision wavered as he stared down at her broken body. Memories flooded him, making it hard to tell what was real and what was in the past. Hannah’s face on John’s body. John’s blood on the ground near Hannah’s shoes. Was she bleeding from the chest? When had John broken his arm? The lingering smell of burned rubber became the tang of cordite, and Owen put a hand on his gun, tensing to defend himself. Had there been a shot fired? From what direction?
“Hey, you doing okay there?”
The pathologist’s voice cut through his fugue. Owen shook his head and scrubbed at his eyes, trying to make sense of it all. When he opened them again, there was only Hannah, flat on her back on the sidewalk, her arm bent at an unnatural angle.
Guilt swamped him. This was his fault. If he hadn’t gone to her office, if he hadn’t taken her with him to ChemCure Industries, none of this would have happened. His actions had made her a target. He had done this to her, as surely as if he’d been the driver of the car.
“I should have gotten here sooner,” he muttered, hating himself. Just like with John. Once again, his delay had cost someone else dearly.
But Hannah wasn’t dead. Not yet.
Moving on instinct, Owen grabbed her shoulders, needing to gather her into his arms and protect her from further harm. But his fingers were numb, and he couldn’t do more than grip her shirt.
“Hey,” the pathologist said, raising his hand to stop Owen. “You can’t move her. Not until we know what kind of injuries she has.”
“I need to help her!”
The man gripped his arm. “The best thing you can do for her right now is to leave her alone. The paramedics will probably be here soon.”
It wasn’t enough. Panic clawed at his chest, demanding he do something. If he didn’t act, he was going to shatter into a million tiny pieces.
His desperation must have been clear. The man eased his grip and regarded Owen with a sympathetic expression. “Why don’t you talk to her,” he suggested.
“Can she hear me?”
The man shrugged. “Can’t hurt.”
Owen bent down and placed his mouth right next to her ear. “C’mon, Hannah, wake up for me,” he urged in a low voice. “I need you to open your eyes. I’m here now. I’m so sorry I wasn’t before.”
Her eyelids fluttered, and his heart leaped into his throat at the sight. He reached down and grabbed her hand, squeezing hard. “That’s it, baby. Open those eyes. Look at me, please.”
Slowly, so slowly, she blinked. “Owen?” Her voice was a raspy whisper, but it was the sweetest sound he’d ever heard.
“It’s me. I’m here.”
“Hurts.” She winced, trying to shift. He held her down gently, remembering the pathologist’s earlier words. “Burning. So hot.”
He glanced at the pathologist, wondering if this was normal. The man shook his head, her words not making sense to him, either.
Hannah grew more agitated under his hands. “The fire—put it out! Get it away from me!”
Was she having a flashback? “There’s no fire,” he said soothingly. “You’re safe.”
“No—too hot!”
She jerked, making Owen’s grip on her shoulder slip. His palm connected with the pavement, and he drew back with a hiss. The sun had turned the sidewalk into a frying pan.
“The ground is like an oven,” he told the pathologist. “No wonder she feels like she’s on fire.”
“I should have realized that,” the man replied. “I wasn’t thinking.”
Owen’s reply was drowned out by the wail of the approaching ambulance. The vehicle pulled up a few yards away, and the men hopped out, circling round to the back.
He turned his attention back to Hannah, who was grimacing and shifting. Small moans escaped her throat with each movement, but he didn’t dare try to hold her down now that he knew how hot the ground underneath her was.
The paramedics arrived, and he reluctantly stepped away to give them room to work. They moved quickly and carefully, assessing her injuries and rolling her onto a gurney. Owen stood there feeling lost, knowing he should be interviewing witnesses and controlling the scene but unable to leave Hannah’s side when she was so vulnerable.
A black-and-white patrol car, its lights flashing, pulled up behind his own vehicle. He walked over to meet the officers, badge in hand. After giving them a brief overview of what he knew, Owen tossed the guy on the left his keys. “Can you please park that for me? I’m riding with her.”
The officer narrowed his eyes. “You John Prescott’s old partner?”
Owen nodded, his throat too tight to speak. Did this officer blame him for John’s death, too?
“Played ball with him a couple of times. Good man.”
“The best.”
The officer glanced from Owen to the ambulance and back again. “Don’t worry about your car. I’ll take it back
to the precinct for you.”
Owen blinked hard, touched by the offer and the knowledge that he wasn’t the only one who missed John. “Thanks. I really appreciate it.”
“Better get going. They’re loading up now.”
Owen turned and jogged over to the ambulance, climbing in after the paramedic. The man’s brows shot up, but Owen flashed his badge. “I’m her friend.”
“Works for me,” he muttered.
“Owen?” Hannah’s voice was faint but unmistakable.
“I’m here.” He grabbed her hand, squeezing gently. The ambulance rocked as they set off for the hospital, triggering a whimper of pain from Hannah that cut through him like a knife.
“Can’t you give her anything?”
The paramedic nodded slowly, absorbed in the process of starting an IV. He fiddled with some tubes, then pulled out a syringe and injected a clear liquid into one of the lines.
“She’s getting a dose of morphine now. Can’t do more until she gets to the hospital.”
Owen bit back a scream of frustration. The man was only doing his job. Yelling at him wasn’t going to make Hannah’s pain go away. He settled for leaning down and pressing a kiss to the back of her hand. “Almost there, honey.”
Just hang on.
* * *
“Wake up, sleepyhead. You can’t stay here all day.”
Hannah surfaced slowly, rising from dark depths into a world of white. A dark shape hovered over her, close to her face. She blinked a few times, and the shape resolved into a woman’s head.
“There she is,” the lady said encouragingly. “Time to wake up now.”
She struggled to obey, her senses slowly coming back online. A collection of sounds beat against her ears: quiet voices, the squeak of shoes against the floor and nearby moans. “Where am I?” Hannah struggled to sit up but found she lacked the energy to rise.
“The recovery room. They had to put your arm back together.”