Killer Exposure

by Lara Lacombe

  It was a legitimate question, but one that she couldn’t answer. There simply wasn’t enough time to explain the details of Owen’s case and the way she’d gotten involved. Or the fact that she’d somehow become a target and would be in danger until Owen and the police figured out who was behind the attacks. Furthermore, she didn’t really want to talk about those things with a stranger. He was a nice man, to be sure, but he was still a stranger and she couldn’t bring herself to share everything with someone she’d only just met.

  She let out a quiet sigh. “There’s a chance that some hazardous chemicals are in the office building. The police think that I may be able to help them if anyone is accidentally exposed.”

  The man glanced at her injured arm. “I see,” he said, sounding unconvinced.

  His doubt rankled, but she didn’t have the energy to refute it. The conversation died after that, which suited her just fine. She was so focused on Owen and what might be going on with him that she couldn’t muster up the energy for small talk.

  After a moment, the radio crackled again. “Unit one, please respond. Unit one, respond.”

  She thought it was just another update, but the medic started the ignition and stomped on the gas. The truck shot forward, the force of it pushing her back in the seat. “What’s going on?” Her voice wavered, barely audible over the wail of the siren. “Is someone hurt?” Please, don’t let it be Owen!

  “Not sure,” the EMT replied. “But we’ve been called in, so it’s safe to say something is going on.”

  He turned hard to exit the parking lot, throwing her against the door. She braced herself, trying to keep her mounting panic under control. Just because the police had called for the ambulance didn’t mean Owen was hurt. Maybe one of the suspects had tried to run and tripped. Or maybe they just called for the EMTs as a matter of routine. She clung to these mundane excuses with the desperation of a drowning woman grabbing a life jacket. If she didn’t acknowledge the possibility that Owen was hurt, then he had to be fine. Right?

  The short trip took an eternity. Now that they were on the street, the driver was agonizingly careful, a fact that Hannah would have appreciated under normal circumstances. But her worry for Owen overrode her natural caution, and she had a wild, desperate urge to lean over and press on the gas.

  Finally, they pulled into the parking lot of a strip mall. The place was mostly empty, but there was a swarm of activity at one end that made it clear something unusual was going on. The driver pulled in front of the door and jumped out, heading to the back of the ambulance to help his partner. Hannah climbed down as well, but once her feet hit the pavement she found she couldn’t move. She stood frozen in place, watching the men streaming in and out of the building. The squawk of radios and the boom of shouted orders was almost overwhelming, and the strobe of siren lights only added to the chaos. Where is Owen?

  She rose to her tiptoes, straining to see over shoulders and between bodies. The front of the building looked burned, and the doors were hanging off their hinges like some terrible force had blown through. She caught a glimpse of a tangled mass of folding chairs and cheap office furniture, but she couldn’t see if anyone was still inside. Then the wind changed direction, and the faint scent of garlic drifted over. Oh, no. She recognized that smell. Mustard compounds.

  Had Owen been exposed? Was he all right? Her mind screamed at her to move, to find him, but her body refused to obey. Bile rose in her throat, hot and burning, and it took all her willpower to keep from throwing up on the sidewalk.

  It’s fine, she told herself. Even if Owen had been exposed, once they got him into fresh air and hosed him off he’d be fine. That was the standard treatment for exposure to these chemicals. There was no reason to think this time would be any different.

  Unless the chemicals had been modified to be more lethal...

  Hannah’s knees threatened to give out at the thought, so she leaned back against the ambulance for support, ignoring the heat pouring off the engine. It was entirely possible, likely even, that the toxins had been altered, making them even more dangerous. It would certainly explain the autopsy findings. She closed her eyes and was immediately assaulted with memories of the latest victim’s lungs, the damaged, degraded tissue that had practically dissolved away.

  “Make a hole!” The shout came from within the office, and Hannah opened her eyes to see two officers holding up a third man between them, half carrying him out into the afternoon sun. It was Owen, his head hanging down as his feet fumbled to keep up with his rescuers.

  Relief flooded her at the sight of him, followed quickly by alarm. As they drew closer, she could hear him coughing, a wet, tearing sound that made her throat ache in sympathy. The paramedics met the trio with a gurney, and the men quickly arranged Owen on the bed. The EMTs slipped a mask over his nose and mouth, but he continued to cough.

  Hannah wasn’t aware of moving, but suddenly she was standing beside Owen, looking down on him. His face was wet with tears, an uncontrollable reaction to the caustic chemical. As she leaned over him, she caught another strong whiff of garlic. The chemical must have saturated the fabric of his clothes.

  “You have to cut his clothes off,” she instructed, blinking hard as her eyes began to water. “Get them away from his body, and rinse him off with water if you can.”

  Owen’s eyes popped open at the sound of her voice, and he started to shake his head. “Don’t argue with me,” she said, her strong words undermined by the quaver in her voice. “This is why you brought me along.” She tried to smile but couldn’t quite pull it off.

  He made a shooing motion with his hand, as if he wanted her to go away. Was he worried about exposing her to the chemical, or did he just not want her to see him like this?

  She shoved the questions to the back of her mind. There would be time to ponder them later. Now she had to make sure Owen was getting the care he needed. “I’m not going anywhere,” she told him, tugging at his shirt with her free hand to lift it off his skin. One of the EMTs had been called away to help another victim, but the remaining man was working quickly, slicing through Owen’s pants with practiced ease. Inch by inch his skin was exposed, and she studied all of it, looking for telltale blisters or any other signs of irritation. The skin that had been directly exposed to the chemical was pink—his forehead, his forearms and a strip along his torso, right above the waistband of his pants. She frowned at that, but then realized with a jolt that he had likely pressed the hem of his shirt to his face, sacrificing his stomach in an attempt to keep from breathing in the noxious fumes. His skin hadn’t blistered yet, but that could take hours to develop.

  The medic dumped the scraps of Owen’s clothes on the ground, then dashed back to the ambulance, returning a few seconds later with two large bottles of water. “It’s all I have,” he said apologetically, twisting the cap off one and passing it to Hannah.

  “Better than nothing,” she replied. She turned back to face Owen. “Close your eyes—I’m going to pour this over your head.”

  His eyes widened, but when she lifted her arm and tilted the bottle above his head, he realized she wasn’t kidding. He scrunched his eyes shut a split second before she tipped her wrist and doused him with the water. She poured a steady stream over his head, letting the liquid sluice down his face and neck. Satisfied she had gotten the chemical residue off his face, she turned her attention to his arms, pouring the rest of the bottle down his biceps and over his hands. The EMT followed suit, starting at Owen’s feet and working his way up until they met in the area of his belly button. Owen squirmed at the treatment, but she didn’t relent. Once the bottles were empty, she wiped the water off his eyelids so he could look around again.

  He opened his eyes, the lashes spiky from his impromptu shower. She met his gaze, suppressing a crazy urge to laugh. He looked so pitiful lying on the gurney with his hair plastered against his head and soggy sock
s hanging off his feet. Tenderness swelled in her chest, leaving a lump in her throat that made it hard to swallow. For the first time, he looked vulnerable. Even though she hadn’t known him long, she’d grown used to Owen seeming larger than life, standing tall and taking up space with his broad shoulders and confident movements. Now, lying on a wet bed with his features obscured by an oxygen mask, he looked small and almost fragile.

  It scared her a little, this apparent role reversal. But she pasted on her best attempt at a brave smile. “You’re going to be fine,” she said, hoping it was true. Despite working with chemicals for years, she’d never had the type of exposure Owen had just experienced. Although she and the EMT had taken the proper steps to initially treat him, all the warning labels that accompanied a chemical advised those who were exposed to Seek Immediate Medical Attention. Four simple words, and yet they gave no indication of what to expect for those people who were unlucky enough to require said attention.

  Worry gnawed at her stomach, but she ignored it. She didn’t want Owen to see her fear. His dark blue eyes were trained on her face, and she knew he’d pick up even the smallest sign of her distress.

  He lifted his hand, but rather than gesture for her to leave, he reached out for her. She grabbed him, savoring the contact, wishing she could communicate all her affection and concern for him through the simple touch. It was a bit early for her to entertain the idea of love, but she didn’t bother to deny she was heading in that direction, and fast.

  He squeezed her hand, as if to say, I’m still here. His coughs had subsided, and he seemed to be breathing easier. The redness of his skin had begun to fade, as well. Maybe he wouldn’t get blisters after all.

  Apparently satisfied with Owen’s condition, the medic stepped over to help his partner. The two men leaned over a prone figure, but their bodies blocked Hannah’s view of the second victim’s face. She managed to catch a glimpse of pale blond hair and a slender wrist, and she frowned, craning her neck to try to get a better look. There was something about the hair that tugged at her memory. Where had she seen that color before?

  Owen tugged on her hand, breaking her concentration. She turned back to face him, refocusing her attention on the man before her. “Everything okay?”

  He nodded, reaching up to pull on the oxygen mask. “Oh, no, you don’t,” she said, intercepting his fingers. “You need to leave that on.”

  His eyes narrowed and he shook his head. “I’m fine,” he said, his voice rough and faint behind the mask.

  “Humor me,” she replied.

  The paramedic returned and gave Owen a once-over. “Ready to go?”

  “Where are you taking him?” Hannah asked. Would they let her come along, or did she need to find another way to the hospital?

  “Herman Memorial,” the man replied.

  Owen shook his head violently. “No,” he said, his voice much stronger this time. He disentangled his fingers from Hannah’s grasp and succeeded in pulling the oxygen mask down. “I’m not going to the hospital.”

  “But you have to go!”

  He met her eyes. “No, I don’t.”

  She turned to face the paramedic. “Tell him he has to go.”

  The man stepped back, hands up. “He’s right, ma’am. I can’t force him to go to the hospital. Although,” he said, turning back to Owen, “I do strongly recommend that you get checked out, just to make sure you’re okay.”

  One of the officers chose this moment to join him. He was an older man, tall, with short hair that was more gray than brown. Hannah recognized him from the police station but didn’t recall his name. He stepped up to Owen’s side and put a hand on his shoulder. “How you doing, son?”

  “I’m fine, sir. Ready to get back to work.”

  “He’s refusing to go to the hospital,” Hannah interjected. It was petty of her, she knew, but maybe this man could talk some sense into Owen.

  The officer glanced up at her, then back at Owen. “That true?”

  Owen shot her a quick glare. “I’m fine. Ready to get back to work,” he repeated stubbornly.

  “I’m sure that’s the case,” the man said. “But do me a favor and get checked out. It won’t take long.” He looked to the paramedic for confirmation, and the man nodded. “In and out,” he said.

  Owen clenched his jaw, his mouth pressing into a thin line. He was clearly unhappy, but he gave a single nod of assent.

  The officer nodded, satisfied. “Very good,” he said, stepping back. “I’ll see you in a few hours.”

  The EMT fiddled with the gurney and then gave it a push. Hannah walked alongside, feeling uncertain. Would Owen want her to come along after she’d embarrassed him into going to the hospital? She glanced down at him, trying to read his expression. He stared straight ahead, the mask back on his face. But then he held out his hand, clearly seeking hers.

  A tingle of awareness shot up her arm when she slipped her hand into his, and her anxiety melted away. This felt right. It took a few seconds to get him into the ambulance, but she didn’t hesitate to climb in after him. She slid along the bench and sat next to his head, then leaned down so she could whisper in his ear. “Thank you.”

  His eyes flickered over to meet hers, then he returned his gaze to the paramedic climbing into the ambulance bay. He didn’t speak but reached for her hand again.

  The EMT made sure Owen was settled, then headed back out to help his partner with the second patient. Hannah pulled Owen’s hand into her lap and leaned back against the wall, relaxing for the first time since the ambulance had been called in. Even though things hadn’t gone to plan, Owen was here, they were both safe and they were together.

  It was enough for now.

  Chapter 14

  “You need a lawyer.”

  Marcia Foley shook her head, her normally sleek blond hair hanging in tangled strands around her face. “No.”

  Owen exchanged a loaded glance with Nate. The other man raised one shoulder in a shrug, the gesture reflecting his own thoughts.

  He tried again. “You do realize that the information you provide to us will be held against you?”

  “I know.” She looked down. “But I’m tired of the lies. What I did was wrong, and I want to make it right. This is my chance.”

  “Are you absolutely certain?” Nate tried.

  She lifted her head, gifting them with a thin smile. “Detectives. I appreciate what you’re trying to do here. But I want to talk to you, and I wish to do it without legal counsel present. I understand the repercussions of my decision.”

  Owen glanced at Nate again, seeing his own confusion reflected in his partner’s eyes. From all accounts, Marcia Foley was an intelligent woman. Why, then, was she so willing to talk to them without a lawyer present? She was practically guaranteeing a prison sentence, and yet she didn’t seem the least bit troubled by it.

  “One moment, please,” Owen said. He stepped into the small anteroom attached to the interrogation room, where Captain Rogers watched the proceedings behind the one-way glass.

  “Have you ever seen a suspect so willing to incriminate herself?” he asked.

  The older man shook his head. “No. But she’s been Mirandized, and she clearly stated three times that she doesn’t want counsel. I’d say we’re covered on that front.”

  Owen nodded. “All right. I’ll get back to it, then.”

  “Tread carefully,” Rogers said. “She may have refused an attorney, but that doesn’t mean she’s being truly honest. I’d be surprised if she’s not playing some kind of game.”

  “Agreed.” He glanced through the one-way glass, taking a moment to watch Marcia. She was completely still, unmoving except to blink. If it weren’t for her disheveled hair and borrowed hospital scrubs, he could have easily mistaken her for a woman sitting in a boring meeting rather than a police inter
rogation room. In his experience, people tended to fidget when sitting in those uncomfortable metal chairs. Guilty or not, no one liked to be formally questioned. But if Marcia felt nervous about her situation, she didn’t show it. Either she had the most overdeveloped sense of self-possession he’d ever encountered, or she suffered from an almost sociopathic detachment.

  Given what she’d started to tell him back in the office, he was leaning toward the latter.

  He reached for the doorknob but turned back just before giving it a twist. “Do me a favor, Captain?”

  At the other man’s nod, he went on. “Check on Hannah for me? Make sure she’s holding up okay?” She’d been very quiet at the hospital, spending most of the time watching him with wide round eyes. He couldn’t tell if he had scared her with his exposure, or if she was worried because he hadn’t managed to find the people responsible for hurting her. He certainly deserved her scorn on that front, and truth be told, his failure embarrassed him.

  As soon as the doctor had cleared him, he and Hannah had come back to the station. Neither one of them had spoken much, and although her silence worried him, he didn’t know what to say to make her feel better. He’d left her sitting at his desk, guilt and shame tying his tongue as effectively as a gag. Although he wanted to check on her, he figured that at this point, his presence would make things worse not better.

  The captain’s gray eyes warmed a bit, as if he understood the true motivation behind Owen’s request. “Don’t worry about her. I’ll make sure she’s fine. You just keep your head in the game.” He angled his head toward the glass before turning to leave.

  “Right,” Owen muttered to himself. He took a deep breath, steeling himself against the upcoming conversation. What the captain didn’t know—what even Nate didn’t know—was the depth of Owen’s anger toward Marcia. She had known the explosion in Hannah’s lab had been no accident. Had she been a part of it herself? For her sake, he hoped that wasn’t the case. He didn’t think he’d be able to control himself if he found out Marcia had played a direct role in Hannah’s attempted murder.