Killer Exposure

by Lara Lacombe

  The question hit him like a blow to the chest, pushing him back in his chair. “It was my fault,” he said softly.

  Casey’s expression shifted into a blend of pity and sadness. “No, it wasn’t,” she said just as quietly. “Why can’t you see that?”

  “You don’t understand—”

  “Yes, I do,” she said firmly. “I know exactly what happened that night, and I know you had nothing to do with it. When are you going to stop blaming yourself for something that isn’t your fault?”

  “I can’t.”

  It was her turn to lean back, and she regarded him with a level stare across the small table. “You want to know what I think?” Without waiting for a response, she charged ahead. “I think you’re afraid, and that’s why you blame yourself. You’ve buried yourself under mounds of guilt so you don’t have to face the reality that John is gone. Blaming yourself for his death gives you a way to hold on to him, and keeps you from moving on. From continuing to live.”

  Her words were like icy daggers, each one striking with a cold sting. His breath froze in his chest, and he couldn’t come up with a response.

  He wanted to dismiss her outright, to flat out reject what she was saying. But it made a strange kind of sense, and he had a sneaking suspicion she had a point. Hadn’t Hannah also told him he wasn’t to blame? His analytical skills switched on as he considered the odds that two women who’d never met each other would say the same thing. Highly unlikely.

  And it was also unlikely they were just trying to make him feel better. Casey certainly had no reason to absolve him if he really was responsible. Her husband was gone, and she wasn’t the forgiving type—not for something like that. So if she didn’t blame him for John’s death, maybe he really was being too hard on himself.

  His guilt had become an integral part of his identity over the past few months, a thick, black hedge that blocked out the light with roots that ran deep into his soul. But as he considered Casey’s words, some of the branches began to wither and fall away, creating cracks in the dark wall that surrounded him.

  He felt a momentary flash of panic—what was on the other side? What would life be like if he really let go of his guilt and accepted the fact that John was gone? Would he lose what little he had left of his friend? How was he going to handle the world without this screen in place?

  As if sensing his panic, Casey reached across the table and gripped his hand. “Let it go,” she said, her voice kind. “I know how much it hurts, admitting he’s really gone. But you can do it. And you have someone to help you through it.”

  He shook his head. “Who?”

  “The woman you’re in love with.”

  He didn’t even bother to refute Casey’s description of Hannah. Love was a loaded word, fraught with meaning, and yet it perfectly captured his feelings for her. Too bad she didn’t reciprocate.

  “Weren’t you listening? She’s gone.”

  “Go after her.”

  “Casey, I’m not going to chase after a woman who doesn’t want me. I’m not a stalker.”

  She laughed at that, a full-throated, genuine sound that lightened his heart, even if she was laughing at him. “What’s so funny?”

  “You.” Her eyes were shiny with tears, and she reached up to wipe them away. “You are such a man, Owen.”

  He frowned. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Have you tried to contact her since she left?”

  “Well, no.”

  “And I take it you haven’t visited her?”

  He shifted in his chair, suddenly feeling as if he was being interrogated. He wasn’t used to being on this side of the table, and he didn’t like it one bit. “Of course not,” he said stiffly.

  “She walked away because she’s giving you a chance to figure out your feelings. She told you she didn’t want you to see her as part of your work. And you don’t. So now you need to tell her that.”

  Did women really do that? And if so, how was he supposed to figure that out?

  “Why didn’t she just say that?”

  Casey gifted him with an indulgent smile, one that suggested he was acting like a puppy that had finally learned a new trick. “I’m sure she did, but not in those words.”

  “So you really think I should try to talk to her?”

  She nodded emphatically. “The sooner the better. And if she gives you the brush-off again—which I doubt she will—then you’ll know to give up. But don’t quit right now. It’s not over yet.”

  She sounded so confident about it that Owen felt his own doubts begin to fade. He trusted Casey and took her opinion seriously. If she really thought he should try to see Hannah again, then maybe that was the right thing to do.

  The longer he thought about it, the sillier he felt. In all other aspects of his life, if he wanted something, he went after it without hesitation. But he was more cautious when it came to Hannah. Was it because she’d been hurt badly before, both physically and emotionally? He certainly didn’t want to hurt her again, but he’d seen the core of strength she possessed, and he knew she wasn’t some fragile beauty. Besides, it was better to talk to her again and find out exactly what she thought. He could live with a definite rejection, but he knew he’d regret walking away if there was still a chance she’d have him.

  “I think you’re right,” he said slowly, his mind already racing ahead to work out the right words to say to Hannah when he saw her again. How could he convince her she wasn’t a job to him or his second chance—that she meant so much more than that? He’d have one shot at this, and he had to make sure he did it right.

  Casey nodded, her eyes brightening. “Does that mean you’re going to talk to her?”

  “Yes,” he replied, his stomach starting to churn as nerves kicked in.

  “Excellent! Get going, then.” She made a shooing motion with her hand, urging him to stand. He pushed back from the table but then paused, wanting to make sure Casey was okay before he ran off.

  “Thanks for this, Casey. It means a lot to me. Let’s do it again soon.”

  She nodded once more. “You bet. I have to say, being with you today made me feel a little closer to John.”

  Goose bumps popped up along his arms, and the fine hairs on the back of his neck rose. He didn’t believe in ghosts, but the fact that both he and Casey had felt John’s presence was something he couldn’t ignore. Was John really smiling down on them? Even though his logical side scoffed at the idea, the thought was comforting.

  “Me, too,” he said.

  She smiled at him with perfect understanding and grabbed her purse. “Oh, wait! I almost forgot.” The bag landed on the table with a solid thump, and she began digging through the contents with surprising speed. “I know I put it in here,” she muttered. “There it is!” With a triumphant gesture, she pulled a piece of paper from her purse and handed it to him.

  It was a photograph, he realized as he looked down. A picture of him and John in their formal uniforms on the day they received the department’s Meritorious Service Award. They were grinning at the camera from above their official stamped certificates, both of them tickled at the recognition they’d received after successfully closing a particularly difficult case.

  “I was so proud of him that day,” Casey said, a smile in her voice. “He was thrilled to win that award, but even more excited by the fact that you’d won it, too. Honestly, I think he would have turned it down if you hadn’t been included.”

  “Good thing they notified us at the same time,” he said, swallowing down the lump in his throat. He studied the picture again. “That was such a great day,” he said softly.

  “Yes, it was,” she agreed. “Anyway, I want you to have it. I know you already have the official picture, the one where you guys are looking appropriately serious, but this is the good one. You both let
your hair down, and it’s clear how much you enjoyed yourselves. That’s the John I’ve been thinking about, and it’s the one I want you to remember, too.”

  Owen ran his finger over one corner to smooth back the fold that testified to the photo’s journey in Casey’s purse. She saw the gesture and winced. “I didn’t have time to frame it,” she said apologetically.

  “No, this is perfect,” he assured her. And it was. Having the photo in his hands made it more immediate, more real, an effect that would be diminished if he put it behind glass and boxed it in with a frame. This was a picture that needed to be tacked to his refrigerator door, or pinned to the small corkboard next to his desk. Someplace where he’d see it often and be reminded of his friend as he was in life. Maybe someday, this memory would loom larger than his recollection of John lying on the sidewalk, growing colder by the second as the light faded from the sky.

  “Thank you,” he said, his voice husky. “I think I needed this, to remind myself of the way things were.”

  Casey nodded, looking satisfied, as if she’d expected him to say that. “I’m glad it helped. John wouldn’t want you to punish yourself for his death. You know he’d want you to move on with your life.”

  “I suppose I owe him that much.”

  “Yes, you do.” She rounded the table and gave him a quick hug. “Now, go get your girl!”

  Owen carefully tucked the photograph in his back pocket and allowed his anticipation to bubble through him. He felt light and his head spun a bit, as if he were standing on the edge of a cliff looking down into the abyss. He took a deep breath and gave Casey a smile.

  “I will.”

  * * *

  Hannah shifted the stack of papers she carried, trying to free her hand so she could unlock her office door. It took a bit of juggling, but she managed to insert her key without dropping anything. She shoved the door open and stepped over to her desk just as the papers slipped out of her grasp. They landed on her keyboard and slipped to fan across her desk, but at least she hadn’t spilled them on the floor.

  Over the past few weeks, she’d become more adept at doing things one-handed, since her arm was still immobilized. The doctor told her it would be a few more weeks before the cast came off, and even then, she would need several appointments with a physical therapist to ease her arm back into service. She faced another long recovery, which was a little discouraging. She’d had enough of that to last a lifetime. Still, brooding about it wasn’t going to change things, and she was ready to get started.

  But first, she had to organize this mess.

  She sat and began scooping the papers back into a pile. The students had moaned and groaned when she’d announced a pop quiz, but keeping them on their toes was the only way to ensure they studied regularly. What they didn’t realize was that she disliked the quizzes almost as much as they did, since it increased her grading load—a task that had grown more difficult with her dominant arm in a cast.

  It took a moment, but she managed to excavate her keyboard and arrange the papers into a loose pile. She grabbed her red pen and eyed the first quiz with distaste, then focused with a sigh. The sooner she started, the sooner she’d be done. Besides, grading kept her occupied so she didn’t spend all her time mooning over Owen.

  It was almost embarrassing, the way she pined for him. As if he was dead and gone instead of someone she’d voluntarily left.

  I did the right thing, she told herself for the millionth time. And she had. She wanted a man who was a true partner, not one who saw her as an obligation. Owen’s pain had nearly broken her heart, but she couldn’t be the one to heal him. He had to do that himself. In truth, she’d walked away because she was scared. Scared that if she’d stayed, Owen would have grown to resent her when she proved unable to provide the redemption he seemed to need. So even though it hurt, even though she’d second-guessed herself every day since, she knew leaving had been for the best.

  The grand irony of it all was that Owen had been the one to give her the courage to leave. Before knowing him, she would have taken the attentions of a man and been grateful for it. But he had shown her that she was worth so much more, that her scars didn’t define her. He had made her realize that she could have a relationship, and now that she knew it to be true, she couldn’t accept anything less.

  And so she was alone. Again.

  She shook her head with a sigh. Maybe she was destined to be single. It wasn’t anything to be ashamed of—lots of women were, and it suited them just fine. She would get used to it again, like she had after Jake had left. Better to be alone than stuck with the wrong person.

  The problem was, she didn’t think Owen was the wrong person. He was a good, honorable man and she cared for him very much. And from what she could tell, he cared about her, too. But the timing was off. Maybe one day, after his case was closed, they could find their way back to each other. It would be nice to explore what was between them without the outside stress and pressure of his investigation weighing on them.

  Assuming he was still interested. After all, she had been the one to walk away. And she’d said some things that may have hurt him. Things that may have caused him to retreat into his shell and continue to punish himself for John’s death. Guilt slammed into her at the realization that while she had tried to be gentle, she may have inadvertently hurt him deeply.

  She reached for the phone without thinking, her body taking the lead before her mind could catch up. She had started to dial his number before she realized what she was doing, and she hastily hung up before completing the call. If she had hurt him, she would be the last person he’d want to talk to. It had only been a few weeks, and the whole thing was still too fresh. She’d give him some time. If she didn’t hear from him after a week or so, then she’d try to call.

  Feeling somewhat satisfied with this approach, Hannah turned back to the papers. Enough stalling. Time to get back to work.

  She uncapped her pen and started reading, but a soft knock on her door distracted her again. She glanced up, expecting to find a student with a question, or one of her coworkers stopping by for a conversation. But she was wrong on both counts. It was Owen.

  He filled her doorway, his tall frame and broad shoulders making it impossible for her to see past him. Not that she wanted to. She ran her gaze over his body, drinking in the sight of him. Even though it hadn’t been long since she’d seen him last, her memories of him were flat and dull compared to the real thing. Seeing him now, she realized anew how vibrant he was. His presence filled her small office, and she inhaled deeply, enjoying the familiar, warm scent of his soap.

  “Hello,” she said, feeling a little breathless.

  “Hi,” he replied. He gave her a shy smile. “Mind if I come in?”

  “Yes.” His face fell, and she realized her mistake. “I mean, no. I mean, come in. Please, have a seat.” She gestured at the chair across from her desk, her pulse kicking up a notch when he stepped closer.

  He lowered himself into the chair, moving a little gingerly. “Are you okay?” she asked, leaning forward in concern.

  A rueful smile curved his mouth. “I’m fine. Just a little sore. I had a few blisters pop up after my exposure, and they ache a little.”

  She half rose from her seat, but he waved her back down. “I’m really okay.”

  “Have you seen a doctor?” She tried to keep the alarm out of her voice, but it was a losing battle.

  Owen tilted his head and raised one brow. “Of course I have. I’m not an idiot.”

  Hannah’s face grew warm. “I didn’t say you were. It’s just that in my experience, men don’t voluntarily seek medical attention unless they’re actively dying.” She thought fleetingly of her uncle, who had been dragged, kicking and screaming, to the emergency room when he suddenly lost the ability to move his right side. He’d insisted the whole time that he was fine, and not
even the news that he had experienced a stroke had been enough to convince him otherwise.

  He chuckled softly. “Fair enough. But since I’d just been exposed to a chemical agent, I decided to play it a little safe.”

  “Do you have any permanent damage?” Her scars tingled at the thought, and she surreptitiously rubbed her back against her chair to ease the sensation. Would Owen have scars of his own now? Or perhaps internal damage that was invisible but just as troublesome? A lump of dread formed in her stomach as she considered the possibility.

  He shook his head, and she relaxed a bit. “Doesn’t look that way. The doctor is pretty happy with my lungs, and he said I shouldn’t have any long-term damage to my skin.”

  “I’m glad to hear it,” she said, feeling better. Even though she hadn’t been the one to dose him with the chemical, she still felt somewhat responsible. If it hadn’t been for her involvement, Dave might not have felt the need to escalate things so quickly.

  “How’s your arm?”

  She wiggled it reflexively, ignoring the mild ache that started up anytime she forced her arm to do anything but rest. “Better. I get my cast off in a few weeks, and then it’s back to physical therapy.”

  He nodded, and silence fell over them now that the pleasantries had been exchanged. Hannah shifted a bit in her chair, feeling a little awkward and not knowing what to say. Why was Owen here? Had he closed the case? Or was it something else?

  “I’m glad you stopped by,” she said, gathering up her courage.

  His gaze warmed, and his cheeks grew flushed. “You are?” His voice held a hint of disbelief, as if he wasn’t really convinced she was telling the truth.

  “Yes. I want to apologize for the things I said to you back at the police station. I was out of line, and I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

  He looked down and shook his head, and she felt a stab of worry. Was he refusing to accept her apology? Had her behavior been worse than she’d thought?

  “Don’t apologize,” he said, meeting her eyes once more. “Everything you said was spot-on. In fact, that’s why I came here today. To talk to you about it.”