Deadly Chemistry (Entangled Ignite)

by Teri Anne Stanley

  “Dr. Kane, from Tucker University, is your girlfriend?” Crawford’s voice was tinged with only a hint of disbelief.

  “Well, we dated for a while, and she’s been—well, she’s been asking me to reconcile with her. That’s her car, right there.”

  “Is she here?”

  “No, that’s the problem. I’m very concerned. I’m worried that she’s into something bad for her.”

  “And what would that be?”

  “The drug that she makes in her lab. I’m sure you’ve heard about the vandalism at Tuck U?”

  There was a sound of affirmation from upstairs.

  “I’m pretty sure that she’s been selling one of her drug products to a gang in Cincinnati.”

  “Is that so?”

  Oh, hell, Lauren thought. Was he going to set her up? That asshat. It crossed her mind that any more suspicion of her integrity would wreck any chance she had of getting support from the Pemberton group, but at this point, she was more concerned with her life than her career.

  Alex’s voice continued, but so soft now she had trouble making him out. She thought she heard something about Alex allowing Lauren to stay here in this house but that she hadn’t been responding to his messages asking her to return his key.

  A noise on the other side of the room had her jerking her head around, nearly upsetting the beakers she held. Mike. Large, in charge, and fired up. Her heart flipped into overdrive. With her eyes, she tried to warn him, but as he pushed the sliding door open, his big foot knocked over the beaker Alex had set there.

  There was a slight hissing sound and then a whoosh as flames shot across the floor, following the path of the spilled liquid.

  “Shit.” He came in, pulling a knife from his belt. He cut the bindings on her hands and then her feet.

  She put the beaker she held down on the floor, then pulled the duct tape from her mouth.

  “We need to get out of here,” she said. But when she stood up, she didn’t take into account that her feet had gone to sleep from the lack of circulation. She stumbled…right into the beaker she’d just put on the floor. It caught fire, just like the one by the door, except the burning alcohol in this container ran straight toward the flammable cabinet. Which was next to the one holding Dylan and Angela captive.

  “In there!” she told Mike.

  He crossed the room and opened the door, then quickly cut through Dylan’s bindings while Lauren fumbled with Angela’s. Her fingers were next to useless, though, and acrid smoke from the makeshift booby traps began to choke her. Mike tugged her out of the way and took care of freeing the girl. “Let’s go!” Mike shouted, grabbing her arm and shoving Dylan out ahead of him. Dylan, in turn, had his arm around Angela and was supporting her.

  Lauren started to go along, and then, at the last second, jerked away. “Wait! I need to get something!”

  “Fuck, Lauren, leave it!” Mike shouted at her.

  She looked at him for a split second that lasted a lifetime, then turned and grabbed the bag of algae pellets on the counter. And hoped he’d listen to her explanation later. If there was a later.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Mike watched as Lauren—Goddamn it—risked her fucking neck to grab a handful of vials and the bag of that fucking algae, which she proceeded to stuff into the pocket of her hoodie.

  With no time to be gentle, he put a firm hand around her arm and pushed her ahead of him toward the door—but the flames blocked their path. As he hesitated, he heard a hiss and a popping sound from the other side of the room.

  “Oh, God. It’s going to blow up,” Lauren said. “I’m so sorry.”

  He looked down at her. It no longer mattered that she was endangering them both to save her career by going back for that fucking algae. It didn’t matter that his own hopes for redemption were going up in smoke—and into Lauren’s pocket—he wasn’t going to let this woman die.

  “Let it,” he said, and then he kissed her. It was a hard, fast kiss, but he tried to put everything he had into it. If he failed, he wanted her last memory of him to be of how much she meant to him. But it wouldn’t be her last memory. Not if he had anything to do with it.

  He bent, hoisted her over his shoulder, and ran through the smoke and flames to fresh air and freedom.

  They shot into the backyard, following Dylan and Angela away from the house. He put Lauren back on her feet. “Let’s go,” he said, and grabbed her hand to pull her along with him. They’d talk about the kiss later. About how much he wanted her. Needed her. Didn’t deserve her. Right now he had to make damned sure they were out of the line of fire—because that house was going to blow.

  Evan was ahead of them, running toward the woods after the retreating figure of Alex Barker. Then, as Crawford yelled from the side of the house, Evan turned slightly, and the world went into slow-mo.

  Mike later couldn’t remember what he heard first, the explosion behind him as the lab blew up or the crack of a bullet firing from a pistol somewhere ahead of him. He held Lauren’s hand tighter, pulling her closer to shield her with his body, as he watched Evan collapse.

  And then there was a long, low, hoarse shout. “Evaaaaaaan!”

  He only realized the sound had come from his own throat moments later, when Lauren gripped his bicep and said, “I’m safe—go to him!” He let her go and ran to his brother, who was writhing in the weeds.

  Evan grabbed Mike’s arm and pointed, “He went that way!”

  “Jesus, fuck. Oh my God. Don’t you die, you asshole,” Mike said, checking Evan for a pulse, even though he realized that was stupid, that if Evan was talking to him, his heart was probably still beating. But he’d been shot. There was blood on his leg—

  Crawford was there and pulled at his arm. “Mike, let me see. Back up.” Mike shook him off, and then Dylan was on Mike’s other side, also trying to talk to him—but all he could see through his panicked haze was Evan, bleeding and in pain.

  Until Lauren wrapped her arm around his back, her familiar scent filling his head and bringing calm reason with her. He looked up, and her wobbly smile told him that it was okay. Right now, at least, it was okay. Next to her, Dylan squatted, concern—but not fear—creasing his forehead.

  He stood, rising on shaking legs.

  Finally, he managed to back up enough so Crawford could bend over Evan, to see that there was a hole just below the pocket of his jeans, a hole that was leaking darkly, soaking into the denim.

  Through gritted teeth, Evan ground out, “That fuckbrain shot me in the ass. Find him and string him up.”

  Lauren smiled tightly as she took the T-shirt Dylan pulled off his own back, wadded it up, then pressed it against Evan’s backside, which caused him to send out another colorful string of curses.

  “Dude,” Dylan said. “I didn’t know you even knew words like that.”

  “I know a lot of words I choose not to use,” Evan said, groaning as Mike shifted his hand a little with the makeshift bandage.

  “What were you trying to do?” Mike asked.

  “Trying to catch him,” Evan gasped. “I saw the smoke from downstairs, then he came running around the side of the house.”

  Mike saw Crawford shrug. “We weren’t expecting the place to blow up,” he said.

  The cop who’d headed into the woods after Alex, was back, bent over, breathing hard, gasping. “He.” Gasp. “Got.” Gasp. “Away.” Gasp. Choke.

  Over his shoulder, Mike felt a wave of heat as another explosion rent the morning. Regret, dismay, and self-recrimination washed over him. He’d done this—he’d let Dylan endanger himself, and done one worse and gotten Evan shot. Once again, he hadn’t been able to take care of his siblings the way he’d promised their grandmother. The way he’d promised himself.

  “Dispatch,” Crawford said into his radio. “Send a ‘hurry up’ to that fire truck and the ambulance, would you?” He turned to Lauren. “What was that nutcase doing in there?”

  “He stole my drug. Alex did. He’s the one. He
was trying to purify it and was selling it to those Devil’s Rangers people, but he didn’t know what he was doing. And he was using it.”

  A siren wailed in the distance, growing closer, but not fast enough.

  “Evan, I’m so sorry I dragged you out here,” Mike said. He couldn’t even look at Dylan. As soon as they got home, as soon as Evan was okay, Mike was going to make Dylan move in with Evan and get himself as far away from the both of them as possible.

  Evan could anal-retentive their younger brother to death, but Dylan would still be better off without Mike’s fucked up supervision.

  And as for Lauren, well, she could keep her algae pellets and her step two drug, take them to the Pemberton Group and make her pitch, do whatever she needed to do. He wouldn’t stand in her way.

  He was done looking for redemption at any cost. That had been a load of self-centered bullshit, anyway. All he wanted was to keep Lauren, Dylan, and Evan safe. He’d find Alex Barker and bring him to justice, one way or another.

  …

  Lauren waited in the interview room of the Tucker Police Department. It was as far from the dirty green-painted cinderblock interview rooms she’d seen on cop shows as could be. Instead, a dark wood conference table was surrounded by comfortable chairs. A single-cup coffee maker in the corner had supplied her with a cup of now-cold amaretto-flavored brew to fiddle with while she waited for Crawford to tell her that she could leave.

  Fatigue swamped her, the events of the day a biochemical black hole, sucking the energy from her cells. She closed her eyes and dropped her head into her hand, but the video screen in her brain played images of Mike’s cold profile as he’d turned away from her when he and Dylan got into the back of the ambulance with Evan.

  She’d really screwed up with Mike. Her pride, her stupid knee-jerk need for independence had driven her to run out on him—was it only this morning? And all that shit with Alex had happened since then, in a few short hours—and now there was really no need for Mike to see her again. It was all over.

  Well, that was fine. She tried to tell herself that she didn’t need to be with someone who could brush her off that easily. Better to know now than invest her heart and soul in the relationship. At least she hadn’t wasted too much time. Or been through any messy holidays or birthdays with gifts that might sit on that fuzzy “Should I return this?” line. Or gotten an “I love Mike Gibson” tattoo on her butt.

  She must have drifted off, because she was jolted awake when the door finally opened to admit Chief Crawford. His face was drawn with exhaustion. She guessed hers didn’t look much better.

  “I’m sorry to keep you waiting,” he said. “We had three sorority girls admitted to the hospital for alcohol poisoning this morning, on top of the mess with Barker.”

  “Did you find him?” she asked.

  “No, I’m sorry. We’ve got an APB out for him, but he hasn’t been spotted. We’ve also had dogs trying to pick up his scent, but apparently, he found a car to steal at a neighbor’s farm, and they lost him.”

  “What about Evan?” she asked. What she really wanted to know was if Crawford had seen Mike, but she didn’t ask.

  “Evan’s going to be okay. He had surgery to remove the bullet, and they’re keeping him overnight to watch for signs of infection, but he should be released in the morning. You can go see him if you want after this.”

  Lauren nodded. “What about the algae I gave you? And the drug in the vials? Are you going to be able to use that to make a case against Alex?”

  “We could, if we find Alex. And…I put in a call to Mike’s old boss and told him everything that happened.”

  “And? Is he going to reinstate Mike?”

  Crawford shook his head. “They’re glad to have Devil’s Dust off the street, don’t get me wrong. But unless they can get proof that your boy Alex was selling the shit to the Rangers? They can’t get Dino Romain, and that’s what Mike’s job hinges on.”

  And they couldn’t get Dino if they didn’t have Alex.

  God only knew where Alex was or if he’d ever get caught.

  In a moment of what she knew was pure selfish resentment, she wished she hadn’t turned over the evidence. If it wasn’t going to matter anyway, she could have used it to make enough step three to take to the Pemberton Group.

  “Thank you.” She had to ask, “How long will you have to keep that algae I gave you?” When she’d turned the algae in to Crawford, she had to tell him why she’d left that out of her original inventory of what was missing from her lab. That she needed it to keep her project moving.

  Crawford hadn’t accused her of withholding evidence, had only blinked and put it with the couple of milliliters of step two that remained in the vial she’d taken from the basement lab.

  Now he said, “I’m sorry. It will be a long, long time. I know you needed it to make enough drug for your research project. I’m sorry that I can’t return it to you before your meeting.”

  Lauren shrugged. Like it was no big deal.

  She realized—with a hollowness blooming in her gut—that losing Mike was the big crater in the middle of her life. The end of her career was the muck at the bottom, but she had a feeling she’d be stuck in that hole whether she had a job to return to or not.

  “Well, you did the right thing,” Crawford told her. “Mike’s a good man. And he’s lucky to have you in his camp.”

  “Yeah, I’m not sure he sees it that way,” Lauren murmured.

  …

  “Thanks for stopping by,” Mike told the old guy, Dr. Jerrold, as he left Evan’s hospital room. What he really wanted to say was “You’ve got your head completely up your ass,” but he held back.

  The fucker had told Mike that there was no way Lauren would be able to get her funding back and her suspension lifted before the meeting later in the week—even if she could get enough of her drug made in time—and she should be able to do that, since she’d grabbed up that algae from the lab. Apparently, the Pemberton board of directors had decided that it was too risky to back a project that had garnered so much notoriety.

  Mike had completely and utterly failed her. And once again, let someone get away from a crime scene with a boatload of drugs. Granted, the situation was completely different this time. Unlike when Dino Romain had made off with all of that heroin, Lauren wasn’t going to turn her haul into little packets of death for drug addicts—and Mike wouldn’t go back and change things, he wouldn’t try to stop her from pocketing the algae and shit, but…it just hadn’t made any difference.

  The incessant beeping of the monitors attached to Evan was a challenge to Mike’s tenuous hold on sanity. Every now and then, Evan would thrash his arms around and an alarm would go off, requiring a nurse to stroll in, push a button, and wander back out.

  In spite of the occasional momentary nightmare, Evan seemed comfortable. The morphine pump was probably helping. Mike wondered briefly if Lauren’s drug would ever be used in this sort of a situation.

  Jesus. What an exercise in futility this had all been. He needed the Devil’s Dust shit in evidence to link Alex to Dino and get his job back—though without Alex, the drug didn’t help Mike—and Lauren needed the same thing in her lab to get her job back—and she had it—but without funding from those Pemberton assholes, it was too late.

  Evan moaned, then settled back into drugged oblivion.

  Mike was on a roll. He’d gotten one brother shot, and alienated the other. He’d refused to believe that Dylan could be trying to do the right thing, had never even given the kid a chance to let him into what was going on in that big heart of his.

  The fact was, Dylan was just a man in love. Not the woman Mike would have chosen for him, but love-life regulation clearly wasn’t under Mike’s jurisdiction. Hell, he couldn’t stop Dylan from falling in love—he couldn’t even stop himself.

  Dylan came in with two cups of coffee and a bag of powdered donuts. “Dude, why don’t you go on home? Get some sleep. I’ll stay here tonight.”

&
nbsp; “No. You can go, though. I’ll stretch out on that.” Mike pointed to the vinyl couch thing that sat under a window.

  “I slept all afternoon. When did you sleep?”

  “It doesn’t matter. I’m good. Where’s Angela?” And why was the kid even talking to him?

  Dylan sighed and dropped into a chair. “She went home.” He propped his enormous Converse sneakers on the end of Evan’s bed and dug into the donuts. “Go. Go home.”

  “I’m good.”

  “Well, I’m staying,” Dylan said, spraying powdered sugar over his black T-shirt. “We could sit here and have a martyr contest, but you’ve already earned that badge. I can’t beat you.”

  “What the fuck are you talking about?”

  “You’re better at throwing yourself on swords than the rest of us.”

  “Huh?”

  “I mean throwing your job away to try to save me.”

  Shit. He never wanted Dylan to carry that weight. It was Mike’s, and only Mike’s. “I’m supposed to take care of you.”

  Dylan got up and walked across the room, stopping at the doorway and holding up his hand in a stop gesture to someone outside of Mike’s line of sight. “You’ve done that. You’ve given me a place to live. You’ve helped me get into school. When I got in trouble last year, you threw yourself under the bus for me. Maybe it’s time for me to grow up a little.”

  That was bullshit. Dylan had been forced to grow up way too soon. Mike felt pressure that he’d been holding in for ten years press against the backs of his eyes. “Don’t you remember how I almost killed you?”

  “What? What are you talking about?”

  Mike walked over to his brother and pulled the kid’s T-shirt up, exposing the scarring that marred what should have been a smooth, pale stomach. “I left you alone. I’m responsible for this.”

  He turned away, unable to bear the blame he knew he’d see on Dylan’s face. He spun and looked straight into the shocked eyes of Lauren, who stood in the hall, listening to everything. He saw her lips, her perfect lips, form the word, “What…?”

  He held her gaze. Let her hear it from the horse’s ass. “I left him alone. I was supposed to be watching him. I was in the backyard, trying to get into Allie Dunham’s pants. Dylan was hungry.”