Lara Lacombe - Killer Exposure

* * *

She was smart, that much was obvious. They didn’t just hand out PhD’s in chemistry, and from what he knew of her work in industry, Hannah Baker had been the leading expert on nitrogen mustard compounds. Why had she walked away from such a high-paying job? Her story about wanting to slow down just didn’t ring true—it sounded too rehearsed, as if she was trying to convince herself as much as him. He made a mental note to ask Dr. Whitman, the medical examiner, for more details. He knew the two of them were friends. Perhaps she could shed more light on why Hannah Baker had dropped out of the corporate world to hide at this small college.

“Are these chemicals commonly available?” Nate leaned forward slightly, shifting in the chair. Dr. Baker turned her attention to him, and her shoulders relaxed a bit. He glanced at Nate, but the other man showed no reaction.

“Not really.” She frowned slightly. “There are companies that supply chemicals for research, and you could purchase some of the compounds from them. But there are certain restrictions in place that prevent an individual from ordering chemicals.”

“How hard would it be to falsify information, to skirt around the supplier’s security?”

Her hazel eyes were steady on his, but he didn’t miss the subtle tightening at the corners of her mouth and eyes. “I don’t know. I’ve never tried. You’d have to ask them.”

“Let’s say someone did manage to order these chemicals,” Nate broke in. “How much would it take to kill a person?”

“Not much. They’re highly toxic.”

“Tell me about how they work,” Nate encouraged.

She was reluctant at first, but after a few moments, she warmed to her subject, and her enthusiasm began to shine through. She was a patient and thorough teacher, answering questions and explaining complicated topics with ease, and Owen was forced to admit that regardless of her real reasons for taking the job, Hannah Baker had a gift for teaching.

He was content to let Nate steer the questioning. For some reason, Dr. Baker seemed more comfortable interacting with the other man. Her obvious preference for his new partner irked him a little, but he wasn’t about to let his ego get in the way of collecting information. With the way this case was going, they needed all the help they could get.

The woman was animated, her slender, graceful hands moving in a fluid series of gestures as she spoke. Every once in a while, one of those hands would briefly land on her neck before taking flight again. It was a gesture he’d noticed before, her seeming preoccupation with the collar of her turtleneck. Why was that? Was she nervous? Was she trying to hide something?

She sounded genuine, he mused. She answered Nate’s questions without hesitation, showing no signs of evasion or lying. Why, then, did she keep fiddling with the neck of her sweater? And who wore a turtleneck during a Houston spring? The temperatures were already in the mideighties, with the humidity so high it made him wish he had gills. Most people were breaking out the shorts, skirts and sleeveless tops, not turtleneck sweaters. What was she hiding?

Owen focused on her neck, trying to catch a glimpse of the skin underneath. It wasn’t a bad way to spend a few minutes, studying the smooth column of skin, the elegant lines. That spot just under the ear, so sensitive to his mouth. He let his thoughts drift, imagined peeling down the fabric of Dr. Baker’s sweater, exposing the pale expanse of her throat. He’d use his tongue to trace along her skin, down to her collarbone. She probably had nice collarbones, he thought. Gentle, sloping lines begging for his touch. He could practically feel them under his lips, hear her breathless moans as he slowly stripped away her clothes. She was so prim and put together, it would be a real pleasure to find out what she was concealing underneath that sweater.

“Owen?”

The sound of his name snapped him out of his reverie, and he shook his head slightly, focusing on his partner. Nate and Dr. Baker were both staring at him, their expressions making it clear they’d been trying to get his attention for some time. Damn.

“What?”

Dr. Baker tensed, and he mentally cursed himself for being so gruff. “Sorry, I was thinking about something else for a moment. What do you need?”

Nate didn’t press, but he could see the concern in the other man’s eyes. Great. He’d heard the rumors swirling, knew Nate had, as well. After Owen’s partner had died in the line of duty six months ago, he’d taken a leave of absence to handle the loss. A lot of people thought he shouldn’t have come back. Was his new partner one of them?

“Dr. Baker was just offering to look at the chemical signatures of the compounds found in our victims.”

“If I can see what they had in their systems, I can tell you if the drug was purchased from a company, or if someone modified the compounds to create something even more potent,” she said.

“That would be great,” he replied. “Thank you.”

She nodded, her cheeks taking on a pretty, pale pink color. Her hand found her neck again, and he forced himself to tear his gaze away before he slipped back into his highly inappropriate daydream.

It was fatigue, he decided. Too many hours focused on this case, too many cups of coffee, too little sleep. Throw in a beautiful woman, and his brain took the path of least resistance, concocting a fantasy he had no business enjoying when there were bodies piling up.

Time to go, before he did something stupid.

He stood, and a second later, Nate did the same. “Thank you for your time, Doctor.” He offered her his hand, tried not to notice the smooth softness of her skin when she took it. “We’ll be in touch.”

“Let me know what else I can do to help,” she said. Nate nodded, and they walked out of her office, leaving her standing behind her desk watching them go, her hand at her neck.

* * *

“She’s prettier than I expected.”

Owen bristled at his partner’s casual remark. While Nate Gallagher was by all accounts a good guy, he didn’t like the thought that the other man had noticed Hannah Baker in anything other than a professional capacity. Like you should talk , he thought wryly.

Biting his tongue to contain the reflexive retort, Owen settled for a grunt, hoping Nate would drop the subject.

He didn’t take the hint.

“I mean, I didn’t expect her to be so young. Silly of me, since Doc Whitman isn’t that old herself. But I heard the word professor and pictured some gray-haired woman in support hose. Know what I mean?”

Owen grunted again, refusing to engage.

“Do you think she’s seeing anyone?”

“How should I know?” He sounded sour, even to his own ears, but Nate carried on as if he hadn’t noticed.

“I think she likes me. It felt like we had a connection back there. Maybe I should ask her out.”

Owen’s grip tightened on the steering wheel. “No,” he said quietly.

“What do you mean, no?”

He cut a glance over to his partner. “It wouldn’t be professional of you. Besides, she might somehow be involved in all this.”

“Oh, please,” Nate scoffed. “You and I both know that she’s not a suspect. There’s no conflict of interest here. Besides,” he added, his voice taking on a smug note, “I wasn’t the one daydreaming about her during the questioning.”

Damn. It had been obvious, then. Still, his pride wouldn’t let him admit his partner was right. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Sure you do,” Nate said. “We’ve been partners now for over two months, and in all that time, you’ve never once mentioned a wife, a girlfriend or even a one-night stand. You’re lonely. Would it be so bad if you let your guard down and enjoyed the company of a beautiful woman?”