Killer Exposure. Lara Lacombe
once he’d started asking questions.
“The chemicals are related but different. The nitrogen mustards I worked with are used as chemotherapy drugs.”
“Is that what you were researching?”
She turned back to fully face Detective Randall. “Yes. The drugs are fairly effective at treating leukemias and lymphomas. I was trying to determine if related compounds would have the same effects, with less toxicity.”
“And did they?”
“There were a few promising compounds, but the side effects were too severe, so we didn’t pursue them. Did you really come here to ask me about my previous work?”
The two men exchanged a glance. Detective Gallagher raised one shoulder in an almost imperceptible shrug, as if to say “all yours.” Detective Randall seemed to sigh before turning back to her.
“We’re investigating a series of suspicious deaths.”
Hannah felt her eyebrows shoot up. “And you think I had something to do with them?” The question came out as a high squeak, making her sound like a cartoon mouse. Real smooth, she thought, struggling to rein in the reflexive alarm the detective’s statement had triggered. Her brain kicked into overdrive, trying in vain to determine why two police officers would think to question her in regards to any kind of deaths.
Some of her panic must have shown on her face. “You’re not a suspect,” Detective Gallagher assured her. “We just need to get some information from you, to help us in our investigation.”
“Oh.” Then why the cloak-and-dagger routine? Annoyance sparked as the adrenaline rush of the scare faded, and she narrowed her eyes at Detective Randall, who stared back at her impassively. “Why didn’t you say so in the first place? I’m happy to help in any way I can.”
“We appreciate that,” Detective Gallagher replied.
Detective Randall coughed meaningfully, as if to signal to his partner to shut up.
“Why did you come to me?” Had something happened in her neighborhood? Was that why they were asking her questions? She frowned, considering. She hadn’t seen anything out of the ordinary lately, and these quiet, tree-lined streets weren’t the sort that drew trouble. Surely her neighbors would have mentioned a string of deaths in the area. The older, close-knit community had an active neighborhood association, and this was just the sort of thing that would have triggered an emergency meeting, complete with notices to lock doors and be on the lookout for suspicious activity. Still, perhaps the police were keeping things quiet.
Apparently ignoring his partner’s signal, Gallagher spoke up again. “The medical examiner, Dr. Whitman, suggested we speak with you.”
“Gabby thought I could help you?” That explained the mystery phone call. She’d bet a year’s supply of chocolate the message on her phone had something to do with the two men sitting in her office, and she kicked herself for not listening to it on the way back from class. Gabby had probably shared details with her, something the handsome, closed-off detective and his partner seemed reluctant to do.
“Why did you leave ChemCure Industries?”
The question took her off guard, and Hannah reflexively moved her hand to her neck, her fingers slipping under the fabric to brush across the raised smoothness of her scars. “It was time for me to move on,” she said, dropping her gaze to her desk. “I was tired of working in the industry.” And I couldn’t go back. Not after the accident. “I’d always wanted to teach, and when this position opened up, I jumped at the chance.”
“Did you leave on good terms?”
She thought of the nondisclosure agreement she’d signed, the weeks spent in the hospital and the months of physical therapy. The company had been quick to deny any responsibility for the explosion in the lab that had nearly killed her, but when her attorney had come knocking, they’d been even quicker to settle out of court, agreeing to pay her a nice lump sum and take care of all her current and future medical bills.
Had it been an amicable parting? Not really. But it could have been worse.
“It went about as well as these things go,” she said, tugging up the neck of her shirt before letting her hand drift down to lie on the desk.
Detective Randall narrowed his eyes at her, his doubt plain. “They didn’t think it was odd you would leave a high-paying career in industrial pharmaceuticals for a teaching position at a small college?” He glanced around her office, then back to her, his expression calculating. “That must have been quite a pay cut.”
“It was.” She held his gaze, kept her voice cool. “But there’s more to life than money. Don’t you agree?”
For the barest second, heat flared in his eyes, burning bright and hot. His mouth softened, becoming a seductive curve, and his eyelids dropped slightly, giving him the look of a man who had been well and truly satisfied. She shivered, her skin prickling at the wild thought that she had been the one to satisfy him.
Then his expression shifted, returning to an inscrutable mask she couldn’t read. She shook herself free of the moment, still feeling a little dazed. Get a grip! she told herself. He isn’t the first handsome man you’ve talked to, and he won’t be the last. Besides, she had no business letting her libido run the show when he was here to question her about people dying.
“Can’t argue with that,” Detective Gallagher piped up. His smile was friendly, and she felt herself relax. “Still, people don’t usually walk away from that much money without a good reason.”
Hannah shrugged, trying to seem indifferent. “I had gotten burned out by the hours I was working. I wanted to slow down, find someone, start a family.”
Detective Randall’s eyes flicked to her left hand, then back to her face. “And have you?” His voice was so low the question was almost a rumble, making it seem even more personal.
A lump suddenly appeared in her throat, and she swallowed hard to push it down. “Not yet,” she replied. Jake, her ex-fiancé, had left once he’d learned how long her recovery would take. She’d pushed the pain of his betrayal aside and directed all her energy toward healing, but now she was finding it hard to ignore. The worst part of all was the despair, a swirling black hole in her stomach that threatened to consume her soul. She felt scarred both inside and out, and it was becoming increasingly clear that she was destined to be alone. Who would want her? It was hard enough finding a man who wanted to date a chemist. The men she encountered seemed to be intimidated by her intelligence, a reaction that made it hard to get a second date. And even if she did manage to find a man who wasn’t bothered by her intellect, there was no guarantee he’d be okay with the extensive scarring on her back. Pushing back the familiar feelings of loss and loneliness, Hannah pasted on a bright smile. “I’m sure you’re not here to talk about my personal life, Detectives. Why don’t you tell me what you think I can do to help you today.”
* * *
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