Killer Exposure. Lara Lacombe
Later, when he’d solved these murders, he could relax and indulge in an exploration of his attraction for the professor. Maybe he could even talk her into a fun, no-strings-attached celebration. But for now, it was strictly business between them.
She climbed into the front seat of the car, and he caught a whiff of lavender as she moved to fasten her seat belt. He closed his eyes briefly, enjoying the soft scent that was filling the small space of the car. Of course she smelled good. How could she not? With a quiet sigh of resignation, Owen twisted the key in the ignition.
It was going to be a long ride.
He was quiet as they started out for ChemCure Industries. It was a quality that Hannah appreciated, as she wasn’t much of a talker herself. Over the years, she’d learned that most people weren’t comfortable with silence, and would chatter on about anything and everything in an attempt to fill the void. Very rarely, she would come across another person who didn’t mind the quiet, and she always enjoyed spending time with them. It was exhausting trying to come up with small talk with someone she didn’t know very well. Apparently, Detective Randall felt the same way, and her estimation of him went up a notch or two.
What made it even better was the quality of the silence. It wasn’t the cold, closed-off sensation that came from being ignored. Nor was it the awkward, prickly feeling she got when there were things to be said but neither person knew how to start. This was the cozy, peaceful silence of familiarity, which was strange, seeing as how they’d just met yesterday.
It was odd, feeling so comfortable around a relative stranger. It usually took Hannah weeks, if not months, to let down her guard after meeting someone new. But there was something about him that made her feel safe and secure, protected even. It was a comforting sensation, and it gave her the courage to consider approaching him when his case was resolved. He didn’t seem the type to be put off by a smart woman, and it would be nice to go out on a date again.
Hannah’s stomach fluttered, and she cast a sidelong glance at Detective Randall, wondering if he could sense the direction of her thoughts. His expression was relaxed as he navigated Houston’s permanent traffic. The intensity she’d first noticed about him was banked but still there, lurking under the surface. This was a man who was passionate about his job, that much was clear. Would he apply that same passion to his relationships?
Doesn’t matter, she thought, shivering slightly. This isn’t the time to ask him out. She ran her hands briskly over her arms, trying to rub away the goose bumps.
“Cold?” His deep voice cut through the silence, making her jump. He reached over with one hand to adjust the knobs on the dash, and the airflow slowed. “I always crank it into the subzero range when I’m in the car. I forget not everyone likes to be frozen out.”
“It’s okay,” she said, offering him a smile. “I’d rather be cold than hot.”
“Me, too.” He grinned back, dimples winking from his stubbled cheeks. Hannah’s breath caught in her throat. Oh, my. With a smile like that, he had to have a trail of drooling women following him around.
He returned his focus to the road, and Hannah swallowed hard, determined to ignore the residual zings arcing through her system.
“We should be there soon,” he said.
Hannah glanced around at the parking lot that was I-45. “Uh-huh,” she said. “Don’t you think that’s rather optimistic?”
“Maybe a little,” he admitted. “Why don’t you tell me about ChemCure Industries while we wait.”
“What do you want to know?”
“Were you the only one working with nitrogen mustard compounds?”
She shook her head. “No, I was one of a team. There were five of us working on this particular project.”
“Only five?” He frowned slightly. “I thought this was a big company—wouldn’t the working group have been larger?”
“ChemCure Industries is a large company,” she explained. “But there are multiple divisions in the company, and each division worked on different projects. I worked in one of the chemotherapy divisions, and that division was further divided into smaller teams. My team worked on the aerosolized nitrogen mustard project, while other teams worked on drug discovery or other delivery projects.”
“I see. Who was the head of your team?”
“Ah. That would be me.” He cut her a glance, one eyebrow raised, and she shifted slightly under the scrutiny. “I was the senior scientist on the project.”
“What were your responsibilities?”
“I essentially steered the direction of the research. I designed experiments for the techs to complete, and used the data collected to guide the next steps.”
“Did you do any experiments yourself?”
She shrugged. “Some. But not as many as the techs.”
“So the techs would have the most access to the compounds?”
Hannah considered the question. “Yes. But they’re not the only ones. The division manager, Marcia Foley, would also have access, as would anyone else who walked into the lab.”
He jerked his head around to face her, his brows lifted and eyes wide with shock. “Are you telling me that the dangerous chemicals you worked with weren’t under some kind of restricted access?”
She frowned back at him, puzzled by his reaction. “There wasn’t a need.”
“How is that even safe?”
“Well,” she began, struggling to find the words to explain lab culture to an outsider. “We didn’t advertise what we were working with, so it was unlikely anyone outside the team really knew what chemicals we had in the lab. Besides,” she said, stalling his objection, “it’s considered very poor form, not to mention dangerous, for someone to walk into your lab and start rooting around.”
“And I suppose everyone in the company obeyed this unspoken rule?” His tone made it clear exactly what he thought of that arrangement, and she bristled slightly at the underlying accusation.
“I certainly never saw someone enter the lab without an escort.”
“I’m sure you didn’t,” he said, a little more gently. “But you weren’t there 24/7. Isn’t it possible someone could have gained access to the chemicals without your knowledge?”
The cars in the lane next to them began to move, and the detective merged smoothly into the stream. “I guess it’s possible,” she admitted, taking a deep breath as they rolled past the rows of vehicles. “But we kept detailed records—who accessed the chemicals, how much they used, for what experiments, that kind of thing. That way, we could always account for where the chemicals went.”
“And are you certain those records were well maintained after you left the company?” He let the suggestion hang between them as he drove.
Before the accident, Hannah would have said yes without any hesitation. But it was someone else’s mistake, someone else’s sloppy science that had nearly gotten her killed. She had trusted her coworkers without reservation, and it had nearly cost her her life.
Her hand moved up reflexively to touch her scars before she remembered Gabby’s warning. She dropped the offending limb into her lap and glanced at Detective Randall from the corner of her eye, but he kept his gaze on the road ahead. If he’d noticed her gesture, he gave no indication of it.
“Anything is possible,” she said softly.
“Did anyone show a particular interest in your project and the compounds you worked with?”
She scrunched her brows together as she considered his question.