Deadly Chemistry (Entangled Ignite) (6 page)

“Thanks Evan. I’ll take my chances.” She was pretty sure that she could get away with missing a meeting. Besides, in addition to trying to salvage her project and save her career, she had to worry about what kind of “issues” Evan was talking about. Well, no, she didn’t
have
to worry about that. She
could
just avoid Mike Gibson and get on with saving her own career. But she had a feeling that he was going to take up a good bit of space in her brain, whether she wanted him there or not. And besides, she had a feeling that he held a key to getting her algae back.

Chapter Eight

Lauren spent a few more hours fending off well-meaning co-workers who came by to offer their theories about the crime. It took every stiff-upper-lip gene imparted by her parents not to snap, but she didn’t lose her mind at anyone who leaned against a counter and offered advice.

Aaaand then, her mother called. Lauren was hoping she wouldn’t have to tell her parents what happened until she knew more—and maybe had her algae back. No such luck. She’d learned long ago not to ignore a call from Karen Kane. The woman was nothing if not persistent.

It only took Lauren fifteen minutes and half a box of tissues to get herself under control enough to get back to work after telling her mom that she’d had a liiiiiittle setback on the road to scientific glory.

But she never did get a single beaker back on its proper shelf that afternoon.

She probably would have made more progress, but she kept getting distracted with worries about how to find her missing drug. She did manage to clean her algae tank and get it up and running again. Fortunately, it didn’t require any sophisticated equipment—just a jug of nutrient-rich water and some UV light. Barring a working grow light, a sunny window would do, which was what she placed the tank under.

Sunshine through a north-facing window wasn’t going to be enough to dig her out of her step one deficit, however. It took a week—under optimal conditions—to grow enough raw material to harvest the step one algae, dry it into pellets, and extract it into the potent, liquid step two substance, another few days to process it into step three—the chemical she hoped to use to launch herself into pharmaceutical history. And her meeting with the Pemberton society was in five days.

And she’d tried to avoid thinking about this, but she was really beginning to be bugged about that news story she’d heard yesterday. What if that Devil’s Dust crap was her drug? She’d been noticing a shortage in her step two production. Could someone have possibly been siphoning off the drug as it dripped from the condenser, even before the lab was sacked and robbed?

She mentally reviewed the production steps. After she grew algae in the flasks, she strained it out, mixed in the toxic chemical that would cause it to release the drug later, and dried it into pellets, which she kept until she had enough to process. Then, she mixed the pellets with extraction solution and put them in another set of flasks with a condenser. The step two drug dripped out of the condenser. For every liter of extraction, she should get ten milliliters of step two. And she did. She got the ten milliliters, anyway. But not as much concentrated step two as she had the first several times she’d run the experiment. Could someone be taking step two and replacing it with extraction solution?

Who would know how to do that? Maybe someone who had heard one of her seminars, when she’d presented her data. But as she thought about the members of the Biology Department, she couldn’t imagine a single one of them taking her drug. Who would even know how to sell it to bad guys?

She had to find out who had her drug and get it back. But how?

Put an ad in the paper? Drug dealers probably didn’t read the paper. For that matter, regular people didn’t read the paper anymore. Craigslist? Make a plea on the news, like parents who’d lost a child? Tacky, at best. Hire a posse of mercenaries?

At this last thought, Lauren started to giggle. She envisioned herself wearing camo, striding back and forth in front of a group of former Navy SEALs, giving them a speech about the dangers of drugs and the necessity of developing safe alternatives.

The one thing she couldn’t do was tell the police that she had to get her drug back. If they knew she was going to try to get to the stuff before they got their hands on it, they wouldn’t tell her anything about the progress of the investigation. Heck, they’d probably suspect her. But Mike had some sort of connection to Chief Crawford.

And what about Mike? Should she avoid him, like Evan suggested? Lauren was bummed about that. Way more than she should have been after knowing the man all of what? Thirty-some hours? Her instincts said that she should get closer to him, find out what he knew—but she thought perhaps that was her girly parts’ influence on her instincts and not her rational brain.

At six thirty, Lauren finally gave up trying to work. She’d forgotten to eat lunch, and was getting a whale of a headache. She needed to get home and feed her cat, then call Crawford and find out if he’d made any progress. Because he would
totally
appreciate that. She should also try to sleep, because if she couldn’t figure out where her missing drug had ended up, she’d be forced to stay in the lab all weekend, trying to resurrect at least something of her research. She might go down in flames if she couldn’t secure the Pemberton grant, but she wouldn’t go down without fighting.

As she walked to her car in the slanting evening sunshine, the trash can where the possum family lived caught her attention. There was a sign taped to the can.

Do Not Disturb. This trash can is someone’s home.

There was also a little barrier of cinder blocks and caution tape in place, presumably to slow anyone who might not stop to read the sign before tossing in something that might cause traumatic brain injury to little, innocent possum babies.

Mike.

In her mind’s eye, she could see him out here, building a little safety zone, and her girly parts sent another zing to her instincts, telling her to trust him.

But then there was all that stuff Evan had said.

Would someone with the mysterious
issues
that Evan mentioned spend time to ensure the protection of a family of scavengers? And adopt a special needs cat? And would he make Lauren’s heart beat harder just from being in the same room? Of course, even Dr. Evil had that little hairless thing he seemed to care for.

“They seem to be doing pretty well.”

Lauren jumped at the sound of Mike’s voice.

“How did you sneak up on me?”

“Sorry,” he said, putting a hand on her arm to steady her. Where he touched her, her skin tingled. “You seemed to be deep in thought.”

“Uh…” She wondered if he could tell that she’d been thinking of him. The way her cheeks burned, he probably suspected as much. After all, he was pretty good at suspecting things, and at asking questions.

Screw it.
She had to know. “Are you a cop? Or
were
you? Why did Evan say you’ve been in trouble? And why are you still here? Shouldn’t you have been off work hours ago?” And, yes, she was rambling now, throwing questions at him faster than he could answer, but it was all out now, and she had no choice but to see how he responded.

Mike sighed, letting go of her arm. He ran a hand through his hair. Finally, he said, “I was a member of an interstate police task force, and…there was a…misunderstanding, and now I’m a maintenance man. And I’m still on campus, because I had some…extra stuff to do today.”

She wondered what that might be. Former police guy working as a maintenance man where a probably drug-related crime had been committed?

He looked away, then back at her. “And, uh, I was waiting for you.”

“What do they say you did? That got you fired?” She was going to ignore the “waiting for you” part of that statement, because she couldn’t process that right now.

“It’s complicated.” He shook his head, then smiled, wryly. “And I was ‘suspended indefinitely’, not fired.”

Lauren crossed her arms and regarded him. “Of course it’s complicated. But I’m pretty quick on the draw. Try me.”

For a split second, his glance dropped—to her lips? His pocket chimed with an incoming text sound, and he took his phone out and glanced at it before shoving it back. “Look, I’d better run. I just wanted to make sure you’re okay.”

He’d waited there, after a long day, just to make sure she was okay? His eyes searched hers. Looking for…what? To see if she was going to hand off drugs disguised as rat food to a friend or for something more…personal? Whatever it was he was looking for, she felt like she could give it to him, and it would be safe. Suddenly, the events of the day swamped her, and she sagged, shoulders slumping.

“Damn,” he said, took a step forward, and pulled her into his arms.

She was shocked, in a good, swirly rush kind of a way. Tentatively, she reached around his waist and clung, just for a moment. Okay, maybe two moments. Two and a half. The heat and pressure of his body against hers were comforting and arousing in equal measures. And he had back muscles.
Latissimus dorsi
, originating right under her fingers. She bet if she let her hands travel, his
rectus abdomini
were even more adapted to supporting her fingers.

Before she could start drooling and reviewing anatomy by Braille, she released him. He let her go and stepped back.

That big hand was in his hair again, pushing it off of his forehead. “Okay. Umm…I guess…” He didn’t meet her eyes right away, and then he did.

She tried not to drown in the dark pools. Clearing her throat, she said, “Okay, well, thanks. You know, for…coming to the lab today. And for taking care of the possums. And for hugging me.”

He smiled. “You betcha. Have a good night.” He turned and walked away, the early fall evening shadows stretching away from him, as tall as Superman could leap.

Damn
. She had even less understanding of what was going on, but found that the likelihood of getting away from Mike Gibson without her feelings involved was slipping.

…

Mike sat in his parked truck to watch his house for a few minutes before going inside. Dylan’s silhouette moved behind the kitchen curtains, confirming the text he’d gotten a few minutes ago telling Mike he’d meet him at home. The kid was probably microwaving something from the frozen pizza department. He needed to confront Dylan about what had happened in Lauren’s lab, but he needed to sit there and avoid the confrontation for a few minutes first. He went back over the events of the day, from hearing about the damage, to finding the Devil’s Rangers gang tag on the lab wall, his inability to get any information about the Rangers from his old co-workers, to seeing Lauren outside of the biology building.

He’d meant to ask more questions when he’d seen Lauren outside of the lab, to see if he could figure out who—hopefully, not Dylan—might have been hanging around her lab. Someone who would know what to steal. He knew she wasn’t responsible for the drug thefts. She’d explained about the bag of pellets she’d taken from the building last night, and it was a dumb enough story that he believed it. He even understood why she hadn’t told Crawford about the missing algae pellets. She had no reason to trash her own lab—unless she was completely bent, and he didn’t get that kind of vibe—but truthfully, he had little objectivity where she was concerned. And Dylan had access to all of it.

Still. Why did he have to go and fucking
hug
her? What was wrong with him? She’d just looked so…vulnerable, after her cool competence when he’d gone into the lab with her earlier.
Fuck
.

He couldn’t get attached to her. He didn’t do relationships. Relationships came with responsibilities, and he already had enough to distract him from his work. He got out of the truck and slammed the door. It
thunked
shut on the first try for a change. He hoped that was a good sign.

Through the kitchen door window, he could see Dylan bent over his phone, leaning against the counter. The door screeched when he pulled it open, and Dylan’s head whipped up. He punched the blackout button on the screen and shoved it into his pocket, then hooked his fingers in his belt.

“S’up,” Dylan said, nodding.

“Hey. Did you eat?” Mike asked. That was neutral. Good start.

“Yeah.” Dylan jerked his head toward the stove, where the leftover half of a formerly frozen pizza sat. “That’s from yesterday, I just re-nuked it. I’m done, help yourself.”

Mike took a slice, holding it with one hand while he opened the refrigerator and took out a Diet Coke with the other. He deftly popped the tab and sucked down half of the soda, trying to figure out how to ask his brother if he was doing drugs. Or dealing them. Or both. “Where’s the cat?”

“Hiding behind the dryer, last time I checked.”

“Seriously? How does it fit?”

Dylan shrugged. “You’ve got something you want to say to me?”

Was he that obvious? Mike shoved half the slice into his mouth, chewed maybe all of three times, then swallowed. Grandma would kick him in the shin if she could see him right now. Standing up to eat and choking down store-bought pizza. Grandma would also know how to talk to Dylan. If she were still here, Mike wouldn’t even need to have this conversation, because his brother never would have gotten into trouble in the first place.

Dylan waited, defensive shields up and ready to deflect. When Dylan reached up to scratch his neck, his shirt gaped at the waist. Mike caught a glimpse of the scar that he knew extended from his brother’s collarbone to his belly. Appetite gone, he threw the rest of the slice of pizza in the trash.

Dylan watched him but didn’t say anything. He probably knew how reminders of that scar, and Mike’s role in it, made Mike feel.

“You know what happened at your boss’s lab overnight?” Mike asked, deliberately shifting the conversation.

Dylan nodded. “I heard about it.”

“Do you know how it happened?”

“Don’t you mean, ‘Did you do it?’”

Yes
. “No, I mean, do you know anything about it?”

Dylan sighed. “I know that someone broke in and trashed the place. I heard that some chemicals were stolen, and that the police are questioning everyone with access to the Biology building. Including students and maintenance staff.” At the last, Dylan raised an eyebrow at Mike.

“I’ve already talked to the police.”

“Well. Are you sure
you
aren’t involved?”

Mike took a breath, let it out slowly. This wasn’t working. He wouldn’t learn anything about Dylan by talking to Dylan.

He could pump Evan for information, but Evan didn’t trust Mike any more than Dylan did. He was just going to have to watch and listen. But he was going to be watching like a hawk with a satellite hookup.