by Rita Herron
“You did it!”
He glanced down and a ghost of a smile flitted on his mouth. Although the step had been minute, it gave him hope.
And he vowed not to unleash his rage on Melissa again.
EMOTIONS PING-PONGED in Melissa’s chest as she finished her snack, the memory of Eric’s first step still exhilarating her. He would progress much faster now—that one step would fuel his drive and confidence.
It was time she made progress with her own quest. She wrapped the crumbs of her snack in a paper towel and dabbed at her mouth. Nancy had hurried through her coffee to meet her boyfriend. Helen remained quiet, thumbing through a magazine. Two of the younger doctors breezed in for coffee. A third, a bone specialist, Steve Crayton, smiled at her.
“You’re doing an excellent job, Miss Fagan. We’re glad to have you on board.”
“Thanks.”
Although some of the other nurses found him attractive, something about his intense demeanor prickled at her nerves. Granted he was handsome, and well established for a man in his forties, but his eyes seemed too probing.
“I have surgery in a few minutes. I’ll probably refer this patient to you afterward.”
“Fine, let me know when you’re ready for a consultation.”
Hoping Helen would linger for a few minutes, Melissa hurried back to the center’s office and slid up to the computer. Within seconds, she’d tapped into the main list of patient files, but couldn’t gain access to the older records in the labor/delivery unit without a password. Hmm. She hated to be sneaky, but she had to have answers, so she searched through the drawer and found Helen’s organizer. Helen had consulted it before, seemingly embarrassed that her memory sometimes failed her. She’d admitted she kept everything written down. Melissa scrolled down the list, located the woman’s password and logged on. Several minutes later, she’d entered Candace Latone’s name, along with the date of her own birth and had almost accessed the file, when a voice sounded behind her.
“What are you doing?”
Melissa froze. Helen’s tone sounded cold. Suspicious.
Melissa scrambled for a lie, but decided to opt for the truth. She turned to her with imploring eyes. “I’m trying to find my birth parents,” she said. “I know my mother’s name. Maybe you remember her.”
Helen’s eyes darted around the room. “I can’t remember every patient from years ago. And you have no right to sneak into my things. I should report you.”
Melissa gave her a beseeching look. “Please don’t, Helen. I wasn’t trying to hurt anyone, just locate information on my mother. I have reason to believe a woman named Candace Latone gave birth to me here, and that she gave me up for adoption.”
The woman’s face blanched. “Candace Latone?”
“Yes. Apparently she was involved in some kind of research experiment.” Melissa wondered exactly what type of experiment. “You knew her, didn’t you?”
“I…” Helen’s hand flew to her cheek, where she picked at a loose strand of hair. “I vaguely remember the name.”
“What happened to her?” Melissa clutched Helen’s hand. Had the scientist done something to hurt her? “Please tell me, I have to know.”
“She wasn’t quite right, you know…refused to leave Savannah.” Her voice quavered. “I believe her family set her up in some kind of cabin nearby.”
“Oh my gosh, you mean she’s in Savannah? But I searched and didn’t find any Latones.”
“Her phone number may be unlisted. The last thing I heard she lived on the Isle of Hope.”
“Do you know the address?” Melissa asked.
“No.”
“Do you have any idea what kind of experiment she was involved in?”
“No. I wasn’t aware she’d participated in anything like that.” She fidgeted with her hands. “Rumor said she did drugs, that’s what caused her mental instability.”
Melissa frowned, then glanced up and noticed Nancy watching them. How much had she overheard? Nancy waved. “Your next patient is here, Melissa.”
“Thanks, I’ll be right there.”
Helen closed the files, the conversation over. But excitement filled Melissa as she worked through the afternoon sessions. The minute she finished, she climbed in her car and drove toward the Isle of Hope. The name somehow fit the moment.
What would Candace Latone think when she showed up at her door, claiming to be her daughter?
AFTER HIS AFTERNOON SESSION Eric had collapsed and dreamed about kissing Melissa. Long slow lazy kisses that had ended with them naked in his bed. Only he wasn’t a scarred man, but the old Eric Caldwell, the confident man who protected others.
The dream still haunted him while he met with the plastic surgeon. Although he’d set up the consultation to discuss his own injuries, he had a secret agenda. Somehow, he had to gain access to the doctor’s computer and locate files on Hughes. If he could verify that Hughes had resurfaced and locate a file with information regarding his new identity, catching him would be easier.
Dr. Crane greeted him with a handshake. “Nice to meet you, Mr. Collier. I’ve already reviewed your charts.”
Eric nodded while Crane took a seat behind his massive desk. Eric’s file was open, before-and-after photographs of his injured body spread out. Eric swallowed hard, reminding himself he looked better now than he had. At least the Atlanta doctors had repaired his face. They’d yet to complete skin grafts on his chest and left leg, though.
“You look like you’re healing nicely.”
Eric chuckled. “There’s nothing nice about this body now.”
The doctor ran long fingers through his thinning white hair. “It takes time.”
“So everyone keeps telling me.”
Crane nodded. “Are you satisfied with the face now, or do you want more changes?” He stood and examined Eric, probing around his cheekbones and eyes, then lifted the scraggly hair that had grown back in patches around his forehead. A thin, jagged scar marred his hairline.
“I can take care of that.”
Eric shrugged. “I’m more interested in repairing this.” He lifted his T-shirt and indicated the most severe areas.
Crane studied the scarring. “We can take skin grafts and smooth over the skin. There’ll be some residual scarring, but it’ll look ten times more normal than now.”
He nodded, and glanced at his watch just as the phone rang. Devlin was right on time. He was supposed to create a distraction to lure the doctor out of his office so Eric could search his computer.
“Yes.” Crane angled his head to the earpiece. “My car is being towed? Whatever for?” He hesitated. “But I have an assigned spot.” Another pause. “I can’t believe they’re repaving the parking lot during the week.” He reached for his keys. “All right, I’ll be right there.” Crane slammed down the phone and stood. “This is ridiculous. Will you excuse me for a moment? I’ll be right back.”
Eric nodded. “I’d offer to move it for you, but hey, I brought my wheels with me.”
The doctor’s eyes narrowed, then an apologetic smile creased his lips. “Right, I shouldn’t complain.”
He rushed out the door, looking harried. Eric waited until the door closed, then wheeled around the desk and glanced at the computer.
He clicked on the keyboard to access patient files but footsteps quickly returned. Crane hadn’t had time to walk downstairs. Damn it. Eric rolled back to the opposite side of the desk, pretending innocence when Crane strode back in.
“That was fast.”
“I caught my assistant, had him move the car.”
He should have known Crane wouldn’t make it easy. He’d have to work on hacking into the system when he returned to his cabin.
AN HOUR AND A HALF LATER, Melissa was about to give up her search. She’d asked about Candace Latone at a local diner, at a craft shop and finally at a real estate agency, but the woman glared at her as if she suspected Melissa might be a stalker. Finally, Melissa drove up and down the island, checking mail
boxes, but she didn’t locate a single one labeled Latone. Her head was beginning to ache, and her muscles strained from fatigue. The gas gauge on her trusted Camry wobbled to the empty mark and she pulled off at a small gas station. Weary and fearing she’d hit a dead end, she filled the gas tank, then went into the station to pay. Two old-timers chewing tobacco played checkers behind the counter.
She rapped on the counter. “Excuse me, I need to pay. Fifteen dollars.”
A gray-haired man ambled toward her, adjusting his wiry bifocals. “Thanks, hon.”
Melissa nodded. “Listen, I’m looking for someone and wondered if you could help me.”
“Do what I can. I know most people around here.”
Early on, Melissa had fabricated a lie, that she was a long-lost friend of the Latone woman, but that hadn’t worked. Maybe she’d invent another excuse. She introduced herself and learned the man’s name was Homer Wilks. “I’m an insurance agent. I have a check for a woman named Candace Latone. For some reason, the printer blurred the address. Could you tell me where she lives?”
He scratched at the stubble on his chin. “Sure thing. Twenty-two Cypress Lane. Go past the bluff and turn left, can’t miss it. She lives in a little cottage on the Wilmington River.”
Melissa’s heart fluttered. She thanked him, rushed to her car and drove toward the cottage. The island was fairly small, the lots filled with trees and well-tended flower beds, but as she veered onto Cypress, the beach cottages sprinkled along the streets appeared to be older and less kept. Palm trees swayed in the breeze, the telltale signs of age in the vacant weathered cabins for rent.
Seconds later, she stood at the doorway, inhaling the scents of the river and flowers on Candace’s front porch, her courage waning as she imagined Candace Latone’s reaction. What if she denied ever giving birth? What if she called the police?
Her pulse racing, she turned to leave, then pivoted around and faced the doorway. A strange thumping sound echoed from inside. Melissa paused and knocked again, waiting with bated breath. Another noise jarred her, like someone scrambling inside, then silence. She knocked again, tapping her foot up and down while she waited, her stomach jitterbugging as she scanned the cottage. Judging from the flower bed in front of the cottage and the row of tulips bordering the front lawn, her mother enjoyed gardening. What else did she like?
She knocked again, but still no answer. Had Candace Latone somehow discovered that she’d come looking for her and decided not to answer the door? Someone was definitely inside.
Melissa hadn’t traveled this far to leave without a meeting.
Nerves jangling, she reached for the door and turned the knob. It twisted, and the door swung open, the torn screen slapping in the wind. The hair on the back of her neck prickled. Something didn’t feel right. An odd odor permeated the air. A fishy smell—stale air? Blood?
A scent she recognized from old hospital rotations…death.
No, she was letting her imagination go crazy.
The air caught in her lungs. “Miss Latone? Are you here?” Darkness bathed the room, painting it in eerie shadows. The curtains covering the sliding-glass door hung open, the door stood ajar, the night breeze fluttering the sheers. Somewhere in the distance a bird cawed and another screeched in reply. “Is anybody home?”
She tiptoed past the tiny, dark kitchen nook, then around the corner. Her heart constricted. Dear God.
A frail-looking woman lay in a pool of blood on the floor, her eyes gaping open in deathly horror.
Chapter Four
When Eric returned to his cabin, he tried to access the hospital records, but stumbled on a roadblock with security. He’d have to ask Devlin if any of his contacts knew the system. Determined to learn all he could about the research facility, he logged on to the Internet and downloaded all the articles he could find on the companies housed at CIRP. He also earmarked any questionable government hot topics that might correlate between secretive projects on Nighthawk Island to see if he could uncover any possible nets that Hughes might hide beneath.
AIDS research and cloning topped the headlines, with news of successful animal cloning and the controversy over human cloning. Stem cell research was another controversial topic. And of course, chemical and germ warfare experiments.
He’d bet his last dollar the government was conducting biowarfare experiments on Nighthawk Island. Skimming the remainder of the articles, he noted some psychiatric studies under way as well: mind control, projects on treating autism, schizophrenia, bipolar disorder and various psychotic conditions. They had also experimented with a drug to enhance memory loss.
He’d been shocked when Devlin had described Denise Harley’s Brainpower research. Of course, he’d read about genetic engineering in the news and shouldn’t have been surprised at the scientist’s efforts to expand it one step further and create the perfect child. Thankfully, Arnold Hughes would never learn that Simon, the baby Eric’s brother and Alanna Hayes were raising as their own, was a product of the experiment or that Hughes had actually fathered the baby. If Hughes found out, he’d probably kidnap Simon from Alanna and his brother. Hughes was ruthless. There would be no witnesses left to tell the true story. Or to protect Simon.
He grimaced at the mere idea of using a child in an experiment. Couldn’t parents accept their kids and love them for what they were? Did they have to have the perfect child?
Hell, your old man sure didn’t think you were perfect.
Apparently, Melissa Fagan’s hadn’t, either. Had they given her up for adoption because of her seizure disorder, or for other reasons?
MELISSA GASPED, nausea rising to her throat at the sight of the woman’s body. Was that Candace Latone? Had she finally located her mother, only to find her dead?
A trembling started deep within her. She had to get help, call someone.
She grabbed her cell phone. Her fingers shook as she dialed 911. “Hello…there’s been a shooting.”
“Ma’am, what’s your name?”
“M-Melissa Fagan, hurry…there’s blood, blood everywhere.”
“Calm down, take a deep breath, I need an address. Tell me where you are.”
Melissa’s mind momentarily went blank. She staggered sideways, forcing her gaze away from Candace’s bloody body. A sob built in her throat. There was no way the woman could still be alive….
“Ma’am? We need an address.”
“Right…uh, Isle of Hope.” What street was it? She couldn’t think.
Wait. She’d been driving around. Tears dribbled down her cheeks. Her head was spinning. She’d stopped at the gas station…
Spying an envelope on the table, she flipped it over and read, “Candace Latone. Cypress Lane…22 Cypress Lane.”
“We’ll have an ambulance right there, ma’am. Are you hurt—”
The curtain fluttered. A footstep creaked on the floor behind her. Melissa swung around.
A shadow lunged toward her, then something slammed into her skull, and she fell into darkness.
DARKNESS FELL EARLY on the island, the gray cast covering the sky lowering the spring temperature and adding a chill that Eric found invigorating. Normally he enjoyed being alone, too, had found it peaceful to live in near isolation at the lake. Cain had called him moody.
Now those moods seemed even more acute.
Being alone simply felt lonely.
While he was recovering in the hospital, his brother had insisted the doctors send a counselor to talk to him, some pantywaist shrink who’d encouraged him to express his feelings and deal with residual anger from his youth and his accident. Eric had dismissed the man without even blinking, the black hole of despair dragging him into its clutches.
At the time, his life hadn’t meant much to him.
Melissa Fagan’s sultry smile floated in his mind, and his gut pinched.
Kissing her—now that would be living.
But he wouldn’t be kissing her or doing anything else with her but therapy. Even if his scars didn’t repul
se her, which they probably would if he made an advance, he couldn’t afford to get involved now. If he located Hughes, whoever was near him would be in danger.
He had a new purpose in life—a mission more personal than others, because Hughes had almost killed Eric and his brother.
He grunted and turned on the TV to distract himself. He’d never been much of a couch potato, and had grown even more restless with the mindless crap on the tube while he’d been forced to convalesce. But he kept up with the news.
“Ladies and gentlemen, we bring you this late-breaking story live.”
Eric sat up straighter, eyes narrowing at the scene.
“Earlier this evening, a woman identified as Candace Latone was shot to death in her cottage on Isle of Hope.” The camera panned the outside of the cottage, showing flowers and a neatly kept yard with an ambulance sitting in the driveway, its lights twirling. Police cars were parked at odd angles in the yard, a half-dozen spectators gathered. “Police are investigating the crime as we speak. A young woman discovered Miss Latone’s body, although reports state that she did not see the killer. She was attacked from behind and suffered a mild concussion.”
The camera zeroed in on the paramedics hauling a body bag from the scene, then swept to a gurney near the ambulance where paramedics attended the woman who’d found the body. Eric gripped the arms of his wheelchair, his heart pounding.
The woman was Melissa Fagan.
MELISSA’S HEAD ACHED from the questions.
Detective Adam Black knelt beside her. A tough-looking female cop named Bernstein stood beside Black, eyeing Melissa as if she had murdered Candace Latone herself.
“Did you see anything?” Detective Black asked.
“No. The curtain fluttered, then I heard footsteps and someone attacked me from behind.” She wrapped the blanket tighter around her shoulders.
“Was Miss Latone still alive when you arrived?” Bernstein asked.
