Undercover Avenger

by Rita Herron

  And if the private investigator’s death was related to the Latone woman’s murder and Melissa’s investigation into her parentage, would she be next?

  MELISSA PULLED AWAY, composing herself. “Eric, I have to go. Thanks for listening, but you have to stay away from me. I don’t want you hurt.”

  “I can take care of myself,” Eric said between clenched teeth.

  Her gaze fell to the wheelchair. It stood between them, a visible reminder that he was physically debilitated and needed therapy.

  He dropped his hands. “You don’t have to be alone anymore, Melissa.”

  Fear rippled through her, along with memories of her past. Wanting someone to help but having nowhere to turn. Running from one of her foster fathers. Being locked in a closet by another. But acceptance of her childhood had made her stronger. She wouldn’t surrender to the fear now. “Yes, I have to be alone.” She laid her palm against his cheek, a surge of warmth seeping through her, replacing the icy chill in her bones. “I appreciate your concern, but I’d never forgive myself if something happened to you, Eric.” Because I might be falling in love with you.

  No, she couldn’t be in love.

  She was attracted to Eric, but there was too much chaos in her life for her to entertain feelings for this man. After everything he’d endured the past few months, he didn’t deserve someone with ready-made problems.

  Besides, she knew nothing about relationships. Nothing except saying goodbye.

  And now, because of her search for her parents, her love might be fatal.

  “I need to leave, Eric.”

  “Where are you going?”

  She hesitated. This morning she hadn’t decided whether or not to attend Candace’s funeral. With the realization that Candace and the P.I. had both lost their lives because of her search, she had to attend. She needed the truth or their deaths would count for nothing. “I’m going to Candace Latone’s funeral.”

  Eric nodded. “Then let me ride with you.”

  “No.”

  He clutched her hand. “You’re not going alone. If I don’t ride with you, I’ll call a taxi and come by myself.”

  “But why? It might be dangerous.”

  “Shh.” He kissed her hand. “Because I don’t want you hurt, either.”

  Melissa swallowed, emotions welling in her throat. No one had ever said those words to her before.

  Why would this man who’d barely survived a terrible explosion put his life on the line for her, when no one else, not even her own mother or father, had wanted her?

  GUILT NAGGED AT ERIC as he rode with Melissa to the funeral. It was ironic. His entire life, he’d helped other women escape horrible family lives, yet this woman was trying to protect him, when he should be the protector.

  Devlin’s words reverberated in his brain. Use her to get close to Hughes.

  He didn’t like using people, especially innocent women. And Melissa was about as innocent as they came. Kind, caring, honest, compassionate. Alone.

  All she’d wanted was to find the woman who’d given her birth and to understand why she’d been abandoned.

  She knew nothing about Hughes, he was certain of it.

  But unfortunately, she had walked into a bed of lies and danger she was not equipped to handle.

  He cut his gaze toward her. Uncertainty plagued her features as she parked in front of the Savannah church. On the ride over, she’d stopped at a florist shop and bought a bouquet of fresh flowers. A goodbye offering for a woman she’d never met, a person who’d left her as a baby to fend for herself in the world.

  Yet Melissa still cared about Candace, which proved she was a loving, forgiving woman.

  Several cars lined the church parking lot, although it was by no means full, a sad testament to the life of the lady who lay inside in a casket ready to bid her final goodbye. Seconds later, more cars rolled in, all expensive makes and models. Affluent people emerged dressed in black, obviously friends of Robert Latone’s who’d come to pay their respects and possibly win his favor. Eric wondered if any of them actually cared about the woman inside, then realized he was projecting his feelings about his own mother’s death on the visitors, and remembering the near-empty church where they had held her service.

  A service his own father had not attended.

  Only Cain had stood beside him, fending off the concerned social worker and assuming the role of a father figure to Eric. He’d have to thank his brother the next time he talked to him. Eric had never appreciated how much Cain had sacrificed to take care of him. He’d been angry, hurt, confused—not an easy kid to parent.

  But nobody had cared for Melissa.

  He would be there for her now.

  Eric placed a hand over hers, the flicker of heat igniting between them. “Are you sure you want to do this?”

  She nodded and curled her fingers into his, her voice stronger now. “Yes, Eric. I have to learn the truth.”

  God, he felt for her. “Robert Latone will be here.”

  “I know.” She squeezed his hand. “And I doubt he’ll be very happy to see me.”

  Probably an understatement. “But you don’t intend to let Latone intimidate you?”

  “Whether Candace was my mother or not, I feel connected to her, Eric. There had to be a reason I was the one who discovered her body that night.”

  Eric remembered his father’s abusive behavior. The unfairness of it all. “Sometimes there are no reasons, Melissa. Things just happen. People are in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

  “I still have to finish this.” Melissa released his hand and closed her fingers around the flowers. “I have to know if Candace was my mother and if she died because of me.”

  “You think Robert Latone might have lied to you?”

  “Maybe Candace never told him about the pregnancy. She could have hidden it, convinced a friend to drop me off at that church.”

  “That’s true.” He’d have to investigate the possibility. “But if he did know, and he’s lying?”

  “Then he might have forced Candace to give me away. Maybe exposing the truth will lead to Candace’s killer.”

  Eric silently cursed as she exited the car. Melissa had raised some very good points. Whether or not this situation or her birth led to Arnold Hughes, he couldn’t allow her to face Latone alone.

  Because if she was right, and Latone was covering up his daughter’s murder, then he would have no problem killing Melissa and covering up hers, as well.

  MELISSA SLIPPED INTO the back of the church as quietly as possible, well aware Eric’s chair squeaked slightly on the thick plush carpet. A hum of low whispers and greetings echoed from the pews as the visitors filled the rows, all well-dressed regal-looking men and women who were obviously friends of Robert Latone’s. Had any of them been close to her mother, or even friends with her at all?

  Robert Latone stood ramrod straight in the front row, shaking hands with a preacher clothed in a long robe. Melissa shivered, remembering the few times she’d attended church as a child. Her third foster father had been a self-proclaimed minister who preached hellfire and damnation and handled snakes. The experience had given her nightmares.

  Later, as a college student, she’d visited the small chapel on campus and had felt solace in the quiet ceremonies and the softly spoken rituals of the Methodist congregation. Neither had compared to this ornate church with its stained-glass windows, carvings and decorative ten-foot ceilings.

  Her gaze landed on the closed casket at the front of the church, pewter gray with a blanket of red roses. Red roses meant love—did Robert Latone really love his daughter?

  The flower arrangement she’d bought seemed puny, but she still wanted to offer it as a gesture of…of what? Love, respect? She had neither for the woman. Only a deep sadness and curiosity, and regret that she’d died, even pity that Candace had missed out on a relationship with her own daughter—if she had wanted one. Had she?

  The preacher moved to the pulpit, an organist acco
mpanied another woman singing “Amazing Grace.” Melissa slid into the last pew, her stomach churning. Eric moved up beside her and collected her hands in his.

  “Friends and family, we are here today to say a final farewell to one of our sisters, a kind woman who lived alone most of her life, who gave to her small community of friends and rarely bothered others. Candace saw life through an artist’s eyes, using various venues to portray her inner emotions and views of the world surrounding her.” The preacher’s words about living alone could have described her, Melissa thought, wondering if she and Candace shared anything else in common. Melissa certainly wasn’t artistic.

  The next few minutes passed in a blur while the preacher read scripture from the Bible, then recited a eulogy that sounded practiced and aimed toward helping Robert Latone accept his daughter’s rise into the kingdom of heaven. Another hymn ended the short unemotional service.

  Melissa studied Candace’s father, her gaze straying to the gray-haired gentleman sitting next to him. She’d seen him before but couldn’t quite place where. She also recognized the old man who’d given her directions to Candace’s cottage and a few of the neighbors who’d arrived on the scene after the murder.

  Robert Latone bowed his head and pinched his fingers to the bridge of his nose, his face stoic as the service ended, but his eyes remained dry. The other man led him through the procession to the side door and the guests followed accordingly.

  There had been no open casket, no final moment for Melissa to speak to the woman she believed had given her birth. She wondered if Robert Latone had arranged a private viewing earlier between himself and his daughter. According to the local paper, he’d opted to forgo a traditional wake.

  Melissa and Eric exited through the back, then fell into step behind the people moving to the graveyard behind the church, a well-tended manicured cemetery on the top of a hill. The sharp incline compounded Eric’s wheelchair maneuvers, and she reached for the chair back to help him, but his fierce look dared her to insult him by offering her assistance.

  At the graveside service, Melissa hovered in the throng of spectators while Robert Latone sat beneath the tarp that protected him from the late-afternoon sunshine. Odd, there was no other family present. Robert Latone might be a foreign diplomat and business tycoon, but either he had no other family or he’d distanced himself from them.

  Had he been close to Candace throughout the years?

  A breeze stirred and rattled the surrounding trees, scenting the air with the sweetness of the fresh flower arrangements the attendants were placing around the burial plot. Another Bible reading and prayer followed, then guests lined up to offer condolences. Melissa hung back. Latone’s companion stared at her as if she’d invaded a private family gathering.

  Finally, the crowd dispersed, the funeral staff began to shovel dirt onto the grave and Melissa forced her feet to move forward. Her heart aching that she’d been denied the opportunity to meet her mother, she knelt, whispered a silent goodbye and placed the flowers next to the grave.

  Robert Latone’s voice jerked her from her melancholy mood. “What are you doing here?”

  She stood and faced him. “I came to pay my respects just like everyone else.”

  “You have no reason to be here.”

  Melissa gestured toward the parting crowd. “And all these people were her friends?”

  He glared at her. “That’s none of your business.”

  “Is there a problem, sir?” The gray-haired man who’d dogged Robert Latone all day approached her.

  “No, Edward, I was just informing Miss Fagan that she doesn’t belong here.”

  “He’s right,” the other man said. “This service is for friends and family only.”

  Melissa gave a sardonic laugh at his pointed remark. “And you don’t think I’m family?”

  “You’re not,” Robert Latone said.

  “I have information which says otherwise,” Melissa said.

  “It’s false information,” Latone’s watchdog said in a clipped voice. “Miss Latone never had children.”

  “And if she did, would you have recognized them?” Melissa asked, anger fueling her temper. “Or would you have forced her to get rid of her child so she wouldn’t disgrace your reputation?”

  Robert Latone’s hand rose as if he might slap her. Eric’s chair crunched gravel as he moved closer.

  Edward’s look turned lethal. “You should go now, Miss Fagan. Mr. Latone needs to grieve in peace.”

  Melissa shrugged his hand away. “I will find out the truth, Mr. Latone. No matter how much you attempt to hide it, secrets always have a way of coming out in the end.”

  Latone reached for her, but she strode away, her shoes kicking pebbles in her wake as Eric wheeled behind her.

  Chapter Nine

  After she dropped Eric off at his cottage, Melissa’s chest ached with emotion. She opened the car windows and drove along the island, inhaling the salty air and pungent smell of shrimp and the sea, willing away the feeling of doom. She had always been alone—nothing really had changed today.

  Yet it had.

  All her life, she’d thrived on the belief that one day she’d be reunited with her mother. Now, that hope had been buried with Candace Latone.

  She parked at a low-hung cliff at the corner tip of Skidaway, climbed down the hill and walked along the shore, taking solace in the soft sand beneath her feet and the crunch of shells as she walked. The tides rolled and crashed against the rocks, mimicking her tumultuous feelings over lost chances and dreams. Wrapping her arms around herself, she faced the ocean, marveling at the vast expanse of the endless sea and finally giving in to the pain swelling inside her.

  If she disappeared into the water, no one would ever know…no one would miss her or care. She was like a broken seashell that would be lost in the vastness forever.

  She sucked in a harsh breath at the realization, remembering all the times she’d felt hopeless as a child. All the times she’d reminded herself to hold on, that one day her parents might find her. That they loved her and wanted her.

  She no longer maintained that belief. Robert Latone had completely denied her relationship to Candace or him and wanted nothing to do with her.

  Kicking off her shoes, she walked toward the edge of the ocean, the water lapping over her feet and washing back out to sea. White billowy clouds rolled above her in a clear blue sky. Suddenly an image of Eric’s face floated unbidden to her mind.

  He had been like a rock to her all day, sitting silently and offering support, hovering in the background as if he understood that she needed space and time alone, but also suggesting that he wanted to protect her.

  She was in love with him.

  She had no idea how to handle these new feelings. There was already so much turmoil in her life that she desperately wanted Eric to hold her, to comfort her, to kiss her again and make her forget the sorrows of the day.

  But she was on her own.

  Or maybe she wasn’t. Maybe she should talk to Eric.

  He could go with her to the island, talk to Candace’s neighbors. She really didn’t want to go back to the island alone.

  ERIC HAD BEEN SO FURIOUS with Robert Latone that he’d barely contained his rage. The fact that his physical limitations might prevent him from protecting Melissa had angered him even more.

  But Melissa didn’t deserve his wrath, not when her mother had just been buried and her grandfather had totally denied her existence. Did Robert Latone really think Candace hadn’t given birth to a child, or was he trying to protect himself by covering up the fact that they’d both abandoned a baby? Was he worried about his reputation? His financial empire? Or some deeper secret being revealed?

  Did he know the identity of the man who’d fathered Melissa?

  Determined to unravel the truth, Eric spent the afternoon on the case. He needed fingerprints and DNA samples from the men he suspected might be Hughes. It would be tricky to obtain them without revealing himself though.<
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  First, he paid a visit to Ian Hall, the new CEO of CIRP. Although the photo he’d discovered at Candace’s suggested the improbability that Hall was Hughes, Eric had to make certain.

  “I wanted to shake your hand and tell you how impressed I am with your center,” Eric said.

  “Thank you, Mr. Collier. We’re proud of the facility and our staff.” Hall’s right eye twitched slightly as if he had a nervous tic. “I trust our staff is meeting your needs.”

  “Absolutely.”

  “You came here for physical therapy?” Hall asked.

  “Yes, but I’m also scheduled for skin grafts. I needed time to heal first.”

  Hall nodded. “Our plastic surgeon, Crane, is topnotch.”

  “Yes, I’ve heard.” He had given Clayton Fox a new face to fit his fake identity. Had he operated on Hughes, as well?

  Eric glanced around the office, searching for a stray hair that might have fallen from Hall’s jacket but saw none. He spotted the man’s handkerchief and decided the Feds might be able to lift DNA from it.

  Pretending interest in the diagram of the facility on the wall, he maneuvered his chair toward the desk. Hall followed, growing slightly agitated. “Do you have an interest in the center for some specific reason? Investment purposes maybe?”

  “Perhaps.”

  “What exactly do you do, Mr. Collier?”

  “I own a ranch in the North Georgia mountains. I’m planning a school for troubled teens and was curious about your counseling program. Perhaps I could talk to someone in the psychiatric department for a reference.”

  “Certainly.” He scribbled a name on a business card and handed it to Eric. “Dennis Hopkins is phenomenal. He could definitely make some recommendations.”

  Eric intentionally dropped the card. While Hall bent to retrieve it, he swiped the handkerchief and stuffed it in his pocket.

  “Thanks, Dr. Hall, you’ve been very helpful.”

  Hall followed him out, locking the door behind him. Eric wheeled back to his cottage and placed the card and handkerchief in a plastic bag to give to the authorities. He only hoped it provided them with some answers.