by Rita Herron
One more meeting with Dennis Hopkins. Maybe he’d surprise the man and show up unannounced. After all, if Hughes was hiding something, Eric didn’t want to give him a chance to cover it up.
But as he stepped outside, he saw Melissa coming toward him.
“DR. HOPKINS, ARE YOU READY to begin with the patient?”
Hopkins glanced up from the file and nodded at the young nurse. So far, she’d expressed no personal interest in him, but that would change. If she didn’t come around on her own, he’d have to do something. He’d wanted her the moment he laid eyes on her. Long auburn hair. Brown eyes. She was voluptuous, in spite of the fact that she camouflaged herself in those baggy uniforms. He wondered what she’d look like in an evening gown. Or naked.
“Dr. Hopkins?”
Damn. He wanted to play out the fantasy. “Give me five minutes. Go ahead and prep him.”
“I think you may need to talk to him first. He’s awfully agitated.” She folded her hands across the clipboard, which she had nudged beneath her breasts.
Didn’t she realize the movement only drew attention to her figure?
“All right. Go ahead and give him a dose of phenobarbital to calm him and I’ll be right in.”
She nodded, that mask of professionalism in place. He needed to work out how to push her romantic buttons. And if she rebuked him or didn’t answer his needs, he’d turn her into putty in his hands.
He hurriedly skimmed the file, but the phone rang just as he stood. “Dr. Hopkins.”
“Hopkins, listen, we’ve got trouble.”
A curse word flew from his mouth. “What kind of trouble?”
“Someone’s trying to hack into confidential files. The death of Robert Latone’s daughter has drawn attention to the center. We can’t let anyone find out what happened years ago.”
It was always about protecting the past while he wanted to focus on the future. “Right.”
“That new physical therapist, Melissa Fagan, the woman who found Candace’s body, claims she’s her daughter.”
“Problematic.”
“Word is that there may be a cop working undercover at the center, too.”
“You think it’s the Fagan woman?”
“We don’t know yet. It could be another employee, hell, a janitor even. Or a patient. Keep your eyes and ears peeled.”
“I will.”
“And one more thing, hone up on those techniques. We may need to use them.”
Hopkins grinned and thought of the unsuspecting guinea pig waiting in the other room. “Don’t worry, I’m on it.” He hung up and hurried toward the lab. The poor guy had no idea how the procedure would change him. Free will? Not with the new experimental drug, hypnosis and a little shock treatment.
Hell, the man would never know what happened. And if he didn’t respond according to plan, he was dispensable, just like those three prisoners who’d traded early release time for their experimental services with that memory-altering drug. They were pawns in a very complicated, sophisticated, worldwide game of scientific chess.
A game Hopkins intended to win.
“WHAT KIND OF GAME are you playing, lady?”
Melissa fought to keep her voice level and smiled at the older storekeeper, grateful Eric had agreed to accompany her to the island. Just having him waiting in the car made her feel safer. “I’m not playing games, Mr. Wilks. And I didn’t hurt Candace Latone.” She prayed he’d see her sincerity. “I simply wanted to talk to her, but she was dead when I arrived.”
He smacked his dentures. “You didn’t have an insurance check for her?”
Melissa hesitated, debating whether the truth would gain his compassion or incriminate her more. “No, I’m searching for my mother. I was born in Savannah and was given information that lead me here, to Candace Latone.”
His expression softened slightly, then suspicion registered as if he realized the implications. “You were upset ’cause she gave you away?”
“No.” She bit her lip. “Well, of course, I had mixed feelings, but I didn’t come here to do her harm. You have to believe me, I simply wanted to meet her, to see if we had a chance at a relationship.”
He fumbled with a stack of newspapers, shifting them as if he needed something to do. “You didn’t ask her?”
“No.” Melissa massaged her neck, the day’s tension wearing on her. “I wish I’d had the chance. Now I’ll never know.”
He stared at her long and hard, then finally suggested, “You might want to talk to Louise Philigreen. She and Candace were friends. Candace kept mostly to herself, but Louise liked art and gardening so they visited sometimes.”
Melissa thanked him and scribbled the directions, then hurried to the car. “I found a friend of Candace’s,” she said. “Maybe she can tell me something.”
“I hope you find what you’re looking for, Melissa.”
She squeezed his hand, wondering why he looked so troubled. Five minutes later, she found the house. The spindly little fiftyish woman wore a big floppy sun hat and loose-fitting shift with tennis shoes and was watering her flower garden.
Melissa parked on the curb and climbed out. “Mrs. Philigreen?”
“Yes?” Louise smiled in welcome. “Samantha?”
Melissa frowned. “No, Ma’am, my name is Melissa Fagan.”
“Oh…oh, dear.” She raised the brim of her hat and squinted. “For a second there, I thought…well, never mind. What can I do for you?”
“Can we talk a few minutes?”
“Sure, hon, I love company. Samantha usually comes every day to visit. I don’t know where she’s been today.”
“She sounds like a wonderful friend.”
“Yes, actually she’s my daughter. Would you like some lemonade?”
“No, thanks.” Melissa gestured toward the mixture of spring flowers. “You have a beautiful flower garden.”
“Thank you, I love to piddle. But Candace, she’s the one with the green thumb.” She bent to turn off the sprinkler hose and Melissa did it for her. “This morning, she told me she’s entering her roses in the garden club fair,” Louise tittered. “I’ve encouraged her to enter her roses for years.”
Melissa glanced back at Eric and frowned. “Did you say you talked to her this morning?”
“Why, yes.” She pressed a hand to her cheek. “We had tea and this apple coffee cake that I bake sometimes. Would you like some, Samantha?” She noticed Eric. “Oh, and tell your young man to come in, too.”
A blush heated Melissa’s cheeks. Eric simply smiled at the woman, opened the door and maneuvered himself into his chair. Louise took Melissa by the arm and Eric followed. “I’m so glad you finally came. I’ve been looking for you all day.”
Melissa’s heart sank as they settled on the porch. “This may be a waste of time,” she told Eric while Louise gathered refreshments.
“You never know,” Eric said. “Maybe she can tell you something.”
The woman tittered out, bringing cinnamon-raisin bread that had been store bought, not homemade apple cake.
“I’m so sorry, dear, I don’t know what happened to the cake.” Louise’s voice quavered with agitation. “I guess Candace finished it off this morning. Have you seen her paintings?”
“Yes, a few,” Melissa said.
“They are wonderful, aren’t they?” She poured cold water in a mug over a tea bag. “Careful, don’t burn yourself now.”
Melissa nodded and accepted the cup, then handed one to Eric. “Thanks. Can you tell me anything else about Candace?”
“Well…” Louise sat down, and crossed her thin ankles. “She likes tulips and roses, and—what is that other flower?”
Sympathy filled Melissa. The woman obviously suffered from dementia.
“Did she ever talk about having children?” Melissa asked, hoping for a lucid moment.
Louise thumped her spoon on her cup. “I believe she had a boy. No…no, that was Inez that lives next door.” Her soft green eyes met Melissa’s.
“I’m sorry, hon, what did you say your name was? You look so much like the baby girl I lost when I was young.”
Melissa’s heart stopped for a minute; could this woman be her mother instead of Candace?
No. Louise was simply confused.
“How did you lose your little girl?” Melissa asked.
“Oh, dear me, she drowned. It was so awful. I miss her so much…”
Eric reached out and gathered the woman’s hand in between his. “I’m so sorry.”
Her gaze met Eric’s, tears brimming over. “You are such a nice gentleman. Thank you for coming.”
Melissa was touched by Eric’s sensitivity. She patted Louise’s hand and thanked her, then they left.
“She was a sweet lady,” she said in the car. “I almost wish…”
“That she was your mother.”
She nodded. “I think I’ll go back and visit her anyway. She seems lonely.”
Eric turned brooding eyes toward the window, and Melissa frowned. What had she said or done that had upset him?
Eric gripped the seat, wanting to reach out and touch Melissa. To comfort her and reassure her that one day she’d find her family. But how could he do that when he suspected Hughes might be her father? When he was supposed to be using her?
And that poor woman, Louise…seeing her had only made him wonder what his own mother might have looked like now if she had lived.
Melissa pulled up to his cabin, and he reached for his wheelchair. The fact that he needed it was a bitter reminder of why he had to finish the job.
Hughes had to pay.
He just hated that Melissa might be hurt in the process.
But he wasn’t the only one Hughes had hurt. And he had to put a stop to it.
MELISSA LET ERIC out at his cabin and drove to hers, tension knotting her neck. Why had Eric grown so sullen?
Wearily, she dragged herself inside. No sooner had she closed the door when a knock sounded. Maybe it was Eric coming back. Maybe he’d open up and tell her what was wrong.
Instead of Eric though, the man who’d acted as Robert Latone’s watchdog at the funeral stood at the door. “Miss Fagan, we need to talk.”
Melissa pressed her mouth into a tight line. “What about?”
“About you.”
“Mr…?”
“Moor. I’m Robert Latone’s personal assistant.”
“I see. Well, Mr. Moor, unless you have information regarding my mother, then we have nothing to say to one another.”
“You’re wrong about that. Mr. Latone has suffered enough the last few days.” He shouldered his way inside, and Melissa gasped, panic needling her. “He doesn’t need you making false accusations about being his granddaughter or slandering his daughter’s name by insisting she gave birth to an illegitimate child. Let Candace rest in peace.”
“I want her to rest,” Melissa said. “But I also want her killer caught.”
“Good, then let us handle things.” His hand shifted to the inside of his suit jacket pocket. Melissa backed up. Did he have a gun?
He removed a checkbook instead. “How much will it take for you to leave town and drop this matter?”
IT WAS AFTER FIVE by the time Eric arrived at Hopkins’s office. A bulky man with tribal tattoos snaking up and down his arms exited the doctor’s office as Eric entered. The man’s expression was blank, his entire demeanor strange. What kind of treatment had he come for?
“Can I help you?” a young blond nurse asked from the receptionist’s desk.
“Yes, I need to talk to Dr. Hopkins.”
“I’m sorry, but he can’t see you today. Is this for a consultation?”
“Yes, I’ve been suffering post-traumatic stress disorder relating to my accident,” Eric said by way of a cover.
Shouting echoed from down the hall. Eric turned in the direction of the sound, curious.
“That’s one of Dr. Hopkins’s patients,” she explained. “The poor man’s psychotic, gets volatile at times.” She sputtered a nervous laugh as the shouting grew louder, the patient’s voice rising in hysteria.
“Listen, Mr. Collier, let me put you down for an appointment. I need to go help Dr. Hopkins.”
“Sure.” She squeezed him in for a brief consultation for the following week, and he wheeled toward the door, grateful she didn’t wait for him to leave before she raced down the hall to assist with the patient.
Eric wheeled back in, opened the office door and scanned the room, searching for something that might offer Hopkins’s DNA. He found a pen on the desk, dropped it in the bag he’d brought and slid it beneath him. At least he could get the man’s prints. Eyeing the computer and the files on the desk, he noticed the initials GS–B-2, but the patient’s voice grew quiet and he was afraid the nurse would return any minute.
Cursing the confines of his limited mobility, he wheeled out of the office and into the hallway. Outside, he breathed in the fresh air and glanced up at the building, wondering about Hopkins’s therapy techniques. The research notes he’d read about earlier work mentioned special drugs being tested on patients, prisoners who’d traded early-release time to serve as guinea pigs. Had Hopkins continued the unethical procedures? What exactly did GS–B-2 stand for?
Anxious for the fingerprint results, as soon as he returned to his cottage, he phoned Detective Black. A half hour later, Black and Fox arrived to claim the items.
“We’ll get them to Devlin,” Black said. “Good work.”
“I have a meeting with Dr. Hopkins next week, maybe I can find out more.” He explained about the file. “I don’t know what the initials GS–B2 mean, but it could be important.”
“We’ll check into it,” Black said. “Have you learned anything from the Fagan woman?”
“She didn’t kill Candace Latone.”
“She tell you about the P.I.?” Fox asked.
“Yes, and I’m afraid Melissa’s in danger.”
Black and Fox exchanged concerned looks. “Be careful,” Black warned.
“I can take care of myself,” Eric grunted. “Robert Latone claims his daughter never had a child. We need to know if he’s lying.”
“We’re on him,” Black said. “And his hound dog, Edward Moor. The Feds have suspected Latone of espionage for years, but haven’t pinpointed any concrete evidence.”
“Keep looking,” Eric said.
“And you hang with the Fagan woman,” Fox said. “She might be our ticket to Hughes.”
Eric silently balked, although he knew they were right.
He still didn’t have to like it.
They let themselves out, and he splashed cold water on his face, then grabbed his new cane. Maybe he’d visit Melissa tonight, and talk. After burying her mother today, she might need company.
Even if she said she wanted to be alone, he knew all about self-imposed exile. And he refused to allow her to give in to it.
“I THINK YOU’D BETTER leave.” Melissa gestured toward the cottage door, livid.
Edward Moor settled his intimidating stare on Melissa’s face. “Don’t be stupid, Miss Fagan. You have nothing to substantiate your claims. And I’m aware of your financial situation, you can use the money.”
“I’m not interested in your money,” Melissa said. “I came to Savannah for the truth, not to blackmail Mr. Latone.”
His eyebrow arch said otherwise. “Mr. Latone would appreciate it if you left town. Soon.”
Melissa folded her arms across her chest. “I can’t do that.”
“You can’t or you won’t?”
“Both. In case you haven’t read the papers, I discovered Candace’s body, so that makes me a material witness in a crime. I’ve been told not to leave Savannah.”
“But you said you saw nothing.”
“I didn’t see anything, but the police still want me for questioning.”
A sly grin lit his eyes. “Or they suspect you killed Candace out of revenge because you believe she abandoned you?”
“She did.”
He scribbled an amount on the check, then shoved it toward Melissa. “Take this and keep your mouth shut. Or you might end up in jail for killing Candace. Mr. Latone would like to see the murderer caught.”
Melissa glanced at the check and stifled a gasp. One million dollars.
If they intended to pay her that much, they definitely had something to hide. She accepted the check, then tore it into shreds, pushed the man out of the entryway and slammed the door in his face.
Furious and frustrated, she stripped off her clothes and climbed in the shower, wanting to wash away the ugliness of the day. Moor and his bribe repulsed her.
She needed to calm herself and sleep. Forget that he had darkened her door with the insinuation that she had sought out Candace for money, or that she would settle for a bribe in place of the truth.
How could Robert Latone care for that man and not his own grandchild?
Had he treated Candace in such a vile manner? If so, she could understand the woman falling for any man who offered the love her father had withheld from her.
She soaped herself and shampooed her hair, closing her eyes as the hot water beat a soothing pattern down her body. The soap bubbles slithered to the floor and swirled around her, the comforting task slowly washing away her anxiety. The soapy scent reminded her of Eric fresh from the shower after his therapy session, the scent triggering memories of his gentle comforting touches today and the kiss they’d shared.
She desperately wanted more. Wanted him to hold her tonight and erase the pain and emptiness of knowing that her hopes of having a mother had died with Candace. Images of Eric’s large hands running over her body taunted her, and a titillating sensation stole through her body. What would it feel like for Eric to stroke her naked skin? To kiss and tease her in all those secret places that no other man had ever touched?
Wild sensations spiraled through her at the sheer thought. She turned off the water, toweled off and pulled on a terry-cloth robe. The soft fabric reminded her of the baby blanket one of her foster mothers had given her.
Another had taken it away, saying she was too old to cling to such nonsense.
