by Rita Herron
If she ever had a child, she would never say such harsh things.
She dragged a brush through her long hair, combing out the tangles, then faced herself in the mirror and stared at her reflection. Why had her parents been unable to love her?
Why had anyone since?
She opened the medicine chest and reached for her medication, but a screeching sound startled her, and she hesitated to listen. The whisper of the wind? A tree branch scraping the window?
It sounded again, low and eerie. Her senses sprang to full alert, and she listened at the door. Nothing.
Still, caution interceded as she remembered the events of the past few days, and she slowly inched open the door, squinting through the dimly lit interior. Nothing. Certain her imagination was overreacting again, she stepped into the hall, but a large hand grabbed her around the waist, and another one settled over her mouth.
Melissa tried to scream, raised her leg to kick backward in a defensive move she’d learned when she was young, but her attacker knocked her in the head.
They both crumbled to the floor in a tangle of fists and fighting.
Chapter Ten
Melissa scrambled sideways, but the man’s fist rammed into her chest, and she gasped. Pain sliced through her rib cage and cut off her oxygen. He flipped her to her stomach, jerked her arms behind her and twisted them upward, grinding her face into the floor. A needle jabbed her arm. Then the metallic taste of blood filled her mouth, and dizziness blurred her vision.
The phone trilled, over and over, and the message machine clicked on. “Hi, Melissa, it’s Eric. I’m on my way. See you in a few minutes.”
Tears dribbled down her face, the salty taste mingling with the blood as Eric’s face flashed into her mind. She was losing consciousness.
And she had one last regret. She wished she’d made love to him before she died.
BEFORE ERIC COULD MAKE IT out the door, Cain called and then Luke Devlin.
“I talked to Black and received the fingerprints. Thanks, Collier.”
“Tell me about this Dr. Hopkins.”
“He’s been working on hypnosis techniques with patients during therapy. Word is he might be involved in a special project for the government—GS–B2. Government-sanctioned brainwashing experiments.”
“Great. I’m supposed to see him next week.”
“Be careful,” Devlin warned. “If he suspects the real reason you’re there, you might end up a guinea pig.”
Eric’s fingers tightened around the handset. Old distrust issues rose to haunt him. Eric had always seen the grays, never trusted anyone but his brother. Now he’d been forced to rely on Devlin and two local cops he’d met days ago. He didn’t like it.
“What’s happening with the Fagan woman?”
“She went to Candace Latone’s funeral today. Latone wasn’t happy to see her. He denied Candace had a child.” He sighed and massaged a cramp in his upper thigh. “He’s either in the dark about the baby Candace delivered or he’s hiding something.”
“Interesting, considering his donations to CIRP. I’ve been doing some background research.”
“Anything new?”
“Apparently, doctors at the hospital ran a special fertility clinic back in the eighties. They were also researching a new birth control pill and experimenting with fertility drugs. Candace was in one of the experiments, but I’m not sure which.”
“Do you know who fathered her baby?”
“Everything points to Hughes. He had some kind of God complex, I guess. Figured his sperm was superior to others.” A sardonic chuckle escaped him. “Or maybe at that point in his career, he wasn’t bold enough to involve outsiders in his experiments.”
“Did he have a personal relationship with Candace?”
“It’s too early to tell, but my sources believe he did. Even if he didn’t, though, if Candace received the fertility treatments, Hughes was likely the father.”
“Why would a single woman like her take fertility treatments?”
“To antagonize her father.”
Eric let the comment stand. Had Candace gotten pregnant as a rebellious statement against Robert Latone? “An affair with Hughes would serve the same purpose and be even more personal. Get back at her daddy by screwing his friend.”
“Right. Or maybe she was looking for a father figure and Hughes provided it.”
“And he gladly took advantage of the fact.” Eric’s opinion of the man dropped ever lower on the scale of humanity. “God, I want to catch this bastard.”
“I’m glad to hear you say that.” Devlin paused. “You realize we finally have the perfect way to draw out Hughes.”
Damn it. He was going to suggest Eric use Melissa as bait to trap Hughes. Eric did not want to tell Melissa her father was a monster, or lie to her and use her. “Hey, I want Hughes as bad as you do, but I refuse to put Melissa in the middle….”
“Think about it,” Devlin said in a low voice. “We could finally arrest Hughes for all the lives he’s hurt and still might hurt.”
Eric remembered Cain and Alanna and little baby Simon. Hughes definitely posed a threat to his family.
What should he do?
MELISSA STIRRED, disoriented and gasping for air. She’d been bound and gagged and was trapped somewhere underground. The smell of damp earth assaulted her.
Where was she? A cave? A cellar? A basement? Was she still at CIRP?
The floor rocked beneath her, and for a moment she thought she was on a boat. Then the movement settled. The rocking motion was her own head spinning from the drugs. She dug downward with her elbows to lift herself but tasted dirt.
Fear snaked through her, claustrophobia mounting. Had her attacker buried her alive?
Panic stabbed at her, destroying rational thought. She struggled against the heavy ropes. Skin scraped and blood trickled down her hands. She didn’t care. She had to free herself. Claw her way out of this hell-hole. Scream for help.
Where was Eric? Was he close by? Had he returned in time to see the man who’d assaulted her drag her off?
The cloying odor of rotting foliage and a dead animal permeated her nostrils. She bit the inside of her cheek, nausea rising. A dead mouse. A rat. If there was one, there would be others. All sorts of bugs and creatures lived underground, ready to feed off her.
Stop panicking. Breathe slowly so you don’t waste oxygen.
She tried to scoot downward to acclimate herself. The area was tight, only a few feet, like a basement crawl space. She rolled to her back, fighting the pain from her bruised ribs, but dizziness swept over her again.
A sob escaped, and she twisted onto her side, rocking herself back and forth. Terror overcame her. No one would ever find her here.
If only she’d taken a chance on Eric, if only she’d told him how she felt…but now he would never know. And she would die alone just as she’d lived all her life.
ERIC PROPPED THE CANE on his lap and wheeled along the path that paralleled the ocean, hoping the fresh salty air would clear his head. He desperately wanted to see Melissa tonight, but his need for her company had nothing to do with the case.
He did not want to use her or confess his suspicions about her father. She had received a devastating blow in finding her mother dead, and then having her grandfather deny her existence. How would she react if she learned she might be the daughter of a mad scientist who had killed innocent people and tried to shape others’ lives with his twisted research and need for power?
The waves crashed against the rocks, a seagull swooped low on the sandy shore below to search for crumbs. A lone fisherman stood casting out his line. A patient, most likely. Eric had enjoyed fishing on the lake back home. When he’d invented the story about building a ranch for troubled teens, he’d realized it wasn’t a bad idea. Maybe when he finished this mission, he’d draw up a plan. What would Melissa think of the idea?
The lake on his property could provide fishing for the kids and other recreational activities, the hor
ses would offer the opportunity to ride, as well as work for the boys, and the on-site counselors would guide them back on track.
His emotions calmer, he headed toward Melissa’s cabin. Tonight he would simply talk to her, offer her a shoulder if she needed one. Tomorrow he’d figure out a way to draw out Hughes without Melissa’s involvement.
He wheeled across the quadrangle that separated the patient housing from employee cottages, frowning when he noticed her door ajar. Remembering the earlier break-in, he approached with caution. His pulse accelerated when he rolled inside the doorway and spotted a lamp shattered on the floor. Magazines had been scattered, and the coffee table sat sideways as if it had been kicked or moved. A damp towel lay on the carpet near the bathroom in a puddle. All signs of a scuffle.
“Melissa?” An eerie silence pervaded the room. “Melissa?”
No answer.
The first strains of panic wove through his system as he wheeled through the rest of the cottage. No Melissa. He raced back to the living area and scanned the room for any indication of where she might be. Her purse mocked him from the kitchen counter. Her car had been parked outside. She hadn’t driven anywhere.
And judging from the strewn items on the floor, she hadn’t left willingly.
Had Hughes discovered her identity and kidnapped her? Had Latone or one of his cronies decided to stop her from asking questions?
Had the killer who’d murdered Candace attacked Melissa?
He reached for the phone, his pulse pounding. Damn it, the line had been cut.
He slammed it down and raced outside. Thank God he’d brought his cell phone. He called the locals.
“We’re on our way,” Fox said.
Eric hung up, his fear intensifying, his frustration mounting. He had to do something.
Minutes could cost Melissa her life.
A noise rattled the brush. Footsteps maybe? He paused and listened. Nothing.
The wind howled off the ocean, the onset of a spring storm brewing in the distance. The temperature had dropped with the cloud cover, adding a chill to the air. Could Melissa have escaped her attacker? If so, she might be outside, running for her life. Where would she go? To him? Down to the water?
He scanned the pavement for footprints, anything to indicate where her attacker might have taken her, and noticed the grass had been flattened to the right. Something had been dragged over it.
A body maybe.
Praying he wasn’t too late, he steered off the paved path onto the grassy area and followed the indented grass blades. Footprints that looked as if they’d been made by running shoes marred the dry ground, and a few fibers—terry cloth maybe? a bathrobe?—dotted the grass.
He wheeled faster, searching the area for someplace the perpetrator might have taken Melissa. Another patch of land next to one of the storage buildings that looked recently disturbed. Was she inside the building? He wheeled closer and checked the door, but it was padlocked from the outside. No windows. Damn.
He rolled around the outside perimeter, listening for signs of someone trapped inside, but heard nothing.
He contemplated giving up, when he noticed a small patch of land covering a storage door that led to a crawl space. Had the center built an underground shelter in case of a nuclear attack or some kind of chemical or biological spillover from Nighthawk Island?
He paused and listened. The wind howled again, but below its whine, he detected another sound. Scratching beneath the ground. A few white fibers lay in the grass nearby. Could Melissa be down in that hole?
Was she alive? Hurt?
He cursed his legs as he fought to free himself from the chair. Finally he managed to support himself with the cane and took two steps toward the covering. Slowly lowering himself, he crawled the rest of the way, then lay on his belly and pulled at the circular concrete covering. His muscles strained as he moved it aside. Darkness filled the mouth of the opening, a rancid smell escaping.
“Melissa?” He leaned farther into the opening and yelled her name again. “Melissa, are you there?”
Nothing.
“Melissa?” He leaned farther into the hole, searching for light, walls, anything to orient him. A scratching sound rose from the depths of the darkness.
Bracing himself on his hands and knees, he swung his body around and slid himself down into the opening, clawing at the sides and steps built into the wall. Using his upper body to support most of his weight, he moved down the steps, his weakened legs trembling as he descended. He half dragged himself the rest of the way. His hands dug at the dirt walls. His fingers bled from the jagged rocks he met on the way. Finally, he dropped to the floor and scrambled through the darkness toward the sound of the scratching. A sliver of light radiated from the mouth of the tunnel. Then he saw a body.
“Melissa?”
She lay facedown, her arms bound behind her, a gag around her mouth. One foot twitched back and forth. Her toe was bloody where she’d been trying to scratch the ground.
At least she was alive.
Emotions clogged his throat as he slid on his belly the remaining few feet to her. The hole was obviously the end of a tunnel, maybe an emergency escape from the storage building. His hands shaking, he lifted her in his lap and turned her over. She was limp, her eyes glassy, her breathing so shallow it was barely audible. Pushing dirt-covered hair from her face, he untied the gag to make breathing easier, and checked her for injuries. Blood seeped from a gash on the back of her head and another on her forehead.
“Melissa, talk to me, honey, wake up and look at me.”
She lay motionless in his arms though, her body icy cold, sending another bout of fear through him. Had she been drugged?
He remembered her seizure disorder, grabbed his cell phone and punched in Fox’s number.
“We’re on the island now.”
“I found her,” Eric said in a gruff voice. “Get an ambulance, she’s in trouble.” He gave Fox directions to the building, then hung up and rocked Melissa back and forth to comfort her.
Chapter Eleven
“Shh, Melissa, be strong, baby, you have to be all right.” A siren wailed close by and roared up to the cottage. Black appeared first, his head in the mouth of the opening.
“Collier?”
“Yeah, we’re down here.”
“How’s she doing?”
“She’s unconscious. I…her body’s cold and clammy, eyes are dilated.” He wiped her damp forehead with his palm.
“We’ll get a crime team to check her place,” Black called. “How the hell did you wind up in there?”
“I crawled down to find Melissa.”
“It’s a miracle you didn’t kill yourself. Hold on, we’ll have you out in a minute.”
Damn it, Eric thought. If he had full function of his limbs, he’d already have rescued Melissa himself. “She has some kind of seizure disorder, Black. I think she takes regular medication, we’ll need the name of the meds for the hospital.”
Fox’s voice echoed to him, “I’ll look for it in the cottage. The ambulance is pulling in now.”
The siren wailed closer. Seconds later, he heard Black directing the paramedics to the tunnel. One rescue worker descended the steps, then rushed over, knelt and took Melissa’s vitals. He yelled them up to the other paramedic. “We need a stretcher board down here. We’ll lift her out.”
He glanced at Eric. “Are you all right, sir? Do you have injuries?”
“I’m fine, just take care of her.” He felt helpless as he watched the men work to save Melissa. They secured her to the stretcher, and with Black’s help lifted her through the opening. The first paramedic returned to assist him.
“I can hang on to a rope if you can haul me up,” he said between clenched teeth.
The paramedic nodded, and Eric crawled over and grabbed the end of the rope. Thank God he’d continued to lift weights and maintain his upper-body strength. He needed it now more than ever.
By the time Black helped him up, he’d gra
bbed his cane, and hobbled over to Melissa, the paramedics had started an IV. Fox raced back from the cottage with a bottle of prescription pills and handed them to the paramedics. They called the E.R. for instructions.
“We’re ready to transport her.” The first paramedic turned to Eric. “We need to check you out, sir.”
“I wasn’t hurt tonight,” Eric said, hating his obvious physical problems. “But I’m going with you.”
The paramedics traded questioning looks with the detectives, then one of them nodded.
“We’ll search the cottage for evidence of her attacker,” Black said.
“You’d better find him,” Eric growled as he allowed the paramedic to help him into the ambulance. “The SOB has to pay.”
“IS OUR PROBLEM extinguished?”
“Not exactly.” He scrubbed a hand over his sweating face, cursing aloud. “I planned to finish her off at her cottage, but that damn crippled guy called. He was on his way. I put her in the crawl space so I wouldn’t get caught. I thought she’d suffocate there or I could go back later and complete the assignment, but Collier found her.”
“Who is this Collier? What does he know?”
“I’m not sure. He’s a patient, Melissa Fagan is his physical therapist.”
“Hmm. Find out more on the man.”
“Right.”
“Do I need to take care of the Fagan problem myself?”
He rolled a cigarette between his fingers, yanked out a match, but decided to wait until the paramedics and cops left the vicinity before he lit up. “No, I can do it.” He had been trained well. The mission was part of his initiation; he had to complete it, live up to the symbols tattooed on his arms. The scent of the kill taunted him. He could taste the blood, death.
And he knew exactly where to finish the job—at the hospital, right under all the unsuspecting noses.
MELISSA FELT AS IF she was drifting through a haze of never-ending darkness. She swam through the murky water, but the undertow dragged her deeper into the abyss, pulling at her legs and arms. Unknown terrors waited for her as she traveled deeper, a thick quicksand-like marsh sucking her underneath its muddy, brown folds. She couldn’t see. She couldn’t breathe.
