by Rita Herron
She reached inside her purse and grabbed her cell phone.
Call 911. Don’t go inside. Run.
She spun around to run back to the car when someone attacked her from behind. The force knocked her down the steps, face first into the grass. Gravel and rocks jabbed her face. Then something slammed against her head. Megan tasted blood and dirt. Then everything went black.
Chapter Nine
Cole had to make sure Megan was all right. The way she’d torn out of the hospital, he’d worried she might have an accident. Not wanting to crowd her, he gave her a few minutes to get home while he retrieved some files from his office to study that night. Among them, Tom Well’s notes on hypnosis as a treatment for trauma victims with repressed memories.
Night fell as he drove from the hospital on Catcall Island along the coast, then through the downtown Savannah streets. Whispers of oncoming winter echoed in the nearly bare trees and the wind that whistled through the sea oats. He rolled down the windows and listened, thinking the old legend about Catcall Island was true—the sound reminded him of the low mewl of a cat. An eerie sound that did nothing to calm his already agitated state.
Echoes of his own uncertainty taunted his mind.
The blood tests proved only one thing, that he shared the same type as Tom Wells. But so did a million other people in the U.S. He needed more extensive DNA testing, and if his memory didn’t return soon, he would have it done. Even if he had to leave the confines of CIRP to keep the center from finding out.
The row of town houses that had been converted into duplex apartments shifted into view, and he steered his Jetta into a parking spot along the front. Knowing Megan would probably not welcome the sight of him made his trek up the sidewalk even harder.
Shoulders stiff, Cole rang the doorbell, scanning the front yard and neighboring houses for anything suspicious. Nothing. No answer either. He tried twice more, then peeked inside the front window.
His heart stopped.
Someone had broken into Megan’s house. Was she inside? Hurt? Was the intruder still there?
His mind racing, he checked the back drive for her car. Inching slowly around the side of the house, he grimaced when he spotted the white Toyota she’d rented. Should he phone the police or search the house for Megan first?
Then he spotted her lying on the ground.
Dear God.
She lay motionless, facedown, her arms and legs sprawled beside her. The back door stood wide open. The intruder had probably escaped when Megan had arrived, but still he kept one eye on it as he knelt and felt for a pulse. He desperately wanted to turn Megan over, but he had to check for injuries first. A low pulse beat at the base of her throat. Thank heavens.
He wished he had a gun, but he didn’t, so he yanked out his cell phone and called 911, quickly reciting the address and explaining the circumstances, then snapped off the phone and gently checked her body for injuries. There weren’t any visible broken bones so he gently rolled her over, bracing her neck as he did. Long blond hair spilled over his arm, the flutter of her pale eyelashes giving him hope.
“Megan.” His voice broke at the sight of blood on her lip. Furious at whoever had attacked her, he reminded himself to be gentle as he wiped the dirt from her face.
“Megan, honey, wake up. Are you okay?”
She stirred, a low moan escaping her.
Relief poured through him. She might be in pain, but at least she was alive.
He cradled her against him, still keeping one eye on the doorway. She whimpered and lifted her hand toward her head.
He quickly skimmed his hands through her hair, fury gripping him at the knot on the back of her head. “Shh, it’s okay,” he whispered, stroking her face. Her eyelids fluttered.
A frightened, dazed look darkened the blue irises but she finally focused on him. “You—”
“I just got here, Megan. You were on the ground.” Dear God, she didn’t think he had hurt her, did she?
She squinted, long fingers pressing against her temple. “Who…was in the house?”
“I don’t know. I suspect they’ve already gone, though.”
A siren wailed in the distance, coming closer. Tires squealed as the EMTs peeled to a stop. A tear seeped from her eyelashes, breaking his heart. Megan was in danger because of him.
He just wished to hell he knew why.
MEGAN’S HEAD ACHED AND SO did her body. But she felt a strange sort of security in Cole’s arms.
A false sense of security, she told herself, when he gently handed her over to the EMT. Shoulders ramrod straight, Cole spoke to the policeman. What were they were saying? Cole followed the police officer as he searched her house.
“Ma’am, you have a concussion,” the paramedic said. “We should take you to the hospital for observation.”
“I’m fine, really.” Megan pushed his hands away to sit up.
Around twenty-five, the handsome paramedic was obviously determined to do a good job. He gently urged her to lie back down. “Listen, you’ve had a blow to the head—you can’t get up that fast, you might get dizzy.”
“I know. I’m a nurse.” Megan tried to smile past the bruise on her lip. She’d bitten her tongue when she’d fallen and had a gash, but thankfully didn’t need stitches. “I really am okay. And I don’t want to go to the hospital. I need to find out what happened here tonight.”
Cole suddenly appeared in front of her, overpowering her with his tall presence. “Someone broke in and damn near killed you, Megan. You’re not staying here. You should go to the hospital.”
“So now you’re my doctor?” she snapped, angry at him, but not knowing why. She didn’t want him here, didn’t want him telling her he was Tom, confusing her when she was already confused and hurting. Making her want the marriage she hadn’t had, making her want his strong protective arms around her when no one had ever protected her before.
Not even her husband.
Making her want him even if he wasn’t Tom.
A shudder gripped her at the thought.
He stared at her long and hard, his dark eyes commanding and full of emotions she couldn’t read.
The policeman broke the tense moment by clearing his throat. The EMT helped Megan sit up. “Who did this?” she asked.
“We don’t know, ma’am.” He pulled a small notepad from his pocket.
“Officer Duncan here. Did you see anything? Anyone?”
“No, nothing.” Megan searched her memory but realized she hadn’t had a clue someone had been inside until the door had swung open. “The door was unlocked when I got home. When I realized someone had broken in, I tried to run, but whoever was inside attacked me from behind.”
He nodded, smacking his lips. “All right. We’ll fingerprint the place and see what we can find. When you feel better, you need to take a look and see if anything’s missing.”
“I can do that now.”
“Megan, you need to rest,” Cole said.
She gritted her teeth. “Just help me up.”
He lifted her, then placed an arm around her waist, supporting her as they slowly went into the house. Except for the cupboards, which had obviously been pawed through, the kitchen hadn’t been disturbed. But the furniture was overturned and papers and magazines lay strewn on the den floor.
Her gaze flew to Tom’s desk and she stifled a cry. What few papers that had been left inside now were tossed in disarray. Cole helped her over to the desk. She checked the bottom drawer for files, but found it empty.
“Damn,” Cole said.
“Something missing?” Duncan asked behind them.
“I’m not sure,” Megan said. “Maybe some of my…some files.”
He looked confused. “You oughta check your jewelry, ma’am. That’s usually where burglars hit.”
Megan nodded, although she and Cole exchanged doubtful looks. Instincts told her the intruder hadn’t been looking for her jewelry but for information.
Cole helped her into her bedroom and te
ars filled her eyes. Her sheets and comforter had been tossed on the floor and slashed into shreds. The vile act seemed way too personal for someone looking for work files. And the collection of angels she had only recently taken out lay on the floor shattered and broken. Something about the sight of her small treasures being damaged brought the reality of the attack closer to home, magnified the danger. Judging from the torn bedding, this was also a crime of passion—but who hated her enough to want to hurt her?
Cole’s jaw tightened. “The box of Tom’s things…it’s gone?”
Megan nodded, battling her emotions as she slowly approached the dresser. Cole stood silently by while she opened her jewelry box. All her jewelry, everything there was intact. She picked up the silver chain Tom had given her, the most expensive thing she owned, other than the cameo that had once belonged to her grandmother.
“The silver chain was your first anniversary present,” Cole said quietly.
Megan’s legs buckled. Cole caught her. In spite of wanting to resist him, she couldn’t. On top of the attack and everything else, his presence, his knowledge of the intimate details of her life was too much.
The policeman grunted. “Any jewelry missing?”
“No, it’s all here,” she said in a strained voice.
A perplexed look crossed his face. “Hmm. You must have come in before he had time to find it.”
Megan and Cole let the comment slide.
“Well, ma’am. Like I said, we’ll fingerprint and see what we can come up with. But it’ll take a while, probably just a random breaking and entering.”
“I doubt it,” Cole said.
The officer scratched his chin. “What makes you say that?”
Cole described the freak incident with her car. “Will you check on that, see what the police found out?”
“Sure will.” Duncan hitched his pants up a notch. “Meanwhile, you might want to go to the hospital and rest.”
“I’m not going to the hospital.”
Cole cleared his throat. “She can come home with me.”
“What?”
“It’s my place or the hospital, Megan.”
She glared at him. “I’m going to a hotel.”
“Then I’ll go with you.”
The policeman watched their interplay with interest. “We work together,” she offered, uncomfortable with his curious look.
He nodded as if he understood. She tried to pull away from Cole, but a dizzy spell swept over her and she swayed. Cole scooped her in his arms and carried her toward his car.
COLE HAD A BITTER TASTE in his mouth while he drove toward his cottage. He didn’t like the frail look on Megan’s face or the fact that she had refused to go to the hospital. But most of all, he hated the realization that she might have been attacked because of him and the questions he’d asked. She had finally agreed to go to his place instead of a hotel, though.
He scrubbed a hand over his beard stubble, his finger brushing the small scar at the base of his chin. What had he looked like beneath this face? Who had he been?
Was he Tom Wells, Megan’s husband? Had he married her, had he promised to cherish and protect her? Had he taken her to bed and made her feel beautiful and desired? Was that the reason he felt so protective now?
A hard knot formed in his stomach, even as a strong need to hold her seized him.
She rested her head against the back of the seat and closed her eyes, as if by closing her eyes she could block out what was happening to her. She looked small and vulnerable, and he ached to pull her into his arms. But he knew not to push a victim.
He jerked, steering the car toward Catcall Island, wondering where that thought had come from? What other victims had he known? Patients he’d seen suffering from trauma or shock?
A few minutes later, he parked in the cottage’s driveway, opened the door and hurried around to help Megan. She was already opening her door and trying to climb out when he reached her.
In spite of her protests, he placed his arm around her waist. “Listen, Megan, I know you don’t want my help, but you have a concussion. I don’t want you falling and hurting yourself worse.”
“I hate being weak,” she said in a low voice.
He chuckled. “I know what you mean. After my surgery, it was awful not being able to do for myself. A humbling experience.”
Megan nodded against his chest and relaxed slightly. He opened the door and flipped open the light, bathing the interior of the sparsely furnished cottage in soft light.
“CIRP owns this?” Megan asked.
“Yeah, they use it for new employees in transit, and visitors or consultants who come in.”
He helped her to the beige leather sofa, his heart aching at the agitation lining her face. She glanced around the room and he tried to see it through her eyes. Barely any furniture. Clean white walls. Two pictures of sea creatures on the walls with a seascape motif border around the room. The room seemed cold and sterile.
He had no personal items here, other than clothes. No photographs of family or friends. No collections or memorabilia. Nothing to indicate anything about the man Cole Hunter.
“How did you know about the silver chain?”
“I…I don’t know.”
“Do you remember giving it to me?” she asked in a strained voice.
He searched his fuzzy mind, then sat down, cradling his head in his hands. She really thought he might be Tom. “No, not really. But when I saw it, I knew it had been a present.”
“What else do you know about me? About Tom?” Her blue eyes widened with fear. “Do you remember our wedding? Do you remember that your parents didn’t want us to go through with it, that they tried to talk you out of marrying me? That they thought I wasn’t good enough for you.” Her voice rose, near hysteria. “Do you remember that we were trying to have a baby? That I couldn’t get pregnant, that you blamed me—”
“Megan, stop it.”
Tears streamed down her cheeks now. She raised her hands and hit him in the chest. “Do you remember making love to me, then telling me I wasn’t satisfying you?”
God, no. He caught her hands in his when she tried to cover her face. “Stop it, Megan. I’m sorry.” He drew her into his arms and pressed her head against his chest, rocking her in his embrace, murmuring soothing words, a dozen emotions bombarding him. She broke into sobs, low, soft, and full of pain.
He picked her up and carried her to his bedroom, pushing down the covers with one hand. She clung to him when he started to release her.
He realized she simply needed comfort, not anything sexual, so he lay down beside her and pulled her up against him, stroking her arm gently and letting her curl up against his chest. Seconds later, she drifted to sleep.
He lay in the darkness and stared at the ceiling, studying the shadows on the walls as he inhaled her feminine scent.
He couldn’t be Tom Wells, could he? He couldn’t have said those awful things to her and hurt her like that. And if he, no if Tom, had, why had she continued to love him? To grieve for him?
He tried to place the memories, but his mind swelled with nothingness. As much as he wanted to believe he was Tom Wells, he instinctively knew he would never have said anything to hurt her. Because there was no way this woman wouldn’t satisfy him. She was everything he’d always admired in a woman. Strong. Gutsy. Independent. Smart. Beautiful. Inside and out.
And even as she’d cried in his arms and looked at him in fear, even as he told himself he should walk away from her to protect her, desire thrummed through him.
God help him. No matter who he was beneath this stranger’s face, he still wanted her.
MEGAN’S HEAD ACHED as she slowly opened her eyes. Someone was pressing soft, gentle kisses in her hair. Strong arms encircled her, the scent of a man’s body infiltrated the room, and a muscular thigh pressed against her hips. For a brief moment, she snuggled into the man’s embrace, savoring the featherlight kisses he brushed against her neck.
But the soun
d of the man’s deep, husky voice murmuring her name brought her back to reality.
She opened her eyes, turned in his arms, and saw Cole Hunter lying beside her, his arms cradling her against the hard wall of his chest. Panic set in. What had she done? How had she let herself spend the night with this stranger?
This stranger with Tom’s memories and another man’s face. This stranger who made her quake with fear and unleashed passion.
This stranger who made her want to forget the pain of her marriage and start all over with him.
COLE PRESSED KISSES ALONG Megan’s neck, gently lifting her beautiful hair so he could touch the sensitive skin behind her ear, the secret place she liked to feel his tongue. He knew the spot well. Had laved it before and would do so now until she quivered with longing.
Whispering her name, he rubbed one hand along her arm, pulling her harder into his chest. Desire splintered through him, her feminine scent so intoxicating he felt the world spin beneath him. He wanted her with such a ferocity that he had to remind himself to go slow. To peel away her clothes gently so he could ignite the same burning ache within her that consumed him.
All night, she snuggled into the vee of his thighs. His sex hardened just thinking about her.
That would have to wait.
Wait until he had teased and tormented her with his mouth and tongue.
Suddenly a noise intruded, and her body tensed within his hold. The jangling sound continued, pulling him from the blissful sleep and lull of being so close to Megan.
MEGAN FROZE AT THE SOUND of the phone, slowly trying to disentangle herself from Cole’s arms, but he opened his eyes and stared into hers, and a strange connection passed between them.
The phone trilled again and Cole frowned, then eased up and grabbed it. He scratched the scar puckering his skin, a visible reminder of his accident. “Dr. Hunter here.”
She slowly sat up, then propped the pillow behind her to ward off the dizziness. Cole’s shoulders stiffened. “Yeah. Uh-huh. Really? All right. Let me know what else you find.”
Megan gripped the sheet in her fingers as he hung up and turned to face her. Early-morning sunlight painted his face in gold. The dark stubble on his chin gave him a dangerous sexy appearance, and his strong commanding presence evoked every illicit sexual fantasy she’d ever had, stirring desire and passion and vulnerability in the melting pot that her body became around him.
