Memories of Megan Read online

  She had belonged to Tom Wells.

  The only reason she’d spent time with him lately was that she thought he might be her husband. And she was in danger.

  Had the questions he’d been asking put her in more danger?

  The last remnants of sun faded and darkness descended over Savannah when the security team finally left. Traffic noises echoed from the street, and Cole reached toward his keys, ordering himself to go home. To leave her alone. To let Jones protect her. To stop adding to her problems.

  But he couldn’t make his hand turn the key. Ten long minutes later, the front door opened and Megan and Jones appeared. Cole ground his teeth as he waited.

  Jones lifted a hand and brushed a strand of Megan’s hair from her face, then gently kissed her cheek. Cole saw red.

  Then Jones sauntered toward his car, looking smug, a self-satisfied grin on his face.

  The long lonely hospital stay rose in Cole’s mind to taunt him. No one had come to see him. No one had even called to look for him.

  He had been utterly alone with the pain and the darkness.

  Megan seemed to be the only sliver of light that had slipped into that black hole since then.

  Instead of driving away, he opened the car door. Before he could convince himself it was a bad idea, he knocked on the door.

  She opened it, her mouth parting in a small look of surprise. Or maybe a smile.

  “I know I shouldn’t be here, Megan,” he said in a gravelly voice. “But I’m afraid I pushed Parnell today about Tom. My questions might have put you in danger—”

  “I asked Jones about him today, too.” Megan’s soft voice floated over him, igniting the flame of desire that had been smoldering within him all night. “It’s not your fault, Cole.”

  She moved aside and gestured for him to enter. As much as Cole told himself to turn and walk away, he couldn’t resist. He closed the door behind him, then did what he’d wanted to do ever since he’d heard that gunshot in the parking garage.

  He pulled her into his arms and kissed her.

  “SOMETHING’S GOT TO BE DONE. They seem to have some kind of connection.”

  “Dammit, I know. Why the hell did your shooter try to kill her at the research center?”

  “He didn’t.”

  “What?”

  “That wasn’t my man. I don’t know who the hell it was.”

  He paused to let that information soak in. “Then someone else wants Megan Wells dead.”

  “Apparently so.”

  “Well, hell, Maybe they’ll do our job for us and we won’t have to muddy our hands with this one.”

  A long tense silence followed. The other man’s breathing rattled over the line. He wasn’t happy. “I don’t think the experiment’s working.”

  “I’m afraid you may be right. But we need to keep Hunter alive long enough to find out where that disk is.”

  “Then get on it. That cop Black is back. He’s bad news.”

  “I know. We have to find the disk. Then we’ll get rid of them both.” Megan Wells’s pretty face flashed into his mind. He wrapped his hand around the pair of panties he’d taken from her drawer. Black. Lacy. Sexy. Closing his eyes, he imagined her wearing nothing but the silky underwear. Imagined his fingers touching her. Imagined making her his.

  It was too damn bad she had to die.

  Chapter Twelve

  Megan sank into Cole’s arms, savoring the heat of his body and the strength of his embrace. His kiss was gentle, yet full of restrained hunger, sending a wave of passion skyrocketing through her. He cupped her face in both his hands and nipped at her mouth, then tilted her chin up with his thumb so she looked deep in his eyes. She saw the desire, the dazed sexuality of a man who wanted her, yet also the fear and uncertainty that he shouldn’t be touching her.

  The fact that he hesitated only magnified her desire.

  She was starved for tenderness and love, aching all over from the surge of terror that had engulfed her during the shooting. Cole could erase that fear, that loneliness that threatened to drag her into the depths of despair. He could make her feel alive again.

  “Megan, this is probably wrong.” He traced one finger over her kiss-swollen lips. “But I can’t help but want you.”

  “I know,” she whispered hoarsely. “I…I want you, too.”

  A small smile tilted the corner of his mouth. Then raw passion fired his dark eyes, and he lowered his head and claimed her mouth again. This time, the gentleness fled as he deepened the kiss, his hunger growing as he pushed her lips apart with his tongue and thrust inside, licking and probing the warm recesses of her mouth. Megan moaned and clung to his arms, her own desire spiraling out of control when his muscles flexed beneath her touch. His hands tunneled through her hair as he dragged her closer, pulling her into the vee of his thighs where his muscled legs cradled her. His sex hardened and bulged against her own burning heat. Moisture pooled in her womb, begging for sweet release.

  His hands kneaded her back, then drifted lower to cup her bottom and stroke her thighs. Megan groaned and dug her hands into his thick hair, her body thrumming with desire. As if he knew where she ached, he slowly moved his hand to her breasts and cupped her weight in his palm, then rubbed her nipple to a feverish peak between his fingers. She whimpered and kissed his neck as he lowered his head to kiss the tips of her breasts through her thin white shirt. He gently lifted the fabric, planting hot tongue-lashing kisses along her abdomen upward until he licked at the sensitive skin of her breasts. He had just reached for the clasp of her bra when the phone rang.

  They both stilled for a moment, but Megan ignored it, flinging her head back as he undid her bra. Her breasts spilled into his hands and liquid fire blazed through her. With a moan of masculine appreciation, he played with the sensitive peaks, licking and suckling her. “You taste like heaven.”

  Megan clung to him, the joy of ecstasy just within reach, but the phone continued to trill until Cole pulled back and grabbed it. They both halted at the sound of the low voice. “You better stop asking questions about Tom’s death or you’ll be sorry. You’ll find yourself in the graveyard, too.”

  Megan pulled away and stared at the phone in shock.

  “Who is this?” Cole asked.

  But the caller had already hung up, the dial tone wailed through the room like a siren warning of death. And the caller ID read unknown.

  MEGAN WITHDREW INSTANTLY. Cole knew he had to let her go. He had already taken things too far between them.

  He reached out to help her straighten her clothes, but she backed away. “I…I can’t believe I did that.”

  Emotions flickered in her eyes, replacing the passion. Fear from the phone call. Wariness over their interlude. “Megan, I’m sorry. It was my fault. I got carried away.”

  Her gaze was amazingly steady. “No, I wanted it, too. But…but I shouldn’t.”

  He recognized guilt in her voice, and gently traced a finger along her cheek. “You don’t have to feel guilty. Tom may be gone, but you’re here, alive, Megan. It’s okay to go on.”

  “I know.” But she still turned away. “It’s just…it hasn’t been very long. And…”

  “And what?”

  “I shouldn’t want you so much.”

  Her admission stunned him.

  “Why not?” He grabbed her arms and turned her to face him. “Because you don’t know who I am. Because you don’t trust me?”

  “Because,” she said in a low voice. “Because it wasn’t this way with him. At least not at the end.”

  He swallowed, letting her words sink in. “What do you mean?”

  Megan paced across the room to the window and stared outside at the oak tree in the front yard. She wanted to avoid his question, avoid him the rest of the night, but she could no more run from what was happening here with Cole than she could the problems in her marriage with Tom. At least she owed him the truth.

  “Tom and I met after he finished his doctorate. I had graduated from nursin
g school and was applying for a job here.”

  “And?”

  “And we worked together. We got along. We dated…after a while the next logical step was for us to get married.”

  “Are you saying that you didn’t love him?”

  Her gaze flew to his, panicked and full of misery. “No. I did love him, but…but now I’m not sure I loved him enough.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “We both wanted children. When I didn’t get pregnant right away, our relationship changed. Everything became so tense.”

  “And then?”

  “Then the passion just died.” She hesitated as if it cost her to admit the truth. “I tried to make our marriage work, tried to feel close to him, but he poured himself into his work and his research. And there was never any time for us.”

  “For romance, you mean.”

  She nodded, tears filling her eyes. “Don’t you see? I failed him, so I shouldn’t want you now.” She swiped at a tear. “If only I’d been able to give him a baby, he might not have worked so hard. He might not have been so obsessed with his projects that he didn’t confide in me.” Her voice took on a panicked note. “And he might not be dead.”

  A million questions bombarded him. What if he was Tom and he hadn’t died? Would they be able to put their marriage back together?

  But what if he wasn’t her husband?

  She had admitted that the passion had not been as hot between her and Tom…

  “Megan, I don’t know what’s going to happen, what we’re going to find out about Tom or the research center. And I don’t know who is trying to hurt you. Not yet. But I do know that you aren’t responsible for Tom’s death.”

  She pressed her hand to her mouth, trying to gather her composure.

  “But I will find out the truth about what happened to him, and who’s trying to hurt you.” He moved toward her but she backed away again. “And when this is all over, when we find out if I’m Tom or Cole Hunter or someone else, and that passion is still there, then we’re going to see where it takes us.”

  Megan didn’t reply, she was too shaken by his statement.

  Instead she gestured toward the door.

  “I can stay on the sofa if you’d feel safer.”

  She shook her head. “I’ll set the alarm.”

  He studied her for a moment, then nodded and walked toward the front door. Megan followed him, praying he left without any more declarations. She needed time to absorb the volatile emotions and chemistry between them.

  He paused, raised his hand and gently brushed her cheek with his palm. “Will you call me if you need me?”

  Megan nodded, the tenderness in his touch eliciting another seed of desire to burst inside. But this time, she refrained from acting on her urges. She watched him walk outside, then closed the door and locked it behind him.

  COLE WOKE WITH MEMORIES of Megan haunting him. And the fear that she was in danger because of him so strong he knew he had to do something.

  He wasn’t getting anywhere at CIRP, so he decided to go to Oakland and see what he might learn there. Maybe something would jog his memory. Maybe he really was Cole Hunter and the date on the article he was supposed to have written was a simple misprint.

  He called her first to make sure she was okay. She promised to stay home all day with the security alarm set. Detective Black was supposed to come by later.

  He took an early-morning flight and arrived at the Oakland facility by noon. After passing security, he spent an hour walking the grounds, but nothing seemed familiar. Not the stone structures that stood like fortresses against the backdrop of the dense forest surrounding it or the small river that backed the property.

  His leg ached as he approached the main office. “I’d like to see Dr. Chadburn.”

  “Certainly, Dr. Hunter.” The redhead secretary, an elderly woman in her forties, smiled. “He’s been waiting on you since they buzzed you through security.”

  Cole hesitated before entering the other man’s office. “Have we met, Ms.—” He checked the name plate on the desk. “Hargrave.”

  She fluttered her hand. “I’m afraid not. I just started here last week.”

  He nodded and entered the polished doors of the office, wishing for some tidbit of recognition. He found nothing. The office reminded him of his own at CIRP, although this was the office of an administrator not a research doctor. Furniture was much more expensive, the bookcases filled with business journals, and a wet bar occupied one corner.

  “Dr. Hunter, what brings you back to Oakland?”

  Cole decided to cut to the chase. “I’m still suffering from memory loss…I thought returning to my old workplace might stir up some memories.”

  The doctor smoothed down a fuzzy gray mustache. “I see. Nothing’s returned?”

  “Not much. I can’t work full force until I get better, either.”

  “Have you thought about hypnosis?” Chadburn tapped a pen on the desk. “You might try that and see if it helps.”

  “I’ll think about it,” Cole said. “I would like to see my old office though while I’m here.”

  “Certainly.”

  A few minutes later, Cole surveyed the eight-by-ten-foot room, now occupied by a new doctor, but nothing struck a familiar chord.

  “Of course, Dr. Porter ordered new furniture and had the office repainted, so it doesn’t exactly look the same as it did when you were here.”

  Cole gritted his teeth in frustration. The rest of the tour continued much the same. Occasionally a nurse or doctor turned narrowed eyes his way when Dr. Chadburn introduced him, but he didn’t recognize a soul. With his new face, no one recognized him, either.

  “I’d definitely talk to Jones about hypnosis,” Chadburn said. “You’re at the best place for treatment, Hunter. Take advantage of it.”

  Cole thanked him for the tour, then walked down the hall, his gaze scrutinizing the names on the doors. An elderly man wearing coveralls backed out of the room, pushing a broom.

  “Sorry, sir.” The man tipped his head back and leaned his small weight on the broom. “You new around here?”

  “No, sir. I used to work here, but I’ve relocated.” He extended his hand. “Dr. Cole Hunter.”

  The man staggered back, squinting over bifocals that needed cleaning. “What did you say?”

  “I said I’m Cole Hunter.”

  “No.” The man shook his head and clacked his teeth. “Dr. Hunter didn’t have no children.”

  “What?” Fear sneaked into the old man’s expression.

  “I realize that. I’m sorry if it seems awkward, but I had an accident after I left here and had plastic surgery.” He ran a hand over his face. “This face is new.”

  “Maybe so, mister, but you must have grown at least four inches. Cole Hunter that worked here was older, only five-eight at the most.” He leaned forward, lowering his voice to a whisper. “And if you was Cole Hunter, you come from the grave.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Man died five years ago. Went to his funeral myself and saw them put him in the ground.”

  Cole frowned, and headed to his car. He’d track down every graveyard in Tennessee if he had just to make sure the old man hadn’t been confused. But in his gut, he feared he already knew the truth.

  He definitely wasn’t Cole Hunter.

  So why had Jones and Parnell and Chadburn told him he was?

  LATE THAT AFTERNOON, Megan sipped her third cup of coffee as Detective Black settled at the kitchen table. In spite of the new alarm system, she’d barely slept the night before. Nightmares of the shooting had haunted her.

  Along with disturbing dreams of sleeping with Cole Hunter.

  “Ms. Wells, what can you tell me about your husband’s work?” the detective asked.

  Megan indicated the sugar and creamer dish but he shook his head no. “He didn’t discuss his research with me. Most of the work at CIRP is confidential.”

  “Did you have any idea
what he might be working on?”

  She explained about the files on autism and the notes on hypnosis. “I did see a notation about a project called M-T but I have no idea what the acronym stands for.”

  “You’ve searched his files here and at work?”

  “The ones I can find. A few files seem to have missing sections, though; information had been whited out or deleted. And someone broke in and stole the things I had here.” Megan’s hands tightened around the cup. “Do you know why my husband was meeting your partner?”

  “No. Clay was following up on our investigation of Arnold Hughes. We’ve searched Clay’s place but can’t find anything specific.” The detective sipped his coffee, a frown pulling at his forehead. “My guess is that your husband either knew something about one of the projects or research that was questionable. Or—”

  “Or he knew something about Hughes?” Megan inhaled. “So you think Tom was murdered?”

  “Probably.”

  “But why come after me?”

  “Maybe whoever killed your husband thinks you have the same information he did.”

  Megan stood, frustrated. “But that’s just it, I don’t know anything. I’m a nurse at the center. I work with patients, not research. Although…” She hesitated, then told him about the three questionable patients’ files. That two of them had died and one was still unaccounted for.

  “I’ll check them out,” he said, scribbling down the names. “How well did you know Arnold Hughes?”

  Megan shrugged. “Not well at all. I saw him at a few functions related to the center. I never had any personal connection with him.”

  “What about your husband?”

  “He didn’t socialize with him. And as far as I know, Dr. Hughes wasn’t involved in any of Tom’s projects. He and Sol Santenelli oversaw the center, but they didn’t get directly involved in the projects.” Megan hesitated. It felt like they were getting nowhere.

  The detective stood and refilled his coffee. “Have you heard anything to indicate that Hughes might be back?”

  Megan shook her head.

  “You have plastic surgeons at the center?”