Undercover Avenger Read online

  “No… I don’t think so.” Visions of the splattered blood played before her, and she squeezed her eyes shut to block the images. “There was so much blood, and her eyes…they were wide open.”

  “Did you touch her?” Detective Black asked.

  “No. I was in shock. Then I remember thinking I had to get help, and I reached for my phone.”

  “Did you touch anything else?” Black asked.

  She strained to remember. “Just the door coming in. And…the floor when I fell. I think I hit the end table.”

  “Yes, with your head,” he said gently. “You’ll probably have a whopper headache for a while.”

  Melissa nodded. The police had taken photographs, the M.E. had completed a brief exam, and they’d carried Candace Latone’s body to the ambulance. Her mother…or was she? Melissa hadn’t even gotten to speak to her, to ask her the truth….

  Detective Bernstein’s voice turned cold. “What exactly was your relationship to Miss Latone?”

  Startled, Melissa glanced away. The lights twirled against the dark sky. Voices hummed in the background. Neighbors had gathered to gawk and speculate. The old man from the gas station who’d given her directions stared at her through squinted eyes.

  She cleared her throat, realizing she did look suspicious, and not liking it. “We didn’t have one.”

  “You’d never met?” Bernstein asked.

  “No.”

  Her dark eyebrows rose. “So, what were you doing here?”

  Tears welled in Melissa’s throat again, but she swallowed them, determined not to cry for a woman who’d abandoned her. But how should she answer the question?

  The insurance story trembled on the tip of her tongue, but she couldn’t lie to the police. A lie would only incriminate her more.

  “Miss Fagan, what were you doing here?” Detective Black asked more gently.

  She glanced up, willing them to understand. “I came to meet her. I…had reason to believe she was my m-mother.”

  Bernstein had been jotting notes in her notepad, but she paused. “Really? How interesting.”

  Melissa bit her lip, tasting blood and feeling sicker to her stomach by the minute. “I was born here in Savannah, but I was abandoned as a baby. A few months ago, I hired a private investigator to locate my birth parents.”

  “And he led you here?” Black asked.

  “Yes.”

  Bernstein picked up the questioning. “Had you spoken with Miss Latone on the phone?”

  “No.”

  “She wasn’t expecting you?” Bernstein asked, her voice clipped.

  “No.” Melissa frowned. “At least I don’t see how she could. I haven’t confided my reasons for coming to Savannah to anyone.” Except for Helen.

  “How did you find Miss Latone’s address?” Bernstein asked.

  “A…nurse at the rehab center mentioned that Candace lived on the island. I stopped at the gas station for directions.”

  Bernstein clicked her pen, in and out, in and out. “Did you tell anyone that you thought Miss Latone was your mother?”

  Melissa hesitated, the clicking sound grating on her nerves. “Actually, I did tell the nurse.”

  The clicking paused. “I thought you said you hadn’t confided in anyone.”

  Melissa shrugged, growing dizzy from the inquisition. “I forgot.”

  Bernstein’s incessant pen clicking began again. “What about the man at the gas station?”

  She twisted the edges of the blanket, pulling it tighter as if the fabric could protect her from reality. “I…I said I was an insurance agent, that I came to give Candace a check.”

  Bernstein smirked. “So, you lied?”

  Melissa glanced at the other cop for help, but his expression remained unreadable. “Yes, but…”

  “If you lied then, why should we believe you now?”

  Her temper flared. “You think I would walk into a woman’s house, murder her, then stick around? I’d have to be pretty stupid to do that, wouldn’t I, Detective Bernstein?”

  “Maybe that was the plan. You thought your story would throw suspicion off of yourself.”

  They thought she was a cold-blooded killer?

  “Young girl, abandoned as a baby, waited all these years to find her mother, then—” Bernstein snapped her fingers for emphasis “—wham, she confronts her, the woman denies she’s her mother, and the girl loses her temper.”

  “That’s not true.”

  Bernstein pushed her face toward Melissa, crowding her. “Maybe she ordered you to get lost, claimed she didn’t want you then, and she didn’t want you now.”

  “No, that’s not what happened,” Melissa cried.

  “Why should we believe you?”

  “Because I didn’t kill her,” Melissa said, hysteria rising. “I came here to talk to her, to meet her, that’s all. I don’t even own a gun.”

  “That can be checked out.” Detective Black held up a warning hand when Bernstein started to pounce on her again. “Miss Fagan, where are you staying?”

  “I work at the rehabilitation clinic at CIRP. I live in one of the employee cottages.”

  The odd look that flashed into Detective Black’s eyes surprised her. “You’re working at CIRP?”

  “Yes. But I’ve only been there a few weeks.” She clutched his arm. “Detective, is there any way you can keep my reasons for being here confidential? I don’t want everyone to know that I thought Candace was my mother.”

  Bernstein resumed the pen clicking. “I doubt that, Miss Fagan. You’ve just given us a motive for murdering Miss Latone.”

  ERIC’S NERVES WERE strung tight as he watched the remainder of the news. He recognized two of the cops on the scene, Detective Adam Black and Clayton Fox. Both had been involved with the investigation into CIRP. Black was partly responsible for uncovering the former CEO, Sol Santenelli and Arnold Hughes’s original deception.

  He had to see if Melissa was okay.

  Outside, a spring breeze fluttered the tops of the palm trees and brought the scent of the ocean, along with a fine spray of salty water that brushed his face. He passed three cottages, then approached Melissa’s and circled around to the front. He parked beneath the cluster of trees near her entrance and studied the constellations while he waited on her. When he was little, he’d enjoyed watching the stars, but his father had called him a sissy and had broken his telescope in one of his rages. Eric had given up star watching and childish dreams and turned serious.

  Now he had to forget dreaming and focus on reality.

  Silence hung in the thick, humid air. The ocean tides broke and crashed on the shore. Finally, a car engine cut into the tension, and Melissa’s Camry roared up and screeched to a stop. She flicked off the headlights, then opened the car door, her face pale beneath the quarter moon. His gut clenched when he noticed the bruise on her forehead. She seemed unsteady as she walked up the pathway to the door.

  “Melissa?”

  She startled and jumped back, wide-eyed.

  He silently cursed himself for scaring her. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to frighten you.”

  She heaved a shaky breath, then fanned her face. “Eric, what are you doing here?”

  “I saw the news.” He steered the chair toward her. “Are you all right?”

  Tears welled in her eyes. He wanted to reach out and touch her. But she stood a foot above him, and he was helpless to do anything but study her. “They said you were assaulted. Are you okay?”

  She fumbled in her purse for her keys. “Yes…actually, no, I’m kind of shaken up.” The keys rattled in her hands. She dropped them, picked them up and wrestled to insert the key in the door, but her hands were trembling so badly she couldn’t manage the task.

  He rolled forward and gently took them from her hands. “Here, let me help.”

  She relented, brushing a strand of hair from her face. He reached for the knob, but the door swung open. “You didn’t lock it?”

  Panic lit her eyes. “
Yes…I did.”

  Protective instincts surfaced. He motioned for her to wait outside. “I’ll check it out.”

  Melissa grabbed the back of his chair. “No, Eric, you can’t go inside.”

  His jaw snapped tight as he realized her implication. You’re crippled. Helpless. How could you protect me when you can’t even walk without assistance?

  Rage exploded inside him. If he couldn’t protect a woman, what good was he?

  “I said wait here.” He hurled the chair forward, pausing to listen for intruders.

  “DAMN IT, DID YOU HAVE to kill Candace Latone?” He tugged at his chin in agitation, screwed off the cap to his blood pressure medicine and downed a pill. He’d worked so hard all these years, things couldn’t spiral out of control now.

  The repercussions from Robert Latone would be harsh.

  The other man wheezed over the line. “We can’t take any chances. That Fagan woman is here, snooping into things.”

  “How much does she know?”

  “I’m not sure. But she believes Candace was her mother.”

  “What? This is unreal.” He raked a hand across his polished mahogany desk, sending papers scattering. Had Latone lied to him?

  “Some Atlanta P.I. gave her Candace’s name. He was investigating the research being done back then, too.”

  “What else does he know?”

  “Don’t worry about him, he’s history.”

  “Make sure there’s no connection.” God, what a mess. “And don’t get murder happy. The Feds are breathing down our necks already. We can’t afford to bring any more suspicion to the center.”

  “Right. So, you want me to off the Fagan woman?”

  “No. Not yet. Just watch her, and find out what she wants.”

  “And keep her from digging up secrets?”

  “Exactly. I don’t like her talking to those cops Black and Fox.”

  “Hey, they suspect she killed Candace. Maybe they’ll take care of her for us, lock her up.” He chuckled. “If not, maybe Candace’s murder will scare her away.”

  He slammed down the phone. Maybe so.

  But if not, well, he’d do whatever he had to do to protect the past.

  But he had to wonder—had Latone lied to him?

  If so, he’d be sorry….

  Chapter Five

  Melissa hesitated at the doorway. Even in her disoriented state, she’d insulted Eric Collier’s male pride. Yet how could she allow him to enter a potentially threatening situation in his weakened condition, especially to protect her?

  Even more unsettling, had someone been inside her cottage? And if so, why?

  After the scene at Candace Latone’s house, her imagination was running rampant, every horror movie she’d ever seen flitting into her mind. She removed her cell phone from her purse, ready to dial 911, then glanced in the corner, grabbed her umbrella for protection and tiptoed into the cabin. Eric had not bothered to turn on the light. He wheeled into the small den, glancing around the darkened interior, his movements deathly quiet for a man in a wheelchair. Her heartbeat thumped wildly in her chest as she inched up behind him.

  He gestured toward the bedroom. His cabin must have been built on a similar plan, because he seemed to know the layout. The kitchen and dining nooks were connected to the small living room, creating an open space, with one bedroom and bath to the side.

  She studied the room for anything amiss, and frowned. She hadn’t brought very many personal things with her, and hadn’t added a single item to make the place homey, choosing to keep the furniture that had come with the cottage. Not that she had any personal family photographs or collectibles to cart around, a sad testament to her lonely existence.

  Besides, she’d intended to stay only long enough to get some answers.

  Eric pointed to the desk in the corner near the sliding glass doors, and she noticed the drawer ajar. A few of her notes were scattered on the floor, the various files she’d collected from the private investigator tousled through as if someone had searched them.

  Her pulse clamored. Someone had been here. But why would they be interested in her files?

  Because they know why you’re in Savannah, and they don’t want you to learn the truth….

  Dear Jesus. The answer hit her with the force of a fist, nearly robbing her breath. She clutched the wall for support. Eric caught her arm and motioned for her to leave, but she shook her head. He exhaled, then rolled into the bedroom doorway.

  She stood behind him, eyeing the room. The navy comforter on the oak bed had been stripped, the closet door open, the meager contents of her wardrobe shuffled as if someone had scavenged through them. But whoever had broken in had already left.

  Remembering the tiny handmade bonnet her mother had left her, she raced past Eric to the nightstand where she kept it and threw open the drawer. The lid on the box had shifted. Relief spilled through her at the sight of the small cap. She pressed it to her cheek, the scent of the worn thread and baby softness reminding her of its preciousness.

  Eric’s hand gently touched hers. “Someone was in here.”

  She jerked her head up. “I know.”

  “Do you have any idea why?”

  Candace Latone’s bloody body flashed into her head. Even if Melissa hadn’t shot the gun that had killed Candace, had her quest for the truth about her past caused her mother’s death?

  What kind of Pandora’s box had she opened?

  ERIC REALIZED MELISSA saw him as handicapped, but he couldn’t tolerate the fear in her pale green eyes or the pain etched on her beautiful face.

  He had always been a sucker for a woman in trouble, and although Melissa was tougher than the abused women he’d helped in the past, she was definitely in trouble. At least he could be a friend to her.

  She slumped down onto the bed.

  He moved the chair closer to her, then tipped her chin up in his palm. “Melissa, talk to me. What’s going on?”

  She bit down on her lip, then squeezed the crocheted bonnet. “This…it’s the only thing I have from my mother.”

  His gut pinched. Unable to admit he knew she’d been abandoned, he nodded, silently coaching her to continue.

  “She dropped me off on the steps of a church when I was only a baby.”

  “And she left that cap with you?”

  A small smile softened the tight lines of her mouth. “Silly for me to keep it, isn’t it?”

  Eric shook his head and gestured toward his gold cross. “My mother gave me this for my thirteenth birthday. She died not long after.”

  Melissa smiled, reached out and touched the cross.

  He’d also kept the storybook his mother had read to him as a kid, The Little Engine That Could. God, how he’d loved that book, how he’d wanted to be that heroic little engine and carry his mother away from her mountain of troubles. But he’d failed and his mother had died.

  He couldn’t fail Melissa now.

  “The woman that was murdered, was she your mother?” he asked quietly.

  A small gasp escaped her. “How did you know?”

  He shrugged. “Just putting two and two together.”

  She lowered her head again, a wealth of sadness in the movement. “I didn’t even get to talk to her, to ask her.” Her lower lip trembled. “She was d-dead when I arrived.”

  The tears overflowed then, gut-wrenching and honest. Eric had no choice. He pulled her into his arms and held her. Two lost souls clinging together as one for the moment.

  “The police think I killed her.” The admission gushed out, and Eric rocked her back and forth, soothing her with nonsensical words.

  “They’ll investigate, find out the truth.” He stroked her hair, inhaling the sweet gardenlike fragrance of her shampoo.

  “But what if they don’t?” She raised her head, tears streaking her already pale cheeks. “And what if I am responsible?”

  His chest ached for her. “You’re not responsible.”

  She shook her head, her eyes wild w
ith panic. “But what if I am? Do you really think it’s a coincidence that she’s lived here all this time, and the day I show up at her door, she’s murdered?” She clutched his hands. “No wonder the police think I killed her.”

  He cupped her face in his hands, stroking his thumbs along her cheeks. “Shh. Everything’s going to be all right.”

  “But how can it be?” she cried. “I came here looking for her. She died because of me.”

  “You can’t be certain of that, Melissa.”

  “What other explanation could there be?” Her nails dug into his hands. “Just look around, Eric, someone broke in here and searched through the notes I’d gathered from the private investigator I hired. They wanted to see how much I knew about my mother.”

  “Maybe,” he admitted. “I’m calling Seaside Security, Melissa, to tell them about the break-in. They’ll change your locks.”

  “You think whoever broke in might come back?”

  “It’s possible, if they didn’t find what they wanted tonight.” She was shivering when he hung up. Eric pulled her into his arms again, stroking her hair and trying to soothe her.

  Her deduction about the Latone woman’s murder made sense. If the murderer thought Melissa had uncovered information that might expose him, she was definitely in danger herself.

  And why had Candace Latone been murdered? Because of Melissa, or because Candace had been involved in some kind of experiment at the center? What kind of experiment? But why would someone come after her now, years later?

  Had she been silenced because she knew something about Melissa’s birth that would disrupt the lives of her blood relatives—maybe Melissa’s father?

  MELISSA SAVORED THE FEEL of Eric’s comforting arms, and for a brief few moments leaned into the hard wall of his chest. Closing her eyes, she blocked the images of Candace’s eyes bulging in horror and the image of the hole in her chest. Though snatches of the red refused to fade, she inhaled, breathing in the menthol scent of Eric’s aftershave and his masculine presence. She had been alone for so very long, had never had a father or any man to shelter her from the horrors of her own nightmarish past.

  Unfortunately the nightmare had continued.