by Rita Herron
Could Eric really understand her feelings? How abandoned and alone she’d been all her life? He carried scars from the accident, but the man still emanated strength.
His arms tightened around her, and she felt a kiss brush her hair. Her stomach fluttered.
Then she angled her head to look up at him and saw a flicker of hunger in his dark brown eyes. Their gazes locked, and an attraction she could no longer deny obliterated the horror of the evening.
As if Eric read her mind, he caressed her cheek with his thumb, then slowly lowered his head a fraction of an inch. She could almost taste his desire, yet he paused as if seeking permission. Swept away by the moment and the feel of his thumb tantalizing her skin, she cupped his jaw in her hand and pulled him toward her. His lips touched hers with such gentle sweetness that she felt something deep inside her tug. Heat radiated through her, unleashing emotions she had never experienced.
The other men in her life had been aggressive. Cold. Had pushed for things she hadn’t been ready to give.
Eric, on the other hand, ignited such a yearning in her that she craved more.
He deepened the kiss, and she succumbed, tasting his masculinity as he teased her lips apart and slipped his tongue inside. He threaded his fingers into her hair and she nibbled at his mouth. But the arms of his wheelchair cut into her side, bringing her back to reality.
She had always been alone, had never relied on anyone. She didn’t know how to do so now.
Besides, Eric was a patient. Her job mandated she help him, not take advantage of his kindness.
And what about maintaining a professional relationship?
She ended the kiss slowly, the low moan he emitted making it more painful to pull away. She couldn’t be his therapist and get involved with him. He was vulnerable, needy right now.
Besides, she had caused one woman’s death. What if the killer came looking for her? She might unwillingly endanger Eric.
Summoning every vestige of restraint she possessed, she released him and stood, then walked to the bedroom doorway. “You’d better go, Eric.”
He hesitated. “If that’s what you want.”
No, it wasn’t what she wanted, but it had to be. “Yes, please. I…that shouldn’t have happened.”
The chair creaked across the floor toward her. Then he was beside her, looking up at her with passion-glazed eyes. And something else—a shadow of vulnerability.
“Because I’m like this?” Anger hardened his voice as he gestured down at his battered legs.
“Partly.”
Hurt shadowed his face, a self-deprecating laugh following. “At least you’re honest.”
“Don’t take it the wrong way, Eric.” For goodness’ sake, would she have allowed him to kiss her like that if she wasn’t attracted to him? She hated to cause him further pain, but he had to understand they couldn’t indulge in a relationship that had no future. She might be leaving soon, and when he learned to walk again, he would return to his life. “I’m supposed to be a professional, Eric.” She inhaled sharply. “But if you want, I can get another therapist assigned to you.”
“I don’t want another therapist, Melissa. I want you.”
A tingle traveled up her spine at his husky voice. But the security agency arrived, preventing any further discussion. Eric explained what had happened, then he took one last look at her and wheeled across the room. “Lock the doors. And call me if you need anything.” Then he disappeared into the night, the sound of his wheelchair creaking across the pavement.
She pressed her fingers to her mouth, trying to get a grip so she could talk to the police. His parting words were imprinted in her brain just as his kiss had been imprinted on her lips.
Why had she met him now when they couldn’t possibly have a relationship…?
ERIC CURSED HIMSELF the entire way back to his cottage. He shouldn’t have kissed Melissa, shouldn’t have taken advantage of the situation. Just because he was needy, and it had been forever since he’d touched a woman, and he had irrational, lustful thoughts of his therapist, didn’t mean she viewed him in a sexual way.
He glared at his battered legs, a visible reminder of how little he had to offer.
Melissa Fagan was a beautiful woman. A whole woman who needed a whole man.
And even when he could walk, he hadn’t been whole.
She’d been alone all her life. She certainly deserved to have a man who could give her everything, his body, his soul and a bright future.
Eric had lost all three.
Wheeling into his room, he still couldn’t shake the worry. She had found a dead woman tonight, a woman she believed was her mother. Then someone had broken into her place.
Someone who knew she’d been searching for her parents.
But why kill Candace Latone?
He watched the evening news, but the police offered no more details on the Latone murder than they had earlier, although the camera panned to a live interview. Thankfully, they didn’t mention the break-in at Melissa’s.
“Mr. Latone,” the reporter said. “I know you must be shocked to hear of your daughter’s death.”
“I’m devastated. She was my only child.” Latone raised his chin, anger gleaming in the depths of his pain-filled eyes. “And I will make sure that whoever killed my daughter pays. Now—” his voice broke “—I’d like to be alone.”
He hurried toward his limousine, and the camera zoomed back to the reporter. “That was Robert Latone, a foreign diplomat for the U.S. government, whose daughter was murdered tonight. If you have any information that might lead to the killer, phone your local police.”
Eric frowned as he watched the limousine drive away. If Candace Latone was Melissa’s mother, then Robert Latone was her grandfather. Had he known about Melissa?
He phoned Luke Devlin. “It’s Eric. What do you know about the Latone woman’s murder?”
“Why are you interested?”
“Melissa Fagan, the woman who found the body, thinks Candace Latone was her birth mother.”
A heartbeat of silence passed. “I see.”
“Someone also broke into Melissa Fagan’s cottage and searched through the files from the P.I.”
“Interesting. Did she mention anything about her birth father?”
“No. But she blames herself for the Latone woman’s death. And apparently, at least one of the cops who questioned her suspects she killed Candace.”
“She does have motive.”
“She’s not a killer.”
Devlin hissed into the silence. “Don’t get involved with her, Eric. She might be a bigger part of this whole case than we thought.”
“What do you mean? Is there something you’re not telling me?”
Another hesitation. “No, but the coincidences are too strong. Anyone who knew Hughes or was at the center when he was employed has to be treated with suspicion. And Candace Latone’s father, Jack Latone, has donated money to CIRP.”
“Melissa didn’t kill Candace Latone,” Eric said again. “But she might be in danger.”
“Right. Or she might be lying. Don’t let a pretty face sucker punch you.” Devlin whistled. “Use her, warm up to her, maybe she can help you gain access to the computer security system so we can hack into restricted files.”
The idea of using Melissa sent a sour taste to Eric’s mouth.
Devlin continued, oblivious, “I’ll apprise the locals, Detectives Black and Fox, of the situation, and fill them in on your undercover role at CIRP. They both have vested interests in locating Hughes. Perhaps they’ll know if there’s a connection between Hughes and Candace Latone or her father.”
“Right. And maybe Black and Fox will find evidence of the real killer,” Eric added.
And something to exonerate Melissa.
MELISSA CHECKED the locks on the small cottage a half-dozen times. The headache that had been threatening all night had grown in intensity since Eric had left. She felt at least marginally safe while he’d been with her, but
alone, the shadows screamed at her with self-incriminations, and flashes of blood red appeared before her eyes.
She needed sleep or she might have a seizure.
Restless, she swallowed one of the prescription pills the doctor had given her to help her relax at the onslaught of an episode, praying it would knock her out. Adding a cup of hot tea to the routine, she settled down in bed with a copy of a medical journal, hoping the newest techniques in rehabilitation for shoulder injuries might calm her.
But the words blurred on the page, and Eric’s last comment reverberated in her mind.
When he had said he wanted her, had he meant as his therapist or did he mean he wanted her?
It doesn’t matter. He’s a patient. You cannot get involved with him. And if you did, and he was hurt, you’d never forgive yourself.
It’s bad enough your search caused your mother’s death….
The phone trilled, jarring her from the suffocating guilt. Half hoping it was Eric, but worried it might be that burly cop who’d all but accused her of killing Candace, she hesitated before answering. “Hello.”
“Miss Fagan?”
The voice sounded muffled, distant. Not Eric. Maybe the cop?
“Yes? Who is this?”
“If you don’t want to end up like Candace Latone, you’d better stop snooping around and leave town.”
Melissa gasped. “Who is this?”
The phone clicked in response, then the line went dead, the beep of the dial tone blaring into the night.
Chapter Six
Eric woke feeling agitated, but eager for therapy.
Or maybe he was eager to see his therapist.
He dismissed the thought, reminding himself he had taken a step the day before. Today he would take another and another until he was free of that damn chair, and he could walk on his own two feet. His mobility meant he was closer to independence. To claiming back his life. To answers. To Hughes.
And to being able to protect Melissa.
After breakfast, he called Cain, as promised, to relay his progress. Cain was ecstatic.
“I never doubted you’d recover,” Cain said. “But I hate that you’ve had to go through all this.”
“How’s Alanna and the baby?”
“Great. You should hear Simon, he’s only a few months old and babbling like a toddler.”
Eric laughed, his first true one in weeks. They had suspected Simon had superior intelligence due to the experiment. It must be true.
“How about you, man? I know the therapy’s tough.”
Eric shrugged it off, and relayed the events about the Latone murder and Melissa.
“Keep your eyes and ears peeled,” Cain said. “Devlin could be right. Melissa Fagan might be a trap.”
“She’s not,” Eric said emphatically. “But I’ll stay on my toes.”
A tense silence stretched between them, but Eric chuckled. “It was a joke, bro. I’m really all right.”
Cain sighed, still sounding worried, but Eric told him to kiss his new wife and baby for him, then hung up and headed to the rehab center. As soon as he spotted Melissa inside, his adrenaline kicked in, along with worry and a tingly sensation that he recognized as arousal. He hadn’t experienced the feeling in such a long time, he’d almost forgotten how all-powerful sexual attraction could be.
He not only found Melissa physically desirable, but he admired her strength and tenacity in overcoming her own disability, and her pursuit of the truth about her ugly past.
There was no way she could have murdered Candace Latone.
A young woman who’d been alone all her life, who’d come seeking the truth about her mother, wouldn’t have killed her only known parent without giving her the opportunity to forge a relationship.
But what if the Latone woman had flatly denied she was Melissa’s mother? What if she’d denied wanting any part of her? Could she have driven Melissa to desperation?
Had he been snowed by the shadows of old hurts in her eyes?
No…
The cops had obviously jumped on that train of thought, looking for the easiest person to collar for the crime instead of delving deeper for a killer in disguise. He understood the art of deception.
He was a fake himself.
He couldn’t even reveal his real name, or offer to help Melissa with the police. And he couldn’t jeopardize the case by getting so sidetracked with her problems or his lust for her that he forgot the mission.
Could the two be connected in any way?
He had tossed the idea back and forth all night. As he approached Melissa, he channeled his energy into his physical regimen.
His job, his life, Melissa’s life, might depend on his recovery.
MELISSA HADN’T SLEPT at all the night before. The threatening phone call had played over and over in her mind, as had the images of Candace’s dead body and the guilt that she had caused her own mother’s death. And even when she’d reported the call, she’d sensed the police hadn’t believed her.
If you don’t want to end up like Candace Latone, you’d better stop snooping around and leave town.
She wasn’t leaving. But what would she do if the killer attacked her? What didn’t he want her to find? Her father?
Helen practically accosted her when she arrived. The nurse had watched the news and felt horrible, as if she thought she might be responsible for leading Melissa to Candace’s house to kill her. Melissa had assured Helen that she wasn’t a murderer, that she had desperately wanted to meet the woman who’d given her life and was crushed over being deprived of the opportunity.
“Good morning, Melissa.”
She said goodbye to her other patient and turned toward Eric, bracing herself against a reaction. Memories of the kiss they’d shared the night before lingered in her mind.
From the way his dark eyes raked over her, he hadn’t forgotten, either.
“Are you ready to get started?”
“Yes.”
She nodded and they fell into their warm-up routine. More patients came in, working with Helen and two other therapists, while Nancy assisted. Melissa let the sight and sounds of the others distract her from indulging her fantasies of Eric, at the same time warning Eric not to overdo the workout. The small step the day before had fueled his determination and physical strength.
He was far more resilient and tougher than any of her former patients. Or any of the previous men in her life.
The night before, he’d been tender. Gentle. Understanding. He even knew about her condition and hadn’t gone running….
He’s not in your life, he’s your patient.
Besides, what did she really know about the man and his former life? His chart stated that he owned a ranch in the North Georgia mountains, but he never spoke about it. And he didn’t look like a rancher….
Questions and doubts assailed her as she coaxed him through the warm-up routine, punishing stretches and pressure exercises. When he gripped the bars, the veins in his arms bulged as they shook with the effort to stand and move his feet forward, and she had to tear her eyes from his sexy physique.
Finally, after taking several steps on his own, Melissa insisted he rest. “You can try again later if you want, but you don’t want to have a setback, do you?”
His mouth tightened. “No.”
She patted his arm, aware the muscle flexed beneath her touch. “You worked hard today, you’re making progress. You’ll be walking with a cane in no time.”
A long sigh escaped him, pent with frustration and acceptance. “You look tired. You didn’t sleep?”
Odd, how she’d commented the same thing to him on several occasions. “I couldn’t stop thinking about Candace.”
Eric settled into his wheelchair and swiped at perspiration on his forehead. “And the intruder?”
She nodded, avoiding his eyes. “Are you ready for the whirlpool?”
Hoping to avoid any more questions, she stepped aside so he could wheel his way over, but he caught her hand.
“Did something else happen last night, Melissa?”
Her fingers curled into a fist. “I…no.”
“You’re a terrible liar,” he said in a low, almost intimate voice. “What is it?”
She bit down on her lip, remembering the sweet serenity of Eric’s mouth upon hers. Heaven help her, but she craved that comfort again, that closeness.
“Tell me, Melissa.”
“I…received a phone call.”
“From whom?”
She shrugged, the fine hairs on the back of her neck prickling. “I don’t know.”
“What did the caller say, Melissa?”
She swallowed bile at the thought of the man’s husky threat. “He warned me to stop snooping around and leave town or else.”
His dark eyes bored into hers. “Or else what?”
“Or else I’d end up like Candace.”
A STEELY RAGE HARDENED Eric’s mouth. Melissa had masked her fear with a brave face, but terror haunted her eyes. “Did you call the police?’
“Yes, but I’m not sure they believed me.”
“What are you going to do?”
She tucked a strand of hair back into her ponytail. “I’m not running.”
“Maybe you should.”
She gestured toward the whirlpool. “I can’t leave now, not without knowing who killed my mother and why.”
“Let the police handle it, Melissa. You don’t understand what you’re up against.” Or maybe she didn’t care. He saw the desolation in her eyes and realized it was going to cause her to act recklessly.
“It’s not your problem, Eric.” She gripped his arm to help him stand, but he shook her hand away. “You need to focus on getting better. I can take care of my own problems.”
He grabbed her hand. “What are you planning to do?”
She shrugged. “I told you it’s not your problem.”
“I’m making it my problem,” he said in a deep voice. “Now, tell me your plans.”
“I thought about going to Candace’s father, but then he might not know Candace had a baby.”
“True.”
A moment’s hesitation lapsed between them, then she finally replied, “I’d like to look inside Candace’s house. Maybe there’s something there that will give me insight into her life.”