by Rita Herron
Surprise registered on his face a second before suspicion. “Then what were you doing at her house?”
She debated whether to tell him. But if she was his granddaughter, he might already know. And even if he did, he might not acknowledge her….
“I was abandoned when I was a baby, Mr. Latone. I came to Savannah in search of my mother.”
Gray eyes bored into hers. “What does that have to do with my daughter?”
Melissa cleared her throat. “I hired a private investigator to find my birth parents. He told me that Candace was my mother.”
Shock flared in his tightly reined jaw, then anger. “He was mistaken. My daughter never had a baby. I can have her medical records pulled to prove it.” His voice turned hard, brittle. “And if you spread such ill rumors, I’ll sue you for slander.”
With one last warning look, he strode out the door, slamming it behind him. Melissa heard the soft purr of the limousine’s engine, then shells spraying from the wheels as it disappeared into the night.
Had Candace not told her father about the baby, or was it possible that Candace hadn’t delivered a child? Melissa had read the letters Candace had written. Unless, in her illness, Candace had invented the baby….
Had Robert Latone been telling the truth?
A SOON AS ERIC returned to the cabin, he called Devlin and filled him in on the photograph.
“I’m sending our local contacts over to look at it,” Devlin said. “Good work.”
Eric hung up, a sour taste in his mouth. Good work—only he was keeping secrets from Melissa, secrets that involved her, secrets that might lead her to the answers she’d been seeking for years.
Unfortunately she might not like the answers.
Within the hour, Detectives Black and Fox arrived at his door.
“Agent Devlin said you found a photograph?” Black said without preamble.
“Yeah.” Eric gestured for them to follow him to the living area. The layout mirrored Melissa’s, the furniture utilitarian and sturdy, although his had been built with added handicapped accommodations.
He removed the photograph from the desk and handed it to Black. Fox sidled up to him so they could both study it.
“It’s Hughes, Santenelli, Robert Latone, Candace Latone’s father and the new CEO, Ian Hall. I’m not sure who the other man is,” Eric said.
“Which means the new CEO is not Hughes,” Fox said.
“It seems that way,” Eric said.
“We’ll see what we can find out on the other man,” Black added.
“What do you know about Robert Latone?” Eric asked.
“He’s a foreign diplomat,” Black said. “So far, he’s donated several million dollars to CIRP since its conception years ago.”
“There’s been speculation that he might be involved in espionage,” Fox added.
Eric whistled through his teeth. “Do you have any idea what type of research experiment Candace Latone was involved in?”
“We’re not sure, but there was some kind of scandal involving a fertility specialist,” Black said. “He left the country before things were cleared up.” Two fertility specialists had been involved in creating Simon.
“The psychological problems the Latone woman experienced might have been related to the experimental research,” Fox added. “But details have been kept hush-hush.”
Black narrowed his eyes, studying the photograph. “Wait a minute, are you thinking what I am?” He cut his gaze toward Eric. “You think there’s a tie to the recent experiments with Project Simon?”
“How did you know about Simon?” Eric asked.
“Devlin filled us in,” Fox said.
“Hughes can’t find out about Simon,” Eric said. “He’d ruin my brother’s life as well as the baby’s.”
“You don’t have to worry,” Fox said. “The information goes no further than the three of us.”
Eric nodded, still anxious.
“Do you think this all ties back to Melissa Fagan?” Black asked.
“I don’t know.” Eric scrubbed a hand over his face. “She was born at the center. And Candace and Hughes seem chummy in the photo.”
Fox cleared his throat. “You think Hughes might be Melissa Fagan’s father?”
MELISSA WAS SO SHAKEN by Robert Latone’s visit that she’d barely slept the night before. Candace would be buried today. Melissa had planned to attend. Now she didn’t know what to do.
She grabbed a bagel and hurried to the rehab center, anxious to see Eric. Her therapy sessions would distract her from her problems, and she was excited by Eric’s quick progress. Before the week ended, he’d be using a walker, maybe even a cane.
The sight of Eric’s masculine body wheeling toward her sent heat exploding within her. Heat that had nothing to do with therapy sessions and work, but with the sexual chemistry brewing between them.
Even more unsettling, she felt safe with him. A feeling she had never experienced in her life, especially with a man.
“Good morning.” She automatically assumed the pattern they’d established in the beginning for the warm-up stretching exercises. Eric was one step ahead of her, already propping his foot on the apparatus and flexing his calf. He seemed tense this morning.
“Did you have nightmares about the accident again last night?”
Eric shrugged. “I’m not sure if they’ll ever go away.”
She massaged his calf, then knelt and braced herself to help through the routine. “You want to talk about it?”
“Another man died in the accident,” he said, his voice strained.
She hesitated. “A friend of yours?”
“Sort of. He was in trouble, I was trying to help him out.”
“I’m sorry.”
“It’s not your fault.”
But he blamed himself. She offered a feeble smile. “I know, but I’m still sorry. His death must haunt you.” She coached him to the next level of the set. “You want to tell me how the accident happened?”
A mask slipped over his face, guarded, void of emotions. Or at least he wanted to hide them. But a deep pain settled in his eyes. “Maybe another time.”
“All right.”
“How about you?” he asked as she helped him stand and move to the bars. “Did you dream about your mother’s murder?”
“No, but I didn’t sleep, either.” Melissa glanced down at his feet, urging him to take a step forward. “I had a visitor last night.”
Eric gripped the bars and paused, searching her face. “The person who threatened you?”
She shook her head. “No, Robert Latone, Candace’s father.”
Eric remained still, waiting. “What did he want?”
“To find out if I’d seen anything that might help identify Candace’s killer.”
“Did he mention your relationship to Candace?”
She urged him to continue the drill, and he stepped forward. One step. Two steps. Three. Four. They were coming easier now, his brain and body beginning to heal and work together. “He denied that Candace had a child and threatened to sue me if I spread rumors.”
Compassion softened Eric’s expression, tightening the knot of unshed tears in Melissa’s throat.
“Melissa, I’m sorry. But there are tests that can be run.”
“Right.” Melissa patted his hand, silently urging him through the workout. “I’ll think about it. Although I doubt Robert Latone will cooperate. And if Candace’s DNA has to be provided, he’ll probably protest.”
Eric nodded and they completed the session.
The young candy striper suddenly appeared. “Melissa, two police officers are in the office requesting to talk to you.”
Melissa’s breath caught. “All right, can you help Mr. Collier over to the whirlpool?”
“I can manage,” Eric said in a gruff voice. He pushed Nancy’s hands away when she reached out to offer assistance. Melissa smiled at his stubborn independence.
But nerves bunched in her stomach as she headed
to the office. Had the police found her mother’s murderer?
Or had they come to arrest her?
ERIC HAD NO IDEA WHY he’d confided in Melissa about the accident. He couldn’t confess the truth, though, without revealing more about his identity and the reasons for being at CIRP.
He hated lying to her.
Ironic that after a lifetime of helping and protecting women, he now had to hide from the first woman he was interested in.
She couldn’t be Hughes’s daughter.
Maybe Latone was right. Maybe she wasn’t Candace Latone’s daughter, either.
And maybe you’ll get married and ride away into the sunset on your ranch like they do in the movies.
He wiped his forehead with the gym towel, ignoring the candy striper who still couldn’t bring herself to look at his ugly scars. Not that he blamed her. A pretty young girl like her should be protected from the grotesque violence of the world.
But no one had been there to protect Melissa.
Sliding himself from the chair, he braced his body using the rails and slowly lowered himself to the first step of the whirlpool. He eased into the water from there with no problem. He was getting stronger every day.
But would he be strong enough to protect Melissa if she needed him? What if the person who’d threatened her decided to carry out those threats?
Maybe he should try to convince her to drop the search for her parents, at least until he could finish the investigation, locate Hughes and lock him away. Then he’d help her.
He glanced toward the glass doors leading to the inner offices of the rehab center. Had the police caught her mother’s killer?
FIVE MINUTES LATER, Melissa sat in the office, squeezing a tepid cup of hospital coffee between her hands, facing Detectives Black and Fox. Thankfully the gestapo-like Bernstein had not accompanied them.
“Miss Fagan, we need to ask you a few more questions.” Black occupied the vinyl chair across from her, while Detective Fox stood, sipping a cup of coffee.
Something about Detective Black’s tone triggered alarm in her belly. “Do I need a lawyer?”
He arched an eyebrow. “Not unless you have something to hide.”
Her jaw tightened. “I told you I didn’t kill Candace Latone. I’ll do whatever I can to assist with the investigation.”
“Good, we appreciate your cooperation,” Black said.
Fox cleared his throat. “Miss Fagan, do you know Robert Latone?”
Melissa’s head jerked up. “No. Well, not exactly.”
The officers waited, and she clenched her hands to keep from fidgeting. “He showed up at my cottage last night. I’ve never met or talked to him before then.”
“Why did he visit you?” Fox asked.
“To find out if I’d seen anything at Candace’s house to help identify the killer.”
They exchanged interested looks. “And how did you reply?”
“I gave him the same answer I gave you.” Melissa took a sip of coffee and frowned at the bitterness.
“Did you confide your belief that Candace was your mother?” Black asked.
She chewed her lip. “Yes.”
“How did he react?”
She sighed and rubbed her forehead, tension knotting her neck. “He denied that Candace had a child, then he warned me not to spread rumors.”
The detective’s expression remained unreadable, but questions rallied in her mind. What would Latone do if it were true? How far would he go to keep the truth from being revealed?
Black shuffled, stared at his boots, then back at her. “Miss Fagan, do you know a man named Larry Dormer?”
She glanced at him, then at Fox. “Yes, he’s a private investigator. He lives in Atlanta.”
“Did he give you the information about Candace being your mother?” Black asked.
“Yes. Why? What does he have to do with Candace’s murder?”
Fox settled his foot on the edge of another chair, then leaned forward, bracing his elbow on his knee. “When was the last time you saw him?”
Melissa swallowed, struggling to remember. “About three weeks ago, right before I moved here.” Worry mushroomed inside. “Why?”
The two men traded speculative looks, then Black spoke in a low tone. “Because he was found murdered last night. And it looks like he’s been dead for about three weeks.”
ROBERT LATONE LIT his cigar, poured himself a bourbon on the rocks and paced to the window of his study, the conversation with Melissa Fagan grating on his strained nerves.
If the Fagan woman exposed the past, she could destroy his life and his daughter’s reputation.
He had built an empire for himself with money, power and contacts worldwide. His sole heir and the only person who’d ever mattered to him, Candace, was dead.
He could not lose anything else.
A low knock sounded on the polished mahogany door, then Edward Moor, his right-hand man and confidant, appeared. “Mr. Latone, the limousine is ready.”
Robert downed the bourbon in one sip, grateful for the quick buzz of alcohol to dull the pain. Today was Candace’s funeral.
He didn’t know if he could stand to watch them put his baby in the ground.
Not that he hadn’t lost her years ago, but he’d always maintained hope that the chasm between them would one day close and her vacuous behavior toward him would change. That he would have his real daughter back.
Now that would never happen.
“Mr. Latone?” Edward’s low voice permeated the haze, and Latone moved across the room, smashing the cigar into the ashtray.
“Are you going to tell me about the meeting with that Fagan woman?” Edward said as they settled into the ride to the church for the funeral service.
Latone grunted. “She could be trouble.”
Edward crossed his suited legs. “Elaborate.”
“She claims she didn’t see anything to help the police at Candace’s house the night of the murder.”
“That’s too bad.” Edward laid a hand over Robert’s for a brief conciliatory moment, the black onyx inscripted ring shining in the sunlight. “Obviously you want her killer caught and punished.”
Robert nodded. That went without saying.
“So who is this woman, and how did she know Candace?”
Robert stared into his friend’s eyes. The secrets that lay between them were many, the cost of betrayal high if exposed. His fury was so strong he could barely contain his temper, but he controlled himself in order to test Edward’s reaction. “She claims she’s Candace’s daughter.”
Edward coughed, shock riding over his ruddy features. “But we handled that problem long ago.” His hand shook as he lifted it and wiped perspiration from his forehead. “And we covered our tracks.”
Robert gripped Edward’s collar, tightening it across his throat. “You were in charge of the details,” he growled. “You obviously talked to someone or left something uncovered.”
Edward yanked at Robert’s hands, his eyes bulging. “I swear I didn’t, Robert. I don’t know how she got any information….”
“I don’t care how,” Robert snapped. “I want this problem to go away. She can’t ruin everything we’ve worked for. I won’t allow it.”
Edward nodded, heaving for air as Robert released him. Robert leaned back against the seat, his heart pounding as the church slipped into view. Edward understood him.
He’d take care of Melissa Fagan.
Chapter Eight
Eric had showered and dressed, and was waiting for Melissa when she returned to the rehab center. The first thing he noticed was that she appeared pale and shaken. The second was that she headed in the opposite direction as if to avoid him.
What the hell had happened?
He fully expected her to have another patient after him, but she stopped and spoke to the older nurse, Helen, then strode toward the exit at a hurried pace. Eric cursed the fact that he couldn’t walk and wheeled his chair across the facility, trying his damnede
st to catch her. By the time he made it down the handicapped ramp, she’d reached her car.
“Melissa!”
She froze, then fumbled with her keys and opened the driver’s side. He rolled toward her in double time, determined to find out what had upset her.
“Melissa, wait!” The engine rumbled to life, but he caught the door before it closed and she could switch gears. “Wait, what’s wrong?”
She angled her face to look at him, and he saw tears glittering in her eyes. He gently brushed his hand across her cheek, and she fell forward against him, her body trembling.
“What happened?” he asked gruffly.
She sniffed and pressed a hand against his chest. “You shouldn’t be near me.”
He cupped her face in his hands and lifted her chin, forcing her to look into his eyes. “What are you talking about?”
“It’s too dangerous, Eric, stay away from me,” she cried. “Everyone’s getting killed.”
“Melissa, you aren’t making sense. Tell me what happened.”
Her lower lip wobbled. “The private investigator I hired to find my parents…he’s dead.”
Eric stifled a reaction. “When?”
“About three weeks ago.” Her voice quavered. “Right after I left Atlanta.”
Her hands clutched his, panic straining her features. “The police think I had something to do with it. Don’t you see? That’s why they were here today, to ask me when I last saw him.”
“They can’t believe you murdered the man,” Eric said. Surely the cops were smarter than that. “You have no motive.” Unless she’d wanted to cover her tracks. If she’d set out to kill Candace, which he didn’t believe.
She shrugged, her hands tightening on his arms. “I’m not sure they’re convinced of that. And even if they don’t think I killed Mr. Dormer, he might have been murdered because of the information he provided me regarding my parents.”
That theory made more sense. But why would someone go to such extremes to kill the private investigator?
Unless the killer thought the investigator knew more than he had told Melissa. But what exactly was the person hiding?