Rita Herron - Memories of Megan

“Listen, Daryl—”

“You got to be careful, Ms. Megan.” Boyd dropped his head forward like a child, emitting a low screech. “Don’t tell ’em I told you, don’t tell ’em,” he whispered. “Or they’ll kill both of us.”

Cole stood in the hall, watching the hustle and bustle of the staff, troubled by the patient’s response to him. Schizophrenics often lapsed into delusional behavior, he reminded himself, so he shouldn’t be so disturbed that the man had accused him of doing disreputable things.

There was no way Daryl Boyd had ever seen him before.

The fact that he had a new face was proof of that.

But had he confused him with someone else?

He had heard about the trouble at the center a few weeks ago, that the CEO Arnold Hughes had disappeared and was thought dead, although some speculated that he might have escaped the explosion on his boat. That Hughes might return to Nighthawk Island to run the company or that he was still running it via some kind of secret mode of communication. Police suspected some questionable techniques were being tried at the center, and Nighthawk Island, with its special security and isolation was being scrutinized.

There couldn’t be any truth to the things the delusional Boyd had said, could there?

Why had Cole chosen to leave his old job and join the center with the negative publicity surrounding it?

Maybe because he believed in the research and development of the area; the doctors were doing revolutionary things and he wanted to be a part of it. Maybe because he’d believed all the trouble at the center had ended with Santenelli’s death.

Even as he rationalized the answer, it didn’t feel right.

Perhaps something had happened back at Oakland that had prompted him to transfer.

Megan Wells stepped into the hallway, looking calm in spite of the horrific wailing echoing from the confines of the room. “He’ll be okay in a few minutes, once the sedative takes effect. April’s going to stay with him until he goes to sleep.”

Cole nodded. “Does he have those episodes often?”

“No, that’s what’s so troubling.” Megan wrinkled her nose. “He’s usually very friendly with the staff. I’ve never seen him get so agitated with a doctor before.”

“Was he under your husband’s care?”

“Yes, but Dr. Jones is treating him now.” Megan folded her arms across her waist. “Boyd had been responding to this new drug. Hopefully Dr. Jones can adjust the dosage and stabilize him.”

“Right.”

“Are you going to be taking on patients right away?”

Cole’s hands tightened by his side. “No, not for a while. I need some time to acclimate. Review charts.”

Besides, how could he help others when he couldn’t sort out his own life?

“What’s your specialty, Dr. Hunter?”

“I…” he struggled to remember when the answer suddenly came to him. “Dissociative identity disorder. I was working on hypnosis techniques to help traumatized patients regain repressed memories.”

Megan’s gaze locked with his, her blue eyes sparkling in the glare of the hospital lights. His groin tightened, and the strong pull of sexual awareness thrummed through him. But he ignored the simmering attraction as research data on the disorder flashed through his head. The latest cases identified in the States. The patients here who were under Wells’s care.

Had he read about them or was it a memory surfacing?

“I should have known,” Megan said interrupting his thoughts.

“What? I mean why?”

“Because that was one of Tom’s areas. I suppose that’s the reason you were brought in to work with him.”

Cole nodded. “I’ll be looking over his files this week.”

April emerged from inside the room, thumbing her fingers through her bangs. “He’s finally resting. Did something happen to trigger his episode?”

Megan shrugged. “Not that I know of. He did get more agitated when Dr. Hunter came in, but he was upset before then.”

April introduced herself. She was attractive, Cole noticed, tall and slender with a heart-shaped face and almond colored eyes. Although she didn’t have the same gut-wrenching effect Megan Wells had on him.

Too bad; she was much more attainable than a woman who’d just been widowed.

Irritation hit him. How could he think about a flirtatious relationship with anyone, much less a dead man’s wife, when his life was in such turmoil?

For a brief second, April sized him up, a flicker of approval in her smile. “It’s nice to have you on board, Dr. Hunter. If you need help learning your way around, feel free to ask.”

“Actually, Me… Mrs. Wells has been giving me the tour.”

April’s smile seemed tight. So she had been interested.

“All right.” April brushed his hand with long nimble fingers. “I’d be glad to brief you on anything else you need.”

“Daryl mentioned something about patients being hooked up to electrodes,” Megan said, seemingly oblivious to the tension between him and her friend. “It sounded like shock treatment. April, do you know of anyone using that technique now?”

April shook her head, removing her plastic gloves. “But I wouldn’t go around asking questions, Meg.” Her voice grew low. “You know how sensitive some of the scientists and doctors are about their work, especially the classified projects. If I were you, I’d just keep my mouth shut and do my job.”

APRIL’S WARNING BUGGED Megan as she walked Hunter back to his office. She certainly understood privileged information, confidential cases, and the importance of not divulging the research center’s confidential work, but in light of Tom’s death and this new man’s presence, curiosity ate at her. The timing of everything—Arnold Hughes’s disappearance, Tom’s death, Cole Hunter’s appearance and now Daryl Boyd’s claims about strange things happening at the center seemed way too coincidental.

“Thanks for the tour,” Cole said when they reached Tom’s office. Now Cole’s.

“Certainly.” Megan tried to ignore the subtle tension between her and this man. It had been eons since she’d felt this magnetism. Maybe never.

Guilt suffused her for the thought. Just what had attracted her to Tom?

The fact that he’d been safe. That he’d offered security, someone to lean on, when she’d never known any. She noticed a stack of mail on one of his bookshelves, a card on top. She picked it up without thinking, her eyes tearing when she noticed her name scribbled on the envelope. Tom had bought it for her but hadn’t given in to her.

“What’s that?” Cole asked.

“A card from Tom.” She opened the envelope and removed the card, smiling at the yellow daises on the cover. Daisies were her favorite flower. Inside, she skimmed the few words he’d written, Dear Meg. I know things have been rocky, but I still do love you.

Why hadn’t he given her the card?

She brushed a tear away, faintly aware Cole was watching her. Before she realized what had happened, he stroked her arm.

Megan jumped back, amazed at the tingle that spread through her at his touch.

“I’m sorry.” An odd look darkened his eyes as if he’d felt the same electric charge pass between them. Several tense seconds lapsed before he spoke again. He indicated a folder in his hands. “Did you know what your husband was working on?”

Megan startled, remembering how secretive Tom had been the last few weeks she’d seen him. “Not exactly. He pretty much kept his work to himself.”

But she wanted to know, she thought, a firm resolve setting in. She wanted to know that he hadn’t been involved in anything illegal or unethical. That he had loved her and that he had died in an accident. That if he had lived, they could have worked things out.