Rita Herron - Memories of Megan

She was vulnerable. Needy. Still grieving over her dead husband. But terror had swept over him when he’d seen her car on fire. For a minute, he’d thought she might be dead.

Where had this desperate fear, this insatiable desire come from?

Images suddenly bombarded him. Images of another time when Megan had readily slipped into his arms. A warm spring day when they had walked naked into the ocean, laughing and teasing like old lovers. A night when he hadn’t needed an invitation to kiss her.

How could he see these things so vividly in his mind when he couldn’t remember anything about his life? When the name Cole Hunter still sounded foreign to his tongue? When Megan swore they had never met?

Could the doctors have made some mistake in identifying him?

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Award-winning author Rita Herron wrote her first book when she was twelve, but didn’t think real people grew up to be writers. Now she writes so she doesn’t have to get a real job. A former kindergarten teacher and workshop leader, she traded her storytelling for kids for romance, and writes romantic comedies and romantic suspense. She lives in Georgia with her own romance hero and three kids. She loves to hear from readers, so please write her at P.O. Box 921225, Norcross, GA 30092-1225 or visit her Web site at www.ritaherron.com.

Megan Wells—A psychiatric nurse who just lost her husband, Tom. Was his death an accident or murder?

Tom Wells—A psychiatrist at the Coastal Island Research Park who lived for his work. Did he die for it, as well?

Clay Fox—A detective with the Savannah Police Department. He was supposed to meet Tom Wells to get inside information about the research foundation. Was the psychiatrist murdered for his mission?

Cole Hunter—A man with a new face and no memory who has taken Tom Wells’s place at the research center. Will he take his place with his wife also?

Dr. Davis Jones—A doctor at the foundation; he loves women, money and prestige, and will do anything to attain them. But would he commit murder?

Dr. Warner Parnell—A brilliant doctor—is he crossing the line with his medical techniques?

Arnold Hughes—The CEO and cofounder of the Coastal Research Park—is he really dead or has he returned with a new face and name to run the company?

April Conway—Megan’s best friend—or is she?

Connie Blalock—Tom’s secretary—is she as innocent as she seems?

Daryl Boyd—A schizophrenic patient who claims strange things are happening in the psych ward—is he really as crazy as everyone thinks?

To

All those real-life doctors and researchers

who strive to make the world a better place

(this series is NOT about you!)

and

my husband, Lee,

for being one of those doctors,

and for always stopping to answer my questions

and

last but not least,

Melissa Endlich

for liking my crazy ideas instead of calling the funny farm!

Always, Rita

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

“Your husband is dead, Mrs. Wells.” Detective Larson sat down in the armchair across from Megan, his expression grave. “His body washed up on the shore a few hours ago.”

Megan clutched her abdomen, the horror of finally hearing her fears confirmed seeping through her body like a slow-spreading virus. It had been six agonizing weeks since Tom had disappeared. Six weeks of not knowing.

Nausea rose to Megan’s throat at the images that speared her. She dropped her head forward into her hands and tried to breathe.

“I’ll get you a glass of water.”

Megan nodded, too numb to do anything else, while the detective hurried to the kitchen.

Behind her, Megan heard the officer opening cabinet doors, turning on the faucet, but the sounds barely registered. Seconds later, he returned and handed her the glass. Megan sipped slowly, grateful for the wetness soothing her parched throat. “Do you know what happened to him?”

The cop’s muddy complexion paled as if he, too, had seen the grisly images that had come unbidden to Megan’s mind. Had he been there when they’d dragged her husband from the sea and actually seen Tom’s body? The ice clinked in the glass as Megan’s hands shook. She didn’t want to know the details.

“Most likely drowned, but the coroner’s doing an autopsy.” Detective Larson shrugged. “I’m not sure how much he’ll be able to determine…”

He let the sentence trail off and Megan clenched the glass of water as if it were a life jacket and she was being dragged into the undertow herself.

“You said he liked to fish sometimes, to take his mind off his work. My first guess would be that he was out late, and didn’t realize how far he’d drifted off shore, got caught in the tides and fell overboard.”

Megan’s gaze swung to his. “But Tom was an excellent swimmer.”

“You know how difficult it is to fight an undercurrent, even for the best of swimmers. A bad thunderstorm came through that night, too.”

She nodded, silently admitting Tom had been drinking a lot those last few weeks, and had been a daredevil when it came to the weather. He’d been drinking and secretive. And tired. And disturbed about something. Only he wouldn’t talk to her.

She’d known he was unhappy. Had worried he’d stopped loving her, that he’d planned to ask for a divorce, but hadn’t gotten up the nerve. They had finally separated, but she’d hoped they could work out their differences.

Now she would never know.

But she couldn’t bring herself to ask the questions that had haunted her for the past six weeks.

The detective shuffled, his breathing noisy. “We’ll let you know as soon as the body is released so you can make plans for the burial.”

Oh, God, there would be so much to do. Nausea gripped her stomach again. She’d have to make funeral arrangements. Tell his parents. The people at the research foundation.

Tom had been so young. Barely thirty-one. They’d only been married two years. They’d temporarily sublet this flat because they hadn’t decided for sure where they were going to live. They’d had so many plans when they’d married.

They’d picked out new furniture, not burial plots.

The cop gently patted her shoulder. “Well, let me know if I can do anything for you, Mrs. Wells I’ll let myself out.”