Memories of Megan

“Dr. Hunter, are you all right?”

He pivoted, sloshing hot coffee on his hand.

“Oh, my goodness.” Connie grabbed a napkin and wiped at his shirt. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”

“Not your fault.” Cole had said the same thing to Megan. “I have a headache, that’s all.”

“Can I get you some aspirin?”

He had no idea why the young woman was so jittery. Was she nervous around all men? “I guess it’s just the stress of a new place.”

“I know what you mean. I was a wreck when I first came here.”

A smile twitched at his lips.

“That must seem weird since I’m acting so nervous now, but I really was a mess. Dr. Wells and his wife have helped me immensely.”

He narrowed his eyes, not quite comprehending.

“I figured Dr. Jones told you. He doesn’t like me very much.”

“Why do you say that?”

“I don’t know. Maybe because I was a patient. Dr. Wells helped me with my depression. And his wife, Megan, she’s a real doll, so kind and understanding. Anyway, Dr. Jones wasn’t thrilled when I took the job here. I guess he thought the center shouldn’t hire former patients. He probably thinks I’m not very stable.” She blushed as if she realized she’d been rambling.

He nodded sympathetically.

“If you want someone to show you around, ask Megan. She knows everyone in the psych ward. All the doctors, I mean.”

“That’s not a bad idea,” he said. As soon as the words left his mouth, the hair at the back of his neck prickled. Before he even glanced sideways, he knew Megan Wells stood in the doorway. He smelled her body spray, a very soft hint of jasmine, the kind of fragrance she always wore to work. Subtle but fresh. She hated heavy perfumes; too many of the patients had allergies and reactions.

His heart stopped beating. How in the world had he known that?

“WHAT’S GOING ON?” Megan stiffened. Connie and Cole Hunter were staring at her as if she’d interrupted some private conversation.

“Nothing,” Connie said with a smile. “I was just bragging to Dr. Hunter that if he needed someone to show him around and introduce him to the staff, that you were the one to do it.”

Megan shook her head at Connie’s exuberance. Sometimes she acted seventeen instead of twenty-five. Cole’s potent masculinity probably intimidated her. Her husband had been a big man.

Now, why would I think that, she thought irritably?

She and Cole were going to be working together. In spite of the circumstances, she had to behave like a professional.

“I’d be glad to introduce you and show you the facilities,” Megan offered. “Whenever’s convenient for you.”

“Thanks. I had a short tour when I was here, and I’ve met a few people since I arrived, but I’m still not familiar with the layout of the center.” He gestured to the door. “Shall we go now?”

“Certainly.” She left the small box of items in Connie’s office. “Follow me.”

She wound through the maze of offices, pointing out the various names of the doctors and scientists and noting each one’s specialty. Just being here brought back so many memories of Tom. Maybe she should transfer.

Most of the doors remained closed, and she didn’t want to disturb the doctors’ work by going inside. Cole would have to meet them one by one as the situation called for or at one of the weekly staff meetings.

“Where are the labs?” Cole asked.

“On the second floor.” Megan paced herself to suit his pained gait as she led him through the hospital. The next hour she showed him the various floors and departments, pausing to introduce him to different nurses and counselors.

“Two doctors on this floor are researching a new drug to treat manic depression,” she pointed out. “And Dr. Hornsby’s pet project is dissociative identity disorder.”

“Tell me about the psychiatric ward,” Cole said as they entered the wing for the mental patients.

“We see a variety of patients here, some are outpatient and some are here for long-term treatments and must be confined.”

“Are all of the patients using research oriented treatments versus traditional therapy?”

Megan shook her head. “Not all. The ones who are have come on a volunteer basis, or they’re severe cases where traditional techniques or medications haven’t been effective.”

They’d reached the main floor of the mental ward where patients were received and assessed. “We have counselors and therapists who assess and interview patients when they first come in. Of course we take referrals from other physicians as well.”

“It’ll take you a while to get to know everyone,” Megan said, sensing he was becoming overwhelmed.

“Ms. Wells,” Janie, one of the volunteers called. “Can you come in here a second? Mr. Boyd is asking for you.”

“He’s been diagnosed with schizophrenia,” Megan explained softly to Cole. “But he’s been doing so much better with the new medication.”

Cole followed her inside the small room. Megan winced when she saw Daryl Boyd hunched into a ball on the floor, his hospital gown gaping. “Mr. Boyd, what’s going on?” she said softly, kneeling beside him.

A tuft of thin gray hair spiked haphazardly over his freckled head, his eyebrows were bushy, and his eyes wild. He glanced at Cole and pointed a shaky finger. “Who’s that?”

“This is Dr. Hunter,” Megan said. “He’s—”

“Get him out of here,” he screeched, “he’s one of them.”

Megan reached out to comfort him, afraid he’d lapsed into one of his exhaustive states. “One of who?”

“The bad doctors,” the old man said in a high-pitched voice. He rocked himself back and forth, hugging his arms around bony legs. “You don’t know what they do in here. I do.” Panic rose in his shrill voice. “Get him out of here. Make him go.”

Megan frowned. She needed to calm Boyd. “Mr. Boyd, Dr. Hunter is new on the staff—”

“No, I’ve seen him before. He does bad, bad things. Make him leave!”

Megan stroked his back while April ran in with an injection. Cole arched an eyebrow as if to ask if he should help, but Megan gestured for him to leave. As soon as he stepped from the room, Daryl Boyd broke down and began to cry.

“What happened?” April asked.

“He was asking for me,” Megan explained. “When I came in, he was agitated.”

“They hurt people, they—” the old man began to hum “—they hook you up to these wires and put this helmet on you and fry you. My head, it sizzled, it—” he grabbed his head, covered his ears and rocked faster “—I thought it was going to explode.”

“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.”

Chapter Four

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.

Then she could put the questions in her mind to rest. And maybe she could move on with her life without so many misgivings.

COLE SPENT THE AFTERNOON poring over the case files he’d inherited from Tom Wells.

Amazing, but Wells’s notes on hypnosis seemed familiar.

As did the details and information on three of his patients. Harry Fontaine. Frank Carson. Jesse Aiken.

Just as Wells’s wife Megan felt familiar.

He’d had another flash of an image when he’d touched her earlier today. Before he’d seen her open the card, he had known it had daisies on the front.

But how could he know that? And how could he recognize those files if he’d never read them or met the patients?

Impossible.

Unless he had spoken with Wells on the phone about them? Perhaps they’d consulted since they’d been studying similar areas of work. Maybe he should use some of the hypnotic treatments to try and regain his own memory. He’d have to speak to his doctor about it.

And maybe Wells had told him about Megan. That she liked daisies.

But he doubted it.

Remembering the questions he’d had about his work back in Oakland, he searched the Rolodex, listing the companies affiliated with CIRP until he found a listing for Dr. Frank Chadburn, director of the psychiatric department at Oakland.

He punched in the number. Maybe Chadburn could shed some light on Cole’s life and fill in some of the details about his move to Savannah.

“I DIDN’T THINK YOU WERE working today.” April poked her head into the file room.

Megan glanced up from the folders in her lap, hoping guilt didn’t show on her face. She’d been scanning the charts for anything that might support Daryl Boyd’s allegations. April would simply say the man was delusional, which she knew was true to an extent, but still, the timing of Tom’s death with Cole’s Hunter’s appearance, and the patient’s rantings bothered her. She had heard of a shock treatment similar to the one he’d described that had been used at another facility, but it had been banned. She didn’t know of anyone here who would try to implement it. But she had to know for sure.

Thankfully, she hadn’t found anything suspicious.

“I couldn’t face going home yet, thought I’d clean up the files.”

April frowned. “I know it’s tough, Meg. But you can’t stay here around the clock.”

Megan stuffed the folders back into place. “It’s just that the house is so quiet, April. Not that Tom was there that much before, but…but at least I knew he was coming home.” Even though they’d been separated, it hadn’t seemed final.

Not like death.

April leaned over and gave her a hug. “I know, honey. But it’ll get better. In time.”

Megan stood, her legs and back aching from bending over to reach the lower drawers. “I guess I’ll head home now.”

“You want to grab dinner?” April asked.

Megan shook her head. “I still have a dozen casseroles at home. Besides, I’m not even hungry. But if you want to stop by, I’ll heat one up.”

April shrugged. “Actually I’ll take a rain check. I may have a date later tonight myself.”

Megan arched a brow. “A keeper, I hope.”

April laughed. “Maybe.”

“So who is the lucky guy?”

“I’d rather not say, Meg. I don’t want to jinx it just yet.”

Curiosity niggled at Megan. “Someone from the center?”

April winked. “Now, that’s all I’m going to tell you.”

Megan laughed, fighting irritation. Although she considered the woman her best friend, April could sometimes be secretive.

Just like Tom had been.

She grabbed her purse, ready to leave. Tonight she’d sort through his things, maybe see if she could access his files. And maybe she’d figure out what he’d been hiding from her.

“DR. CHADBURN, THIS IS COLE Hunter.”

“Yes, how are you doing?”

Cole’s fingers tightened around the phone as he focused on the man’s voice. He didn’t recognize it. “I’m settling in. I suppose you heard about my accident.”

“Yes, so sorry, son. You were on your way to Savannah when it happened.”

“So I’ve been told. My memory’s pretty foggy, though.”

“Ah, I see. Well, what can I do for you?”

Cole leaned back in the swivel desk chair and massaged his temple, fighting another headache. “I’m trying to talk to people and see if it jogs my memory. Can you tell me the circumstances surrounding my transfer from Oakland.”

A moment of hesitation followed. Finally Chadburn cleared his throat. “I’m not sure what you mean, except that you’d been in touch with the research center there for months. The facility is much larger, with more cutting edge techniques for treating psychotic disorders. It seemed a natural fit.”

Cole frowned. So it had been a smooth transition.

Then why did he have this nagging feeling that just before his accident he’d been arguing with one of the doctors? Trouble was, he didn’t know if it had been someone from Oakland or CIRP. And he had no idea what they might have argued about.

“I JUST RECEIVED A CALL from Frank Chadburn at Oakland. Cole Hunter called him.”

He yanked his cigarette pack from his pocket and tore open the cellophane. “Damn. What did he want?”

“Chadburn said he wanted to know the conditions of his transfer here. Chadburn stuck to the story we’d worked out.”

“Thank God. You think he suspects something?”

“I don’t know. Hunter claimed he was just trying to jog his memories by talking to people he knew.”

He lit the cigarette, inhaled, tried to calm himself.

“Just keep a handle on the situation. Spend some time with Hunter, make him focus on work. That’s the only reason he’s here, you know.”

“Right.”

“And Wells’s wife?”

“I’m watching her as well.” A job he didn’t mind at all.

But he didn’t like the fact that Hunter had spent the morning with her. Or that he was asking questions. And if he got anywhere near the truth, if he went searching for information about the real Cole Hunter, he’d have to do something to stop him.

MEGAN STOPPED BY CONNIE’S office to pick up the box of items she’d packed earlier.

“You heading home?” Connie asked.

“Yes. How about you? Don’t you need to pick up your son from day care?”

Connie flicked off her computer. “Yeah. After I check on Dr. Hunter, I’ll hit the road.”

“You want me to wait so we can walk out together?”

“No, go ahead. He might need something. You look worn-out, Megan.”

“I am. Give little Donny a hug for me.”

Taking a last look at the closed door where her husband used to sit, Megan clutched the box in her hands and left. But she couldn’t squelch the questions tumbling through her head as she walked down the hall to the lower parking deck. Why did Cole Hunter rattle her so?

The sun was beginning to fade, and the early evening shadows in the garage played havoc with her nerves. Last night she had thought someone had come into her house. Had she been dreaming? Had she somehow opened her window without remembering it or had someone really been there? And if so, who? And why?

Hurrying now, she fumbled with her keys, checking the parking lot for other workers. Odd that the place was nearly deserted when it was only a little past five. Of course, the evening shift had just come on the hospital at three, so she had missed the daily changeover. A footstep sounded behind her and she scanned the area behind her, but saw nothing. The whisper of cigarette smoke drifted toward her.

Her pulse racing, she finally unlocked her SUV and slipped inside. Still scanning the dark spaces of the garage, she locked the car door, then carefully placed the box onto the floor, and started the engine. Heart racing, she threw the car into gear and sped out of the lot. A pair of headlights nearly blinded her as she pulled onto the street. The car swerved and honked at her, then raced on. Megan exhaled a shaky breath and forced herself to lift her foot from the accelerator. She was fine. Safe.

For heaven’s sakes, if she didn’t stop this, she was going to need therapy herself.

Music usually relaxed her, so she switched on the radio and turned onto the highway toward Savannah. The bay bridge loomed ahead and she fell into traffic. A strange odor permeated the car, though. She sniffed, trying to put her finger on the scent, but she couldn’t figure out the source. She glanced around the vehicle for a damp towel or bag of trash that might be causing the foul smell, but saw nothing. The traffic slowly eased over the bridge, the pace picking up as some of the cars turned toward Whistlestop Island.

A small white puff of smoke drifted up in front of her. It took Megan several seconds to realize the smoke was coming from her vehicle. The engine was on fire.

She tried to remain calm as red-hot sparks spewed from the hood. It must have overheated. She’d pull over and let it cool. Call a mechanic.

She swung the Explorer to the side of the road, bouncing as it hit the rocks along the coastal line, then stopped just before going over the embankment. Her heart racing, she jumped out of the car. A second later, the entire vehicle burst into flames.

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