his bride to a pirate during the turn of the century. Legend claimed the sea captain rode the coastal waters for years, grieving for her, whistling her favorite love ballad as he searched. Locals said she was his one true love, that he vowed not to stop whistling until he found her. Some still insist that they’d heard him whistling late at night when they’d been on the water.
A bunch of romantic gibberish.
A few miles to the south of Whistlestop lay the third island, Nighthawk Island, a smaller piece of land shrouded with such thick mist and fog that it appeared dark and eerie, almost twilight twenty-four hours a day. An ancient legend told about an unusual breed of dark-red legged hawks that inhabited the island; the nighthawks preyed on weaker animals, and had also been known to attack people. Supposedly, secret government-funded projects were conducted there. The island was guarded by a strict private agency called Seaside Securities—an innocuous name that seemed deceptive in view of the classified research projects conducted under its realm.
Three years ago the Savannah Economic Development Group had joined forces with several environmental agencies, universities and the governor, and pushed to grow the economy by plotting a research park similar to the Research Triangle Park in the Raleigh-Durham area in North Carolina. Since then, several pharmaceutical and medical research companies as well as microbiologists and marine biologists had relocated on Catcall, along with some government and university funded research projects. Some were affiliated with university projects and Savannah Hospital. Adam didn’t know what type of research his sister was working on at the moment, but it had something to do with neurology.
Rain drizzled from the sky as he parked in front of Denise’s building and hurried inside. A thin young brunette with a severe eyebrow line and a brown knot of hair on top of her head turned from her computer. “May I help you?”
“I’m here to see Dr. Harley.”
A moment of apprehension flashed in her eyes. “She’s not here.”
“Look, Miss—” he paused and read her nameplate “—Johnson, Dr. Harley is my sister. I’ve been trying to reach her for days and she hasn’t returned my calls. It’s important I talk to her.”
“I believe she went on vacation.” She checked the calendar on her desk. “Yes, she’s been penciled out for two weeks.”
“That’s impossible,” Adam said. “She wouldn’t have left town without telling me.”
She tugged the beads around her neck. “I’m sorry, sir, but Dr. Bradford said she phoned to say she was going away for a few days.”
Adam’s hand tightened around the woman’s polished desk. “Then she must have left a number where she can be reached.”
She shuffled the files on her desk. “No, I don’t believe so.”
“Not even with Bradford?”
“Not that I know of.”
“Let me see him.”
“He’s not here, either.”
Adam gritted his teeth. “Where can I reach him?”
She glanced at her calendar again, looking impatient. “He’s also out for a couple of days. I’ll tell him to phone you if he calls in.”
Adam handed her a business card and watched her eyes widen with alarm at his identity. “That’s Detective Black,” he said in a hard voice. “Is there anyone else from her department I can talk to?”
She glanced pointedly at the green clock on the wall. “I’m afraid they’ve all left for the day.”
“Then let me into my sister’s office. I’d like to see if she left something that might indicate where she is. It’s urgent that I reach her.”
She shifted, looking agitated as she shut down her computer for the day. “I can’t do that, sir. All our scientists’ work is highly confidential. Only classified personnel are allowed in the research offices, and then, only with clearance from Dr. Bradford and Seaside Securities.”
Adam strode out the door, more frustrated than ever. Denise would never leave town without making sure he had a number to reach her. He started his car and headed toward her house. He’d check it out one more time before he relented and talked to Sarah Cutter.
SARAH CLIMBED from her car, fought with her umbrella which completely turned upside down with the gusty wind, and rushed up the sidewalk to her apartment, ducking her head to dodge the drizzling rain. Water seeped inside her shoes, soaking her feet, and she shivered, a chill engulfing her as she ran up the steps. If only she could get the frightened woman’s voice out of her head…
Early spring flowers jutted from window boxes of the downtown Savannah homes and the beautiful historic 1790 bed-and-breakfast across the street, hinting at spring and warm weather around the corner, but Sarah felt a fog of gloom descend upon her. Horns honked, a dog barked, a siren wailed in the distance. The garbled noises around her were loud and frightening, the constant barrage assaulting her from every direction. It was all just too much.
She’d wanted to hear music, laughter, beautiful sounds like the song of the robin or a child singing. But so far, she’d heard a woman’s terrified cry, obnoxious traffic noises, thunder and the detectives’ laughter, which had been harsh and ugly.
Trembling and fighting a massive headache, she unlocked her door, nearly jumping out of her skin when she heard something scraping behind her. Footsteps. Rain sloshing. Had that reporter followed her home? She whirled around, throwing her broken umbrella in front of her like a weapon, her heart pounding.
Sol. She recognized the scent of his aftershave, the smell of the soap he used. Good heavens, she was so focused on distinguishing the sounds around her she’d forgotten to rely on her other senses.
“You scared me to death,” she signed, realizing the sound she’d heard had been his footsteps on the pavement.
“Why are you out by yourself in this weather? My God, Sarah, you just had surgery.”
“It’s just a little spring shower, Sol. Relax.” She waved him inside, smiling slightly at the worry in his eyes. Sol had always been protective. She’d known he wouldn’t want her venturing out by herself, but she’d never let her impairment keep her from being independent and she didn’t intend to relinquish her freedom now.
Worry furrowed his brow. “You look pale.”
“I’m fine.” She rubbed at her head again and his eyebrows rose. “Just a headache,” she admitted.
He cupped the base of her neck, and rubbed the tight muscle. “Where did you go?” Sol asked. “I’ve been sitting outside your apartment for an hour waiting on you.”
Sarah fixed them some tea and settled on the sofa, bracing herself for her godfather’s reaction when she told him where she had been. She wasn’t surprised when disapproval and worry flitted across his features, but the anger in his voice unnerved her.
“You shouldn’t have gone to the police.” Sol paced to the opposite side of the room by the bookcases and studied the family photos on the wall, his shoulders hunched. When he turned to face her, his gray eyes reflected concern, his wrinkles drawn around his mouth. “You had bad dreams, strange dreams, when
