herself for allowing personal feelings to intervene during work, she justified her reaction as a product of loneliness. She’d moved to a new place. She felt isolated and wanted to connect with someone.
She had been lonely and isolated her entire life.
Dismissing the melancholy thought, she wiped the back of her neck with a gym towel and hurried toward the break room for coffee. She could not start lusting after her patients. Good grief, she would lose her job. Not that she planned to stay here long. No, as soon as she discovered her parents’ identity and location, she’d hightail it to wherever they lived.
Eric Collier’s tortured dark eyes rose to taunt her.
The sooner she left town, the better.
Deciding to forgo the coffee, she went to search for the old records. They would either be kept on microfiche or stored in the basement of the main facility, not in the rehab building, so she detoured through the breezeway that connected the rehab building to the main hospital. Confidential or not, she had to see if the hospital still had records on Candace Latone.
She checked over her shoulder as she hurried down the hallway to the restricted area, determined to keep a low profile so as not to arouse suspicion.
EVERY MUSCLE AND JOINT in Eric’s body throbbed with pain. Even his teeth hurt.
It still hadn’t kept him from noticing Melissa Fagan though, or reacting as a man would to a woman’s touch.
Damn. He tossed the towel into the dirty-clothes bin and wheeled toward the exit. Forget the shower. He’d take one when he returned to his room. Where he had privacy and strangers didn’t have to watch him drag his butt from the chair to another one to wash his battered body.
He hesitated, chastising himself for indulging in a pity party. He had noticed others suffering while they worked through their own therapy. A young boy, about twelve. What was his story? An elderly woman—did she have family? A tiny toddler with leg braces—God.
Seeing them had affected him. At least enough to jolt him out of his own depression and finish the reps Melissa had assigned him. She’d warned him not to overdo.
Hell, he’d barely been able to manage the exercises she’d asked of him.
He hated the weakness. Hated immobility. Hated that a beautiful woman like Melissa had to see his ugliness.
He’d told Cain he could do his job, but what if he couldn’t?
Fighting the uncertainty over his recovery, he thrust himself forward, pushing down the hall. Maybe he’d take a scenic tour of the hospital on the way out and study the layout. At least then he could say he’d started investigating. If anyone stopped him, he could always claim he’d gotten lost.
Play up the invalid bit.
Just as he rounded the corner near the bottom floor, he spotted Melissa. He wheeled to an abrupt stop, watching her from a distance. Breathing in her beauty and telling himself not to.
But a frown pulled at his mouth. She was checking over her shoulder as if she thought someone might be following her. He edged into the corner of the doorway behind the open doors so she wouldn’t see him. She bit down on her lip as her gaze scanned the hall. Apparently deciding it was clear, she ducked into the doors and disappeared.
He inched the chair from behind the doorway and wheeled closer. The sign on the door said Restricted.
From the nervous look on her face, she wasn’t supposed to be entering the area. So what exactly was she up to?
Chapter Two
Melissa eased down the long corridor, listening for voices or footsteps, peering at the frosted glass of the doors labeled to identify the areas. Several labs caught her attention, along with a hallway that led to another restricted area and a dark cavern of testing areas connected by steel slab doors that required special clearance and were designed with passkey codes. The entire wing felt alien and cold, the air stale. The absence of antiseptic odors or other chemical scents seemed odd in itself. Gray linoleum, light gray walls, reinforced-steel beams supported the forbidden structure. She felt as if she’d stepped into a tomb.
What exactly was going on behind those closed doors?
The sound of distant footsteps echoed from the neighboring wing, and she hesitated, planting herself in the corner as they passed. She held her breath while they crossed the opening, perspiration dotting her palms. Finally, when the footsteps faded into the distance, she veered to the right, bypassed a room marked X-rays, then spotted the file room. Wiping her damp hands on her slacks, she reached for the doorknob.
“Excuse me, what are you doing here?”
Melissa froze, possible excuses racing through her head. Taking a calming breath, she turned and forced a smile. “I’m new to the center and need to review some patient files.”
“Your name?”
A security guard faced her, clad in a gray uniform, a name tag attached to the stiff pocket of his shirt. His posture indicated he meant business, his tone implied she was in trouble.
“Melissa Fagan. I’m a physical therapist working with the rehabilitation program.”
He copied down her name, then checked it against a master list from his clipboard. His finger thumped onto the line where she must have been listed, because his gaze rose to meet hers. Still skeptical. “Do you have clearance to be in this area?”
Melissa played dumb. “Clearance?”
His puffy lips twitched in irritation. “Yes, this is a restricted area.”
Melissa glanced around, pretending innocence. “Actually, it’s only my first day here. I must have missed the sign and didn’t realize.”
“Any files you need for patients are housed in the computer system in the rehab area. Older ones are also kept in the basement of that area.”
“Oh, I see.” She offered him a watery smile. “I guess I got confused. But thanks for straightening that out. I’ve always been directionally impaired.”
His eyes narrowed as if he thought she was lying or virtually incompetent. “I’ll have to report you were in the area.”
She turned to escape, but his gruff voice added, “CIRP is very careful of its restricted areas, so don’t let it happen again, Miss Fagan. Snooping into confidential files and restricted areas could be dangerous.”
A chill skittered up her spine. Had he meant the comment as a warning or a threat?
ERIC HAD WHEELED HIS CHAIR to a corner and was studying the doors where Melissa had disappeared, wondering how difficult it would be to break CIRP’s security codes. He wished like hell he could walk so he could delve into the case rather than speculate.
The doors suddenly opened and Melissa reappeared. Her green eyes flickered with panic as she stepped into the light, and her hands were trembling. Although earlier he’d sensed steely determination in the woman when she’d pushed him through his therapy, vulnerability shadowed her pale face now.
What
