handicap ramp, he cursed again when the chair caught in a piece of loose gravel and jolted forward. It took him a second to dislodge the stone before he could continue. He followed the concrete path to the bungalows, grateful CIRP had designed the facility to give patients as much mobility as possible. Being robbed of his independence hacked at his self-esteem, but it would be intolerable if he had to rely on his brother to drive him back and forth to a rehab facility, or if he was confined to a hospital room like the other facilities Cain had mentioned.
Another reason CIRP had appealed to him.
That and finding Hughes and getting revenge for the death of the witness his people had killed. This afternoon he’d review the list of employees, including every scientist at CIRP and the CEO who’d replaced Hughes and start trying to pinpoint which man might be Hughes in disguise.
Fishing the key from his pocket, he unlocked the door to the cabin, tossed his duffel bag inside, then rolled across the slick wood floor, his mind ticking back to Melissa Fagan. Why had she been snooping around in the restricted area? What was she looking for?
Could she possibly be an undercover detective posing as a physical therapist? If not, what other explanation could there be?
But if she was an undercover cop or agent, why hadn’t he been informed?
A testament to his lack of faith and truth—one minute he’d been attracted to her, the next he suspected her of subterfuge.
Only one way to find out. The shower beckoned, but first he grabbed his cell phone and called his contact at the FBI, Luke Devlin a forty-something workaholic with a badass attitude. Eric normally despised the slick-suited agents, but he had connected with Devlin immediately. Something dark and edgy tainted the man’s gray eyes, a haunted look Eric knew was mirrored in his own.
“Devlin here. What’s up?”
“It’s Eric. Is there another agent working at CIRP undercover?”
Devlin hesitated. “Why do you ask?”
Eric frowned. Devlin had a habit of answering a question with a question. “Would you tell me if someone else was working with you? If you guys are undermining me or working another angle, I need to know.”
“Don’t get so defensive. I simply wanted to know if you’d seen something suspicious. I assume you did or you wouldn’t be asking.”
Eric bottled his temper, and explained about Melissa Fagan’s odd behavior.
“No, she’s not one of ours. That doesn’t mean she’s not working for someone else though.”
“The locals maybe?”
“Actually, we’re coordinating with them, so no,” Devlin said, “but I’ll check her out and call you back.”
“Thanks. I’ll keep an eye on her. If she’s not a cop or agent, maybe she’s connected to Hughes’s return,” Eric suggested. “Or who knows, she might be here to steal research of some kind.”
“Right, keep an eye on her.” Devlin sighed. “Anything else to report?”
“Nothing yet. I…just had my first session today.”
“It’s going to take time to heal,” Devlin said. “Be patient.”
Eric ignored the comment. “I’ll review the data you sent and see if I can narrow down the list of suspects fitting Hughes’s profile.” Eric agreed to report in a few days, then hung up, looked down at his battered body and tried to lift his leg. It weighed a ton and refused to move as he wanted. Damn it.
Be patient.
Easy for a mobile man to say, not so easy when you couldn’t take a baby step. Instead of the shower, he dragged himself up on the bed and collapsed, unable to fight the lingering fatigue from his accident.
But even in his sleep, he couldn’t rest.
He dreamed about the explosion. The witness he’d been protecting clawed at the inside of the car, screaming for help. His eyes were glassy with pain and horror. Blood gushed down his face.
Eric lay helpless on the ground, blazing metal trapping him. His body was on fire, burning, burning, burning.
MELISSA WAS STILL A WRECK when she returned to the rehab center for her next patient session. How would she ever bypass security and locate those files when CIRP had the entire place under lock and key?
She definitely hadn’t started out well by getting caught and receiving a warning on her first day of the job.
Shaking off the anxiety that she might never find the answers she wanted, she pasted on a smile and focused on her patients. The first, a teenager who’d been in an alcohol-related accident and barely survived. Thankfully, he had been humbled by the experience. The second, a war veteran who’d lost a leg from diabetes. He’d been fitted with a prosthesis but had not handled the adjustment very well. The last was a salt-and-pepper-haired doctor in his early fifties who’d been injured in the terrorist attacks on 9/11.
When she finished charting the patient records for the day, she slipped into the employee lounge. Helen Anderson, one of the nurses she’d met when she arrived, waved her over. In her late fifties, she had a mop of curly brown hair dusted in gray. Padded with a few extra pounds, but not heavy, she mothered the other staff members.
“Sit down and put your feet up, honey. You’ve had a busy morning.”
Melissa nodded, dumped a packet of sweetener in her coffee and plopped onto the love seat across from the woman. “How long have you worked here, Helen?”
Helen popped a powdered doughnut hole into her mouth, then dabbed at the corners. “Seems like forever,” she said with a laugh. “But it’s only been thirty years.”
Since before Melissa was born. Maybe this woman did know something….
“I imagine the center’s changed a lot.”
“Changed and grown. When the hospital was first built, it was very small, everything was housed in one building. Now it’s all spread out, and the research facilities have expanded. Whew, I can’t keep up.”
“I know, I’ve read about some of the cutting-edge techniques.” Melissa had studied the layout. The psychiatric ward was actually in another building, which was attached by crosswalks, as were the rehab facility and the main hospital. Other buildings housed experimental-research centers and laboratories scattered across Catcall Island, with additional ones on the more remote Whistlestop and Nighthawk Islands.
Helen shook her head. “Hopefully, all the trouble’s passed.”
“But you’re worried?”
“You hear things, you know, about questionable projects out on Nighthawk Island. Did you know they named the island after some mysterious nighthawk who preys on people, not just other animals?”
“No, but that’s interesting.” Melissa sipped her coffee. “They conduct government experiments on the island?”
“Yes, but everything’s so danged secretive. One of the founders, Arnold Hughes, actually killed a scientist
