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
