Look-Alike

Chapter Three

Black Mountain Research Hospital

Near Raven’s Peak

“The Collier woman is missing?”

“Yes.” Dr. Hubert Hollinsby glared at his coworker, Omar White, as he paced the confines of his office, one hand pressed to his chest where a sharp pain seized him. Their associates had long gone home, but he and White were chained to their lies and had to discuss the matter. You should have killed her when you had the chance. “I’d like to know how she escaped.”

“It doesn’t matter how,” Dr. White said in a low, derisive tone. “What matters is the damage she can do to us.”

“You mean to me?” Hollinsby’s chest tightened again as if a vise gripped it from the inside and was twisting the blood vessels into knots. If she figured out the truth about what had happened to her, about his work, and that he’d sent her to Nighthawk Island, it would be the end of his career. Hell, he’d go to jail, and everything he’d struggled to obtain would blow up in smoke. Not to mention the ruin of his personal life…

“My reputation is at stake here, too. The whole damn hospital’s is,” White snapped. “I warned you against becoming involved with a patient. You let yourself get personal with a woman and she ruins you.”

Hollinsby shot him another murderous look, the visual image of his statement cutting too close. But Nora’s lovely face materialized in his mind, and instantaneous lust surged to his groin.

It had been impossible not to get involved with her. She was a sex siren. When she played her sultry song, men traipsed after her as if she’d cast a spell on them just like the children who’d followed the Pied Piper. Good, sane, rational men lost all sense around her. They had to have her—even happily married professionals like himself forgot about their wives. She had even convinced him to join that swingers group, the one that met online.

Hell, maybe he should have conducted a study on Nora’s pheromones; maybe there was something in her body chemistry that made a man’s sex harden and his brain turn to mush the minute she wiggled that tight little butt of hers.

Sweat trickled down his jaw, his body craving her again. He’d already made several phone calls. “I’ll find her and fix everything.” He glanced around his cluttered office, to the tops of the stacks of notes, to the computer, to the various research studies and files on his desk. After ten years of study, he’d finally created an amazing, original, unprecedented project that had rocked White’s stuffy opinion of him. But now the entire project might be scratched. And all because he’d screwed that damn woman.

White removed his glasses and tucked them into the top of his lab coat. “You’d better fix it fast. If anyone starts nosing around here, you’re on your own. This facility is just getting off the ground. In fact, it took me two years to convince the folks at the Coastal Island Research Park to fund a branch here, and I don’t intend for it to be shut down because you couldn’t keep your pants zipped.”

“It was more than that,” Hollinsby argued. “And you know it. I had the perfect opportunity to test my theory—”

“Yeah, and you’d better pray your experiment worked. Because if this woman starts remembering things, then you’re history around here.”

Hollinsby gripped his chest again. If she started remembering things, if she talked, he’d take care of her, then go overseas. Someone there would be interested in his work. And maybe they wouldn’t care if he’d ignored ethics in order to achieve the results.

A knock punctuated the tension in the room, and his secretary, Jayne, poked her head inside, a newspaper in her hand. “There’s…uh, something you should see, Dr. Hollinsby.”

He strode toward her, yanked the paper from her hand and stared at the front page.

“Dead woman found at Devil’s Ravine near Raven’s Peak. Authorities have identified her as Caitlin Collier….”

The paper fluttered to the floor, the pain splintering his chest like a knife ripping into him. No, it couldn’t be….

Caitlin dead?

Or was the woman Nora?

CAITLIN TOSSED AND TURNED in a fitful sleep, trying to escape her nightmares, but she was thrust back into the horror of the past few weeks.

She was running for her life. Someone was following, chasing her, he was so close…. No, he’d chained her down inside a white room, the walls were closing around her.

Then she was imprisoned on that island again. Gigantic trees blocked her way, the ocean raged below. Then she saw herself lying in that creek. Shadows framed her naked body. Blood dotted her skin and painted the water red. Her eyes were glazed, open in death.

She jerked awake, trembling and disoriented. Where was she? That hospital?

No, the room was dark, the walls made of logs, the embers of a fire glowing from the corner.

Every limb and muscle in her body ached. She hugged the covers tighter, burrowing into the warmth, but fear overwhelmed her as memories of the day before bombarded her.

A low groan rumbled, and she rolled over, her eyes widening, her pulse pounding. A man lay beside her, a scruffy, dark-haired man with beard stubble grazing his cheek, thick brown hair and the blackest eyes she’d ever seen. Eyes that pierced straight through her.

She sank back, then realized in shock that she was naked beneath the quilts. Her hands fisted into the thick covers, a sob welling in her throat.

This man was Sheriff Miles Monahue of Raven’s Peak. He had found that other woman’s body, had identified it as her. But it was her sister…Nora. Or was she Nora?

A dull pain throbbed inside her chest, then rippled through her. She had walked from one bizarre nightmare into another.

Miles’s dark eyebrows lifted, the flare of anger and distrust in his eyes sending a bolt of terror through her. Could he have had something to do with her confinement in that mental hospital?

Had he taken her there to rot, to be locked up and forgotten? Could he have possibly killed her sister?

EARLY MORNING SHADOWS bathed the cabin as Miles watched the emotions play on the woman’s—Caitlin’s—face. He had to call her Caitlin just to give her a name, although he realized she might be lying, that she might be the other twin, Nora.

Confusion, fear and wariness riddled her features, triggering his own questions and distrust. One glance downward and she’d realized she was naked. Another second and she knew he had undressed her. And she didn’t like it.

“You were going into shock,” he said. “I had to warm you up.”

“And that’s all that happened?”

He grunted. “You think I’d take advantage of a woman who passed out?”

“You…said we were married?”

His gaze met hers, the undeniable flare of uncertainty in her tone hitting him. She didn’t believe him.

“I married Caitlin,” he said coldly. “Whether you are her or a look-alike, I’m not convinced yet.”

His hands balled into fists as he remembered her tone the day she’d walked out on him. He shouldn’t want to protect her now, but he did. And that wasn’t all he wanted.

“We need to talk.” Ignoring her glassy stare and the tension humming between them, he rose and poked at the fire in the adjoining room, well aware her gaze was glued to his back. Sometime during the night, he’d shed his clothes, the heat from the cabin and his own desires making him break into a sweat. He wasn’t a man who cared about his body or what anyone thought—except for the fear he put into their eyes when he unleashed his temper.

Willing his morning erection at bay, he dragged on a pair of boxers, strode to the kitchen, made coffee, then carried two mugs back to the bedroom. Caitlin still lay curled on her side, but she’d grabbed his shirt and had shrugged into it. The sight resurrected memories of long sexy nights with her naked beneath him, her long legs wrapped around him. Nights filled with passion…in the beginning.

But their relationship had obviously been built on sex. An illusion of love.

He wouldn’t allow his libido to sway him under her spell again. But if their argument had put her in danger, he’d never forgive himself.

He handed her the cup but kept his distance as she propped herself against the pillows. He’d seen the fear on her face when she noticed his naked body in the predawn light. A ripple of alarm had lit her eyes at his jutting sex.

Caitlin had not been daunted by his size.

“Tell me what happened the night we had that argument.”

She practically inhaled the coffee, as if she’d been starved for days, and guilt splintered through him. He should feed her first, let her bathe, get dressed, cover that silky skin and naked body from his hungry eyes.

A feeling of self-loathing assaulted him. He was obsessed with wanting her, while she looked as if she’d been through hell and back.

She licked her lips, her voice not quite steady when she spoke. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Listen, Caitlin—” he hesitated for emphasis “—if you are Caitlin. We were married for three weeks, we had great sex, we had an argument. You walked out. I want to know why.”

She tensed at the mention of great sex. At least he had her attention.

But she sipped the coffee again, stalling. He knew it. So did she. Then her gaze landed on the aquarium and her face twisted in thought. “Tigger. Pooh.” Her haunted eyes rose to meet his.

“You remember your fish, but not me?” Anger sharpened his words, and she flinched. Great. He was frightening his own wife. And remembering the fish but not him proved just how important he’d been to her.

She stuttered an apology, but she had no explanation. “I’m sorry. I don’t understand, either, but I don’t remember you or that night,” she whispered. “I…just know I woke up a few days…a couple of weeks ago in a psychiatric ward, and I was being drugged.” She raked her hair over her shoulder, making his fingers itch to comb through the mass. “I didn’t sign myself in to that hellhole, so you must have.”

“What?” Her accusation stung. “I told you, you walked out on me. I’ve been searching for you for weeks.”

She chewed her lower lip, scrutinizing him, yet he didn’t think she was lying. Not completely, anyway. Something traumatic had obviously happened to her and he had to get to the bottom of it. “How did you get the track marks?”

She yanked the shirt sleeves over her arms self-consciously. “I…I told you—they drugged me.”

“You expect me to believe that?” He scrubbed his hand over the back of his neck. “Listen, Caitlin. This is what I know. You married me, then walked out on me. Two days after you left, I found out you’d hooked up with some guy in a honky-tonk. Maybe he got you strung out, and now you’re scared, running back to me for help.”

She shook her head, her eyes blurring with tears. “No, that’s not true. I wouldn’t do drugs, I swear. And I wish I did remember you.” Her lips quivered. “Besides, how do I know you’re not lying? That you didn’t marry Nora and then kill her? That you won’t send me back to that awful place?”

He crossed the room to her, studied her with a frown. But the bruises on her skin softened his resolve, and he ended up stroking her palm with his thumb. “I’m not sending you anywhere, not until I learn the truth.”

She clutched the edges of his shirt together, looking so vulnerable he wanted to soothe her. “What about my sister? Who killed her?”

His gut clenched as her look-alike’s face flashed into his mind. Dammit, he didn’t know what to think or do. “The MO looks like the work of a serial killer called The Carver. He’s murdered five other women so far, all in the past nine months.”

Tension simmered between them. “Will you take me to see her?”

“I’ll call the M.E. while you shower.” He gestured toward the small bathroom adjacent to the bedroom. “There should be clean towels on the shelf. And you left a few clothes in the closet. Some sweats and jeans and stuff.”

She nodded, then slid from the bed and walked toward the bathroom, hugging his shirt to her. He tracked her movements, searching for a familiar body gesture, something to prove she was his wife.

Seconds later, the shower kicked on and unbidden images of Caitlin naked came to him. He banished them quickly. Needing some distance from her, he sat down at the Formica table in the kitchen and reviewed the files on his missing wife. They’d met two months ago at that honky-tonk in town. It was karaoke night, and she’d danced her way across the stage wearing red sequins, singing “I Will Always Love You” in a sultry, soul-filled voice that had immediately ripped into his gut.

They’d connected instantly. Later that night, he’d seduced her, or had she seduced him? All he remembered was the mind-numbing attraction, the deep hunger that had whispered that he had to have her, the frenzy in the way they’d come together. And for days after, they’d practically stayed in bed. All she had to do was trail her long red fingernails over his abdomen and his sex stirred.

And when she’d talked about opening an arts center for kids, he’d believed she was a family kind of girl. The kind he’d always wanted but never thought he’d deserved.

A few days later, he’d been so drunk on lust and foolish dreams of happily-ever-after that he’d married her at a local Justice of the Peace’s office.

Three days later she’d changed. Turned into a different person.

Three weeks after that, she’d disappeared.

What exactly had she wanted from him? Why had she tied the knot?

Hell, why had he?

Too much tequila and a weakness for a sexy woman? Dreams of a family, one to replace the one he’d lost as a kid?

He’d lay off booze and women from now on.

Scraping a hand over his beard stubble, he skimmed the paltry personal information he’d accumulated so far. They hadn’t talked about their families, their pasts; they’d been too busy making love. Whispering promises.

When he’d checked her records after she’d disappeared, he’d learned she was an only child. Her parents had died years ago. And when he’d questioned the patrons at the Steel Toe he’d realized that he knew nothing about his wife. That she’d had no intention of settling down with him. She’d been cheating on him from the start, had played him for a fool.

He just didn’t know the reason.

Frustrated, he slammed the folder shut. He’d revisit that honky-tonk and question the locals again, especially the bartender. And he’d take Caitlin with him. If she really were suffering from amnesia, the place might trigger her memories.

Knowing he had to call Agent Brown and fill him in, he punched in the man’s number. “It’s Monahue.”

“Yeah?”

“Listen, I want you to come to my place. We have to talk.”

“You can’t tell me over the phone?”

“No, it’s too important.” He wanted to see the agent’s reaction. See if he could tell the look-alikes apart.

Brown agreed, and they disconnected, then he phoned the M.E.’s office. An image of his wife lying on the cold steel table amidst the medical examiner’s tools hit him, churning up more misery. Then he glanced at the imprint of the woman’s body in his bed, and his head spun with confusion.

Was the dead woman his wife, or had his wife returned to him, frail and suffering from amnesia?

“LOOK, SHERIFF MONAHUE, I’m backed up, but I’m going to work on her this afternoon.” Dr. Arthur Mullins gripped a scalpel in one hand, the phone tucked beneath one ear while he eyed the seventy-five-year-old man who’d lost his life the day before. “I’ve had bodies stacked up with that pileup on the interstate yesterday. You’ll have to be patient.”

“You know time is of the essence in a murder case,” Miles barked. “Make this one a priority.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll do my job, you do yours.”

“Not a problem. But I need extensive DNA testing to verify the woman’s identity.”

Mullins twisted his mouth in confusion. “I thought you identified her yourself.”

“There’s been a complication.” Miles paused. “I think the woman has a twin. We have to be sure which one of them was murdered, so I’ll need dental records checked as well as any medical files we can locate.”

Mullins agreed to run every test possible, chewing on the information as he hung up and walked over to the steel slab to study Caitlin Collier. He hadn’t been lying about the bodies stacked up; he had his hands full.

The scent of formaldehyde, the drills and saws and instruments he used in his trade, offended some people, even turned their stomachs. But he had always been infatuated with the human body.

Especially the dead ones.

A smile curved his mouth as he lifted the woman’s pale, bloodstained, battered hand. He was an expert at his job. He would find out everything he could from this woman’s corpse. After all, he worked for the law.

Any evidence he discovered would help them nail her killer.

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