Midnight Disclosures

“One of my patients got upset. It’s nothing, Mark.”

“The hell it’s not. A patient attacked you and you call it nothing?”

“He reacted to a traumatic memory and I happened to get in the way. It goes with the territory.” She pulled away, but he caught her arm, refusing to let her run.

“His name, Claire?”

She shook her head. “I can’t tell you that, Mark.”

“Can’t or won’t?”

“Both. If I don’t protect my patients’ privacy, they won’t confide in me. Then I’m useless.”

“And how helpful will you be to your patients if you end up dead?”

He wrapped his arms around her, determined to make her realize she might be in danger. “You can’t trust anyone, Claire. Not right now. It’s too dangerous.”

“I know how dangerous trusting a man can be, Mark. After all, I once trusted you.”

Midnight Disclosures

Rita Herron

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Award-winning author Rita Herron wrote her first book when she was twelve, but didn’t think real people grew up to be writers. Now she writes so she doesn’t have to get a real job. A former kindergarten teacher and workshop leader, she traded her storytelling for kids for romance, and writes romantic comedies and romantic suspense. She lives in Georgia with her own romance hero and three kids. She loves to hear from readers so please write her at P.O. Box 921225, Norcross, GA 30092-1225, or visit her Web site at www.ritaherron.com.

CAST OF CHARACTERS

Dr. Claire Kos—Blinded by the accident that cost her her child, Claire Kos has nothing to live for but work. Will that very job cost her her life?

Mark Steele—A man struggling with guilt and loss. Can he save Claire before a ruthless serial killer makes her his next victim?

Special Agent Luke Devlin—An FBI agent with demons of his own, he offers Mark a job when Mark has nothing left. But will that job be Mark’s salvation or his downfall?

Dr. Ian Hall—The new director of the Coastal Island Research Park wants to create positive publicity for CIRP. But is his plan a smoke screen to hide secretive research under way at the center?

Dr. George Ferguson and Dr. Kurt Lassiter—Two of Claire’s co-workers who lust after her. Would one of them kill to have her?

Drew Myers—The man who created the idea of the Calling Claire show. Just how far will he go to make the show a success?

Joel Sanger—A psychotic patient of Claire’s with violent tendencies toward women. Has he become a serial killer?

Richard Wheaton—Another patient suffering from dissociative identity disorder. Is one of his personalities a murderer?

Al Hogan—A troubled man who attended a support group with Claire months ago and tried to befriend her. Has he resurfaced?

To my cool aunt Nelda—

who finally got hooked on romance!

Love, Rita

Contents

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Epilogue

Prologue

She had to tell Mark about the baby.

Claire Kos punched the accelerator, flipped on the windshield wipers and wove her way through the late-evening traffic. Mark couldn’t leave on some dangerous mission without knowing she planned to accept his proposal, that she’d be waiting for him when he returned.

She understood his need to serve his country. He’d been raised by a military father, had grown up on a base himself. He’d been born and bred for the armed services, a true hero. His reasons were all very noble.

And she knew she was being selfish. But what about her and their unborn child? What would happen to them if he didn’t return?

Telling him won’t keep him from leaving.

She gripped the tiny silver frame she’d bought as a going-away gift in her hand. He could take the frame with him, and if he couldn’t make it back for the birth, she’d mail him a photograph to put inside. That way she and their child would always be with him, wherever he went.

Thunder clapped in the gray sky, the rain rushing down in a torrent, the shadows of the night closing in around her. A hurricane warning had been issued on the coast of Florida, the torrential rains already unleashing themselves on Atlanta.

Reminding herself that she had another life to consider now, a baby to protect, she eased her foot off the accelerator, but another pair of headlights behind her, set on high beam, nearly blinded her. She blinked and righted the wheel to correct for the curve in the road, but a horn blared as an oncoming truck roared toward her. She skimmed the edge of the embankment, spotted the bridge ahead and panic slammed into her.

Behind her another car honked, speeding up on her tail. She skidded on the wet pavement, her Jetta hurling into a tailspin. The passenger side scraped the side rails of the bridge and sparks flew from the car as it careened down the riverbank, grinding over the muddy earth. Glass exploded as she nosedived into the Chattahoochee River.

The air bag exploded, trapping her against the seat. Spots danced before her eyes, and panic knifed through her arms as a stabbing pain shot through her temple.

She had to save the baby.

Water seeped into the car, the current lapping at the windows. She jiggled the seat belt to escape, pushing at the air bag, but the seat belt was stuck. Red water swirled around her.

Blood.

Her stomach cramped, a spasm of mind-numbing agony gripping her. She cried out, tears running from her eyes. The red faded into black. Then darkness. She reached for the tiny picture frame and clutched it in her hand.

Dear God. No. She was losing her baby. They would both die. And Mark would leave the country without ever knowing that she’d planned to accept his proposal.

Or that she had been pregnant with his child.

Chapter One

A year later

Claire Kos lived in a world of darkness—a world she’d been trying to adjust to since the day she’d lost her child.

Feeling her way to her desk, she slid into the chair, adjusted the microphone and tried to banish thoughts of her own personal problems. So far, Calling Claire, as her radio talk show had been dubbed, had been a major hit in Savannah. Her callers consisted of people who wanted to discuss love gone wrong, divorces, depression, family and parental issues.

Ironic that she should be offering advice on love when her own relationship had self-destructed.

She heard noise on the other side of the glass window and sensed the producer, Drew Myers, gearing up for the show. Drew handled a hundred things at once, all deftly, as well as screening incoming calls. The station had worked out a system so he could signal her with a buzzer.

As a concession to Claire’s concern for the potential threats to herself and the show, and out of concern for the callers, she and the station manager had agreed to keep the topics on a fairly light note, hoping to avoid any issues which might need a more thorough professional assessment.

She checked her braille watch, then laid her hand over the buzzer. The familiar ding alerted her to begin the show.

The first caller complained of a cheating husband, which prompted several callers to admit their own spouse’s extramarital affair. The last caller hit a nerve—her husband had abandoned her and their infant son.

She thought of Mark.

Not that Mark had really abandoned her. He’d gone off to war, while she’d fought a war of her own at home.

Sometimes she wondered if she should have informed him of her accident. Other times, she assured herself she’d been right not to burden him with her problems. Besides, he hadn’t exactly contacted her after he’d left.

A signal alerted her to the next caller. “Hello, this is Claire, how can I help you?”

“I… I can’t s-see,” a woman cried. “It’s so dark. P-please help me.”

Claire froze, the desperation in the woman’s high-pitched voice sending a chill down her spine.

“Tell me your name,” she said softly. “Where are you?”

Instead of the woman’s voice, a muffled voice began to sing, “Blinded by the light…”

A chill skated up Claire’s spine. “Who is this? Is this some kind of sick joke?” She jerked her head up, wishing she could see Drew’s reaction, then motioned for him to trace the call, another stipulation she’d insisted upon before signing on with the program. She had no intention of offering free advice to spike ratings in lieu of true professional care.

“She was a bad girl, a very bad girl, Claire,” the muffled voice whispered. “Do you know what happens to bad girls?”

Claire struggled to detect the sounds in the background, anything that might offer her a clue as to the woman’s location. The wind howled. Some kind of bird cawed. She heard the ocean waves crashing against the shore. The man was outside, using a cell phone.

It would be harder to trace.

“Tell me who this is,” she whispered. “Let me speak to the woman again.”

“It’s too late for her,” the dark voice murmured. “But save yourself, Claire. Goodbye.”

Then the phone went dead, the woman’s cry for help fading into an eerie silence. Panic bolted through Claire.

Had she just been talking to a killer?

A week later

LIEUTENANT MARK STEELE had once lived for the military.

Unfortunately, his last army mission had gone awry, and five of his men had been killed. Although Mark had lived, he’d been injured and had spent time in an enemy prison camp. But not before he’d shot the traitor who’d revealed his men’s location.

He’d thought that bit of justice might assuage the guilt that had eaten away at him ever since, but it hadn’t even nibbled at the edges. Blinking against the blinding noonday sun, he entered the Atlanta Federal office building. Since he’d accepted a medical discharge, he’d been slogging through every day, searching for a reason to get up every morning. This new job, tracking down criminals, even if they were civilians, might give him a renewed purpose in life. God knew he needed it.

A fair-haired man in a dark suit and tie greeted him, although the normally arrogant attitude he’d always associated with the feds was absent, a dark soulless look haunting the man’s eyes. Mark instantly connected. He’d witnessed the same desolation in soldiers’ eyes just before they died.

“Luke Devlin,” the man said without preamble. He gestured toward two other agents seated at the table and introduced them.

“It’s nice to have you on board, Mr. Steele.”

Mark nodded, still adjusting to civilian life. “Thanks. I’m anxious for an assignment.” Anything to take his mind off the lost men. His lost career.

His lost love, Claire.

“We’re organizing a special task force to investigate certain aspects of government intelligence as well as the Coastal Island Research Park’s work on Nighthawk Island. Are you familiar with the research center?”

“I’ve read about the facility. It’s in Savannah?”

“Right.” Devlin moved to the wall, gestured toward a detailed map of the research islands, then quickly reviewed recent events at the center.

“There’s been trouble at CIRP, unethical research taking place. And Arnold Hughes, the first director and founder of the research center, actually had a scientist killed because he discovered Hughes wanted to sell his research to the highest bidder,” Devlin said. “Hughes escaped our first attempt to catch him, then reappeared with a new identity, but the local police have recently arrested him.”

Mark nodded.

“The new director, Ian Hall, appears to be trying to change CIRP’s reputation, but we have reason to believe there are some high-level secret projects taking place. Some have government clearance, others…we’d like to see stopped.”

“Interesting. Go on.”

“In conjunction with Ian Hall’s good faith publicity, a psychologist named Dr. Claire Kos recently began hosting a radio talk show in Savannah. You know Dr. Kos, don’t you?”

“Yes.” His heart pounded. An image of Claire Kos’s beautiful honey-blond hair floated through his mind like a summer breeze. God, he’d been so in love with her.

But she hadn’t even bothered to come to the airport to say goodbye. He’d waited like a fool until the last minute, hoping she’d show and accept his proposal.

Two weeks later, he’d received his engagement ring in the mail. Still, he’d hoped she would change her mind.

But six months had passed with no word, then six more. She had obviously moved on with her life. Not that he could blame her. After all, she must have decided she couldn’t handle the military life just as his own mother had.

He glanced down at the floor and in his mind, saw the bloody corpses of his fellow soldiers.

Better she had moved on.

She hadn’t understood his compulsion to do his job. To live up to the standards of his military father, a war hero in his own right. What would the colonel say if he could see his son today?

“You don’t suspect Claire of being involved in an unethical project?”

Devlin shrugged. “There is talk about research using hypnosis as well as mind-altering drugs that have been used before to brainwash people. By cozying up to Dr. Kos, we’re hoping you can explore that issue, among others.”

He stiffened. So that’s the reason they were assigning him to this mission. They wanted him to use Claire? “I can assure you Claire isn’t involved. She’s one of the most noble, dedicated doctors I’ve ever known.” Besides being the most beautiful and loving. But after all he’d seen in the past few years, he was too empty inside to have anything to offer a woman. And he couldn’t forgive Claire for not being there when he needed her most.

She wouldn’t be very proud of the man he was now, either.

“But she can help you gain access to the center,” Devlin said.

Mark opened his mouth to protest, then clamped it shut. He’d never allowed personal feelings to interfere with his job. He wouldn’t now.

Devlin cleared his throat. “There’s a new development, though, that takes precedence. In the past two weeks Dr. Kos has received phone calls on her radio talk show from two different women who were abducted. Later, police found both women’s bodies.”

“They were murdered?”

“Yes. The locals suspect a serial killer, so they’ve officially called us in.” Devlin punched a recording, and Mark went completely cold inside as he listened to the chilling calls.

Save yourself, Claire.

What the hell had the killer meant? Was he threatening Claire?

CLAIRE’S HANDS trembled as she headed to the door. It would probably be the police again with more questions. Questions she didn’t have the answers to.

She massaged her neck, rubbing away the tension. After that horrifying phone call the night before, she hadn’t slept a wink. She’d also rescheduled her patient load for the day.

How could she help others when she’d failed the women who’d phoned in needing her help? Even though she wasn’t directly responsible, their deaths weighed heavily on Claire’s conscience.

She bumped into the wall, the sharp edge digging into her hip as she reached for the doorknob. Measuring her steps always grew more difficult when her emotions were involved, or if she was tired. She pressed the call button. “Who’s there?”

“FBI, Dr. Kos, Special Agent Luke Devlin and Agent Steele, we need to ask you some questions.”

Steele? This had to be a coincidence. Someone with the same last name, that’s all. Mark was overseas, not FBI.

And what could she tell them that she hadn’t told the cops?

“Just a moment.” She unlocked the door, leaving the chain intact. “Do you have identification?”

Clothing rustled as the man removed something from his pocket. She accepted the ID through the crack in the door. Holding the badge in front of her as if she could still see it, she slid her fingers over the edges, studying it for authenticity, well aware how limited she’d become without her sight. How could she determine if it was a forgery?

Vaguely satisfied the man was who he claimed to be, she unchained the door and stepped aside.

“Thank you, Dr. Kos.” Luke Devlin’s voice sounded strained, tired, like a man doing an unpleasant job.

Then a whiff of a dark masculine scent mingled with a woodsy smell wafted upward and she froze. No, it couldn’t be…

“HELLO, CLAIRE.”

Panic jammed the words in her throat. “Mark? What are you doing here?”

“I work for the government now,” he said in a husky voice.

But why? Mark had been so committed to the military.

“Dr. Kos, do you mind if we come in and sit down?” Agent Devlin asked.

Claire was so shaken her body temporarily went into lockdown. Her first instinct was to tell them to leave, to take Mark and his intoxicating scent and his big masculine presence away. But her voice refused to work, and her legs threatened to collapse beneath her, so she gestured toward the living area.

“Certainly.” She turned and stumbled, then paused to reorient herself. Agent Devlin’s hard soles clattered on the wooden floor as he stepped inside, but Mark remained in the doorway as if he didn’t want to reenter the graveyard of their shattered relationship.

“Claire.” His throaty voice echoed with emotions she couldn’t quite name. Shock. Anger. Bewilderment.

“Come in.” She forced herself not to react to his voice, but he caught her arm and swung her around. Cupping her face in his hands, he tilted her head toward him. She released a shaky breath, and blinked to focus, aching to see him. She imagined his strong jaw covered in five o’clock shadow, his neatly clipped black hair, the small cleft in his chin, his broad nose and that tight military air. And then those big hands all over her, touching her, exploring, making her his, his guarded look fading, his eyes darkening with passion….

One reason she hadn’t phoned him after the accident. She’d wanted him so badly it was scary. But she had to learn to stand alone.

He ran his hands over her face, and she blinked, forcing back tears.

“God, Claire,” he croaked. “What the hell happened to you?”

Chapter Two

Claire’s heart pounded in her chest. How could she answer him without confiding everything. He couldn’t know…

“Claire, talk to me. What happened?” Raw shock hardened his voice.

“I had an accident. Now let me go, Mark, and let’s sit down.”

Instead of releasing her, his grip tightened. “What kind of accident?”

“A car accident.”

Still hanging on to her, his breath brushed her cheek, eliciting memories of a hot night between the sheets, their bodies moving together in a heated rhythm of passion that had left her aching for more.

Forever.

But that would never be. Not now.

Agent Devlin cleared his throat. “Steele, the case, our questions?”

She heard Mark’s feet snap together, imagined him standing rigid with anger. She knew him well enough to recognize that the ironclad control on his emotions had been shaken, and he was wrestling to regain his equilibrium.

But erotic visions interceded into the darkness where she lived, resurrecting a longing for the past—the coarse stiffness of his short hair brushing her belly, his lips tracing a path along the curve of her spine.

And his eyes—she’d never seen a man with eyes his color. They were almost golden, rimmed in pale yellow. Filled with passion, they turned almost chocolate-brown, with laughter, the gold shimmered like sunshine.

Although he’d hardly ever laughed.

She’d wanted him to laugh more, had tried to ease the hardness in his eyes, take away the loneliness.

Now she’d forgotten how to laugh herself.

“Sit down,” Claire implored softly. “I’ll get us some coffee and we’ll talk.”

His labored sigh heightened the tension between them, but he finally dropped his hands. “Fine.”

Claire turned, so desperate to reorient herself that she ignored his clipped tone. The last thing she wanted was to make a fool of herself or give the image that she was helpless.

She did not want Mark’s pity.

Another reason she hadn’t informed him of her accident or condition. She’d been smothered enough by her sister Paulette’s well-meaning intentions.

She recounted her steps to the den, thankfully bypassing the furniture without a bump. It was imperative that her belongings stay in place. If a table or stool were moved, she’d trip and fall on her face.

Something she absolutely could not do in front of a strong man like Mark.

“Have a seat, gentlemen, and I’ll get some coffee.”

“I’ll help.” Mark moved up behind her.

“No, I can handle it.” She didn’t bother to apologize for her own abrupt tone. She needed time to compose herself before facing Mark again.

The current situation with the women who’d been murdered had already destroyed her peace of mind.

She slipped into the kitchen nook, removed a serving tray, stacked three cups on it along with the coffeepot which she kept filled all day, then added sugar and creamer and returned to the den. Her hands trembled as she set it on the coffee table.

“Please serve yourselves, gentlemen.”

“Thanks, Dr. Kos,” Agent Devlin said from the big armchair.

“Sit down, Claire.” Mark’s voice came from the love seat.

She poured herself a cup of coffee, using two fingers to measure, then slid onto the sofa, feeling his scrutinizing eyes trace her every movement.

“When did you have this accident?” Mark asked.

An involuntary shudder passed through her. This was the question she’d dreaded most. The night you left, she wanted to scream. I was rushing to the airport to accept your proposal, to tell you about our baby.

Now, he would never know. He couldn’t know.

“A few months ago. I’m fine now.”

“You’re not fine, you’re blind,” Mark said in a gruff voice.

“That’s true,” Claire conceded, “but thanks to the wonderful rehab program at CIRP, I’m learning to adjust.” She crossed her legs, determined to change the subject. “Now, Agent Devlin, why is Lieutenant Steele with you? Do you have news about the two women who were murdered?”

Claire tightened her hands around her coffee mug to warm them. All night she’d lain in a pool of her own fear, a chill of helplessness engulfing her.

She hadn’t been able to save her child. Or those women.

She had to help the police find the killer.

“I’m afraid we don’t have anyone in custody yet,” Devlin cut in. “That’s why we’re here. We need your help.”

Claire nodded. “I’ll do whatever I can.”

Devlin cleared his throat. “Good. The first victim, Dianne Lyons, was single, twenty-five, blond, a waitress at a local diner in Savannah. She lived with a cat and her boyfriend.” He paused. “The second victim, Beverly Bell, was married, thirty-two, a brunette and a professional architect. She lived with her husband and baby.”