“I need to head to Dr. Davis’s office before the afternoon traffic.”
For a moment, she searched his face as if she, too, were remembering the past. Then she adjusted the stole around her shoulders, grabbed her purse and stood.
“You lived on the estate for twelve years, Pete. It’s still your home. Don’t be a stranger.”
Flashing a smile that touched the depths of his soul, she walked away, her heels clicking against the polished tile floor.
A chunk of his defensive armor began to crumble. He pulled in a fortifying breath. Eve and her parents had turned their backs on him years ago. Despite their actions, he wanted to help Eve and people who suffered the way she did, but relating to cells in a petri dish was different to dealing with someone face-to-face. Bottom line, he wouldn’t open himself to rejection again.
A door slammed. Magnolia Medical’s research department manager walked toward him, a file folder in her left hand.
“I had a call from Jamal Washington.” Veronica Edwards’s smile grew as she approached. “He wanted to brag about his favorite graduate student. Your use of antiangiogenic drugs to stop blood flow to VHL tumors is impressive, Pete.”
His cheeks burned. As much as he appreciated Veronica’s praise, he needed help with his funding more than adulation.
“I took your request to the board. Magnolia Medical can provide some assistance.” She opened the folder and handed him a form with a five-digit figure highlighted in the top paragraph. “A start, although I know it’s not enough to cover all your research. No doubt, the VHL Institute will provide additional support.”
“I’m not applying for their grant.”
“Eve isn’t the Institute’s only contributor. There are others.”
“Whose donations pale in comparison. I won’t accept her help.”
“Look, Pete, I don’t know the whole story. Denise mentioned something about your father. But whatever happened was a long time ago.”
“Please, Veronica.”
She held up her hand. “Just don’t let your pride get in the way of saving lives. Applications for the Institute grant are due Tuesday. At least think it over. I’m giving you Monday off so you can use the long weekend to weigh your options.”
Without waiting for his response, Veronica turned back to the lab, leaving Pete to stare out the large windows that overlooked the parking lot.
His eyes focused on Eve scurrying toward her car. Her shoulders slumped forward ever so slightly, as if the effort of walking was almost more than her sickly body could manage.
Heaviness filled Pete’s heart. His father had cared more about the estate grounds than he had for the little boy who yearned to be loved. Eve had been Pete’s refuge. She’d showered him with affection. As a child, he’d responded in kind.
Love, connection, a sense of family was what they both had needed then and, if the truth were known, probably needed now.
Although Pete never told Eve, he’d gone into medical research because of her, hoping to find a cure for the disease that would eventually take her life. But he couldn’t change Eve’s lab results, and no matter how quickly his research proceeded, he wouldn’t find answers that would help her in time. Yet he could ensure that she didn’t give her heart and her fortune to someone who didn’t legally have a claim to either.
Craddock Sound? He had three days. Enough time to do a little reconnaissance. Hopefully, Pete would find out the truth about Eve’s supposed daughter.
TWO
Pete downed the last drops of the thirty-two-ounce cola he’d bought at the gas station as he turned off the highway and glanced at his BlackBerry sitting on the console. Thank goodness for mobile technology and the fact that Dixie Collins’s phone number had been listed in the phone book, along with her address. MapQuest provided the missing link.
For the last two hours, Pete had sat parked down a lonely stretch of back road in sight of Dixie’s modest home. Hurry up and wait. Just like in the army.
From the number of times she had stepped outside to use her cell phone, Pete wondered if something were going down.
He needed patience. And another cola.
His watch read 11:45 p.m. Time for Dixie to get some shut-eye.
Pete wouldn’t mind catching a few winks himself.
He pushed the seat back to its full extension and stretched his legs. Rubbing a hand over his eyes, he was just about to nod off when he heard an engine. Startled, he straightened.
A Lincoln Town Car pulled into the driveway. Green body, white vinyl top, mid-nineties vintage.
The driver stepped onto the pavement. Six-two, if not a tad taller, and at least 250 pounds of muscle. He wore his hair pulled back in a ponytail at the base of his neck and was dressed in a dark T-shirt and jeans.
Dixie ran to greet him. Wrapping her arms around his neck, the two embraced and shared a lingering kiss.
Follow your gut, Pete’s first sergeant used to remind him. Right now, his gut was screaming that something wasn’t on the up-and-up about this late-night rendezvous.
Once the loving couple unwound, they climbed into the Lincoln and headed out along the two-lane road.
Pete gave them enough leeway to keep from attracting attention before he followed the taillights that cut through the night.
Staying clear of the main highway, Dixie and her boyfriend headed north, meandering along the coastal contours. Eventually, the two-lane road veered east into a narrow spit of black desolation.
If they’d made Pete, the lonely road could be a trap. But Pete felt no sense of unease or warning.
The taillights turned, and Pete increased his speed. He couldn’t lose them now.
An outline of homes sat nestled along a coastal inlet. A plaque erected on the side of the road welcomed him to Refuge Bay.
Driving on the main thoroughfare of the small community, Pete passed two gas stations, both closed, a corner mom-and-pop grocery and an all-night diner, where three patrons sat at a booth by the window.
On the far side of town, a long, shingled building was perched at the edge of the water. A sign out front read REFUGE LODGE.
At the next intersection, the Lincoln turned inland. Were they going in a circle? Or had he been spotted?
The boyfriend didn’t look like the type of guy who enjoyed being followed. Hopefully, this cat-and-mouse game they’d been playing wouldn’t end up with Pete in the trap.
Not a good thought.
As if in response, the Lincoln stopped short by a tiny bungalow.
Pete cut his lights and turned onto a path that led behind a clump of pines. He killed the engine, crawled out of his Jeep and watched the guy push open the rear door of the small frame house. Dixie followed him inside. Lights flipped on from room to room.
Hoping to catch a glimpse of what was happening, Pete circled to the far side of the wooden structure and wormed his way through the thick shrubbery until he could peer in the window.
The man stood over a small table, his face twisted into a deep frown. A newspaper lay open. He shoved it aside, then lifted a square of cloth and studied it for a moment before tucking it into his pocket. Evidently satisfied with what he found, he turned abruptly, motioned to Dixie and headed for the door.
If Pete left the cover of the bushes now, he’d be spotted. Better to hole up until they climbed into the car and started down the road. With a little luck, Pete would be able to backtrack and pick up their tail.
Hunkered down in the bushes, Pete listened for the sound of an engine. All he heard were tree