Lover, Stranger Part 10

She'd say and do whatever she had to in order to gain his trust. That was the way she'd been trained. The way she lived her life. She couldn't afford to get an attack of conscience now simply because a man with a battered face and a hidden past was awakening feelings inside her she had thought were long dead.

"What about your family?" he asked.

"Where are they?"

"My parents have been dead for years." Without warning, the old memory came storming back. Grace thought she had buried it, along with her emotions, someplace safe, someplace impenetrable, but all of a sudden it was back, the explosion in her mind as shattering as the one that night had been.

In the beat of a heart, she was a teenager again, running down the street toward the sirens. Seeing the fire licking red-orange against the night sky.

Hearing the screams of the people trapped inside the white frame house. Her mother and father. And at an upstairs window, beating against the panes, her hair in flames, Grace's sister. Her beautiful, beautiful sister. "Everyone is gone," she whispered. Ethan touched her hand, and Grace jumped, forgetting for a moment where she was. Who she was supposed to be. She stared up at him, fighting back the scream that tore at her throat. The horror that had made her who and what she was. "I'm sorry," he said. His eyes, cold and suspicious before, were now clouded with guilt: It was hard for Grace to witness that guilt, knowing what she knew.

He's not innocent, she told herself. Don't be fooled.

She opened her purse and withdrew her wallet, showing him her driver's license, her social security card, and then fis.h.i.+ng out a business card that contained the name and address of a downtown law firm. The business cards had been printed overnight. The address and phone number had been supplied by the field office here in Houston.

"You can call them if you like," she said, handing the card to Ethan.

The call would be forwarded to either Myra or a support operative who would bear out Grace's story. If Ethan actually went by the office, the receptionist would refer him to one of the partners who had been briefed and would know how to field the inquiry.

"But I am who I say I am. My name is Grace Donovan, and I am looking for my sister's killer."

He nodded, as if he'd seen something in her face that had convinced him. He sat down at the table, looking as if the remainder of his strength had suddenly drained away.

"Did you bring Amy's letters with you today?"

Grace sat down beside him. She could smell the faint scent of soap and shampoo, and wondered if, like her, he'd spent a long time in the shower that morning, trying to scrub away the past. Or what he feared might be there.

"No, but I brought this." She pulled a newspaper clipping from her purse, and placed it face up before him. The article was accompanied by a picture of a blond man who looked to be in his early thirties.

Grace stared long and hard at that picture, then turned away, shuddering.

"I found that clipping in Amy's apartment one day. When I asked her, she denied knowing anything about it, but I could tell she was upset.

Frightened. She'd cut this picture out of the paper for a reason, but she wouldn't tell me why."

Ethan picked up the clipping and scanned the article.

"Trevpr Reardon," he read, then glanced up.

"It says he's on the FBI's Ten Most Wanted List."

Grace nodded.

"He was convicted on three counts of first-degree murder and sentenced to life in prison without parole. He escaped several months ago and has been underground ever since."

"So what does this have to do with me?" Ethan asked. "You don't recognize him?

Look closely. " As he examined the picture ofTrevor Reardon, Grace studied Ethan's features, looking for a nicker, any telltale sign of recognition.

After several seconds, he handed the clipping back to her.

"I don't recognize him. Am I supposed to?"

"Are you sure?" Grace asked anxiously.

"As far as I know, I've never seen this man before." Ethan's voice was edged with impatience.

"And I don't think I like what you're implying."

"I'm not implying anything" -- "The h.e.l.l you're not. What connection do you think I have to a convicted murderer? Just what kind of man do you think I am?"

"I don't know," she said softly, her gaze meeting his in defiance.

"Isn't that what we're both trying to find out?" For a long moment, his gaze held hers, then he glanced away. Running both hands through his hair, he stared at the ceiling.

"What connection do you think I have to this Trevor Reardon?" he asked again.

Grace paused.

"I think you may have given him a new face."

Chapter Five.

Ethan stared at her as if she'd taken leave of her senses.

Then, as the full meaning of her words sank in, he stared at her in horror.

"Why would I do that?" He was a doctor, for G.o.d's sake. A humanitarian, according to the articles and awards in his office. Why would he knowingly give a murderer a new face, a new life? Something that almost looked like sympathy flashed across Grace's face before she could subdue it. In the blink of an eye, however, the mask was back in place. She stared at him dispa.s.sionately.

"It's possible you were somehow coerced."

"But that's not what you think, is it?"

She hesitated, her gaze resting briefly on the picture of Trevor Reardon's face, then lifting to Ethan's. Any trace of sympathy she might have felt earlier had vanished.

"No. I think you did it for money," she said bluntly.

"But why would I?" he demanded.

"Look at this place. These clothes.

It's obvious I already have money. "

When Grace said nothing, he grabbed her hand and stood, drawing her to her feet.

"Come with me."

"What? Where?" Her voice sounded almost pan icky. She grabbed her purse and slung the strap over her shoulder. Without another word, Ethan pulled her out of the kitchen, through the dining room and living room toward the study.

The parrot gave a weak little squawk as they hurried pa.s.sed him, but Ethan ignored him. Inside the study, he walked to the middle of the room and gestured to all the framed awards and citations on the walls.

"Look at all this stuff." He walked over and took one of the framed letters down, then held it out to Grace.

"Do you know what this is? It's a letter from the president of the United States commending me on my work in Mexico. This one is from a senator, this one from our amba.s.sador to Mexico." He went on and on, until he'd taken a half dozen or so frames from the wall and piled them in Grace's arms.

Apparently unimpressed, she stacked them on his desk.

Ethan knew his movements were almost frantic as he removed another frame from the wall, but he couldn't help himself. He had to convince her, and himself, that what she was thinking was ludicrous.

"Why would somebody who has done all this work for underprivileged children, received all these accolades, risk losing everything by changing a murderer's face?"

"Because all that philanthropy takes a great deal of money, and you also have very expensive tastes." Grace made a sweeping gesture with her hand.

"You can't buy all this with citations and awards and letters from the president. Plus, you have the perfect cover. Your clinic in Mexico is remote, practically inaccessible, from what Amy said, and perfectly legitimate."

' "Except for the fact that, according to you, I operate on criminals on the side," he said bitterly.

"I give them new faces so they're free to go out into the world to rape, murder, and steal at will."

Grace's gaze didn't quite meet his.

"Reardon probably found out about you from someone in prison. When he escaped, he made his way across the border and somehow found your clinic in the jungle. I think he gave you a great deal of money, probably millions, to give him a new face."

"Millions?" Ethan frowned.

"The article said he'd been in prison for over six years. Where would he get that kind of money?"

"At the time he was caught, it was estimated that he'd ama.s.sed a fortune worth well over thirty million dollars. It was never found." Ethan stared at her in surprise.

"So who is this guy anyway?" Grace paused.

"He's an ex-Navy SEAL and an explosives expert who sold his services to the highest bidder. He became a mercenary, an a.s.sa.s.sin, sometimes a terrorist.

It didn't much matter to him what the job entailed so long as the price was right. He enjoyed killing and he was good at it. It was all a game to him, one he made a lot of money from. The first time he escaped prison, he went after the FBI agent who had captured him. Reardon fire bombed the agent's house and wired all the doors to explode when the people trapped inside or the rescuers on the outside tried to open them. There was no way in or out.

The agent, his wife and a daughter all died in the fire." Her expression remained coldly dispa.s.sionate, but Ethan sensed she wasn't quite as calm as she appeared. There were lights inside her eyes; Tiny flares of rage when she spoke. Was she thinking of her sister?

"After that, he remained free for several years,"

Grace said.

"He was a master of disguises, always staying one step ahead of the authorities. He may even have gone out of the country for a while. But then he made one very serious mistake. The only one in the agent's family who hadn't been killed in the fire was a teenage girl who'd sneaked out of the house that night. Reardon came back to get her."

"Why?" Ethan asked.

"How could the girl hurt him?"

"Because she could identify him, for one thing. And because she was a loose end. From everything I've learned about Reardon, he doesn't like loose ends.

He's almost obsessive about it. "

"So what happened when he came back for the girl?"

"There was another agent, a woman. She was the murdered agent's partner.

She'd made it her life's work to track down Reardon and send him back to prison.

She knew he'd eventually come after the girl, and when he did, she got him. "

Ethan didn't much like the sound of that.

"You mean she used the girl as bait?"

Grace shrugged.

"That's one way of putting it. But she also saved the girl's life. To her, the end justified the means." Grace picked up one of the framed citations and studied it closely. Ethan used the opportunity to study her. She seemed as focused as ever this morning, her voice steady, her expression still as determined as he remembered it.

But what he hadn't remembered was how the blue of her eyes lightened or darkened depending on her emotions, or how the tint of her lip gloss reminded him of lush, ripe strawberries. What he hadn't remembered was the scent of her perfume, so subtle it seemed hardly more than imagination, or the way her modestly cut jacket only hinted at the womanly curves beneath. Ethan hadn't remembered any of those things--or was it that he had just been working very hard to forget them?

"How do you know so much about this Reardon?" he asked her. They both glanced up at the same time, their gazes locking. Ethan's gaze was drawn to her lips when she spoke.

"A lot of the information is in the article I showed you, plus, after I found that clipping in Amy's apartment, I did some research. I wanted to know why Reardon's picture seemed to frighten her so much."

"You think Amy knew what was going on in the Mexican clinic?"

"I think she at least suspected, and that's why she was so afraid."

Grace set aside the frame she'd been holding.

"Amy had been to the clinic with you on at least one occasion. She even alluded to the fact that she'd seen a man down there, a patient, whose face was covered in bandages. She didn't know who he was, but she found his presence at the clinic strange because most of your patients down there are children. I think she came back here and somehow started putting two and two together."

Ethan walked over and stared at the picture of him and Dr. Salizar in front of the Mexican Clinic. If everything Grace said was true, no wonder Salizar looked so frightened. Ethan wondered if the clinic had really been burned to the ground by banditos, or if one of his former patients had come back looking for him.

He turned to Grace.

"So you think Reardon killed Amy because she was on to him?"

"No. I think Amy was a bonus. I think you were the target because you may be the only person in the world who has seen Trevor Reardon's new face."

In spite of himself, Ethan felt chilled by her words.

"And now I can't identify him because I don't remember him."