Lover, Stranger Part 18

The loafers had been fine with casual clothes, but today, getting dressed for Amy's funeral, he'd found a black suit, white s.h.i.+rt, and somber tie in the closet. When he'd brought out the appropriate shoes, he'd discovered they were too small for him, as was every other pair of shoes in the closet.

He didn't understand why. Granted, the clothes he'd been wearing were loose, but that could be explained by weight loss following surgery.

And he knew he'd had the appendectomy because he had the scar to prove it.

The dreams of being shot, of falling off a cliff were just that--drug induced visions. The memory loss was due to the blow to thorities well, Grace had explained that to him as well.

Clearly, everything that had happened to him had a logical, if disturbing, explanation.

Except for the fact that none of his shoes fit. Ethan picked up the black dress shoe and studied it. Why would he why would anyone buy dozens of pairs of expensive shoes in the wrong size? It made no sense Without warning, the pain in his head became razor- sharp, blinding.

Dropping the shoe, Ethan put his hands to his head, pressing tightly as he squeezed his eyes closed.

An image shot through him. He could see someone running for his life through a jungle. He could smell the dank scent of the vegetation, feel the cloying heat, hear the sounds of pursuit behind him. He knew the man's fear. But the man's face was not the one Ethan stared at in the mirror. And yet. The man in the vision was him and it wasn't. Unlike the picture that Ethan had seen of himself downstairs in the study, he felt connected to the man running through the jungle. He knew him in a way he did not know the stranger staring back at him from the mirror.

But. why?

Why was he having another man's visions? Why did none of the shoes in his closet fit him? Why was he in possession of a gun that may well have been issued to someone in one of the special forces of the military? Someone like an elite Navy SEAL? Someone like Trevor Reardon?

Why did a plastic surgeon know how to use a weapon like that?

An explanation came with another blinding flash of light.

Pain exploded inside Ethan's head, and for a moment, he thought he was going to be sick.

when the service was over. Grace looked up to find Ethan standing in the doorway of the chapel. As his gaze met hers, she felt a physical jolt. It was almost as if a bolt of pure adrenaline had ping-ponged between them.

He looked pale. Grace thought with sudden anxiety. Shaken. What had happened to him?

She got up and started toward him, but was waylaid several times by well-wishers--first by the apartment manager, then by a neighbor, and then by Rosa, whose initial frost toward Grace had thawed. The housekeeper squeezed Grace's hand comfortingly, then, her glance moving over Grace's shoulder, she pursed her lips in stern disapproval.

Grace followed her gaze to find Pilar and her escort on a collision course with Ethan. Wondering if an unpleasant scene was about to erupt. Grace glanced around the room. Most of the mourners had filed out of the chapel by this time. The grieving man remained seated, his head bowed in silent prayer, while the chaplain stood at his podium, waiting for everyone to leave. The late afternoon sun s.h.i.+ning through the stained gla.s.s window behind the clergyman gave him an almost angelic appearance. The image should have been comforting, but for some reason it was not.

Hoping to abort a possible spectacle, Grace walked over to stand beside Ethan. Their gazes met again, but neither of them said anything.

Pilar stared at her coolly. Even this close. Grace couldn't find a single imperfection in the woman's complexion.

"So you're Amy Cole's sister." Her voice, light and musical, was as attractive as the rest of her, and the Spanish accent gave her a hint of mystery.

"I'm Pilar. Ethan's wife." The slight emphasis on the last word made Grace wonder again about Ethan and Pilar's relations.h.i.+p.

"How do you do?" Grace extended her hand, but the woman's fingertips barely brushed against her palm.

Pilar stared at her critically.

"You don't look anything like her, you know."

Grace a.s.sumed the comment was meant to cut.

"My sister was very beautiful," she said.

Pilar raised her narrow shoulders in an elegant shrug. "In a tram pish sort of way."

For the first time, Ethan stirred to life beside Grace. "For G.o.d's sake, she's dead. Can't you show a little respect?"

Pilar's dark brows rose in mild outrage.

"The same respect she showed for our marriage vows?"

"Why did you come here?" Ethan demanded. He turned to the man standing next to Pilar.

"Why did you let her come?"

The man laughed softly.

"You don't 'let' Pilar do anything. You should know that better than anyone." He turned to Grace and put out his hand.

"By the way, I'm Bob Kendall. I'm very sorry about your sister."

So this was Ethan's.e.x-partner. Unlike Pilar's, his handshake was firm, and his fingers lingered against Grace's for just a moment too long.

She instantly disliked him. He was too smooth, and his gray eyes were too insincere.

He said to Ethan, "Are you feeling all right, buddy? You look a little pale."

"I'm fine," Ethan said tersely.

"Still, it might not hurt to give Mancetti a call. I don't imagine she was too happy to learn you'd checked yourself out of the hospital."

Ethan didn't answer. Instead he turned to Grace, muttering, "When can we get out of here?"

She shrugged, feeling Pilar's dark eyes scouring her. "Now. I've made arrangements for a private burial."

Ethan nodded. His eyes were shadowed. Haunted. Was it Amy's funeral that had gotten to him? Had he finally remembered her? Remembered that. he cared for her?

Ethan turned toward the door, but Pilar caught his arm.

"You can't just walk off like this. We're not through, Ethan."

He stared down at her for a long moment, then very deliberately removed her hand from his arm.

"You could have fooled me."

outside, the sunlight, even at five o'clock, was still brutal. Ethan pulled a pair of dark gla.s.ses from the inside of his suit coat and slipped them on.

He hadn't been able to rid himself of the headache.

A handful of aspirin had dulled the pain, but the confusion whirling inside him was still as strong as ever.

Beside him. Grace tried to match her steps to his, but he had a good eight inches on her. He slowed, then stopped altogether in the shade of a huge water oak.

The lower limbs were so heavy, they'd been braced to keep from snapping.

Spanish moss dripped silvery green from the gnarled branches, giving the tree a forlorn, almost ghostly appearance. In the distance, the cars in the parking lot wavered in the rising heat from the pavement. Their inconsistency seemed surreal and out of place, but the eeriness matched Ethan's mood.

Grace said a little breathlessly, "What happened to you? I was beginning to worry."

He gazed down at her.

"Were you?"

"Of course. You know as well as I do the danger you're in."

"Do I?"

A brief frown flitted across her features.

"What happened, Ethan? Why were you so late getting to the service?"

The way she said his name, in a voice that was just the tiniest bit husky, made him want more than ever to discount his earlier thoughts.

But the question was like a mantra inside his head.

Who am I? Who the h.e.l.l am I?

He studied Grace's features, thinking how lovely she looked today, and how very calm she seemed for having just come from her sister's funeral. Her mood was somber, as was the black dress she wore, but there was something about her eyes--an alertness, an intensity-that mystified him and made him believe he wasn't the only one who had secrets.

He took her arm and drew her deeper into the shadow of the oak tree.

"What if I told you, I'm not the man you think I am?"

Her eyes instantly deepened.

"What do you mean?"

He paused, wondering what to say, how to tell her his suspicions. I may not be Dr. Ethan Hunter. In fact, I may be. He couldn't even finish the thought. His heart began to beat wildly against his chest. Ethan was sure he'd never felt so alone, so out of control, so lost as he did at that moment.

And Grace. G.o.d help him, he was still drawn to her. Still attracted to her.

Still wanted her. In some perverse way, more than ever because he knew if what he feared was true, he could never have her.

In fact, it might even come down to the basic choice of his life. or hers.

She was still staring up at him, her incredible blue eyes deep and intense.

He wondered what she was thinking, if she had even an inkling of what he was feeling.

She touched his arm. The action made Ethan almost groan out loud.

"Have you remembered something?"

' "No. But what if I told you" -- He wanted to tell her about the shoes, and possibly the gun, but a movement at the entrance of the chapel drew his attention. A man came out of the building and paused, looking around. Ethan dimly recognized him from the funeral service.

He'd been seated at the back, weeping quietly, when Ethan had arrived.

Ethan glanced at him, then turned his gaze back to Grace. But out of the corner of his eye, he saw the man start toward them.

"Do you know who that man is?" he asked Grace suddenly.

She turned, following his gaze, and Ethan saw her tense.

"No. I saw him inside, though. He was pretty torn up."

Ethan watched as the man approached them. He had the kind of face that made it hard to judge his age, but something about the way he walked, the way he dressed--casually in khaki pants and a b.u.t.ton-down collar s.h.i.+rt--gave Ethan the impression that he was fairly young, no more than late thirties. The receding hairline was probably premature, as were the lines around his eyes and mouth.

As he neared them, Ethan heard Grace catch her breath. He thought that her gasp was not because she suddenly recognized the man, but because of the look of unadulterated fury on his face. Ethan saw Grace's hand slip inside her purse, but before he could wonder about her intentions, the man stepped 'up to him. He was shorter than Ethan by only an inch or so, but their builds were similar. They stood almost chest to chest.

"Dr. Ethan Hunter?"

"Yes?"

Without warning, the man hauled off and punched Ethan square in the face.

Pain flashed white-hot over his already bruised flesh, and as Ethan staggered back a step, red-hot anger shot through him. Almost instinctively, he lunged at the man, but Grace jumped between them.

"Stop it!" she ordered, putting a hand on each of their chests with surprising strength and authority. She turned to the stranger.

"Why did you do that?" she demanded.

The man's gaze was still furious.

"He had it coming!"

Ethan said coldly, "The h.e.l.l I did. I don't even know who you are."

The man glared at him.

"Of course, you wouldn't remember me. Why should you? I was n.o.body important, just the man Amy was going to marry, that's all. Until you came along."

Grace must have sensed the anger welling inside him again, for she gave him a shove.

"Calm down," she said.

"This is not the place for violence."

The man looked immediately contrite. His blue eyes flooded with tears.

"No, you're right. Amy wouldn't have wanted that."