Lover, Stranger Part 2

d.a.m.n. Was he widowed?

He gave her a wink.

"Well, let's just say, I won't be alone, okay?"

"Same old Dr. Hunter," she grumbled, but there was a spice of mischief in her close-set eyes as she continued to challenge him.

Ethan sensed that beneath her gruff exterior, she held a genuine affection for him. It made him feel a little better. Maybe everyone wasn't his enemy after all.

But. could he trust her enough to tell her about the amnesia? Would she be able to help him?

Or would she insist on calling the police? Or worse, Dr. Kendall?

Ethan still couldn't shake the notion that Kendall held a deep malice toward him. What had happened between them in the past? For a moment, he considered asking the nurse about Kendall, but something warned him not to.

Something told him not to press his luck with Roberta Bloodworth because she, of all people, might see right through him.

He tried to smile disarmingly.

"Anyway, you know what they say about doctors. We make the worst patients You should consider yourself lucky to be rid of me." She threw up her hands in exasperation.

"All right, it's your funeral. Why should I care?" But as she turned toward the door, he heard her murmur, "Take care, Ethan."

After she left, Ethan checked the pockets of his jacket. A stick of gum, a parking stub, a Post-it note with a phone number he didn't recognize. As if they were precious gemstones, he carefully returned the items to his pocket.

Opening the door, he quickly surveyed the corridor, then stepped out, searching for the nearest exit. He spotted the elevators and headed toward them as the bell pinged on one of the cars and the door slid open.

A woman emerged, looking windblown and slightly breathless. Their shoulders touched as they brushed by each other, and for a moment, their gazes locked.

Ethan's immediate impression was that, for the most part, the woman's features were neither beautiful nor plain, but fell somewhere in the category of interesting. Her eyes, however, were extraordinary, so light a blue they almost appeared translucent. She wore a tailored navy pant suit, and her dark red hair was cut short and tucked behind her ears, in a style that was deceptively simple.

She looked professional, no-nonsense, a woman with a definite purpose.

All this Ethan saw in a heartbeat, a man noticing and acknowledging an attractive woman. With a mumbled, "Excuse me," he entered the elevator, giving her hardly more than a second thought. But just before the doors slid closed between them, he saw her turn and stare after him, in a manner that filled him with unease.

Did he know her?

He started to press the open b.u.t.ton to confront her, but what would he say?

How could he be sure she was a friend and not an enemy? Maybe she'd come to the hospital to finish the job someone else had botched earlier.

Not a pleasant thought, but one he couldn't ignore. Truth was, he couldn't afford to trust anyone.

As he left the elevator and headed through the hospital lobby toward the street entrance, he tried to take stock of what he had learned about himself.

His name was Ethan Hunter. He was a plastic surgeon.

He was married. or at least, had been married. He had just returned from Mexico, where he'd undergone an emergency appendectomy, and he'd been badly beaten tonight by a man who had wanted to kill him.

The wound in his side tingled as he pushed open the gla.s.s door and stepped outside. A blast of hot air greeted him, and he realized it must be summer in Houston. Even though it was late, after ten, the cloying heat was almost suffocating.

He could see the city's impressive skyline in the distance and wavered for a moment, unsure what to do, where to go. Maybe it hadn't been such a great idea to leave the hospital. He should have at least figured out where he was going first. Maybe he should have somehow gotten his wife's number and called her to come and get him. Somehow that didn't seem to be an option he wanted to explore. Neither was waiting around in a hospital room for his would-be killer to come and find him.

Ethan couldn't explain it, but he hadn't had a choice in leaving the hospital. He'd been compelled to flee. He knew he had to run. Knew he couldn't afford to stay in one spot too long.

Headlights arced across his face, and he threw up a hand to s.h.i.+eld his eyes.

For a moment, he thought he was back in the jungle. He could see the searchlights scouring' the mountainside. Hear the rush of water below him.

Feel the sharp punch of the bullet as it entered his side. Then he was falling. falling. Someone grabbed his arm, and Ethan whirled, reaching blindly for his enemy, pulling the body tightly against him as he pressed his arm into a soft, pliant throat. grace donovan saw her entire life flash before her eyes. The arm that pressed against her windpipe was like an iron vise. The more she struggled, the harder he squeezed. Forcing herself to go limp, she waited for the infinitesimal relaxation of her a.s.sailant's muscles, then she chopped upward, using both hands as she'd been taught. His hold loosened without breaking, but at least she could breathe. She gulped air into her lungs, then stumbled away when he finally released her.

"Are you crazy?" she managed to gasp.

He was looking at her as if she were a ghost. He stared at his hands, then back at her. Then stared at his hands again.

"I could have killed you." His skin looked deathly white in the sodium-vapor streetlight. "Nosh--kidding." Grace ma.s.saged her throat, glaring at him.

Headlights swept across his face, causing the bruises to stand out starkly against his pallor.

"Why did you attack me like that?"

He was still staring at his hands.

"I don't know." Grace kept her own hand at her throat, suddenly feeling very vulnerable and not liking it.

"Look, you don't have to worry," she said dryly.

"I don't think there's any permanent damage."

He glanced up, his brown eyes shadowed with an emotion Grace couldn't define.

"You're okay then?"

She frowned.

"I'll be fine, but I wasn't talking about myself. I meant you... your hands.

You're a surgeon, right?" He didn't answer, just stood staring at her in the gloom. Grace s.h.i.+vered even though it was June and the heat rising from the concrete was thick enough to cut with a scalpel. She could feel her hair curl at the back of her neck, but wasn't sure whether it was because of the humidity or the man standing before her. the way he was looking at her.

She cleared her throat.

"You are Dr. Hunter, aren't you? Dr. Ethan Hunter?"

"Do I know you?"

He took a step toward her, and Grace fought the urge to retreat. It wasn't like her to be so easily spooked, but the bruises and bandage gave him an almost maniacal look as he stared down at her. There was something about his eyes. a darkness that was chilling. She wondered, fleetingly, what she was getting herself into. "We've never met. But I saw you briefly upstairs."

"At the elevator," he said, as if it had just occurred to him. She nodded.

"I came here to see you.

The nurse told me you'd checked yourself out. Do you think that's a good idea? If you don't mind my saying so, you don't look so good. "

"I'm fine." As Grace watched, he lifted his fingertips to probe his battered face. The action reminded her of a blind man, trying to "see" with his hands.

"Why were you looking for me?" he asked suddenly. She released a long breath, not realizing until that moment she'd been holding it.

"I.

want to talk to you about what happened tonight. I've spoken with the police. They told me about the shooting. I've just come from the morgue. "

She had his full attention now. His brown gaze scoured her face.

"The morgue?"

Grace wrapped her arms around her middle, s.h.i.+vering suddenly as if she were still in the cold-holding room where Amy's body had been taken.

This was the important part. It was crucial that she convince him.

"I.

want to talk to you about Amy Cole. "

Something flashed in his eyes. Regret? Guilt? Or was it merely a trick of the light?

"You knew Amy?"

"She was my sister."

He looked stunned.

"I'm sorry. I don't know what else to say." He spread his hands in supplication, glancing away, then back at Grace.

"She saved my life tonight."

Despite the hoa.r.s.eness, his voice was deeply compelling. Dusky and sensual, it called forth emotions from inside Grace she had no wish to unveil. Not now. Not when so much was at stake. Not when her sister's death was on the brink of being avenged. Nothing else could be allowed to matter. Certainly not a man with a battered face and a voice as seductive and deadly as a storm-swept sea. She tried to conjure up an image of her sister, but the memories had faded.

Ethan touched her arm, and Grace jumped as if she'd been burned.

"Are you all right?" he asked.

She swallowed over the sudden fear in her throat.

"I'm fine. But unfortunately, my sister isn't. That's what I want to talk to you about. I want to know why Amy's dead, Dr. Hunter. I want to know what you had to do with it."

The shadows in his eyes deepened.

"What do you mean?"

"I think you know exactly what I mean." Grace forced herself to remember the past. To use her emotions. She unfolded her arms, letting one hand grip her purse strap. The other hand balled into a fist at her side.

"I know all about you and Amy. Your affair." She all but spat the word at him and saw him wince as if she had physically struck him.

When he didn't try to defend himself, Grace said coldly, "She told me all about it. She also told me that you'd gotten her involved in something dangerous. Something she said might end up getting you both killed, and it looks like she was right."

This time, he didn't flinch at her words. He stared at her with eyes as cold and dark as a moonless winter night.

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Oh, I think you do." She lifted her chin.

"Amy's dead, Dr. Hunter, and I think you know more about her murder than you're saying. I came here to get some answers, and I'm not leaving without them."

"Then you may be waiting a long d.a.m.n time." He turned to walk away from her, then stopped suddenly, looking around at the street and pa.s.sing cars.

Grace walked over to him and caught his arm. The muscles beneath her hand flexed defensively, like tempered steel. Her hand dropped to her side.

"You can't just walk away from this. You owe me the truth. You owe it to Amy. She was in love with you, dammit!"

His fingertips brushed against the bandage. He suddenly looked very lost.

"I didn't know."

Grace glared at him, telling herself not to react to his emotions, to the look of desperation lurking in the depths of his eyes. He was a dangerous man, and she couldn't afford to forget it. "What do you mean, you didn't know? Amy never told you how she felt? You must have guessed. She was never very good at hiding her feelings."

He glanced down at Grace, as if on the verge of confession. Then he shrugged and turned away.

"I'm sorry about your sister. Deeply sorry.

But I can't help you. There's nothing I can tell you. I don't have the answers you're looking for. "

"Then you leave me no choice." Grace opened her purse and took out a stack of envelopes tied with a blue ribbon.

"Amy wrote to me regularly in the past few months. These are her letters.

They're all about you, Dr. Hunter. About the promises you made to her. The favors you asked of her. I'm sure the police would be interested in seeing them."

He turned at that, his expression stark in the streetlight. Whatever flash of vulnerability Grace might have glimpsed earlier had vanished. His gaze narrowed on her.

"Is that threat supposed to frighten me? Why should I a.s.sume the police would have any interest in your sister's letters? What did she accuse me of?" Grace hesitated, meeting his gaze. Then she glanced away.

"All right, I admit, she never mentioned anything specific. But she said enough to arouse my suspicions, and I think her letters might make the police " more than a little curious as well. "

"Then why haven't you already handed them over?"

"Because I wanted to talk to you first."

"Why?"