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 damn time.” He turned to walk away from her, then stopped suddenly, looking around at the street and passing 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 assume 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?”
“I have my reasons.”
He studied her for a moment. “Is it because you’re afraid your sister may not be an innocent bystander in...” he made a vague gesture with his hand. “...all this? Is it because if you go to the police, they may start to probe a little too deeply?”
His perception surprised Grace. “That’s part of it,” she admitted reluctantly. “But it’s more than that. I don’t exactly trust the police.”
That seemed to interest him. He lifted a dark brow. “Why not?”
“Because Amy is just a statistic to them. Another case. One of a dozen homicides that take place in this city every week.” She paused, biting her lip. “But she was my sister, Dr. Hunter, and I’ll do anything to bring her killer to justice. Right now, you’re the only one who can help me do that.”
His brow rose again, but when he remained silent, Grace pressed her point. “I don’t want to go to the police, but if that’s the only way I can gain your cooperation—”
He moved swiftly, grasping her forearms and hauling her toward him. Grace started to struggle away, but something in his eyes, a terrible look of desperation, made her momentarily yielding.
“Don’t you understand?” He gazed down at her, his eyes darker than Grace could ever have imagined. “I can’t help you. I don’t know anything.”
“Then why are you so afraid of the police?” she asked, unable to tear her gaze from his. Her breath caught in her throat. She wondered, suddenly, if she had pushed him too far.
For a moment, he seemed to undergo some intense inner struggle. A myriad of emotions flickered across his features, then he let his hands drop from her arms and backed away from her. “I don’t know anything about your sister. About those letters. About our...relationship. I don’t remember her. I don’t even remember my own name or what I look like. I don’t remember anything. Is that clear enough for you?”
Grace stared at him in shock, watching the shadows flicker across his features. Where he stood, one side of his face was in light, the other in darkness. It was a strange illusion, almost as if she were talking to two distinctly different men. Unnerved, she said, “Are you telling me you have amnesia?”
He didn’t answer, just stood there staring down at her. He was dressed in a suit, dark gray and beautifully tailored. The jacket was open, and Grace could see the dark droplets of blood on the front of his white shirt.
That, more than anything, reminded her of why she was here. Her heart jolted uncomfortably. “My God,” she said. “You don’t remember anything?”
“Not much,” he muttered. His expression became shuttered again, as if he were already regretting his confession.
But had it really been a confession? Was he telling her the truth, or trying to cover his tracks?
Damn, Grace thought. Amnesia could change everything.
She tried to assess this new situation while wondering if she should proceed as planned. She stared at him for a long moment, watching for the telltale flicker of desperation she’d glimpsed earlier, searching for a flash of fear, anything, that might give him away.
But she saw nothing. It was as if a mask had descended over his features. In some ways, this masquerade of control frightened her more than anything else, because it showed her how easily he could deceive her if he chose to.
“What did the doctor say about your condition?” she finally asked.
He shrugged. “I understand it may take days, or even weeks, to fill in the blanks.”
“From what you just said, it sounds like we’re talking about more than a few blanks.”
He shrugged again.
Grace glanced around, realizing how vulnerable they were standing out in the open. In spite of the intense heat, she shivered. “Look, maybe it isn’t such a great idea for you to be on the street like this.”
“I’m fine,” he said, almost angrily. “Don’t worry about me.”
“You’re not fine,” she countered. “You were almost killed tonight. Hasn’t it occurred to you that whoever did this to you...to Amy...could come back?”
“That’s not your problem.” But she knew he had thought of it. She could see it in his eyes. She wondered if that’s why he’d left the hospital.
“Well, I’m sorry, but I’ve made it my problem,” she said, backing her shoulders. Staring him down. “I want to find my sister’s killer, and at the moment, you’re my only clue. I’m not letting you out of my sight.”
He scanned the night sky, as if looking for guidance. Searching for the way home. His expression looked bleak in the moonlight. “What was it you said earlier? Amy told you I’d gotten her involved in something dangerous? Something that might end up getting us both killed? Wasn’t that it?” His gaze met Grace’s and she shuddered. “If I were you, I wouldn’t want to be standing between me and the next bullet.”
SHE FOLDED HER arms over her breasts, in a manner that was unmistakably determined. He saw that same stubbornness in the set of her jaw and chin. In the way her gaze met his without wavering. “I told you. I’m not going anywhere until I get some answers.”
“And I told you, I don’t have those answers.”
“Yes, you do. You just don’t remember them. That is, if you really do have amnesia.”
“You don’t believe me?”
Her blue eyes flickered, but she said nothing.
Ethan told himself her opinion of him didn’t matter, but for some reason, anger shot through him. She didn’t even know him. She was basing her judgment solely on what she’
d heard from her sister. And if he and Amy Cole had been having an affair...if the relationship had gone bad...
The wedding ring on his finger was suddenly a dead weight He resisted the urge to remove it. For all he knew, he might still be deeply in love with his wife...ex-wife?...estranged wife?
Then why would he have had an affair with Amy Cole?
Ethan shook his head, trying to clear the fog, but the haze only deepened. So many things he didn’t know. Couldn’t remember. What had happened to him in Mexico? What had he been involved in that had gotten Amy killed tonight?
He stared down at her sister. His initial impression of her remained. She was a woman with a definite purpose, but there was something in her eyes that belied her tough exterior. The pain of her sister’s murder?
Guilt stabbed through him. Amy Cole may have died because of him. He wouldn’t be responsible for another woman’s death. “Look,” he said. “I don’t care whether you believe me or not. I’m getting the hell out of here. And if you’re smart, you won’t follow me.”
She took a warning step toward him. “You’re not getting away from me that easily.”
“Don’t be stupid,” he said in exasperation. “I don’t want you to end up like your sister.”
Something flashed in her eyes. A momentary look of uncertainty. “I won’t. I’m not Amy. I can take care of myself.”
He shook his head in regret “You don’t know what you’re getting yourself into. I don’t even know.”
“I know that I won’t rest until I find my sister’s killer,” she said softly. Her eyes glowed with an emotion so deep, so fierce that Ethan felt unsettled just watching her. “Can you really afford to send me away? Where will you go? Do you even know where you live? At least let me get you off the street. Let me take you someplace where you’ll be safe.”
He stared at her for a long moment, trying to resist the temptation she placed before him. “I don’t want to get you involved in this.”
“Don’t be stupid,” she said, flinging his words back at him. “What choice do you have?”
“Actually, there is choice,” he said slowly. “I could still decide to go to the police for help.”
She gave him a sidelong glance. “I don’t think so.”
Meaning he couldn’t go to the police. Meaning whatever he had been involved in was not something he would want the cops to know about.
Like it or not, she had him exactly where she wanted him.
“All right,” he said. “I guess we’re stuck with each other. For the time being, at least”
Her expression was anything but triumphant. “Looks that way. Come on. My car’s over here.”
As Ethan followed her to the parking lot, he had a feeling that he was walking blindly into something every bit as dangerous, every bit as deadly as the jungle.
Chapter Three
They headed west on Memorial Drive. Ethan knew this because he studied the road signs, hoping to recall a memory. Though they were in the middle of the city, the street became progressively more wooded. The streetlights along the dark green colonnade illuminated high walls and gated drives. Ethan glimpsed large houses beyond the walls, with curving driveways and lush vegetation skillfully showcased by landscaping lights that gave everything a soft, green glow.
Ethan searched for something familiar, a landmark that would strike a chord, but the street remained as unfamiliar to him as his own name. As his own face.
He touched the bruises and grimaced. It was time to evaluate the damage. “Do you have a mirror in here?”
She threw him a surprised glance. “On the visor, but—”
“What?”
“Be prepared,” was all she said.
He pulled down the visor and slid back the cover on the lighted mirror. It was so narrow, he could only see a portion of his face at a time. He adjusted the visor, staring first at the thick bandage on his forehead, then at his eyes—both of which were blackened and one almost completely swollen shut—then at the ugly, raw bruises on his cheeks, and finally his lips, cut and also swollen. Kendall had been right. He looked like hell.
He looked like a stranger.
Adjusting the mirror again, Ethan returned to his eyes. Dark brown, what he could see of them. Black lashes. Thick eyebrows. He ripped the bandage from his head and heard her gasp.
“You probably shouldn’t have done that,” she muttered.
Black hair, matted with blood, tumbled over his forehead, covering the long crescent of stitches over his left brow.
Got to make this look good, pretty boy.
Ethan didn’t say anything for a long moment Couldn’t say anything.
She braked for a light, and he could feel her watching him. But he couldn’t tear his gaze away from his reflection.
“It’s all superficial,” she said softly. “The cuts and bruises are only skin deep. They’ll heal. In a few days, you’ll look like a new man.”
He studied his eyes, searching for the windows to his soul. A new man? What had the old one been like? A doctor who operated on poor children in Mexico? A husband who cheated on his wife? A man who had gotten a woman killed tonight?
He could still feel her watching him, and he turned suddenly, capturing her gaze. She looked momentarily startled, as if she’d just seen him for the very first time. Or as if she’d glimpsed something in his battered features she hadn’t expected.
Was there a redeeming quality hidden among that mass of bruised flesh?
He wanted to think so. He fervently wanted to believe it
“You’re a very good-looking man,” she said suddenly.
He almost laughed. “In a Frankenstein sort of way.”
“No, I’m serious.” She glanced in the rearview mirror. Then glanced again. The light changed, and the car accelerated. “Trust me, you’re very handsome.”
“I thought you said we’d never met.”
He saw a brief frown flicker across her features. “We haven’t, but I’ve seen pictures of you. Amy showed me.”
Amy. He tried to conjure an image of the dead woman, a memory of his feelings for her, but he felt nothing. Saw nothing.
He studied the woman beside him. Her profile was shadowed in the subdued light from the dash, and she kept glancing in the rearview mirror, as if she expected them to be followed. He wished he knew what she was thinking, and why he couldn’t bring himself to fully trust her.
There was something about her...
Something about the pain in her eyes...
He had no doubt that she’d experienced grief. That her sister’s death had affected her deeply, but the pain seemed muted somehow, not sharp and fresh as one would expect. Amy had only been dead a few hours.
This woman seemed too in control. Too determined.
Her gaze left the road for a moment to meet his. He felt an odd stirring somewhere inside him. Suspicion? Desire? Funny how those two emotions weren’t mutually exclusive of each other. Far from it
“Do you look like her?” he asked
She turned back to the road. “You mean Amy? Not really. She was fair like me, but blonde. And she didn’t have freckles. She was thinner than me. Taller. Very beautiful.”
Was that a trace of envy in her voice? Ethan said, “I don’t even know your name, or where you’re taking me. I don’t even know why I should trust you.”
“Which question should I answer first?”
He paused. “The last one, I guess, because depending on your answer, the other two might not matter anyway.”
Her blue gaze touched his again. Again he felt the jolt. “Have you ever heard the expression Honor Among Thieves? That sort of fits us, I guess. You can’t go to the police without possibly incriminating yourself, and for reasons of my own, I don’t want to involve the authorities, either. The only way you can protect yourself is to find Amy’s killer before he finds you. And as it happens, that’s the same thing I want. It makes sense that we help each other.”
“Even if we don’t ex
actly trust one another?”
She shrugged. Ethan thought her answer couldn’t have been more eloquent.
After a moment, he said, “And if we do find Amy’s killer. What happens then?”
She didn’t hesitate. “I bring him to justice. After that, I don’t give a damn what happens to you.”
“That’s cold.”
“It’s honest.”
She braked for another light, but this time, she didn’t look at him. She stared straight ahead, her hands gripping the steering wheel.
“So,” she said, “do you still want to know the answers to the first two questions?”
He almost smiled. “Surprisingly enough, yes.”
She did glance at him then. Her eyes seemed like starlight. Soft and clear. Very mysterious. “My name is Grace Donovan. And I’m taking you home.”
He lifted a brow, felt the faint pulling at his stitches. “Your home?”
“No, yours.”
The light changed and the car started forward.
“How do you know where I live?”
“Amy showed me once.”
He paused. “Has it occurred to you that we may not be able to get in? I don’t have keys.”
“Did you check your pockets?”
“Of course. The police have my wallet and briefcase, along with whatever luggage I brought back from Mexico.”
“Let’s hope they don’t find anything incriminating,” she said. “At least not until we see it first.”
She was blunt to the point of brutal. Ethan had to admire her guts. “What makes you think my house will be safe?”
“Wait till you see the place. It’s like a fortress.”
Ethan tried to picture his home. Tried to imagine himself living in a house that could be described as a fortress, but the only thing he could conjure was the smell of the jungle, the roar of the river, the adrenaline rush of danger. Somehow those things seemed more familiar to him than the estatelike homes they were passing on Memorial.
After a moment, he said, “Your last name is Donovan, not Cole. Are you married?”
Lover, Stranger Page 3