Gala to Honor Dr. Ethan Hunter’s Work with Underprivileged Children
He was right, she thought. A public event like this was just the sort of thing that would appeal to Reardon’s macabre sense of humor. Still, she felt compelled to warn Ethan. “It could be dangerous. It would be very easy for Reardon to slip in with the crowd unnoticed. Especially since we don’t even know what he looks like anymore.”
“Isn’t that the idea?” Ethan scowled. “I’m supposed to be a target, right?”
Yes. And the end justifies the means, Grace tried to tell herself. But even so, her first inclination was to try and talk him out of going. To somehow convince him to stay here, inside his fortress, where the locks and alarms just might keep him safe.
Out there, he would be a target. Bait for Reardon. And there was no guarantee Grace would be able to protect him. She wasn’t even sure she could protect herself against Reardon.
She drew a long breath. “Is there any way you can get me an invitation?”
“I’m way ahead of you,” he said. “Alina is sending over a ticket today, but you won’t be seated on the dais with me.”
“That’s fine. It’s better if I’m in the back, so I can keep an eye on the entire room.”
He studied her for a moment, then his gaze dropped to the purse in her lap. “You’ll be armed, I take it?”
She nodded. “Under the circumstances, I wouldn’t leave home without it.”
Their gazes held for what seemed an eternity, but in reality was hardly more than a second or two. But in the space of a heartbeat, Grace saw something in Ethan’s eyes that she knew was mirrored in her own. Excitement. Anticipation. The thrill of the hunt.
They were suddenly two kindred spirits embarking on a perilous journey together. A journey that would be fraught with danger, intrigue and, because of the danger, passion.
Passion heightened by the knowledge that for them, tomorrow and regret might never come.
HE LIKED WHAT she was wearing. Her gown was midnight-blue, shot through with silver threads that shimmered in the light. She’d fastened a glittering clip in her hair that helped to glamorize the simple style, and her lips were tinted a dark, enticing red.
Ethan and Grace stood in the regal ballroom of the Huntington Hotel, their images reflected by the dozens of gilt-framed mirrors lining the walls. Overhead, twinkling chandeliers cast a rich ambience over the ball, while the tinkle of champagne glasses and the sound of muted laughter further enhanced the mood.
Ivory candles flickered on round tables covered with fine linen and set with gold-rimmed china, sparkling crystal and silverware polished to a gleaming finish.
Ethan, gazing at Grace, thought that she had been created for candlelight. The soft, dancing light brought out the drama of her features, deepening the blue of her eyes and igniting the red highlights in her hair.
She met his gaze briefly, then turned away, but not before he’d seen the desire in her eyes, in the tantalizing way she parted her deep red lips. Ever since she’d met him earlier at his house before coming here, the sparks had been flying between them.
Ethan’s gaze slipped over her, moving from those lips to the pale skin of her throat, and then lower, to the lush curves outlined by the silky fabric of her gown.
Impulsively, he leaned toward her and whispered against her ear, “If you’re carrying a concealed weapon in that dress, you’re incredibly creative. And I mean that as a compliment.”
He saw her smile, and realized, with something of a shock, that he’d never seen her do so before. She was always so serious, so...intense. Was she that way in every facet of her life?
Grace held up a glittering evening bag. “Don’t worry. I told you I’d come prepared.”
“And you were so right.” His gaze moved over her again, and he wondered if he’d ever been as aware of a woman’s allure as he was Grace’s tonight.
Don’t, a little voice warned him. Don’t get involved in something you can’t finish. You don’t even know who the hell you are.
The tuxedo he’d pulled from the closet earlier fit him well enough, but like all the other clothing he’d worn, it wasn’t a perfect fit. Nothing in Ethan Hunter’s life was a perfect fit, except maybe for the way he felt about Grace.
He’d known from the first there was something special about her, something...intriguing about her, but her appeal was far more than just the physical attraction he felt for her. He’d meant what he said yesterday. They were connected to each other. He just didn’t know how or why.
He touched her arm and felt her tense. “Would you like some champagne?”
Grace’s gaze focused on the tray of sparkling wine as a waiter hovered nearby. “Maybe later. I want to keep a clear head tonight.” All around them, people were starting to find their seats. Grace nodded toward the dais at the front of the room. “I think they’re waiting for you.”
“Wish me luck.”
For a split second, he considered leaning down and kissing her, but then thought better of it. But when he would have turned away, she caught his arm at the last moment. Her blue eyes deepened on him. “You don’t have to do this. We can find another way to get Reardon.”
He stared down at her. “I thought this is what you wanted, Grace.” To catch Reardon at any price. And after that—what was it she’d told him that first night? She didn’t give a damn what happened to Ethan.
Her eyes were very blue and very mysterious in the candlelight. Ethan couldn’t quite define the emotion he saw simmering just beneath the surface, but the possibilities tightened the nerves in his stomach.
“Just be careful,” she murmured. Then she turned and walked away.
GRACE SAT AT a table near the back of the mirrored ballroom with a group of doctors and hospital administrators. She absently listened to the conversation around her as she scanned the crowded hall, looking, not just for Reardon, but for the agents she knew Myra would have in place tonight.
As for Myra, Grace had spotted her earlier, looking wonderful in a black sequined gown that would probably cause Vince Connelly, their section chief back in Washington, to have a heart attack when he got her expense account.
Grace didn’t know where Myra was seated, but as her gaze continued to scour the room, someone else caught her attention. Pilar, on Bob Kendall’s arm, made an entrance that could only be called spectacular. Dressed in a strapless red evening gown, Ethan’s ex-wife had every male head in the room turning to stare at her admiringly.
The man beside Grace muttered something she couldn’t understand. He’d introduced himself earlier as an administrator at a local hospital, and Grace had told him that she was a “friend of a friend” who had wangled an invitation for the event.
She turned to him now and asked, “I’m sorry. What did you say?”
He shrugged and lifted his champagne glass to his lips. “Pilar Hunter and Robert Kendall are the last two people I’d expect to see at an event honoring Ethan Hunter.”
“Do you know them?” Grace tried to act no more than mildly curious.
“Only by reputation,” the man said. “And rumor.”
“Rumor?”
“Bob Kendall used to be Ethan’s business partner. The two of them started a practice right after completing their residency. After a while, Ethan became somewhat of a celebrity. He started believing his own press and decided he no longer needed a partner. Most of the assets were in his name, and he had the hot reputation. Kendall had been content to work in the background and let Ethan have all the glory, but when Kendall was forced to go it alone, he discovered that most of his patients weren’t willing to follow him. He was all but ruined. It’s taken him a long time to even come close to where he was before.”
Grace listened to the story with interest. “So what is Dr. Kendall’s connection with Pilar?”
The man beside her smiled knowingly. “I suspect she’s become his consolation prize. And not a bad one at that, I must say.”
FROM HIS PLACE on the d
ais, Ethan examined the crowd, wondering how many of his enemies had bothered to show up tonight. Or should he say, Ethan Hunter’s enemies?
What would the people in the audience say if he stood up suddenly and proclaimed that he wasn’t who they thought he was? That he, in fact, had no idea who he was.
But even if he really was Ethan Hunter, he was still a fraud. A doctor who used the cover of his good deeds in order to take blood money from criminals. A man willing to risk everything for the sake of greed.
Ethan let his gaze move to Grace. She sat near the back of the room, but he could see her face in the candlelight She was talking with the man seated to her right, and for a moment, Ethan felt a terrible envy well up inside him. He wanted to be the man near her. He wanted to be the one draping his arm across the back of her chair so that he could lean toward her and talk to her in low tones that no one else could hear.
He wanted to whisper things to her that he’d never told anyone else.
But how could he be sure he hadn’t? How could he know how many women had come before her? How many he’d claimed to love?
Ethan stared at her, letting a dozen different emotions wash over him. He told himself he had no right to feel that way about her, because if he was Ethan Hunter, he didn’t want to drag her down with him. And if he was someone else...someone who had been pursued through the jungle by the Mexican authorities...
He stopped himself, not wanting to dwell on the mysteries hidden somewhere in his mind. Not wanting to consider how, if he wasn’t Ethan Hunter, he had come to have the man’s face.
But whoever the hell he was, Grace Donovan should remain off limits, he thought gloomily, even though he knew she was no innocent in all this. Earlier, when he’d left her to take his place on the dais, he’d turned to see her talking to a woman in a black evening gown. The conversation had been brief and by all appearances casual, two women bumping into each other and then lingering for a moment to make small talk, to perhaps compliment one another on their gowns.
But Ethan had sensed something else was going on. An uneasiness had come over him as he stood watching them. Then the older one had looked up and caught his eye. She’d smiled briefly, as if acknowledging his interest, before saying something to Grace. The two women parted, and Grace hadn’t looked back as she’d walked across the room to find her table. But Ethan was almost certain the dark-haired woman had said something to Grace about him, and that she’d known he was watching her.
Now, as she sat talking to the man beside her, she seemed just as determined to avoid Ethan’s stare. He watched her for a long time, all through dinner and afterward, until, with something of a start, he heard his name being called. He looked up to find that a man had taken the podium. He introduced himself as Dr. Frank Melburne, then proceeded to introduce to the audience everyone else on the dais.
The names were a jumble to Ethan. He didn’t bother to memorize them as he surveyed the crowded room, searching for the face of a killer.
Melburne spoke for several minutes, elaborating on the need for a new children’s wing at St. Mary’s, and how Ethan’s work with underprivileged children, both here and in Mexico, should be an inspiration to all of them. He held up the framed citation that was being presented to Ethan, then concluded by saying, “And now I’d like to present the man of the hour, Dr. Ethan Hunter. Ethan?”
Ethan got up and walked to the microphone. He had anticipated being asked to say something tonight, but he hadn’t prepared a speech. What the hell was he supposed to say? He didn’t remember any of his deeds, good or bad. He didn’t even know who he was—only that he was a man hunted by a killer.
Ethan stood at the podium, gazing out at the audience. Here I am, Reardon, he thought. Where the hell are you?
“I’m very honored to be here tonight,” he finally said, his gaze lingering for one split second on Grace. “But what if I were to tell all of you that I’m not the man you think I am?”
WHAT IS HE DOING? Grace wondered uneasily. She watched Ethan from a distance, realizing that if Reardon were going to make a move tonight, it would be now. Ethan was an open target, and Reardon would relish an audience. She tensed, her gaze darting around the room as she fingered the gold clasp of her evening bag.
From the podium, Ethan said, “I’m not the man you think I am because I don’t deserve this award. I’m sure there are any number of my colleagues here tonight who are much more deserving than L”
“What a surprise,” the man beside Grace muttered. “Humility is not something one expects from Ethan Hunter.”
Grace ignored the comment, focusing her attention on the room instead, watching for any sudden move, for anyone who looked the least bit suspect. A rustle near the center of the room drew her attention, but for a moment, she couldn’t tell what was going on. Then Pilar, her red dress glowing like a beacon, stood and lifted her champagne glass toward the dais.
“False modesty doesn’t become you, Ethan.” Her clear, lyrical voice rang out over the ballroom. “Why don’t you say what you really think about all these people? What you’ve told me dozens of times in the past? There’s not a man or woman in this room—” she swung her glass around, sloshing champagne over the rim “—who can touch your skill as a surgeon. What do you call all of them? Oh, yes. Meat cutters. But you...you’re different, aren’t you, Ethan? A genius who can change a mortal woman into a goddess. I’m proof of that, aren’t I?”
She stood in the center of the room, spreading her arms as if inviting the whole world to look upon her beauty, to worship it. She didn’t appear to be carrying a weapon, but Grace slipped open her purse, her hand closing around the SIG-Sauer pistol.
Pilar slowly lowered her arms. “But what do you do once you’ve created perfection? What is left then but to...destroy it?”
The room grew almost unbearably silent as everyone stared at Pilar. Grace found she couldn’t tear her own gaze away. Something about the woman seemed almost... pathetic.
Out of the corner of Grace’s eye, she could see Ethan still at the podium. He made no move to leave the dais or to silence his ex-wife. Like everyone else, his attention seemed to be riveted on her.
A man wearing a dark suit and an ear piece that immediately identified him as one of Myra’s agents moved in toward Pilar. Before he could reached her, Bob Kendall jumped up and grabbed her arm. For a moment, the two of them almost scuffled, and then he said something to her that no one else could hear. Pilar resisted, then seemed to melt into Kendall. He put his arm around her and led her from the room.
Grace remained standing, adrenaline pumping through her veins. She combed the room, and saw Myra at the back near one of the colonnaded entrances, talking to Joe Huddleston, an agent Grace had known since Quantico. Huddleston turned and followed Pilar and Kendall out of the room. The agent who had been heading toward Pilar quietly faded into the background.
The room erupted into a cacophony of coughs and excited murmurs. Ethan remained at the podium. After a moment, he said, “Now that my fan club has left, we can get back to the business at hand.”
Everyone remained stunned. Then there was a smattering of nervous laughter that took a few seconds to build. When everyone grew quiet again, the tension seemed to be somewhat relieved, and Ethan said with a shrug, “No matter what I say now, it’s going to be anticlimactic, so let me just conclude by telling you how grateful—and how unworthy—I am to be receiving this honor.”
Dr. Melburne, who had been standing behind Ethan on the dais, took his cue. He stepped forward, handing the citation to Ethan and shaking his hand before quickly retreating into the background, as if not wanting to diminish the honoree’s glory.
Ethan turned to say something to Melburne, then bent to retrieve a paper he’d knocked from the podium. For an instant, Melburne stood framed in the spotlight, his expression one of shock as his hand went to his chest.
When he brought his hand away, Grace could see his fingers were dripping with blood. A crimson bloom spread across th
e front of his shirt as he fell backward onto the stage.
Chapter Ten
When he saw Dr. Melburne fall, Ethan automatically went into a crouch as he whipped the gun from underneath his jacket. As the ballroom exploded in pandemonium, Ethan’s gaze probed the room, trying to locate Grace, but it was impossible. People were screaming and mauling each other to get to the exits.
Gun still drawn, Ethan knelt beside Melburne and spread open the man’s jacket. The entire front of his shirt was red, and blood gurgled from his mouth. Ethan glanced up at the row of stunned doctors on the dais. They seemed incapable of moving.
“Someone help this man,” Ethan shouted. “Hurry!”
The command spurred them into action. Two of the doctors crawled along the dais to where Melburne lay and began working on him. Ethan saw one of the others barking orders into a cell phone, presumably calling 911.
Taking one last look at the fallen man, Ethan jumped from the dais into the mob scene on the main floor of the ballroom. He still couldn’t see Grace, but he knew he had to find her before Reardon did. She could be in every bit as much danger as Ethan.
THE MOMENT GRACE saw the blood on Melburne’s fingers, she drew her weapon. A woman at the table screamed while the man who sat next to Grace gazed at her in shock. “What the hell—”
“I’m a federal agent,” Grace said. “All of you get down and stay down.”
Whether they believed her or not, they didn’t hesitate to follow her orders. They all hit the floor, scrambling for a position beneath the table.
Grace glanced around. The room was in chaos as men and women either tried to flee or were scuttling beneath the tables. She couldn’t locate Myra, Huddleston or any of the other agents. Turning back to the dais, she saw Ethan leap to the floor and then plunge into the terrified throng.
What the hell was he doing? He should be trying to find cover. That bullet had been meant for him. If he hadn’t bent to retrieve the paper—
Grace shuddered. Weapon at her side, she started through the crowd toward the dais. The majority of the exodus was taking place at the back, where the colonnaded exits were located. Grace made her way to one side, hugging the wall as she tried to catch another glimpse of Ethan. If he’d been hit... If she had let him get hit...
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