By contrast, Ethan’s movements were slow and lethargic. Almost dreamlike. It was as if he were caught in an invisible web he couldn’t break free of.
Then, unexpectedly, the door to the examination room opened and a woman screamed. As the gunman whirled toward the sound, Ethan, acting on pure instinct and adrenaline, lunged toward him. The gun went off as Ethan crashed into the man, dragging him downward. From the doorway, where the woman had screamed, the only sound was a thud, a soft moan, then silence.
The gun came free as the man hit the floor. Both he and Ethan scrambled toward it, but the weapon slid out of reach beneath a steel cabinet. As the two of them fought, Ethan became aware of a siren in the distance. Someone had heard the gunshot and called the police. The man must have heard the siren, too, for his struggles became even more desperate. More deadly. He got his hands around Ethan’s throat and squeezed, squeezed, until stars exploded inside Ethan’s head.
From somewhere deep inside Ethan, a primal urge, some killing instinct rose to the surface, and he reached upward, his thumbs finding the man’s eyes. The man screamed and released him, but before Ethan could use his advantage, the gunman found a new weapon. He grabbed something metal from the floor and struck Ethan’s head a vicious blow.
Dazed, Ethan fell back. Before he could regain his strength, his equilibrium, the man was on him. He hit Ethan’s head...his face...again and again until blackness mercifully swallowed the pain.
Ethan glanced at Detective Pope. “That’s all I remember.” But at least now he knew how he’d gotten the bruises and the concussion, how his vocal cords had gotten stressed. What he didn’t know was why. “I don’t know what happened to the gunman after I lost consciousness, or why he didn’t kill me.”
Pope’s gaze flickered over Ethan. “My guess is, he panicked. He heard the sirens and ran. Not likely we’ll find any prints on the flashlight or anywhere else. I suspect he went to that clinic prepared. He knew exactly what he was looking for.”
“Which was?”
“Drugs, more than likely.”
Ethan touched a bruise on his cheek, remembering the blows, wondering if his face resembled a slab of raw meat, because that was the way it felt.
Got to make this look good, pretty boy.
He hadn’t related that part of the memory to Sergeant Pope. Nor did Ethan say what he was now certain of—that the gunman hadn’t gone to the clinic looking for drugs. He’d gone there to kill Ethan.
Then why not tell the police? that voice inside him demanded.
Because his instincts told him not to. Because Ethan was very much afraid when the truth came out, when he finally remembered everything, there might be a chance a cop would be the last person he could turn to for help.
He realized Pope was watching him again, and Ethan tried to shutter his expression, tried to hide his fear and dread.
“Can the rest of this wait until morning?” he asked suddenly, wanting to be rid of the detective. Ethan knew instinctively that he had to watch his step as he had never had to watch it before. Someone wanted to kill him. It was like a drumbeat inside his head. Someone wanted to kill him, and he had no idea who. He didn’t even know who he could trust For all he knew, Sergeant Pope was the enemy.
Was it Ethan’s imagination, or had the detective’s expression suddenly turned suspicious?
“I’ll try to make it quick. Just a few more questions,” Pope said, paging backward in his notes. “Let’s see...oh, yeah, here we are.” He paused, reading, then glanced up. “Dr. Kendall told me you’d been in Mexico for the last couple of months or so. He said you were due back three weeks ago, but you’d had some emergency surgery down there. An appendectomy, I think he said. You weren’t supposed to travel for several more days, but then you decided to come back tonight. Why the sudden change of plans?”
The jungle dream came rushing back to Ethan. He could smell the dank scent of rotting vegetation, could see the Hummer’s lights bouncing over the uneven terrain, could actually feel the throb in his side from the bullet.
Or was the pain from the appendectomy incision? Was the dream nothing more than a drug-induced vision while he’d been under the knife?
He said vaguely, “I had something I needed to take care of.”
One of Pope’s brows rose in surprise. “Must have been pretty important if you were willing to risk your health.”
Ethan hesitated, not knowing how to respond. You’re a doctor, so think like one. Why would you come back from the jungle before you were supposed to?
Aside from the fact that the Mexican authorities were trying to kill you....
But Ethan didn’t think he wanted Pope to know that. So he said instead, “There’s a patient I have to see.”
“Is that why you went by the office tonight before going home?”
“How did you know I didn’t go home first?”
“Your luggage was still at the clinic. So was your wallet and briefcase. We’ll get everything back to you as soon as we’re finished with it.”
“Thanks,” Ethan mumbled, his mind racing. A wallet would contain a driver’s license, credit card, money. A home address.
Sergeant Pope said, “From your story, I gather the gunman was already inside the clinic when you arrived.”
“I’m pretty sure he was,” Ethan said, though he wasn’t at all sure of anything. His first memory was of staring up into the gunman’s masked face. Ethan had no recollection of getting off a plane, arriving at the office, or of anything else.
Except fleeing through the jungle...
He remembered that all too clearly.
“Did you call your assistant and ask her to meet you at the clinic?” Pope asked.
“My assistant?”
“The woman who walked in on you and the gunman. Amy Cole.”
Dammit, be careful. “Oh, yes. Amy.” Ethan wondered if he’d answered a little too quickly because Pope’s gaze narrowed on him. “How is she, sergeant? She wasn’t seriously hurt, was she? She saved my life tonight.”
Something flickered in the detective’s eyes. “Dr. Kendall didn’t tell you?”
“Tell me what?”
“Amy Cole’s dead. Shot right through the heart. Poor kid never knew what hit her.” Pope shook his head. “Damn shame, a beautiful woman like that.”
Ethan felt the air leave his lungs in a painful rush. He had no recollection of the woman, didn’t even remember what she’d looked like, but he could still hear her scream. Could still see, in his mind’s eye, the gunman whirl toward the door and fire.
And now Ethan was more certain than ever that the gunman had come to the clinic to kill him. Amy Cole, whoever she was, had taken a bullet that was meant for him.
Whoever he was...
Chapter Two
“This is suicide, Dr. Hunter. I won’t allow you to do it.” A middle-aged, stoutly built commando in a nurse’s uniform planted her hands on her hips and blocked Ethan from the door to his room. The lines in her weathered face were deeply etched and as unyielding as the starch in her pristine uniform.
Ethan had hoped to slip out of his room unnoticed and make his exit before anyone missed him, but this woman—he glanced at her name plate—Roberta Bloodworth had caught him in the act. What a name for a nurse!
“Don’t worry,” he lied as he finished buttoning his blood-stained shirt. “I’m feeling much better. All I need is a good night’s sleep in my own bed.”
Actually, he felt like hell. His head throbbed, his face hurt, his whole body ached as if he’d been hit by a bulldozer. But the pain was the least of his worries. At the moment, he didn’t even know where his own bed was, or who he should be sharing it with.
All he knew was that he had to get out of here. He had to find some answers. Somehow he had to figure out who was trying to kill him, and why.
“Just look at you,” the nurse scolded. “I hardly even recognize you, and the way you sound, like some horror movie ghoul.” She wagged her finger in his face. “And
I shouldn’t have to remind you how dangerous a head injury can be. You shouldn’t be alone tonight.”
“I won’t be alone.” He slipped on his suit jacket. “My wife will take care of me.”
“Your...wife?”
Too late, Ethan realized his mistake. He’d made assumptions about the ring on his finger that obviously he shouldn’t have made. Were he and his wife separated? Divorced?
Damn. 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 button 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 glass 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 shield 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 assailant’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.
“No sh—kidding.” Grace massaged 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 shivered 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, shivering 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 hoarseness, 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.”
Lover, Stranger Page 2
