Absently, Grace ran a hand down her pantsuit, smoothing invisible wrinkles. “So what was it like seeing her?” she tried to ask casually. “Did she give you any clues about your relationship? About what might have happened between the two of you?”
Ethan paused. “I don’t have any idea what happened between us, but I’ll tell you one thing. She struck me as a woman perfectly capable of throwing acid on my car. Or in my face, for that matter.”
The bluntness of his words threw Grace for a moment. “Do you think she may have had something to do with Amy’s death?”
“I wouldn’t rule out the possibility,” he said grimly. He turned and started up the stairs. “Come on up. We can talk about this later. I’ve located the kitchen, and I’m cooking breakfast.”
Grace followed him up the stairs and through the living room. The parrot, fully awake and preening on his perch, let out a loud squawk when he saw her.
“Don’t even start,” she muttered.
“What?” Ethan said over his shoulder.
“I said that’s a good start. Learning your way around the house, I mean.”
He gave her a quizzical look, then led her through a dining room with a high ceiling and a magnificent stained glass window, into the kitchen, with its stainless steel appliances, satillo tile floor, and wall of atrium doors that gave a broad view of a backyard pool and waterfall.
Ethan walked over to the range and dished up a plate of bacon and eggs, then added a pile of buttered toast. “Have you eaten? There’s plenty for both of us.”
Grace eyed the food longingly. She’d started the day with her usual meal, one half of a grapefruit and a cup of coffee. If she ate bacon and eggs, she’d have to add at least half an hour to her daily workout in the gym, not to mention an extra mile or two to her run. For a moment, she considered that it might be worth it. She hadn’t had a piece of bacon in ages.
Willpower, she reminded herself. She had to remain sharp both physically and mentally. “Just a glass of orange juice for me.”
He poured them both a glass of juice from a pitcher he removed from the refrigerator, then carried his food to the breakfast table. Grace followed him. He took the seat facing the atrium doors and outside, while Grace sat across from him, with a clear view of the kitchen door. She kept her purse on her lap.
For a few moments, neither of them said anything. Ethan ate ravenously, as if he hadn’t had a solid meal in days. Grace tried not to stare at him, but his looks had changed so dramatically overnight, she couldn’t help studying his features.
When he caught her watching him, she said, “I can’t get over the changes in your appearance. It’s amazing.”
He shrugged. “There was a lot of room for improvement. I looked pretty horrible last night.”
“I didn’t mean it like that,” Grace said. “You must be a really fast healer, that’s all.”
“Maybe.” A shadow flickered over his features, and Grace wondered what he was thinking. If he was remembering something. She couldn’t help wondering what he’d been like before all this happened. Would he have been the kind of man she would have wanted to spend time with? Doubtful, if everything Amy had told her was true.
“Were you able to get some sleep last night?” she asked him.
He grimaced. “Some. I’m still not used to this place. It...doesn’t feel like home to me, but I guess that’s to be expected, considering.”
Grace nodded. “It’ll take time. I gather you’ve done some exploring this morning.”
“I’ve been over this place from top to bottom. Nothing triggered a memory. But at least I did find the kitchen. And a gym downstairs. I want to start working out as soon as possible. Build back my strength.”
Grace’s gaze dropped to his broad shoulders and chest, the muscular arms bulging beneath the short sleeves of his shirt. She remembered the strength in those arms last night when he’d grabbed her, the hardness of his chest when he’d held her against him. If he was out of shape, she could only imagine what he would be like at his peak. “You don’t want to rush it,” she said. “Amy said you’d had surgery recently. An appendectomy, I believe.”
“That’s what I’ve been told, but I don’t remember the surgery, either. Although I do have a scar on my side.” Again his features momentarily darkened, as if he’d suddenly remembered something he had no intention of sharing. Grace wondered what he was keeping from her.
“Tell me more about your meeting with Pilar,” she said.
The cloud over his features changed, but didn’t fade. “Not much to tell. Like I said, I found her in the study taking money out of the safe.”
“Did she say why she was doing that?”
Ethan pushed aside his plate as if his appetite had suddenly deserted him. He glanced up. “She seemed to think I owed her.”
“Because of Amy?”
He shrugged.
“I’ve seen pictures of Pilar.” Grace paused. “She’s a very beautiful woman.”
“Yes, she certainly is.”
“Did you, you know, feel anything when you saw her?”
One dark brow rose at the question. “You mean attraction?”
“I’m just trying to figure out what your relationship with her is,” Grace said, almost defensively.
“Like I said earlier, apparently we’re separated. She wasn’t here long enough for me to find out much of anything, but she did mention Amy. She knew about the shooting.”
Grace glanced at him in surprise. “What did she say?”
He shrugged. “Let me put it this way. I don’t think Amy’s death came exactly as a blow.”
Something that might have been sympathy crossed his features, and Grace lowered her eyes. Even though her deception was necessary, it didn’t make it any easier. “How did she find out about Amy’s death?”
“Do you remember Rosa mentioning a man named Kendall? She said that Pilar had called to find out what time I would be home, because Dr. Kendall had told her I was arriving last night. Kendall was at the hospital when I was brought in. He was in my room when I came to. Evidently he called Pilar and told her what happened.”
Grace thought about that for a moment. “Do you know anything about this Kendall?”
“Only that he’s my ex-partner.”
Grace paused. “Do you think Pilar and Dr. Kendall might have something going on?”
Ethan’s expression didn’t waver. “I wondered about that. I’ve also wondered why Pilar waited until I got back to come here and take money from the safe. According to the police detective I spoke with last night, I was in Mexico for weeks, recovering from the surgery. She could have come over here at any time and taken that money. Why wait until I got back?”
Grace frowned. “What are you getting at?”
“Well, just think about it for a minute.” He toyed with the juice glass. “Why would she wait until now to take that money out of the safe?”
“Maybe she didn’t need it until now.”
“Exactly,” Ethan said. “Because maybe all along she thought there would be a lot more where that came from.” His gaze went past Grace to focus on the backyard. She didn’t turn, but she could hear the faint tinkling of the waterfall cascading into the pool, and she wondered if he was thinking about the jungle. Why did he seem to have such an aversion to it?
“After Pilar left this morning, I went through the safe myself,” Ethan finally said. “I found a life insurance policy for five million dollars that named her as the beneficiary. I’d be willing to bet that’s a lot more than she took out of the safe.”
“So what exactly are you saying, Ethan? That Pilar was behind what happened to you last night? You think she tried to have you killed?”
His gaze met Grace’s. “I don’t know why that surprises you. You said yourself last night this whole thing may be a Fatal Attraction in reverse. Don’t you think a woman is capable of murder?”
Grace thought about the killer she wanted to bring to justice, felt the weight of her
own gun in her purse. “Yes,” she said grimly. “I know there are women who are very capable of killing. Who might even take pleasure from it But as I also told you last night, from the things Amy told me, I don’t think Pilar is the one who wants you dead. Or at least, I don’t think she’s the one who tried to have you killed.”
Her distinction was not lost on Ethan. His gaze on her cooled. “You were pretty clear in that regard. You think I did something to set last night’s events in motion. You think someone is trying to kill me because of something I did in Mexico. Something illegal.”
His voice was hard, unyielding, but Grace sensed an undercurrent of anguish. A hint of desperation in his tone. She shrugged. “Look, rm just going by Amy’s letters—”
“Amy’s letters,” he said, shoving back his chair and standing. “Amy said.” He strode to the atrium doors and stood staring out into the sunlit garden. “I know she was your sister, and I’m sorry she’s dead, but I don’t remember her, and from what you told me last night, you didn’t know her that well, either. What if everything she told you about me was a lie? What if she was setting me up somehow?”
Grace turned in her chair to stare at him. “You don’t really believe that.”
“Why is it so hard to believe?” His jaw hardened as he turned to face her. “Why is it so easy for you to believe that I was involved in something that got her killed? You don’t know me. What do you really know about me?”
Before Grace could answer, he walked back over to the table and stood staring down at her. The look in his eyes made her shiver. “And it suddenly occurs to me,” he said slowly, “that I don’t know anything about you, either.”
“Of course, you do,” Grace said, ignoring the tiny spark of panic that flared inside her. She stood, trying to take away his advantage, trying to regain control of the situation as she met his gaze and they squared off.
His eyes narrowed on her. “What do I know about you? Your name? That you’re Amy’s sister? I know those things because you told me.”
Grace moistened her lips. “What are you driving at?”
“Maybe I’ve been a little too trusting. Maybe I should have asked a few more questions last night.”
“Ask them now,” Grace said, her voice growing cold. “I’ll tell you anything you want to know.”
The silence in the kitchen was deafening. When he spoke, his voice was almost too calm. “Who do you work for?”
Grace’s heart thumped against her chest. She fingered the gold clasp of her purse. “Don’t you mean where do I work? I work for a legal firm.”
“You’re a lawyer?”
She shook her head. “I went to law school, but I never took the bar exam. I’m more of a...researcher.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means I spend a lot of time behind a computer and doing legwork for my superiors. There’s a lot of grunt work involved in what I do.”
He paused again. “You don’t have an accent,” he accused. “How long have you lived in Houston?”
She answered without hesitation. “Not long. I transferred down here from Washington, D.C.”
“What did you do there?”
“Same thing.”
“Why did you move to Houston?”
“To be near my sister.” That was the first outright lie she’d told him all morning, but Grace knew there would be plenty of others. She’d say and do whatever she had to in order to gain his trust. That was the way she’d been trained. The way she lived her life. She couldn’t afford to get an attack of conscience now simply because a man with a battered face and a hidden past was awakening feelings inside her she had thought were long dead.
“What about your family?” he asked. “Where are they?”
“My parents have been dead for years.” Without warning, the old memory came storming back. Grace thought she had buried it, along with her emotions, someplace safe, someplace impenetrable, but all of a sudden it was back, the explosion in her mind as shattering as the one that night had been.
In the beat of a heart, she was a teenager again, running down the street toward the sirens. Seeing the fire licking red-orange against the night sky. Hearing the screams of the people trapped inside the white frame house. Her mother and father. And at an upstairs window, beating against the panes, her hair in flames, Grace’s sister. Her beautiful, beautiful sister...
“Everyone is gone,” she whispered. Ethan touched her hand, and Grace jumped, forgetting for a moment where she was. Who she was supposed to be. She stared up at him, fighting back the scream that tore at her throat. The horror that had made her who and what she was.
“I’m sorry,” he said. His eyes, cold and suspicious before, were now clouded with guilt. It was hard for Grace to witness that guilt, knowing what she knew.
He’s not innocent, she told herself. Don’t be fooled.
She opened her purse and withdrew her wallet, showing him her driver’s license, her social security card, and then fishing out a business card that contained the name and address of a downtown law firm. The business cards had been printed overnight. The address and phone number had been supplied by the field office here in Houston.
“You can call them if you like,” she said, handing the card to Ethan. The call would be forwarded to either Myra or a support operative who would bear out Grace’s story. If Ethan actually went by the office, the receptionist would refer him to one of the partners who had been briefed and would know how to field the inquiry. “But I am who I say I am. My name is Grace Donovan, and I am looking for my sister’s killer.”
He nodded, as if he’d seen something in her face that had convinced him. He sat down at the table, looking as if the remainder of his strength had suddenly drained away. “Did you bring Amy’s letters with you today?”
Grace sat down beside him. She could smell the faint scent of soap and shampoo, and wondered if, like her, he’d spent a long time in the shower that morning, trying to scrub away the past. Or what he feared might be there.
“No, but I brought this.” She pulled a newspaper clipping from her purse, and placed it face up before him. The article was accompanied by a picture of a blond man who looked to be in his early thirties.
Grace stared long and hard at that picture, then turned away, shuddering. “I found that clipping in Amy’s apartment one day. When I asked her, she denied knowing anything about it, but I could tell she was upset. Frightened. She’d cut this picture out of the paper for a reason, but she wouldn’t tell me why.”
Ethan picked up the clipping and scanned the article. “Trevor Reardon,” he read, then glanced up. “It says he’s on the FBI’s Ten Most Wanted List.”
Grace nodded. “He was convicted on three counts of first-degree murder and sentenced to life in prison without parole. He escaped several months ago and has been underground ever since.”
“So what does this have to do with me?” Ethan asked.
“You don’t recognize him? Look closely.” As he examined the picture of Trevor Reardon, Grace studied Ethan’s features, looking for a flicker, any telltale sign of recognition.
After several seconds, he handed the clipping back to her. “I don’t recognize him. Am I supposed to?”
“Are you sure?” Grace asked anxiously.
“As far as I know, I’ve never seen this man before.” Ethan’s voice was edged with impatience. “And I don’t think I like what you’re implying.”
“I’m not implying anything—”
“The hell you’re not. What connection do you think I have to a convicted murderer? Just what kind of man do you think I am?”
“I don’t know,” she said softly, her gaze meeting his in defiance. “Isn’t that what we’re both trying to find out?”
For a long moment, his gaze held hers, then he glanced away. Running both hands through his hair, he stared at the ceiling. “What connection do you think I have to this Trevor Reardon?” he asked again.
Grace paused. “I think you may hav
e given him a new face.”
Chapter Five
Ethan stared at her as if she’d taken leave of her senses. Then, as the full meaning of her words sank in, he stared at her in horror. “Why would I do that?” He was a doctor, for God’s sake. A humanitarian, according to the articles and awards in his office. Why would he knowingly give a murderer a new face, a new life?
Something that almost looked like sympathy flashed across Grace’s face before she could subdue it. In the blink of an eye, however, the mask was back in place. She stared at him dispassionately. “It’s possible you were somehow coerced.”
“But that’s not what you think, is it?”
She hesitated, her gaze resting briefly on the picture of Trevor Reardon’s face, then lifting to Ethan’s. Any trace of sympathy she might have felt earlier had vanished. “No. I think you did it for money,” she said bluntly.
“But why would I?” he demanded. “Look at this place. These clothes. It’s obvious I already have money.”
When Grace said nothing, he grabbed her hand and stood, drawing her to her feet. “Come with me.”
“What? Where?” Her voice sounded almost panicky. She grabbed her purse and slung the strap over her shoulder.
Without another word, Ethan pulled her out of the kitchen, through the dining room and living room toward the study. The parrot gave a weak little squawk as they hurried passed him, but Ethan ignored him.
Inside the study, he walked to the middle of the room and gestured to all the framed awards and citations on the walls. “Look at all this stuff.” He walked over and took one of the framed letters down, then held it out to Grace. “Do you know what this is? It’s a letter from the president of the United States commending me on my work in Mexico. This one is from a senator, this one from our ambassador to Mexico.” He went on and on, until he’d taken a half dozen or so frames from the wall and piled them in Grace’s arms.
Apparently unimpressed, she stacked them on his desk.
Ethan knew his movements were almost frantic as he removed another frame from the wall, but he couldn’t help himself. He had to convince her, and himself, that what she was thinking was ludicrous. “Why would somebody who has done all this work for underprivileged children, received all these accolades, risk losing everything by changing a murderer’s face?”
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