Lover, Stranger

by Amanda Stevens

  Grace followed her gaze to find Pilar and her escort on a collision course with Ethan. Wondering if an unpleasant scene was about to erupt, Grace glanced around the room. Most of the mourners had filed out of the chapel by this time. The grieving man remained seated, his head bowed in silent prayer, while the chaplain stood at his podium, waiting for everyone to leave. The late afternoon sun shining through the stained glass window behind the clergyman gave him an almost angelic appearance. The image should have been comforting, but for some reason it was not.

  Hoping to abort a possible spectacle, Grace walked over to stand beside Ethan. Their gazes met again, but neither of them said anything.

  Pilar stared at her coolly. Even this close, Grace couldn’t find a single imperfection in the woman’s complexion.

  “So you’re Amy Cole’s sister.” Her voice, light and musical, was as attractive as the rest of her, and the Spanish accent gave her a hint of mystery. “I’m Pilar. Ethan’s wife.” The slight emphasis on the last word made Grace wonder again about Ethan and Pilar’s relationship.

  “How do you do?” Grace extended her hand, but the woman’s fingertips barely brushed against her palm.

  Pilar stared at her critically. “You don’t look anything like her, you know.”

  Grace assumed the comment was meant to cut. “My sister was very beautiful,” she said.

  Pilar raised her narrow shoulders in an elegant shrug. “In a trampish sort of way.”

  For the first time, Ethan stirred to life beside Grace. “For God’s sake, she’s dead. Can’t you show a little respect?”

  Pilar’s dark brows rose in mild outrage. “The same respect she showed for our marriage vows?”

  “Why did you come here?” Ethan demanded. He turned to the man standing next to Pilar. “Why did you let her come?”

  The man laughed softly. “You don’t ‘let’ Pilar do anything. You should know that better than anyone.” He turned to Grace and put out his hand. “By the way, I’m Bob Kendall. I’m very sorry about your sister.”

  So this was Ethan’s ex-partner. Unlike Pilar’s, his handshake was firm, and his fingers lingered against Grace’s for just a moment too long.

  She instantly disliked him. He was too smooth, and his gray eyes were too insincere.

  He said to Ethan, “Are you feeling all right, buddy? You look a little pale.”

  “I’m fine,” Ethan said tersely.

  “Still, it might not hurt to give Mancetti a call. I don’t imagine she was too happy to learn you’d checked yourself out of the hospital.”

  Ethan didn’t answer. Instead he turned to Grace, muttering, “When can we get out of here?”

  She shrugged, feeling Pilar’s dark eyes scouring her. “Now. I’ve made arrangements for a private buriaL”

  Ethan nodded. His eyes were shadowed. Haunted. Was it Amy’s funeral that had gotten to him? Had he finally remembered her? Remembered that...he cared for her?

  Ethan turned toward the door, but Pilar caught his arm. “You can’t just walk off like this. We’re not through, Ethan.”

  He stared down at her for a long moment, then very deliberately removed her hand from his arm. “You could have fooled me.”

  OUTSIDE, THE SUNLIGHT, even at five o’clock, was still brutal. Ethan pulled a pair of dark glasses from the inside of his suit coat and slipped them on. He hadn’t been able to rid himself of the headache. A handful of aspirin had dulled the pain, but the confusion whirling inside him was still as strong as ever.

  Beside him, Grace tried to match her steps to his, but he had a good eight inches on her. He slowed, then stopped altogether in the shade of a huge water oak. The lower limbs were so heavy, they’d been braced to keep from snapping. Spanish moss dripped silvery green from the gnarled branches, giving the tree a forlorn, almost ghostly appearance. In the distance, the cars in the parking lot wavered in the rising heat from the pavement. Their inconsistency seemed surreal and out of place, but the eeriness matched Ethan’s mood.

  Grace said a little breathlessly, “What happened to you? I was beginning to worry.”

  He gazed down at her. “Were you?”

  “Of course. You know as well as I do the danger you’re in.”

  “Do I?”

  A brief frown flitted across her features. “What happened, Ethan? Why were you so late getting to the service?”

  The way she said his name, in a voice that was just the tiniest bit husky, made him want more than ever to discount his earlier thoughts. But the question was like a mantra inside his head.

  Who am I? Who the hell am I?

  He studied Grace’s features, thinking how lovely she looked today, and how very calm she seemed for having just come from her sister’s funeral. Her mood was somber, as was the black dress she wore, but there was something about her eyes—an alertness, an intensity—that mystified him and made him believe he wasn’t the only one who had secrets.

  He took her arm and drew her deeper into the shadow of the oak tree. “What if I told you, I’m not the man you think I am?”

  Her eyes instantly deepened. “What do you mean?”

  He paused, wondering what to say, how to tell her his suspicions. I may not be Dr. Ethan Hunter. In fact, I may be...

  He couldn’t even finish the thought. His heart began to beat wildly against his chest. Ethan was sure he’d never felt so alone, so out of control, so lost as he did at that moment.

  And Grace. God help him, he was still drawn to her. Still attracted to her. Still wanted her. In some perverse way, more than ever because he knew if what he feared was true, he could never have her.

  In fact, it might even come down to the basic choice of his life...or hers.

  She was still staring up at him, her incredible blue eyes deep and intense. He wondered what she was thinking, if she had even an inkling of what he was feeling.

  She touched his arm. The action made Ethan almost groan out loud.

  “Have you remembered something?”

  “No. But what if I told you—” He wanted to tell her about the shoes, and possibly the gun, but a movement at the entrance of the chapel drew his attention. A man came out of the building and paused, looking around. Ethan dimly recognized him from the funeral service. He’d been seated at the back, weeping quietly, when Ethan had arrived.

  Ethan glanced at him, then turned his gaze back to Grace. But out of the corner of his eye, he saw the man start toward them.

  “Do you know who that man is?” he asked Grace suddenly.

  She turned, following his gaze, and Ethan saw her tense. “No. I saw him inside, though. He was pretty torn up.”

  Ethan watched as the man approached them. He had the kind of face that made it hard to judge his age, but something about the way he walked, the way he dressed—casually in khaki pants and a button-down collar shirt—gave Ethan the impression that he was fairly young, no more than late thirties. The receding hairline was probably premature, as were the lines around his eyes and mouth.

  As he neared them, Ethan heard Grace catch her breath. He thought that her gasp was not because she suddenly recognized the man, but because of the look of unadulterated fury on his face. Ethan saw Grace’s hand slip inside her purse, but before he could wonder about her intentions, the man stepped up to him. He was shorter than Ethan by only an inch or so, but their builds were similar. They stood almost chest to chest.

  “Dr. Ethan Hunter?”

  “Yes?”

  Without warning, the man hauled off and punched Ethan square in the face. Pain flashed white-hot over his already bruised flesh, and as Ethan staggered back a step, red-hot anger shot through him. Almost instinctively, he lunged at the man, but Grace jumped between them.

  “Stop it!” she ordered, putting a hand on each of their chests with surprising strength and authority. She turned to the stranger. “Why did you do that?” she demanded.

  The man’s gaze was still furious. “He had it coming!”

  Ethan said coldly, “The
hell I did. I don’t even know who you are.”

  The man glared at him. “Of course, you wouldn’t remember me. Why should you? I was nobody important, just the man Amy was going to marry, that’s all. Until you came along.”

  Grace must have sensed the anger welling inside him again, for she gave him a shove. “Calm down,” she said. “This is not the place for violence.”

  The man looked immediately contrite. His blue eyes flooded with tears. “No, you’re right. Amy wouldn’t have wanted that.”

  He took a few steps away from Grace and Ethan, as if struggling to gather his composure. But he continued to glare at Ethan. “We did meet once. I guess you don’t remember. I came to Amy’s apartment to beg her to come back to me, but...it was too late. You’d already seduced her away from me.”

  The raw pain in the man’s eyes made Ethan’s stomach knot. He didn’t know whether he was really Dr. Ethan Hunter or not, but at that moment, the one thing he was certain of was that he didn’t much care for Dr. Hunter or the way he treated people.

  Grace said softly, “I didn’t know Amy was ever engaged. She never mentioned it.”

  “That’s odd,” the man said, wiping at his eyes. “Because she never mentioned having a sister, either.”

  GRACE COULD FEEL Ethan’s gaze on her, but she kept her eyes trained on the man before her. Something about him seemed very pitiful to her. He was not unattractive, but the way he dressed, the receding hairline, the ordinary features must have made him feel like a moth to Amy’s butterfly. No wonder he harbored such animosity toward Ethan. He was the epitome of everything this man was not.

  Grace said carefully, “Amy and I were estranged for several years. We hadn’t spoken with each other until very recently.”

  “I guess that explains why she never wanted to talk about her family.” The man stuck out his hand. “My name’s Danny Medford.”

  “Grace Donovan. You already know Dr. Hunter,” she said with irony.

  He shot Ethan a killing glance before turning back to Grace. “I don’t suppose it would be possible—” He broke off, looking ill at ease.

  “What?” Grace prompted.

  Danny looked at her hopefully. “Do you think we could get together sometime? You know, to talk about Amy?”

  He seemed a nice enough guy, but Grace had no wish to perpetuate the deception, to contribute in any way to the man’s pain. However, with Ethan looking on, she had little choice but to keep up the farce. “I’d like that. Maybe in a few weeks when it isn’t so painful to talk about her.”

  He nodded, smiling wistfully as he fished a card from his shirt pocket and handed it to her. “That’s my work number. I’m there at all hours. Feel free to call anytime.”

  Medford Engineering, the card read. Grace slipped it in her purse and smiled. “It’s been nice meeting you, Danny.”

  “Likewise.” He turned to Ethan. “I wouldn’t be surprised if you and I meet again someday.”

  There was no mistaking the threat in the man’s words, but Ethan merely shrugged. “I’ll be ready next time.”

  After the man had disappeared into the parking lot, Ethan fished a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped away the trickle of blood at the corner of his mouth.

  “Yet another of Dr. Hunter’s enemies,” he said enigmatically, watching the man’s battered Toyota sedan pull out of the parking lot. “They seem to be coming out of the woodwork.”

  “He seems harmless enough.”

  Ethan lifted a brow as he daubed at his lip. “Easy for you to say.”

  Grace almost smiled. “I meant comparatively speaking. The enemy we really have to worry about is Trevor Reardon.”

  “I wonder.” Ethan’s eyes grew dark and distant, as if he’d gone someplace in his mind that Grace had no wish to follow. Or had he gone to a place she’d already been to?

  There was still blood on his lip. She took the handkerchief from his hand. “Here, let me.”

  She blotted the droplet of blood as gently as she could, but Ethan winced at her touch. He took her hand and pulled it away. For a moment they stood that way, her hand in his, eyes locked, until Grace’s stomach began to flutter wildly.

  She was accustomed to butterflies. She got them the first day of every new assignment, every time she had to draw her weapon, or when she faced danger. But this was different, because the greater threat was coming, not from Ethan, but from within herself.

  She shivered, watching him. So much about him she didn’t know, but the one thing that was all too real was her attraction to him. Her feelings for him. She couldn’t explain them. They made no sense. But the emotions raging inside her were so real and so intense, that if he were to kiss her at that moment, Grace knew she would have no willpower to resist.

  What few relationships she’d had over the years had been with men who had no expectations of a future with her. There could be no future with Ethan, either, and yet Grace found herself yearning for something she’d never wanted before. The hollowness inside her heart made her feel lost and lonely in a way she hadn’t felt in a long, long time.

  She almost hated Ethan for that. Hated him for making her lose confidence in her ability to do what needed to be done. For making her want him.

  Grace closed her eyes, letting the heat of the day wash over her. The humidity curled the fine hairs at the back of her neck, and she could feel the silk of her dress clinging to her body. She had a sudden image of cool water lapping at her toes. Of a fragrant breeze rippling through her hair. Of a man lying naked beside her, whispering in her ear...

  When she opened her eyes, Ethan was staring down at her so intently, Grace thought he must have read her mind. She caught her breath.

  “What are we going to do about this, Grace?”

  She didn’t try to misconstrue his meaning. The sparks between them were all too obvious. “There’s nothing to be done. We just have to...ignore it, I guess.

  “You think that’s possible?” His eyes darkened, so much so that Grace had to glance away. She had to find a way to subdue the power he had over her.

  “It has to be, because as you pointed out yesterday, you’re a married man. Just because you can’t remember your wife doesn’t mean you don’t still have feelings for her. You might even still love her.”

  He almost laughed. “Do you really believe that?”

  Grace remembered the coldness in Pilar’s expression, the emptiness in her eyes, and she shuddered. “I don’t think you still love her. Maybe you never did, but it doesn’t change the fact that you are still married to her. I don’t take that lightly, Ethan.”

  “I wish I could say the same.” Grace didn’t think he was trying to be facetious. His eyes were too haunted for that.

  “And that brings us back to Amy,” she said quietly. “I don’t want to be another one of your conquests. I won’t be.”

  “I don’t even remember Amy,” he said. “Everything you’ve told me about her...it doesn’t even seem real. It’s like...someone else had the affair with her. Someone else married Pilar. It wasn’t me. I’m not that man.”

  Grace wished she knew what to say to him, but she didn’t. She wished suddenly that what he was telling her was true—that he wasn’t Dr. Ethan Hunter, but someone entirely different. Someone free and honorable. Someone with whom she just might have a second shot at life.

  But reality and fantasy were two different concepts, and no one knew that better than Grace.

  “Ethan—”

  “I’m not that man, Grace.”

  He could almost convince her when he looked at her that way. When he skimmed his knuckles along the side of her cheek, brushed back the hair from her face with a touch so gentle, Grace could have wept. She closed her eyes briefly, wanting him to kiss her with every fiber of her being, and knowing all the while that if he did, there would be no chance for her then. Everything in her world would be lost.

  She took a step back from him. “Losing memories doesn’t change who you are. What you’ve done.”


  “What I’ve done.” The shadow in his eyes deepened. He raked his fingers through his hair, turning away from her. “There’s nothing that will ever change that.”

  “No, but there is such a thing as redemption. Restitution.”

  His gaze came back to meet hers. “And how do you propose I pay for my sins?” he asked grimly.

  Grace shrugged. “Helping me bring a man like Trevor Reardon to justice is a good place to start.”

  Ethan’s expression hardened. Something that Grace couldn’t quite define flashed in his eyes. “That sounds so naive, but somehow you don’t strike me as the Pollyanna type. I may not remember who I am or what I’ve done, but I don’t think I’m the only one here with secrets.”

  Grace’s heartbeat quickened. “What do you mean?”

  He gazed down at her, studying her. “I don’t know who you are any more than I know who I am. We’re strangers, and yet...we seem to have some kind of...connection. Even you can’t deny that.”

  “Maybe our connection is Amy,” Grace tried to say calmly.

  He shook his head. “I don’t think so. I can’t help but wonder if you’re holding something back from me.”

  “Like what?”

  He hesitated. His gaze grew even more pensive. “Did we know each other before?”

  “No.” Grace’s heart pounded like a piston. He was getting too close. His suspicions were mounting by the minute, and she didn’t know what to do to stop them. If he found out who she was...how she was using him...

  God help you if you’re lying to me.

  “I told you before,” she said. “We’d never met until that night outside the hospital.”

  “Then what is this connection we have?” he asked almost urgently.

  Grace shrugged. “Attraction. Chemistry. Call it what you like, but that’s all it is.”

  “Why do I feel as if it’s something more?” Ethan grabbed her forearms and pulled her toward him. “Why do I feel as if I know you better than I could ever know the woman who claims to be my wife? Why do I know how your lips would taste if I kissed you right now? How your body would feel beneath mine if we—”