Lover, Stranger Page 4

  “Actually, no. Amy was, briefly. Right out of high school. It lasted about a year. The guy was pretty much a lowlife. She always did have lousy taste in men.” Their gazes clashed—hers defiant, his oddly defensive.

  He said, “Can I ask you something? You say you want to find your sister’s killer, but—”

  “But what?” she asked sharply.

  “You don’t seem exactly...torn up about her death.”

  He saw her knuckles whiten on the steering wheel. “Because I’m not crying? Not falling apart? Because I want to see her killer brought to justice? There are different ways of expressing grief, Dr. Hunter. Believe me, I know.”

  “I’m sure that’s true. But you seem so—” Again he floundered for the right words, and she turned to stare at him in challenge. “In control,” he finally said.

  “I don’t consider that a bad thing. Do you?”

  “Amy’s only been dead a few hours.”

  “No one’s more aware of that than I am.” She shot a glance in the rearview mirror.

  “What about your parents? Have you called them?”

  “Everyone’s been notified who needs to be,” she said. “You don’t need to concern yourself with my family. Or with my emotions, for that matter.”

  “But I feel responsible for Amy’s death, even if I didn’t pull the trigger. I need to know about her,” he said urgently. “I need to know what kind of person she was. Why she became involved with me—other than the fact that she had lousy taste in men.”

  “I’m sorry. That was a cheap shot,” she allowed almost grudgingly. “Look, I may as well tell you. Amy and I weren’t very close. In fact, until a few weeks ago, we hadn’t spoken in years.”

  Surprised, he studied her profile in the dash lights. “Why?”

  She shrugged. “We had a falling out. It was stupid, but we just never made up. Resentment and jealousy have a tendency to run a little too deeply, you know?”

  He heard the pain and regret in her voice and said instinctively, “Was it over a man?”

  She grimaced. “How very perceptive of you. That man she married right out of high school? He was my fiancé.”

  Ethan didn’t know what to say to that. In the silence, she laughed, a brittle little sound that didn’t quite ring true. “Guess I have lousy taste in men, too.” She paused again, drawing a breath. “Maybe now you understand why my emotions may not be what you think they should be. But I am grieving for my sister, in my own way. And I’ll have to live with all these regrets. That’s why it’s so important for me to find Amy’s killer. To focus on getting her justice. Because if I don’t...if I let this guilt eat away at me...” Her eyes closed briefly. Her hands trembled on the steering wheel. “This is the last thing I can do for her, Dr. Hunter. Do you understand?”

  “I think so.” Ethan was more affected by her words than he wanted to admit. He turned to stare out the window.

  Beside him, Grace murmured, “She was only twenty-four. Just a baby. Did you know that?”

  The scenery blurred past Ethan. “Do you know how old I am?”

  “Thirty-seven, according to Amy.”

  “Am I still married?”

  When Grace didn’t answer right away, he turned to stare at her. She shrugged. “As far as I know, a divorce was never anything but a promise.”

  “Then my wife—”

  She shrugged again. “May be at home waiting for you. We’ll soon find out.”

  She turned into a long, circular drive, coming to stop in front of a house that could only be described the way she had earlier—as a fortress. Nestled in a forest of ancient oaks trees and towering pines, the house was white and bleak, a modeRN, four-story structure with walled courtyards, security cameras and a windowless bottom floor.

  The wall of glass blocks on the second floor reflected soft light from within, as if someone were indeed home waiting for him. Ethan stared up at the stark lines of the house and wondered what he might find inside. His past? A wronged wife?

  Neither prospect buoyed him.

  “How do you propose we get in?” he asked doubtfully. “I already told you, I don’t have keys, and even if I did, I wouldn’t be able to turn off the alarm system.”

  “Why don’t we just go ring the bell?” Before he could protest, Grace got out of the car and strode toward the courtyard gate.

  Dread hanging like a dark cloak over his shoulders, Ethan opened the door and followed her.

  When he stood next to her, Grace pressed the button on the intercom, and after a few moments, a voice sputtered over the speaker. “Yes?”

  Grace opened her hands, palms up, as if to say, “You’re on,” and Ethan cleared his throat. “It’s me. Ethan. I forgot my key.”

  A surprised silence ensued, then a woman with a Spanish accent said, “Dr. Hunter? I'm so glad you’re finally home. Un momento, por favor.”

  Almost immediately the lock on the gate was disengaged from inside the house, and the gate swung open. They walked through the lush courtyard toward the front door. Somewhere on the grounds, Ethan heard a sprinkler, and a dog barked in the distance. He glanced up at the winking light on the security camera mounted inside the gate, and thought again of the jungle. Of eyes watching him in the darkness.

  The door was drawn back, and a tiny woman wearing a gray-and-white uniform appeared in the light. She took one look at Ethan and gasped, her hand flying to her mouth.

  “Dr. Hunter, are you all right?”

  “I will be,” he assured her.

  “Dios Mio.” Quickly she crossed herself, then took his arm, murmuring in Spanish while she gently ushered him inside. “What happened?”

  “It’s a long story.”

  As she fussed over him, Ethan tried to study his surroundings without giving himself away, but it was hard to contain his reaction. The inside of the house was even more overwhelming than the outside. The jungle theme of the courtyard had been carried through to the foyer, and—he discovered moments later when they climbed a circular staircase—to the second-floor living room.

  Giant palms and tree ferns stretched toward a vast ceiling of skylights, while dozens of potted orchids with magnificent purple, yellow and white blooms added to the exotic atmosphere. From his perch across the room, a huge blue-and-yellow parrot tracked them with beady, knowing eyes.

  It was like being back in that jungle. Ethan suddenly felt claustrophobic. He allowed the maid to lead him to a deep leather chair, and wearily he sank into it

  She drew up an ottoman for his feet, still muttering and clucking like a mother hen. “What happened, Dr. Hunter?” she asked again when she finally had him settled to her satisfaction. “Was there an accidente?”

  “He was mugged,” Grace said.

  The maid whirled, as if she’d only now discovered Grace’s presence. She turned back to Ethan, her dark eyes wide and frightened. “Should I call the policía?”

  Her English was almost flawless when she chose it to be. Ethan had the impression her lapses into Spanish were more by design, a reminder, to herself perhaps, of the heritage she’d long ago left behind.

  “I’ve already spoken with the police,” he told her.

  She wrung her hands. “I knew something was wrong. I expected you home hours ago. When you called from the airport in Méjico, you said your flight was on time. Then you didn’t come...” She broke off, her gaze easing back to Grace.

  Ethan said, “This is Grace Donovan. She gave me a ride home from the hospital.”

  Grace walked over beside Ethan, and the maid’s gaze followed her, narrowing.

  “How do you do?” Grace held out her hand. The maid took it tentatively. Grace said, “I’m sorry. I don’t believe I caught your name.”

  “Rosa.”

  Nicely done, Ethan thought, although why he felt the need to hide his amnesia from his housekeeper he had no idea. He hadn’t told Dr. Kendall or Sergeant Pope of his memory loss, either. He hadn’t confided in anyone but Grace, and again, he didn’t know wh
y, except that she was Amy’s sister, and he’d felt he owed her something. Some sort of explanation.

  She was only twenty-four years old. A baby.

  He fingered the bruises on his throat, in some perverse way welcoming the pain.

  Rosa said anxiously, “Can I get you something? ¿Agua? Té?”

  “No, thank you.” For the first time, Ethan noticed a shopping bag and purse on the white leather sofa beside the chair where he sat. He glanced at Rosa. “Were you on your way out?”

  She looked faintly uncomfortable. “Sí. I was going to stay with my daughter tonight. She has a new bebé, remember? Her husband is out of town, and tomorrow is my day off. We talked about this on the phone earlier, but with everything that’s happened—” She broke off, staring down at him, shaking her head. “Tu linda cara...tu pobre linda cara...”

  Ethan automatically put a hand to his face. “Don’t worry. It looks a lot worse than it is. You go on. Go be with your daughter. I’m fine.”

  She looked doubtful, but Grace said, “Yes, don’t worry about Dr. Hunter, Rosa. I’ll look after him.”

  Rosa’s gaze darkened disapprovingly. “What about Señora Hunter?”

  “What about her?” Ethan asked, tensing.

  Rosa hesitated. “She called earlier. She said Dr. Kendall told her you were coming back tonight. If she comes here and finds you—” Her gaze shot to Grace. “Last time...the acid...your car...”

  Ethan exchanged a glance with Grace. To Rosa, he said, “Look, don’t worry. I can handle Señora Hunter. You go be with your daughter and nieto. I insist.”

  She glanced at Grace, shaking her head and muttering, “Trouble,” as she turned and collected her purse and shopping bag from the sofa. “Mucho trouble.”

  GRACE WANDERED AROUND the magnificent living room while Ethan followed Rosa downstairs. She could hear them murmuring in low tones, but couldn’t tell what they were saying. After a few moments, their voices faded, and Grace assumed they’d walked to the back of the house, where a rear entrance probably led to the garage.

  After a few minutes, Ethan came back into the room from a different entrance, and Grace turned to him expectantly. “Everything okay?”

  He nodded. “I told Rosa the concussion was playing tricks with my short-term memory. I asked her to help me with the alarm code.”

  “Did she?”

  “Everything’s set. We’re armed and dangerous.”

  “I like the sound of that,” Grace murmured. She felt the weight of her gun in her purse and almost smiled. Thank goodness it hadn’t been necessary to use force to convince him to cooperate with her. Not yet at least.

  “Did you get that part about your wife? ‘The acid...your car.’ I wonder what happened.”

  Ethan’s mouth thinned. “I’m not sure I want to know. Sounds like we have a real loving relationship.”

  Grace sensed that Rosa’s words bothered him more than he let on. She said reluctantly, “Do you think she found out about your affair with Amy? Maybe it was a sort of Fatal Attraction in reverse.”

  He turned away. “I really don’t want to speculate on the state of my marriage.”

  “But we have to,” Grace said. “That’s the only way we’ll find answers.”

  He turned to stare at her. “Do you really think my wife had something to do with Amy’s murder?”

  Grace shrugged. “It wouldn’t be the first time jealousy got out of hand.”

  His gaze, if possible, darkened. “Is that what Amy intimated in her letters? Was she afraid of my wife?”

  “She mentioned her a few times. She called her Pilar. I think there’d been some trouble. But I think the danger Amy referred to came from a different source. Something to do with your clinic in Mexico. If you’re up to it, I thought we might go over her letters together. Something might jog your memory.”

  He ran a weary hand through his hair and walked away.

  “Of course, we don’t have to do it right now,” Grace murmured.

  He didn’t seem to hear her. He wandered around the room, touching a table here, a chair there, as if he could somehow absorb the essence of the room, of who he had been, into his consciousness.

  After a few moments, the almost preternatural silence got to Grace. She walked over to stand beside him. “This is quite a place.”

  He traced the curved stem of some exotic potted flower, then clipped a red bloom with his thumb nail, as if the delicate blossoms were no more rare or precious than a dandelion. The scarlet petals fell like drops of blood to the surface of the glass table. “It feels more like a prison than a home,” he finally said.

  “A prison?” Grace glanced around the spacious room. The dense foliage gave the illusion of nature at her most primal, and the enormous skylights afforded a magnificent view of the night sky. She made a sweeping gesture with her arm. “It seems more like a jungle to me. Wild. Primitive. Look, you can even see the moon.”

  Ethan glanced up, and Grace could have sworn she saw him shudder. He turned away, heading toward a door at one end of the long room. He opened it and switched on a light.

  Grace came up behind him. “What’s in there?”

  “Looks like an office or a study.”

  “That should be a good place to start searching for clues, right?”

  She sensed him tense. He seemed reluctant to enter the room.

  Grace said, “Want me to go first?”

  “No,” he said over his shoulder. “I’ll just have a quick look for now.”

  Grace frowned. Obviously he didn’t want her following him into the study, but why? What was he afraid she might find?

  She turned and walked back to the middle of the room. A movement to her right startled her, and she whirled, automatically grabbing for the gun in her purse. But then she saw the huge parrot preening himself, and realized she’d forgotten all about him. He’d been quiet and still since they arrived, but now all of a sudden, he’d grown restless.

  Grace tentatively approached his perch. His movements weren’t restricted in any way. She supposed he could fly around the room if he chose to, but all he did was take a couple of nervous, sideways steps on the perch.

  A cage with an open door sat on a pedestal near the perch, and Grace guessed that was where he took his meals and got his water. Maybe he was even trained to go potty there as well, she thought, because the room was immaculate.

  She stood a couple of feet back from the perch and watched him for a moment. His beady little gaze held hers. “Hey,” she said softly, trying not to alarm him. “What’s your name?”

  He cocked his head and continued to stare at her.

  “What’s the matter?” Grace asked. “Cat got your tongue?”

  All of a sudden, he let out a piercing squawk and flapped his wings so vigorously that Grace screeched, too, and covered her head. When he made no move to attack, she let out a breath of relief and relaxed.

  “Sorry,” she told him. “It was just a figure of speech.” She could have sworn the bird looked sullen and put out. Grace decided she’d better make peace. Moving toward him, she made a kissing sound with her lips and crooned, “Polly want a cracker?”

  “Look at the size of those headlights!” the parrot screeched.

  Grace jumped at the unexpectedness of his speech. At the crudeness of his words. She gaped at him in shock. “What did you say?”

  The bird repeated the line.

  “That’s what I thought you said.”

  The parrot fluffed his wings. “I don’t think they’re real,” he said importantly.

  “How would you know, you little buzzard!”

  Grace’s tone seemed to excite him. He raced sideways along the perch, squawking in a loud voice, “They’re not real! They’re not real! I should know, goddammit!”

  “Why you—” Grace made a menacing move toward the parrot, but he put up such a fuss, she instantly retreated.

  Behind her, Ethan said, “What’s going on? I thought I heard voices.”

&nbs
p; Grace quickly took several more steps away from the bird. “Your little friend here and I were just having a rap session.”

  “That thing can talk?” Ethan walked toward the parrot.

  “I wouldn’t get too close,” Grace warned. “He’s a little...unpredictable.”

  But the enormous bird was on his best behavior for Ethan. They stared at each other for a long moment, then Ethan said, “What’s your name, fella?”

  “What’s your name, fella?” the bird said in perfect imitation.

  Ethan laughed, a sound that sent a shiver sliding up Grace’s spine. “All right, I’ll go first. My name’s Ethan. At least...I think it is.”

  The parrot blinked. “My name’s Ethan,” he mimicked.

  Ethan glanced at Grace. “This is getting us nowhere fast. You try.”

  Grace shook her head. “I don’t think so. I don’t care for birds.” Not this particular bird, anyway.

  Ethan turned back to the parrot. “Her name’s Grace.”

  “Look at the size of those headlights!”

  Startled, Ethan jumped, then his gaze flew to Grace. A spark of amusement—or was that curiosity?—flared in his brown eyes, and Grace’s face flamed as his gaze dropped almost imperceptibly to her chest.

  He turned back to the parrot. “What else can you say?”

  “I don’t think they’re real.” The bird looked straight at Grace. Then he strutted and preened on his perch.

  “Proud of yourself, aren’t you?” she muttered. She pointed at Ethan. “How about picking on him for a change?”

  As if he understood her every word, the bird cocked his head and stared at Ethan. “Hey, pretty boy.”

  Grace threw up her hands. “That does it—” She broke off when she saw the look on Ethan’s face. He had grown very still, his expression grim as he turned away from the parrot.

  “What is it? Did you remember something?”

  Behind them, the parrot gave a long, shrill wolf whistle. “Hey, pretty boy. Hey, pretty boy,” he sang.

  Ethan flinched. “No, it’s not that.” His gaze didn’t quite meet hers. “I’m just tired. I think I’d like to get some rest now.”

  Grace got his meaning loud and clear. He wanted her to leave. He wasn’t about to invite her to spend the night here.