Lover, Stranger Part 1

Lover, Stranger.

By: AMANDA STEVENS

Synopsis:.

to the mysterious Ethan Hunter; he was the one man who could identify her sister's killer. A man whose touch ignited in Grace a burning Attacked and left for dead, Ethan awoke to no memory, an unresolved murder and a tempting redhead. Something in Ethan urged him to protect Grace from the killer she sought--but the more they investigated, the more he feared he might be protecting her from himself. (I may not remember what I've done, but I don't think I'm the only one with secrets. "

Grace's heartbeat quickened.

"What do you mean?" Ethan gazed down at 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."

"Our connection is my sister," 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. Did we know each other before?"

"No." Grace's heart pounded. He was getting too close. If he found out who she was. "Then what is this connection we have?" he asked almost urgently.

Grace shrugged.

"Attraction. Chemistry. Call it what you like."

"Why do I feel as if it's something more?" Ethan grabbed her arms and pulled her to him.

"Please don't," Grace said breathlessly.

He drew her close, so close their lips were only a heartbeat apart.

"You want me to kiss you," he murmured against her mouth.

"Tell me to stop..."

Lover, Stranger AMANDA STEVENS ^SILHOUETTE INTRIGUE AMANDA STEVENS knew at an early age she wanted to be a writer and began her first novel at the age of thirteen. While studying English she was encouraged to write a romance by one of her tutors. Amanda lives in Houston, Texas, with her husband and their twins.

Chapter One.

His lungs were bursting as he thrashed his way through the jungle, trying to elude his predators. Over the lacy treetops, the moon rose full and majestic, illuminating the path of broken limbs and trampled gra.s.s he left in his wake. It was only a matter of time before they picked up his trail.

The sky was clear and inky black, like a giant, obsidian bowl that had been turned upside down and painted with thousands of tiny, white stars. Pausing to catch his breath, he searched for the brightest star among them, Polaris, the north star that would guide him toward the village. There he would hopefully find a phone, or at least transportation to take him out of this G.o.dforsaken place. If he could somehow make it to the border. Off to the west, he heard the rumble of an engine, distant at first, but drawing steadily near. A beam of light from a high-powered searchlight arced over the terrain just missing him, and then moments later, he heard shouts.

Laughter. His trail had been discovered. The killers were closing in, and they were enjoying the hunt. Heart pounding, he plunged through the lush foliage.

Low-hanging branches slapped at his face and arms while man-sized roots tangled with his feet. Amber eyes, ruby eyes, emerald eyes glowed, from the trees and from the darkness all around him. Every step was a new danger, a new terror. G.o.d, how he hated the jungle!

Finally stumbling into a clearing, he found himself on the edge of a jagged precipice. Mist rose from the raging river that sliced its way through the limestone cliffs a hundred feet below him. Ahead, the ravine sprawled into a yawning gap of nothingness. Behind him, the shouts of his pursuers rose in excitement as they spotted him in the moonlight.

There was nothing to do but head back into the jungle for cover. But before He could run, gunfire echoed through the stone canyon. The noise was so muted by the mist, the scene so surreal, that for a moment, he hovered at the edge of the precipice, unsure what to do.

Then he felt the sharp blast of pain in his side, looked down and saw the blood and realized he 'd been hit. Realized he wasn 't going to make it to the village, much less to the border.

As if in slow motion, he fell backward into nothing but vapor and air. "dr.

hunter? Can you hear me?"

He opened his eyes and saw a woman's face leaning over him. Dressed all in white, she looked radiant. Other-worldly. An angel, he thought. So he hadn't made it after all.

"Dr. Hunter?"

He blinked as the angel spoke again. Was she talking to him? She was gazing down into his eyes, smiling, but that name she kept calling--who was Dr.

Hunter?

"He's coming around, Dr. Kendall," she said over her shoulder. A man appeared beside her. He wore the same look of concern on his face as she did, but he wasn't smiling and his eyes were dark with something that might have been suspicion.

"Well, well," he said.

"Glad to see you've decided to rejoin the land of the living, Ethan. You certainly gave us all a scare tonight."

Ethan? Who was Ethan?

He closed his eyes for a moment, trying to clear his head. Obviously he was in a hospital somewhere. These people seemed to know him, but he'd never seen them before in his life. Nor had he ever heard of anyone named Ethan Hunter. It had to be a case of mistaken ident.i.ty, but-- A tiny bubble of panic floated to the surface of his consciousness.

If he wasn't Ethan Hunter, who the h.e.l.l was he?

He searched his mind and found no answers.

"How are you feeling, buddy?" Dr. Kendall peered down into his face.

Buddy? Did that mean the two of them were friends?

But Kendall didn't look particularly friendly. In spite of his easy bedside manner, there was something about his eyes, a glimmer of hostility that was faintly unnerving.

The man they called Ethan stared up at him, frowning.

"I feel sort of... out of it." The sound of his own voice shocked him. It was raspy and coa.r.s.e, and the effort to speak hurt his throat. He put a hand to his neck and winced at the pain. The skin was bruised and tender.

Dr. Kendall must have glimpsed the fear in Ethan's eyes for he said, "Take it easy. Your vocal cords and larynx have been stressed. Don't try to talk any more than is necessary." Ethan tried to swallow past the pain and the panic.

"What happened?" "We're hoping you can tell us."

He thought for a moment.

"I had this strange dream about running through a jungle... Someone was trying to kill me." Kendall's shrug was dismissive.

"I'm not surprised, You've sustained a concussion.

You look like h.e.l.l, but you're d.a.m.ned lucky to be alive. "

You look like h.e.l.l. The realization hit him suddenly that he had no idea what he looked like. He put his hands to his face. The skin was bruised there as well, and a thick bandage wrapped around his skull. Scanning his surroundings, he searched for a mirror but didn't see one. Which was probably just as well. If the pain in his face was any indication, he wasn't at all sure he was ready to see his reflection. "What were you doing at the clinic tonight, anyway?" Kendall asked suddenly, his tone edgy.

"I'm... not sure." Ethan squeezed his eyes closed, trying to remember what had happened to him, but nothing came to him. He tried to fight back the suffocating panic that threatened to engulf him. Who the h.e.l.l am I?

Stay calm, a little voice warned him. You have to figure this thing out.

Your life could depend on it.

He drew a long breath. Okay. He just needed a few minutes to get his bearings. There was no cause for alarm. He had a concussion.

Short-term memory loss was common enough with head injuries, wasn't it?

Maybe they could even give him something-But wait a minute. If he was a doctor--Dr. Ethan Hunter--he would know that, wouldn't he? He would know how to treat a concussion and temporary amnesia. He would know how to cure himself. But he didn't.

He didn't know anything at the moment, and his panic came rushing back.

Dr. Kendall touched his arm, and Ethan flinched. Why didn't he like this man? And more importantly, why didn't he trust him enough to confess his amnesia to him?

As if reading his thoughts, Dr. Kendall's eyes narrowed.

"The police are outside, Ethan. We've stalled them as long as we can, but there's a detective who's been champing at the bit ever since you were brought in. Are you up to talking with him?"

About what? Ethan wanted to know. But he remained silent. For some reason he didn't understand, it seemed imperative that he not give himself away.

That he remain calm and as much in control as he could be under the circ.u.mstances.

But just what the h.e.l.l were the circ.u.mstances? Why couldn't he remember who he was?

The door of his hospital room opened, and a man wearing an ugly green suit walked in. He was in his early fifties, stoop-shouldered, with salt-and-pepper hair slicked straight back and plastered with hair cream.

His face was deeply creviced, his eyes shadowed with years of hard service and even harder drinking, He walked over to Ethan's bed, pulled up a stool and sat down.

Removing a yellow number-two pencil and a black notebook from his inside jacket pocket, he licked the lead of the pencil, then scribbled a hasty note. Without looking up he said, "So you're Dr. Hunter." Ethan said nothing.

"I'm Sergeant Pope, HPD."

HPD. Ethan searched his mind. Honolulu Police Department? Harrisburg?

Hartford? Houston? Where was he?

Wait. There was an unmistakable tw.a.n.g in the detective's easy drawl.

Okay, so they were probably in Houston, but why? Did he live here? He glanced up, and as his gaze met Pope's for the first time, Ethan sensed a keen intuition and intellect that belied the faint air of ennui that settled like an old blanket over the aging detective.

Watch yourself, Ethan thought, though why he should fear the police he had no idea. Was it because in his dream, the Mexican authorities had been chasing him through the jungle? Was that why an almost innate sense of wariness had surfaced the moment the detective had walked into the room?

"I've heard a lot about you," Pope was saying.

"My wife showed me an article about you in the paper a couple of months ago.

Had a real nice shot of you in your downtown office, but I can't say you look much like that now."

Ethan thought about the thick bandage wrapping his skull, the raw bruises on his face and neck.

"No, I guess not."

Pope thumped the pencil eraser against his notebook. The sound was barely audible, but for some reason it grated on Ethan's nerves.

"The article told all about that free clinic you built in the Mexican jungle, and how you spend several weeks a year down there, operating on underprivileged kids. They gave you quite a write-up. The wife was real impressed." The thumping stopped suddenly.

"Hey, I'll have to tell her I met you tonight."

"Sure, why not?" Ethan said, because he didn't know what else to say.

His throat still hurt. He reached for the gla.s.s of water on the stand beside his bed. The nurse--Nurse Angel, he now thought of her--was instantly at his side, helping him to drink. Her hand wrapped around his on the gla.s.s. Her touch was soft, caressing.

Intimate. When Ethan lay back against the pillows, he saw that Pope was watching him. The detective had seen the encounter. Ethan was sure of it.

Pope said.

"She was thinking about calling you. My wife, that is." He put a finger to his nose and pressed it to one side.

"She has a deviated septum like you wouldn't believe. She's been wanting a nose job for years."

So. he was a plastic surgeon? Somehow Ethan would never have guessed that.

Almost inadvertently his gaze dropped to his hands, resting on top of the sheet. There was dried blood caked beneath his nails and a wedding band on the third finger of his left hand. His heart raced when he saw the ring. If he was married, where was his wife? Had she been contacted? Shouldn't she be at his bedside at a time like this?

As if on cue, Nurse Angel moved back into his line of vision and gave him a knowing wink.

Pope, momentarily distracted by the nurse's dazzling smile, said, "Listen, will y'all excuse us? I'd like to speak to Dr. Hunter alone."

Dr. Kendall nodded tightly, then turned to Ethan.

"Dr. Mancetti said she'd be back tonight to check on you. In the meantime, if you need anything, I'll be around for a while."