Lover, Stranger Part 15

Unlike Grace, Jessie had never been rebellious. She had always worked very hard to please their father, and lying to him went against her nature. Grace understood that, but her sister's conscience didn't matter enough to Grace to make her want to stop seeing him. On the night of the fire, Jessie had been especially troubled by Grace's deception. She even threatened to tell their parents and take her own punishment for the duplicity if Grace left the house again without their permission.

Grace lashed out at her, calling her a Goody Two- shoes.

"Why don't you mind your own business for once," she snapped before climbing out the window and slipping away into the darkness to meet her lover.

That night, he seemed different. Before, he'd always been dark and intense, even moody at times, but Grace had found those qualities deeply compelling.

Tonight, however, he was almost ebullient, laughing and smiling, whispering to her that he had a secret. It was only . afterward that Grace learned what his secret was. "Would you like to know my real name?" he asked, drawing her fingers to his lips and kissing each one of them.

Grace gazed up at him in confusion.

"Your name is Jonathan Price." He laughed out loud.

"Jonathan Price is a fictional character, you little idiot. I got it from a novel."

Grace didn't much care for the insult. She pulled away from him. He didn't even seem to notice.

"I go by many names, but the one you may have heard of is Trevor Reardon."

He laughed again when he saw the horror dawn on her face. "That isn't funny," she said, shaken. Nothing about him was the least bit amusing. In fact, he was beginning to scare her. Grace jumped up, pulling on her clothes while he lay on the bed, smiling that taunting little smile.

"Trevor Reardon is in prison," she said. "So you have heard of me." He propped himself on his elbow.

"I didn't think your old man could resist bragging about the coup he pulled off when he captured me. But didn't he also tell you that I'd escaped from prison a few weeks ago? Didn't he warn you I might come back for revenge?"

Her father had been acting strangely lately, even more protective than usual, making the whole family promise to be home by dark every day. Maybe that's why Jessie had been so frightened when Grace had started sneaking out of the house at night. Maybe she'd known something Grace hadn't.

Dressed by this time. Grace started backing toward the door. She didn't believe him, couldn't believe him, and yet. What if he was telling her the truth?

What if he was Trevor Reardon?

She put a hand to her mouth, trying to swallow back a rising tide of nausea.

"Who are you?" she whispered.

"Why are you doing this to me?"

"It's all been a game," he said.

"And you've been so much fun." He got out of bed and stood naked before her.

"But playtime's over, Grace. It's time to get to work."

Her hand on the door k.n.o.b, she said weakly, "If I scream someone will hear me. The police will come."

"Oh, I wouldn't wait for the police if I were you. Your family may need you, even as we speak."

She saw the truth in his eyes. Knew that he had done something unspeakable to her family while she lay in his arms. Grace turned and fled the apartment. He didn't try to follow her, but she could hear his laughter echoing in the darkness all around her. Five blocks away from her house, she heard the sirens. Two blocks away, she saw the flames. When she reached the driveway, she heard the screams.

Oh, G.o.d, oh. G.o.d, oh. G.o.d, was all she could think as she rushed toward the burning house. Someone grabbed her and held her back. She struggled to free herself, and it was then that she looked up and saw Jessie at their bedroom window. Sweet little Jessie pounding at the double panes, screaming in terror and agony as her clothing and hair caught fire.

And somewhere in the darkness. Grace could hear Trevor Reardon, still laughing. As the memories all but consumed her, Grace slumped against the wall of her hotel room, weak and dizzy. Even after all these years, the thought of his mouth on her, his hands touching her sent her flying to the bathroom. She lay spent and trembling on the floor moments later, the memories still closing in on her like a crushing weight. She willed them away, but they resisted. They weren't through with her yet. There was still more to be endured, other horrors to relive.

Groaning, Grace rolled to her side, feeling the cool tile against her cheek.

After that night, the guilt and grief over her family's deaths had almost killed her, but Trevor Reardon hadn't been finished with her.

Dressed as one of the cops standing guard at the church, he attended the funeral service for her family three days later. Grace knew this because he called her afterward and described in detail the clothing she'd had on, right down to the tiny pearls she'd worn in her ears.

The knowledge that he had been that close to her again very nearly drove Grace over the edge. If it hadn't been for Myra Temple, Grace wasn't sure she would have survived.

But Myra helped her through the worst of those days. She forced Grace from the pit of despair she'd crawled into. Made her stop drinking.

Made her realize that Reardon would win again if Grace let him. So with Myra's help, Grace went on to college and eventually graduated from law school. After a while, she could even pretend she led a normal life. At times, she even managed to forget that a killer was out there somewhere, still waiting for her.

But Myra never forgot.

On the night Grace graduated from law school, Rear- don was waiting for her in her apartment. He grabbed her, threw her on her bed, and, knife to her throat, told her exactly what he was going to do to her.

But then Myra came bursting into Grace's bedroom, and the agents with her had quickly subdued Reardon. Myra calmly walked over to him, and with a hand that was completely steady, put a gun to his head. For i moment, Grace thought she would pull the trigger Wanted her to pull the trigger. But then Myra lowered the weapon, Reardon was taken away, and Grace collapsed in the agent's arms Grace promised herself that the tears she shed that night would be her last. That she would never agaii allow herself to be vulnerable. To be a target.

Within a month, she made the life-altering decisiol to follow in her father's footsteps at the FBI. When she was accepted so quickly, she suspected that Myra hac pulled some strings, but Grace didn't care.

She was completely focused. She knew exactly what she wantec from life.

While Trevor Reardon was confined to < maximum="" security="" prison="" some="" seven="" hundred="" mile;="" away.="" grace="" began="" and="" completed="" the="" rigorous="" training="" at="" quantico,="">

She became an agent as dedicated and single-mindec as any who had served before her. If she was lonely a night, she tried not to think about it. If she had difficulty making friends, she told herself she didn't have time for relationships anyway. If she shied away iron serious involvements, she knew that was the way it hac to be. There was no room in her life for anything but justice.

For Grace, her emotional isolation had become < normal="" way="" of="">

But then three months ago, news had come to her o Trevor Reardon's second escape. She hadn't been surprised. Or frightened. In fact, there had been a certa ii sense of inevitability about it all. She'd always knowl he would come back for her. She was the one loos< end="" that="" would="" torment="">

But it would be different now. Grace thought, lyin^ in the bright glare of the bathroom light. This time, she would be ready for him. This time, she was the hunter. And when they met again face to face, she and Rear- don, this time, only one of them would walk away.

Chapter Seven.

The aroma of frying chorizo awakened Ethan the next morning.

He sat up in bed, wondering at his ability to identify the scent of the spicy Mexican sausage when he still had no recall of his past life.

The enticing smell drew a rumble from his stomach, reminding him that he'd skipped dinner the previous evening. He got up from bed and hurriedly showered and shaved. Staring at himself in the mirror, he noticed that the bruises were fading, the swelling had gone away, and the cut was starting to heal.

He studied his features dispa.s.sionately. Ethan supposed his appearance would be considered above average by most standards, but to him, there was still something disturbing about his face. Something that wasn't quite right.

Not wanting to dwell on the possibilities, he left the bathroom and hurriedly dressed, letting the spicy aroma lead him downstairs and into the kitchen.

Rosa stood at the range, stirring the cooked chorizo into a batch of fluffy scrambled eggs. She turned when she heard Ethan enter the room.

"Buenos dias, Dr. Hunter." She gave him a critical once-over.

"You're looking much better this morning."

"Thanks. I feel better." He walked over to the breakfast table and sat down at the place she had set for him.

"I made your favorite today. Chorizo and eggs."

"Smells great." Ethan watched as she dished up a plate of the sausage and eggs, then brought it to him. She waited while he sampled a bite, then beamed when he almost choked on the peppery food. "A little extra Tabasco sauce this morning," she explained.

"It'll get your blood flowing, speed up your recovery." Ethan's blood was flowing all right. He felt as if it were about to explode out the top of his head.

"Do you think I could have a gla.s.s of orange juice?" he managed to gasp.

Rosa stood with her hands on her hips, watching him.

"Since when do you like orange juice?"

"Since I found a pitcher in the refrigerator yesterday."

"That was for me," Rosa said accusingly.

"You don't like orange juice, not even fresh squeezed. You drink jugo de to mate Tomato juice didn't sound the least bit appealing to Ethan, but if it would put out the flames dancing on his tongue, he was willing to give it a shot.

"All right, tomato juice then."

Rosa still hesitated.

"That cut on your head, Dr. Hunter. It still makes you strange, no?"

"Strange is a good word for it," he muttered.

Rosa turned and hurried over to the refrigerator. She brought him back a tall gla.s.s of chilled tomato juice.

Ethan took a quick drink, then another. It wasn't half bad. He set down the gla.s.s and glanced up at Rosa.

"You were right. Jugo de to mate hits the spot."

She nodded in satisfaction, then circled the air with her finger near her ear.

"Extrano." She started to turn away, then stopped. She stared down at him, her dark eyes clouding.

"I read in the paper about Amy Cole. Dr. Hunter, why didn't you tell me what had happened to you the other night?"

"I didn't want to worry you, Rosa."

She bit her lip, twisting her hands in her white ap.r.o.n.

"That poor child. I only met her once, when she came here to the house looking for you, but she was very nice to me."

Ethan nodded, not wanting to encourage a line of conversation to which he had nothing to contribute. He didn't remember Amy. He didn't remember anything about her, only the sound of her scream before she'd died.

He glanced down at his plate, willing away the image. Rosa must have mistaken his silence for grief. She murmured something comforting in Spanish, then turned and went back to her work. Ethan took a few more bites of his food, then shoved his plate away. At the thought of Amy, his appet.i.te had deserted him. After several minutes of strained silence, he said, "By the way, how's your daughter and her baby?"

Rosa turned at that, her look one of astonishment. "What's the matter?"

Ethan asked in alarm.

"Did I say something wrong?"

Rosa's amazement turned to discomfort. Her dark brows knitted into a frown.

"No. It's just that... why do you want to know about my daughter, Dr.

Hunter? It's been a long time since you ask about her."

"It... has?"

Rosa hesitated.

"We don't talk about our personal lives to each other. That was the agreement we had when I first came to work for you. You said it would be better that way."

"Better for whom?"

Her shrug seemed ominous somehow. She came back over to the table and stood staring down at him.

"Dr. Hunter, are you sure you're okay?

Maybe you should go back to the hospital. " She p.r.o.nounced it " ohspeetahl.

"Don't worry about me." Ethan tried to shrug away her concern.

"I.

told you it might take several days for the effects of the concussion to wear off. "

"I know, but it's not just that." Rosa paused again.

"You don't act the same. You don't talk the same. You don't even look the same..."

She trailed off, one hand creeping to her chest as if she had the sudden urge to cross herself.