Lover, Stranger Part 22

The man beside Grace muttered something she couldn't understand. He'd introduced himself earlier as an administrator at a local hospital, and Grace had told him that she was a 'friend of a friend" who had w.a.n.gled an invitation for the event.

She turned to him now and asked, "I'm sorry. What did you say?"

He shrugged and lifted his champagne gla.s.s to his lips.

"Pilar Hunter and Robert Kendall are the last two people I'd expect to see at an event honoring Ethan Hunter."

"Do you know them?" Grace tried to act no more than mildly curious.

"Only by reputation," the man said.

"And rumor."

"Rumor?"

"Bob Kendall used to be Ethan's business partner. The two of them started a practice right after completing their residency. After a while, Ethan became somewhat of a celebrity. He started believing his own press and decided he no longer needed a partner. Most of the a.s.sets were in his name, and he had the hot reputation. Kendall had been content to work in the background and let Ethan have all the glory, but when Kendall was forced to go it alone, he discovered that most of his patients weren't willing to follow him. He was all but ruined. It's taken him a long time to even come close to where he was before."

Grace listened to the story with interest.

"So what is Dr. Kendall's connection with Pilar?"

The man beside her smiled knowingly.

"I suspect she's become his consolation prize. And not a bad one at that, I must say."

from his place on the dais, Ethan examined the crowd, wondering how many of his enemies had bothered to show up tonight. Or should he say, Ethan Hunter's enemies?

What would the people in the audience say if he stood up suddenly and proclaimed that he wasn't who they thought he was? That he, in fact, had no idea who he was.

But even if he really was Ethan Hunter, he was still a fraud. A doctor who used the cover of his good deeds in order to take blood money from criminals.

A man willing to risk everything for the sake of greed.

Ethan let his gaze move to Grace. She sat near the back of the room, but he could see her face in the candlelight. She was talking with the man seated to her right, and for a moment, Ethan felt a terrible envy well up inside him. He wanted to be the man near her. He wanted to be the one draping his arm across the back of her chair so that he could lean toward her and talk to her in low tones that no one else could hear.

He wanted to whisper things to her that he'd never told anyone else.

But how could he be sure he hadn't? How could he know how many women had come before her? How many he'd claimed to love?

Ethan stared at her, letting a dozen different emotions wash over him.

He told himself he had no right to feel that way about her, because if he was Ethan Hunter, he didn't want to drag her down with him. And if he was someone else. someone who had been pursued through the jungle by the Mexican authorities. He stopped himself, not wanting to dwell on the mysteries hidden somewhere in his mind. Not wanting to consider how, if he wasn't Ethan Hunter, he had come to have the man's face.

But whoever the h.e.l.l he was. Grace Donovan should remain off limits, he thought gloomily, even though he knew she was no innocent in all this.

Earlier, when he'd left her to take his place on the dais, he'd turned to see her talking to a woman in a black evening gown. The conversation had been brief and by all appearances casual, two women b.u.mping into each other and then lingering for a moment to make small talk, to perhaps compliment one another on their gowns.

But Ethan had sensed something else was going on. An uneasiness had come over him as he stood watching them. Then the older one had looked up and caught his eye. She'd smiled briefly, as if acknowledging his interest, before saying something to Grace. The two women parted, and Grace hadn't looked back as she'd walked across the room to find her table. But Ethan was almost certain the dark-haired woman had said something to Grace about him, and that she'd known he was watching her.

Now, as she sat talking to the man beside her, she seemed just as determined to avoid Ethan's stare. He watched her for a long time, all through dinner and afterward, until, with something of a start, he heard his name being called. He looked up to find that a man had taken the podium. He introduced himself as Dr. Frank Melburne, then proceeded to introduce to the audience everyone else on the dais.

The names were a jumble to Ethan. He didn't bother to memorize them as he surveyed the crowded room, searching for the face of a killer.

Melburne spoke for several minutes, elaborating on the need for a new children's wing at St. Mary's, and how Ethan's work with underprivileged children, both here and in Mexico, should be an inspiration to all of them.

He held up the framed citation that was being presented to Ethan, then concluded by saying, "And now I'd like to present the man of the hour. Dr. Ethan Hunter. Ethan?"

Ethan got up and walked to the microphone. He had antic.i.p.ated being asked to say something tonight, but he hadn't prepared a speech. What the h.e.l.l was he supposed to say? He didn't remember any of his deeds, good or bad. He didn't even know who he was--only that he was a man hunted by a killer.

Ethan stood at the podium, gazing out at the audience. Here I am, Reardon, he thought. Where the h.e.l.l are you?

"I'm very honored to be here tonight," he finally said, his gaze lingering for one split second on Grace. "But what if I were to tell all of you that I'm not the man you think I am?"

what is he doing? Grace wondered uneasily. She watched Ethan from a distance, realizing that if Rear- don were going to make a move tonight, it would be now. Ethan was an open target, and Reardon would relish an audience. She tensed, her gaze darting around the room as she fingered the gold clasp of her evening bag.

From the podium, Ethan said, "I'm not the man you think I am because I don't deserve this award. I'm sure there are any number of my colleagues here tonight who are much more deserving than I."

"What a surprise," the man beside Grace muttered. "Humility is not something one expects from Ethan Hunter."

Grace ignored the comment, focusing her attention on the room instead, watching for any sudden move, for anyone who looked the least bit suspect. A rustle near the center of the room drew her attention, but for a moment, she couldn't tell what was going on.

Then Pilar, her red dress glowing like a beacon, stood and lifted her champagne gla.s.s toward the dais.

"False modesty doesn't become you, Ethan." Her clear, lyrical voice rang out over the ballroom.

"Why don't you say what you really think about all these people? What you've told me dozens of times in the past? There's not a man or woman in this room " she swung her gla.s.s around, sloshing champagne over the rim " who can touch your skill as a surgeon. What do you call all of them? Oh, yes. Meat cutters. But you ... you're different, aren't you, Ethan? A genius who can change a mortal woman into a G.o.ddess. I'm proof of that, aren't I?"

She stood in the center of the room, spreading her arms as if inviting the whole world to look upon her beauty, to worship it. She didn't appear to be carrying a weapon, but Grace slipped open her purse, her hand closing around the SIG-Sauer pistol.

Pilar slowly lowered her arms.

"But what do you do once you've created perfection? What is left then but to... destroy it?"

The room grew almost unbearably silent as everyone stared at Pilar.

Grace found she couldn't tear her own gaze away. Something about the woman seemed almost. pathetic.

Out of the corner of Grace's eye, she could see Ethan still at the podium.

He made no move to leave the dais or to silence hi s.e.x-wife.

Like everyone else, his attention seemed to be riveted on her.

A man wearing a dark suit and an ear piece that immediately identified him as one of Myra's agents moved in toward Pilar. Before he could reached her, Bob Kendall jumped up and grabbed her arm. For a moment, the two of them almost scuffled, and then he said something to her that no one else could hear.

Pilar resisted, then seemed to melt into Kendall. He put his arm around her and led her from the room.

Grace remained standing, adrenaline pumping through her veins. She combed the room, and saw Myra at the back near one of the colonnaded entrances, talking to Joe Huddleston, an agent Grace had known since Quantico.

Huddleston turned and followed Pilar and Kendall out of the room. The agent who had been heading toward Pilar quietly faded into the background.

The room erupted into a cacophony of coughs and excited murmurs.

Ethan remained at the podium. After a moment, he said, "Now that my fan club has left, we can get back to the business at hand."

Everyone remained stunned. Then there was a smattering of nervous laughter that took a few seconds to build. When everyone grew quiet again, the tension seemed to be somewhat relieved, and Ethan said with a shrug, "No matter what I say now, it's going to be anticlimactic, so let me just conclude by telling you how grateful--and how unworthy--I am to be receiving this honor."

Dr. Melburne, who had been standing behind Ethan on the dais, took his cue.

He stepped forward, handing the citation to Ethan and shaking his hand before quickly retreating into the background, as if not wanting to diminish the honoree's glory.

Ethan turned to say something to Melburne, then bent to retrieve a paper he'd knocked from the podium. For an instant, Melburne stood framed in the spotlight, his expression one of shock as his hand went to his chest.

When he brought his hand away, Grace could see his fingers were dripping with blood. A crimson bloom spread across the front of his shirt as he fell backward onto the stage.

Chapter Ten.

When he saw Dr. Melburne fall, Ethan automatically went into a crouch as he whipped the gun from underneath his jacket. As the ballroom exploded in pandemonium, Ethan's gaze probed the room, trying to locate Grace, but it was impossible. People were screaming and mauling each other to get to the exits.

Gun still drawn, Ethan knelt beside Melburne and spread open the man's jacket. The entire front of his shirt was red, and blood gurgled from his mouth. Ethan glanced up at the row of stunned doctors on the dais. They seemed incapable of moving.

"Someone help this man," Ethan shouted. "Hurry!"

The command spurred them into action. Two of the doctors crawled along the dais to where Melburne lay and began working on him. Ethan saw one of the others barking orders into a cell phone, presumably calling 911.

Taking one last look at the fallen man, Ethan jumped from the dais into the mob scene on the main floor of the ballroom. He still couldn't see Grace, but he knew he had to find her before Reardon did. She could be in every bit as much danger as Ethan.

the moment grace saw the blood on Melburne's fingers, she drew her weapon.

A woman at the table screamed while the man who sat next to Grace gazed at her in shock.

"What the h.e.l.l" -- "I'm a federal agent," Grace said.

"All of you get down and stay down."

Whether they believed her or not, they didn't hesitate to follow her orders.

They all hit the floor, scrambling for a position beneath the table.

Grace glanced around. The room was in chaos as men and women either tried to flee or were scuttling beneath the tables. She couldn't locate Myra, Huddles- ton or any of the other agents. Turning back to the dais, she saw Ethan leap to the floor and then plunge into the terrified throng.

What the h.e.l.l was he doing? He should be trying to find cover. That bullet had been meant for him. If he hadn't bent to retrieve the paper-Grace shuddered. Weapon at her side, she started through the crowd toward the dais. The majority of the exodus was taking place at the back, where the colonnaded exits were located. Grace made her way to one side, hugging the wall as she tried to catch another glimpse of Ethan. If he'd been hit. If she had let him get hit. To Grace's right, a closed door was skillfully hidden between two of the mirrors. Until she was almost upon it, the door looked like one of the intricately carved wall panels. Cautiously, Grace opened the panel and glanced down a long corridor. It appeared to be some sort of service hall with swinging doors that led to the kitchen and work areas.

Near one end of the corridor, a man in a white waiter's uniform cowered in a corner, his hands still clutching a circular tray of dirty dishes.

Grace started toward him.

"I'm a federal agent," she said.

"Don't move."

The man's.e.xpression was one of shock. He muttered something she couldn't understand. As Grace neared him, she saw that he was a middle-aged His- panic with a swarthy complexion and dark, piercing eyes. A thin, black mustache traced the line of his upper lip, and a tiny gold hoop glinted from his left earlobe.

His eyes were wide with fright, and his hands trembled so badly, the crystal and cutlery made a jingling sound on the tray.

"Don't shoot, por favor." His tone was pleading, his voice heavily accented as he stared at the gun in Grace's hand.

She took another step toward him.

"Just stay calm," she advised.

"^Habia us ted ingles?"

' "Si. Un poquito."

' "Are you alone here? Have you seen anyone else in this hallway?"

His dark eyes lifted to hers. He nodded.

"Where? ^Donde?"

He pointed down the hallway behind her. Grace glanced over her shoulder.

She sensed more than saw the man move toward her. She whirled back around, but as she did so, he slammed the tray into her stomach as hard as he could.

The breath flew from her lungs, and Grace stumbled backward, falling against the wall and sliding to the floor. The man took off running toward the end of the hallway. He looked back only once before disappearing around a corner, but in that split second.

Grace could have sworn she saw recognition flash across his features.

"Stop!" she commanded, but her gun had slipped out of her hand when she fell. She scrambled toward it, but the man was gone.

Fighting for breath. Grace pulled herself up from the floor and started after him. The adrenaline rushing through her veins was almost like a drug high. Her head spun dizzily, but she didn't hesitate.

Why had he run from her?

The most logical explanation was that he was an illegal alien who didn't want to be deported, but as Grace rounded the corner where she had last seen him, another thought came to her.

If he was nothing more than an illegal alien, why had she glimpsed a look of recognition on his face?

by this time, hotel security had descended on the uproar in the ballroom.

HPD would be close behind, and Ethan decided it probably wasn't a good idea to be seen with a loaded gun. He slipped the weapon beneath his jacket, into the waistband of his pants, as he hunted through the crowd. Where the h.e.l.l was Grace?