Lover, Stranger Part 4

A husband who cheated on his wife? A man who had gotten a woman killed tonight?

He could still feel her watching him, and he turned suddenly, capturing her gaze. She looked momentarily startled, as if she'd just seen him for the very first time. Or as if she'd glimpsed something in his battered features she hadn't expected.

Was there a redeeming quality hidden among that ma.s.s of bruised flesh?

j He wanted to think so. He fervently wanted to believe it. 'i! i "You're a very good-looking man," she said slid- denly. He almost laughed.

"In a Frankenstein sort of way." I "No, I'm serious." She glanced in the rearview mirror. Then glanced again. The light changed, and the car accelerated.

"Trust me, you're very handsome."

"I thought you said we'd never met."

He saw a brief frown flicker across her features.

"We haven't, but I've seen pictures of you. Amy showed me."

Amy. He tried to conjure an image of the dead woman, a memory of his feelings for her, but he felt nothing. Saw nothing. He studied the woman beside him. Her profile was shadowed in the subdued light from the dash, and she kept glancing in the rearview mirror, as if she expected them to be followed. He wished he knew what she was thinking, and why he couldn't bring himself to fully trust her.

There was something about her. Something about the pain in her eyes. He had no doubt that she'd experienced grief. That her sister's death had affected her deeply, but the pain seemed muted somehow, not sharp and fresh as one would expect. Amy had only been dead a few hours.

This woman seemed too in control. Too determined.

Her gaze left the road for a moment to meet his. He felt an odd stirring somewhere inside him. Suspicion? Desire? Funny how those two emotions weren't mutually exclusive of each other. Far from it. "Do you look like her?" he asked.

She turned back to the road.

"You mean Amy? Not really. She was fair like me, but blonde. And she didn't have freckles. She was thinner than me. Taller. Very beautiful."

Was that a trace of envy in her voice? Ethan said, "I.

don't even know your name, or where you're taking me. I don't even know why I should trust you. "

"Which question should I answer first?"

He paused.

"The last one, I guess, because depending on your answer, the other two might not matter anyway."

Her blue gaze touched his again. Again he felt the jolt.

"Have you ever heard the expression Honor Among Thieves? That sort of fits us, I guess. You can't go to the police without possibly incriminating yourself, and for reasons of my own, I don't want to involve the authorities, either. The only way you can protect yourself is to find Amy's killer before he finds you. And as it happens, that's the same thing I want. It makes sense that we help each other."

"Even if we don't exactly trust one another?"

She shrugged. Ethan thought her answer couldn't have been more eloquent.

After a moment, he said, "And if we do find Amy's killer. What happens then?"

She didn't hesitate.

"I bring him to justice. After that, I don't give a d.a.m.n what happens to you."

"That's cold."

"It's honest."

She braked for another light, but this time, she didn't look at him.

She stared straight ahead, her hands gripping the steering wheel.

"So," she said, "do you still want to know the answers to the first two questions?"

He almost smiled.

"Surprisingly enough, yes."

She did glance at him then. Her eyes seemed like starlight. Soft and clear. Very mysterious.

"My name is Grace Donovan. And I'm taking you home."

He lifted a brow, felt the faint pulling at his st.i.tches.

"Your home?"

"No, yours."

The light changed and the car started forward. "How do you know where I live?"

"Amy showed me once."

He paused.

"Has it occurred to you that we may not be able to get in?

I don't have keys. "

"Did you check your pockets?"

"Of course. The police have my wallet and briefcase, along with whatever luggage I brought back from Mexico."

"Let's hope they don't find anything incriminating," she said.

"At least not until we see it first."

She was blunt to the point of brutal. Ethan had to admire her guts.

"What makes you think my house will be safe?"

"Wait till you see the place. It's like a fortress." Ethan tried to picture his home. Tried to imagine himself living in a house that could be described as a fortress, but the only thing he could conjure was the smell of the jungle, the roar of the river, the adrenaline rush of danger. Somehow those things seemed more familiar to him than the estate like homes they were pa.s.sing on Memorial. After a moment, he said, "Your last name is Donovan not Cole. Are you married?"

"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 fiance."

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 gla.s.s 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 b.u.t.ton on the intercom, and after a few moments, a voice sputtered over the speaker.

"Yes?"