Out of Character (13 page)

Before she closed the door, Paul stepped through it and grabbed her arms. “Damn it, I said I didn’t lie.”

She just looked at him.

“You know what else wasn’t a lie?” He shoved her against the bedroom wall and held her there with his body. Then his mouth was on hers.

Paul’s lips were hard and punishing, as angry as his tone had been. Despite that, heat pooled in Jillian’s stomach, between her legs. But she refused to respond. She stood ramrod straight, pressing her lips together.

After a moment, his kiss gentled. He stroked her lips with his tongue. She clenched her teeth to keep her mouth shut.

He pulled her slightly away from the wall and wrapped his arms around her, crushing her breasts against his chest as he continued kissing her. Electricity sparked through her, and her whole body trembled. She couldn’t do this, couldn’t keep fighting the heat he triggered inside her. She circled her arms around his neck, parted her lips, and kissed him back.

Paul shoved her against the wall so hard there wasn’t room for anything but body heat between them. He slipped both hands under the elastic of her panties, cupped her buttocks, and lifted her so her softness cradled his erection. Jillian’s heart hammered in her chest, throbbed in her ears and her sex. His lips left hers and skimmed down her throat then over her T-shirt until he reached one breast. His mouth closed over a nipple, his hot breath making it pearl beneath her shirt. He licked the soft cotton until her nipple felt wet, then sucked hard as he squeezed her buttocks. Jillian shuddered and rocked frantically against him.

Paul released her and took a step back.

Jillian opened her eyes, leaning against the wall for support, her breath coming in gasps.

Paul ran a finger down her burning cheek, across her swollen lips. “That part wasn’t a lie, and apparently it wasn’t for you, either.” His voice and breathing were completely normal. “Unfortunately I’m working, so I don’t have time for pleasant diversions.” His lip curled derisively. “Although I appreciate the offer.”

“Go to hell.”

Paul met Jillian’s eyes, his own as cold and remote as the Arctic Ocean. “Been there, done that. Sleep well, Jillian.”

He shut the door. And locked it.

She hated him.
Jillian awoke with the same thought that after several restless hours had finally lulled her into a fitful sleep. She hated Paul Devlin.

Deep down, she’d harbored the hope she’d been more than a sex partner and that his feelings had made him disregard any possible danger to her. After last night, she couldn’t fool herself. He’d never felt anything for her besides lust, which he’d satisfied without any concern he might be endangering her. After last night, he also knew she still wanted him. He had the power to destroy her last shreds of self-respect, even if he didn’t intend to harm her physically.

Which wasn’t at all certain. Because during the long night, Jillian had realized Paul’s story had quite a few holes, holes she’d been willing to overlook because he asked logical questions and had official-looking mug shots and because Sam seemed nice and had talked about a family he could have invented. Too many things didn’t make sense.

For one thing, it was hard to believe the government would haul an innocent citizen away at gunpoint and hold her against her will. Lawsuit concerns would stop them, even if the Bill of Rights didn’t. For another, the men who’d brought her here certainly hadn’t treated her like a guest of Uncle Sam or seemed like government agents. They’d acted and sounded like very bad guys, and from what they’d said about Paul, he fell into the same category. All she had was Paul’s word they were all with the government, and she knew what his word was worth.

Paul also claimed the government was entitled to hold her because of their need to protect him. If the government was so concerned about his safety, what had he been doing skiing in Colorado?

Had she really been targeted at all? The Keystone police had labeled her car explosion an accident, and the bus incident might have been an over-anxious commuter. Anyone trying to kill her had passed up all sorts of opportunities, when she was alone in her apartment, on her way to work or running or shopping, even at Kristen’s funeral. The only indisputable attack on her had occurred when Paul’s associates kidnapped her.

The more she thought about it, the less she believed Paul worked for the government. More likely, he was a criminal intending to use her as a hostage or to influence Andy or for some other evil purpose, one that would end up with her dead. She needed to get the heck out of here.

Running away was out of the question. She was outnumbered and out-armed, and in this frigid weather, she wouldn’t last long wandering in the mountains. Last night when she’d been putting away a platter, she’d opened the wrong drawer. Instead of more platters, this one had contained a black phone. An unused phone jack was on the wall above the counter, to the left of the drawer. Paul wouldn’t have bothered hiding the phone from her if it didn’t work, would he?

Her best bet was to contact Andy. He had the resources to find and protect her. If she acted cooperative, maybe Paul wouldn’t watch her as closely as he had yesterday. Then she’d seize the first opportunity to call Andy and give him enough information to find her, or to at least know she was in trouble.

She’d do it today. She had a feeling her life depended on it.

Jillian dressed carefully, putting on a periwinkle sweater with her jeans, arranging her hair into a neat French braid, and applying more makeup than her usual blush and lipstick. As a final touch, she put on small gold hoop earrings. Looking halfway professional would hopefully remind her to act that way, even if Paul made some derogatory comment about last night.

Her door was unlocked again this morning, so Paul must be awake. She marched to the living room, not even stopping for a cup of coffee. Paul was at his sentry post on the sofa.

“Can you get a list of the ER patients I’ve treated in the last year or so? Their diagnoses, too, if possible.” She was pleased she sounded as if she were talking to a patient’s family doctor, rather than a man she detested.

Paul looked up from his ever-present laptop. “Why?”

“Because that might jog my memory of something relevant. A list of Andy’s cases, with brief descriptions, also might help me remember if he talked about any of them.”

Paul’s eyes narrowed. “I thought you said there’s nothing there.”

She shrugged. “There probably isn’t. I’ll try anything that might get me back to my life.”

He studied her for long seconds then nodded. “I’ll see what I can do.”

“In the meantime, I’ll review more mug shots. Right after I get some coffee.”

Jillian went into the kitchen and slumped against the counter, her entire body trembling. Now all she could do was wait—and watch for her chance.

* * * *

It came late afternoon. After looking at as many mug shots as she could stomach, Jillian brought her paperback to the living room. While she pretended to read, she sneaked peeks at Paul, who was typing furiously on his laptop. As she’d hoped, acting distant but cooperative had made him less watchful of her.

Her stomach fluttered when she recognized the opening strains of a Mahler symphony. She’d convinced Paul to turn on the radio. They got satellite, so the station didn’t clue her to where they were, but she was counting on the music to help conceal her actions. Paul had insisted on classical music, but Mahler would soon be as loud as any heavy metal group.

Jillian forced a yawn. “Excuse me.” When Paul looked up, she yawned again. “Can I make coffee?”

“I’ll do it.”

Jillian jumped to her feet. “Let me. Then I’ll be sure it isn’t drugged.”

“Fine.” Paul resumed typing.

Jillian strode to the kitchen, thankful the loud music kept Paul from hearing her hammering heart. The coffeemaker was one of those old Mr. Coffees that belched, steamed, and took a long time to brew. She filled the water, and then opened the cupboard and removed the coffee canister from the bottom shelf. She shakily measured coffee into the gold filter and switched the coffeemaker on. After noisily replacing the canister, she slammed the cupboard door at the same time as she opened the drawer and removed the phone. She plugged it into the jack then reached for the receiver.

“You got a minute?”

At the sound of Mac’s voice, she froze. She tiptoed to the doorway and saw Paul cross the living room toward the front door, and away from the kitchen, to talk to Mac.

She hurried back to the phone, the murmur of voices competing with the music. The coffeemaker fired its first shot. She lifted the receiver.

A dial tone, thank God. The coffeemaker belched louder. Mahler crescendoed. She punched Andy’s office number.

The phone rang in her ear.
Pick up, Andy.
She could leave a message on his voicemail, but it might be erased.
Please be there and pick up.

“Andrew Dawson.”

She nearly cried with relief. “It’s Jillian,” she whispered.

“Jillian. I can hardly hear you. Are you in Chicago?”

“No. I’m being held captive. By that man I met skiing. He says he’s with the government.”

“Where are you?”

“I don’t know. Somewhere in the Rockies. His name’s—”

Paul yanked the receiver out of her hand, simultaneously jerking the plug from the jack. His eyes were darker and stormier than she’d ever seen them. “That was stupid, Jillian.” His voice was ominously quiet. “Real stupid.” He grabbed her arm. “Who did you call?”

Cold fear swirled through Jillian’s chest, making it hard to breathe. She pressed her shaking lips together.

“Who?” With his scorching expression and blazing eyes, Paul looked ready to commit murder. He squeezed her forearm.

She lifted her chin. “What gives you the right to cut me off?”

“I’m trying to keep us safe.” He gripped her other arm. “I repeat, who did you call?”

“Andy. At his office.”

“How long were you on?” His hands tightened on her arms.

“Less than a minute. Why?”

“Because that isn’t a secure line, and someone could have traced the call.”

“I called a government agency.”

“There might still be a leak.”

Jillian’s stomach was tumbling, and her knees felt rubbery. She would have keeled over if Paul hadn’t been holding her arms, but she wasn’t giving him the satisfaction of knowing she was scared of him. She raised her chin another inch. “Next time I’ll call the FBI.”

“Next time you won’t call anyone.”

“Because you’re not with the government, right?”

“Because when it comes to this matter, I distrust nearly everyone.”

“But I’m expected to trust you, even though you won’t tell me anything.” Ill-advisedly, she was starting to feel defiant. And furious.

Paul shook her hard. “How could you do something so idiotic?” He closed his eyes, his breathing ragged, clearly struggling to hold onto his control.

Instead of making her more afraid, it made her madder. “You’re so full of crap, all your macho posturing about not trusting anyone. That’s probably as big a lie as everything else you’ve told me.” He’d lied nonstop since she’d met him, and she was sick of it.

He opened eyes that had gone flat and unreadable. “Go to your room.”

“I’m not some kid you can send to my room when I won’t play nice. And let go of my arms. You’re hurting me.”

He looked down at his hands then released her as if scalded. “I need to make some calls on a secure line. If you won’t go to your room yourself, I’ll carry you there and lock you in.”

“You wouldn’t dare.”

“Try me. This is one thing you can definitely trust me on.”

His grim smile raised the hairs on the back of Jillian’s neck and reminded her that this was not a nice man. She raced to her room.

* * * *

Jillian tried to ignore her growling stomach. She’d refused to leave her room even when Paul had told her he’d finished his calls, even when the delicious odor of chicken and garlic wafted under her door and Mac summoned her to dinner. Starvation was preferable to Paul’s company.

She’d need coffee tomorrow morning to stave off a caffeine headache, but with any luck, Andy would have found her by then. Before Paul had mentioned it, she’d never considered his being able to trace the call. Maybe a rescue team was already on its way.

Someone knocked on her door. She jumped to her feet.

“I brought you a tray,” Paul said.

No rescuer this time. She sank back onto the bed. “I told Mac I wasn’t hungry.”

“Eat it anyway. I promise it’s not drugged.”

“Like I’d believe anything you said.”

“I’ll take a bite of everything first. Open the door, and you can watch me.”

She bristled at his mocking tone. “You probably took an antidote.”

“Jesus, what do you think I am?”

“I know what you are.”

He was silent for so long she thought he’d left. “We had someone check Andy’s phone. He isn’t able to trace your call.”

She closed her eyes.

“We also sent Andy another e-mail. You said you were joking but didn’t have a chance to tell him before your cell phone died. You said that last Saturday you got a call from the guy you met in Keystone. He apologized for running off and told you he lied about his name because he’s married. That coming on top of everything else was the real reason you needed a break. You’re sorry if you worried him, but you’re feeling better and will be home by the end of the week.”

Jillian opened her eyes and stared at the salmon-colored ceiling. “Will I be home by the end of the week?”

“I assume not, but that should placate him for a while. We also have someone watching him. If he starts looking for you, we’ll do something to dissuade him.”

Paul’s tone was matter-of-fact, but with a sinister undercurrent that turned Jillian’s blood to ice. “What would you do to him?”

“Don’t try to call him again. Or anyone else. Enjoy your dinner, Jillian.”

Jillian sank against the headboard as Paul’s footsteps faded away. Assuming he wasn’t lying once again, Andy didn’t have a clue where she was. He probably wasn’t even looking for her. If he did figure out the e-mail was a fake and tried to find her, then what? He’d end up dead, and it would be her fault.