Out of Character (25 page)

“Ryan said no one thought your enemies would show up in Keystone. That the government had taken precautions against another leak and your enemies weren’t skiers, so they wouldn’t coincidentally decide to vacation there.”

Paul raked his sweaty hair with his fingers, raising black spikes. “We didn’t know who leaked my identity in D.C., so how could anyone be sure there wouldn’t be another leak? And it’s not like Jack and Martin had a choice. I told them if they didn’t let me go, I’d refuse to testify.”

“They knew you wouldn’t go through with your threat.”

She’d clearly guessed right, because he shrugged. “Probably. That I even made the threat proved that isolation was driving me crazy, though.”

“If they’d anticipated any possible danger, they wouldn’t have jeopardized your life and their case no matter what your mental state.”

“I still shouldn’t have ignored even the remote chance I’d be endangering you.” Paul combed his fingers though his hair again. “No matter what the government pretends to think, I know damn well you were targeted because you were seen with me.”

Jillian pushed herself up so she met his eyes. “The chance that would happen was too remote to worry about.” She smoothed his spiky hair. “To my mind, the only people to blame for what happened are the bastards who killed Kristen and are trying to kill me. I don’t blame you for any of it.”

Which was true. She didn’t blame Paul now that she knew he hadn’t been careless or using her in Keystone. He’d wanted to be with her, just as she’d wanted to be with him, and he’d thought it was safe. How could she fault him for that?

“That’s much more than I deserve.” Paul sounded unconvinced. “No matter who’s to blame for the past, we need to deal with the future. I’ll never be able to stay away from you now, but I can’t guarantee it won’t interfere with my ability to keep you safe. If you’d rather go somewhere else, I’ll understand. Somewhere other than Denver.”

She’d let the Denver comment slide; she felt too good to get into that now. “I want to stay here. You’ve already saved my life at least once, and I don’t think you’ll let anything stop you from doing it again, if necessary. Besides, I can’t think of anyplace I’ll be safer than in your bed.”

He studied her face intently then kissed her hard. When she looked at him again, the bleakness had disappeared, although the triggering guilt likely still lurked nearby. “Speaking of my bed, I think we should head back to the house,” he said.

Jillian looked around the stark room, smelling of gunpowder and steamy sex, and smiled slowly. “I’m starting to develop an appreciation for this place. At least when I don’t have to pick up a gun.”

“About that,” Paul said. “I wouldn’t make you learn how to use it if I didn’t think it was important.”

“I know. It’s just that I hate guns and shooting.” She slid her hand down his body and closed it over him, then stroked his length. “Unless you’re speaking metaphorically.”

He shuddered, hardening as she continued massaging him. “I’ve always been a big fan of metaphors.”

* * * *

The next morning, Jillian stared at the brewing coffeemaker, willing it to hurry. She was in dire need of caffeine after last night, a night she’d never forget and not only because of the incredible sex. But because she’d gotten to know the real Paul Devlin, and she’d discovered she liked him even better than Mark Jefferson.

Surprising, since an accountant was more her style than someone who made his living the way Paul did, something he’d insisted on telling her about in as much detail as permissible. He’d expected his disclosures to shock her, and to some extent, they had. He’d spent his professional life doing things she could barely comprehend, things that made her Denver proposal look like a Sunday afternoon stroll through Chicago’s Lincoln Park. He’d killed people and not only in self-defense. Yet she was convinced that despite Paul’s chosen profession, he was a truly decent man, dedicated to using his unique talents to help society.

He was also upfront that he’d never give up his profession again. He’d confirmed what Ryan had told her, that he’d done it when he got married and ended up making both himself and his wife miserable. That meant Jillian had to control her feelings for him. Falling in love with Paul Devlin would only lead to heartbreak. After everything she’d been through recently, a broken heart just might shatter her completely.

So when Paul got back from the office, she was resuming her Denver campaign. Tempting as it was to prolong their time together here, she had a life apart from Paul. She needed to get back to living it.

As she waited for the coffee pot to finish, she flipped through a pile of pictures on the desk in the corner of the kitchen, a few glossies, but mostly newspaper photos. She remembered seeing some of them in Keystone.

She stopped at a newspaper photo she hadn’t seen before. The caption identified it as being from the Miami Children’s Cancer Fund gala, one of those fund-raisers most health care workers who care for the sick kids can’t afford to attend. The half dozen men in the picture were all middle-aged and tuxedoed. The two women were young and gorgeous, with long, wavy hair, and killer bodies encased in barely-there dresses. The type who, if life were fair, wouldn’t also be brain surgeon material.

One of the men looked vaguely familiar, although she was positive she didn’t know him. Then she realized why. He looked like the guy she’d spilled coffee on at the gas station she and Kirsten had stopped at on the way to Keystone.

Jillian’s stop at the station had been part of her plot to delay getting to Keystone until too late for the group skiing lesson she’d promised Kristen she’d take the first day. She hadn’t promised to take a lesson the second day, so hopefully that would save her from having to ski at all. An inflatable penguin wearing a hat embellished with an American flag held a red, white, and blue banner announcing gasoline prices. As another delaying tactic, she’d been meticulously adjusting the rearview mirror, determined to perfectly center it on the penguin before she took off.

“Quit fiddling with the mirror and start the car,” Kristen ordered.

Jillian shifted her seat forward a notch, decapitating the poor penguin. She reached up to readjust the mirror.

“Now!”

One glance at Kristen convinced Jillian to move her hand from the mirror to the ignition key and start her Camry.

“Finally,” Kristen muttered. “I knew I shouldn’t have let you drive.”

“Your transmission went out. You didn’t have a choice.”

“I should have rented a car. You don’t even have a ski rack.” Kristen elbowed back a ski tip that had inched between the front seats then crossed her arms, her scarlet turtleneck adding emphasis to the action. “We agreed to get an early start, but twenty minutes after we left Denver, you decided you were starving. For the first time in your life, you refused to eat fast food.”

“I was in the mood for a hearty breakfast.” Jillian tilted the rearview mirror until the penguin’s cheery face reappeared. Of course, he was cheery. He was staying here.

“So next time, get two Egg McMuffins.” The chill in Kristen’s voice rivaled the outside temperature. “Less than half an hour later, you need a bathroom break so we had to stop here. You feel guilty just using their restroom, so you buy something first and spend ten minutes listening to the clerk’s life story.”

“It wasn’t ten minutes, and she needed to talk. You wouldn’t believe her husband—”

“And what did you buy?” Kristen threw up her hands, her nails red flashes precisely matching her sweater. “A gigantic cup of coffee, which I’m sure you’ll gulp down and use as an excuse to stop at the next rest area. Since I didn’t fall for your claim that tripping and spilling coffee on someone is a sign this vacation is cursed, and you should go home immediately.”

“If I can’t even walk without tripping, how can I possibly ski?” An admittedly weak argument.

As Kristen’s snort indicated. “Drive.”

Resigned, Jillian shifted into drive gear, checked for traffic, and then shifted back into park. “That’s the man I spilled coffee on.” She pointed past Kristen at a handsome gray-haired man walking toward a black mini-van.

“Is he going to sue you?”

Trust a lawyer to focus on that. “Of course not. It wasn’t
that
much coffee.”

“Then there’s no reason to discuss this further. I refuse to waste another second sitting here. Move it, or I’ll stick you in the trunk and drive myself.”

Jillian made a last desperate look around, but inspiration was clearly hibernating. With a loud sigh, she shifted into drive and eased away from the gas station.

“You’d think you were on your way to spend a week digging ditches in Siberia.” Kristen flipped on the radio as Jillian accelerated down the freeway entrance ramp. “It’s skiing. It’ll be fun.”

It definitely hadn’t turned out to be fun.

Tears overflowed Jillian’s eyes and made tracks down her cheeks. She pulled a Kleenex from the box on the counter and blotted them away. Why had she ever agreed to go on that vacation? If she hadn’t, Kristen would still be alive.

Jillian walked over to the kitchen window and stared at the blurred yellow, white, and coral flowers outside. She’d been so lucky to have Kristen assigned as her freshman roommate in college, to have had her in her life as long as she had. Kristen had been so enthusiastic, friendly, and charming that people couldn’t help but like her. But she’d been a lot more than that, smart, caring, loyal, supportive, the best friend anyone could have. Now she was dead.

She’d cried a lot when Kristen had died, though she hadn’t thought about her much since she’d been hauled away from Denver. She’d been too preoccupied by other things. But God, she missed her.

Jillian closed her eyes, pressing her fingers against the lids to keep the tears in and taking deep breaths to regain her composure. She wasn’t going to mourn Kristen now, not when Paul would be back any minute. He felt so guilty about Kristen’s death that any reminder would cast a pall over their limited time together.

She needed coffee pronto. Jillian removed the half-filled pot and stuck her cup on the burner to catch the coffee stream, while simultaneously angling the pot and pouring coffee into the cup. Then she returned the pot to the burner and took a new Kleenex and her cup into the living room. Hopefully she’d find something there to distract herself from memories that still hadn’t become comforting.

* * * *

When Paul returned, Jillian was sitting on the gold velvet sofa, trying to read a four-year-old issue of
Time
. Thanks to three cups of coffee, she had herself under control.

“We need to talk.” No sense putting this off. “About my going to Denver.”

“You’re still eager to get away from me?” He sat down beside her.

“I told you that isn’t why I want to do it. It’s because I need to go on with my life.”

“Even with guards, there’s a real possibility you’ll be killed. That’s why the government rarely uses civilians, no matter what you’ve seen on TV.”

Between her fear and her desire to stay with him, Jillian was tempted to agree, but she steeled herself. “I’ve considered the danger. I need to do this.”

Paul sipped his coffee then set his cup on a marble coaster on the ornately carved coffee table. “Can we drop this discussion until tomorrow? I’d like to enjoy today.” He grinned. “I promise I’ll show you some things Ryan didn’t have a chance to.”

Jillian felt like enjoying today, too. It wasn’t as if Paul were on the verge of changing his mind. “Things around the island?”

“Eventually.” Paul pulled her to her feet. “First we’ll start with the house.” He directed her to the stairs, his lips at her ear. “There are a couple especially nice bedrooms you haven’t seen yet.”

* * * *

Fourteen hours later, Ryan paced along the beach, his eyes on the path the waning moon illuminated across the dark water, his cell phone at his ear. “Don’t worry. Everything’s under control. Paul thinks I left the island on government business.” He nudged a stone lodged in the sand with the toe of his running shoe.

“We can’t afford any screw-ups,” the man on the other end said.

“There won’t be any on my end.” Ryan loosened the stone and kicked it toward the ocean. It hit the moonlit water with a satisfying splash. “To be honest, I’m looking forward to an accelerated timeframe. My current accommodations suck.”

“Not a big fan of caves?”

“Or military rations? Not hardly. First thing I’m doing when this is over is checking into a five-star hotel with a commensurate restaurant and wine cellar.”

“Thanks to me, you’ll be able to afford it.”

“True. Now I’m going to my uncomfortable bed.”

Ryan switched off the phone and slipped it back into his pocket. Actually, he deserved another glass of wine before he went to bed, and he’d rather drink it out here than in that damn cave. He sat down on a boulder and refilled his plastic cup. He took a sip then swirled the Bordeaux around his mouth before he swallowed. Superb. Stealing a couple bottles yesterday had been risky, but he’d known the house was empty since he’d seen Paul taking Jillian to the shooting range. Obviously, Paul was teaching Jillian to shoot. From her body language, she wasn’t an enthusiastic student.

Jillian.
Ryan lowered his glass to his thigh. He should keep his personal feelings out of this, but it was hard because he genuinely liked her. All she’d done was fall for Paul’s line in Keystone, which put her on par with nearly every woman Paul had thrown it at. She didn’t deserve what she’d gone through already, what she’d go through before this was over.

She’d never make it to Denver. Things here would explode before she’d be able to leave, even if she did somehow convince Paul. Jillian could end up dead, which was too damn bad. Because he really did like her.

Ryan picked up his cup and drained it.

Jillian bolted up in bed. “It was the same man.”

Paul sat up beside her and wrapped an arm around her bare shoulders. “Are you having a nightmare?”

She shook her head, her cheeks heating now that she was fully awake. “I woke up remembering something, but it isn’t important.” That a man who’d attended a charitable function in Florida had also skied in Colorado was hardly unusual. “Go back to sleep.” She lay back down.