Out of Character (28 page)

By dinner, Paul had given up trying to hide his feeling. He barely ate anything and limited his conversation to monosyllabic answers to Jillian’s questions. He drank most of the bottle of Burgundy he’d brought up from the wine cellar.

After dinner, Jillian convinced him to take her bed, where she concentrated on making him forget Ryan for a little while. It worked—between her efforts and Paul’s emotional state, he made love to her with an intensity that overwhelmed her. His body was dripping sweat when he finally collapsed on top of her.

Then she ruined everything by blurting out that she loved him.

Jillian clamped her lips together an instant too late. So much for her plan to keep her feelings under control. But she’d deal with her own feelings later. Now her concern was for Paul, who at her words had gone rigid as a day-old corpse. As every ER doctor knows, first you stop the bleeding, which, in this case, was the spurt of guilt her confession had no doubt triggered in him. “Forget I said that. I know you don’t feel the same way, and that’s okay. I don’t expect it. I’m—”

He pressed his fingers over her lips. “We’ve had a rather unique relationship,” he said quietly. “One that makes it easy to confuse feelings.”

“Confuse feelings?”

“To mistake gratitude or dependence for something else.”

Jillian shoved him off her and rolled up on one elbow beside him. “You think I’m so naïve I can’t tell the difference between dependence and love? Or weak-willed enough to have succumbed to some hostage-captor scenario?”

“I don’t want you to say something you’ll regret later, when this is all over.” Paul stroked her hair in a gesture no doubt intended to be soothing.

It wasn’t. She shoved his hand away. “I’m perfectly aware things between us will end the instant we get off the island, and that’s fine with me. I like to keep my life under control. Having a relationship with someone who disappears for months would drive me crazy.”

“I wish I were different and could quit doing what I do,” Paul said. “I don’t even know why I need it. Not for the excitement or adventure, at least not anymore.”

He propped himself up so his face was level with hers. “Ryan claims it’s my way of atoning for being born so damn rich. Maybe he’s right. I thought I could give it up when I got married, but I was wrong. To be honest, being married also made me realize that I can’t truly love anyone. I think the same thing that lets me shut down my feelings and do some of the horrible shit my work requires also destroyed my ability to love.” His tone was resigned and more than a little sad.

He stroked her hair again. “I can’t give you what you deserve. Even though I care about you and don’t want to hurt you.”

“For God’s sake, you aren’t going to hurt me.” But she said it mildly; his unmistakable concern had diffused her temper.

He looked skeptical.

“Okay, maybe I’ll hurt a little,” she said. “I’ll survive. I’m tough.”

“I’ve noticed.”

“Now I’m through talking about this.” She reached out a finger and traced random patterns in his dark chest hairs. “What I’d like to do is practice my shooting.” She trailed her finger down his torso, stopping low on his abdomen. “Literally or metaphorically. Your choice.”

His lips curved into a slow smile. “Like I said, I’ve always appreciated metaphors.”

* * * *

Ryan leaned against a rock and sipped his wine, savoring the rich fruit with hints of woodiness. This Burgundy was the best of the lot, only fitting since tonight he was celebrating how well everything was going. Even nature seemed to be in a celebratory mood—the half-moon and thousands of flickering stars overhead looked like a damn fireworks display.

Everything was falling into place. Paul’s discovery about the security system added another wrinkle, but he could handle it. That Paul knew he hadn’t left on an assignment was no big deal, either. Paul knew him well enough that he probably figured Jack was right, and he’d gone to meet a woman.

Ryan took another appreciative sip of wine then shook his head. Jesus, Paul was going to go ballistic when he learned who’d betrayed him. Rich people always set such stock in loyalty and old friendships, like duplicity by a friend was the eighth deadly sin or something. That was because rich people didn’t understand that money could motivate someone to do all sorts of shitty things, even to a friend. That some things weren’t personal.

Ryan’s cell phone buzzed.
Right on schedule.
Very soon, Paul would learn the truth.

Provided he lived that long.

Paul was pacing between the bedroom window and door, dressed only in his briefs, his hands clasped behind his back. Jillian had spent the past hour watching him through half-closed eyes from bed. The men who’d hauled her away from Denver a lifetime ago said his pacing wasn’t a good sign. She believed it. He was like a caged tiger, growing fiercer and tenser each time he realized his physical boundaries and had to turn around. She’d been afraid if she spoke, moved, even breathed too loudly, he’d strike in her direction.

At least he wasn’t thinking about last night’s ill-advised declaration of love. When you were dealing with betrayal by your long-time best friend, an admission like that by a short-term-lover, even one you didn’t want to hurt, barely caused a blip in your psyche.

Paul grabbed his jeans off the chair.

“Where are you going?” Jillian risked a question as he dressed.

“To call Jack.” He slipped on a black T-shirt.

“There might be another explanation.”

“Not one that fits as well. And believe me, I’ve spent hours trying to come up with anything that would justify not reporting my suspicions.”

He finished dressing in silence. “Can you make coffee? This won’t take long.”

* * * *

Paul was back in fifteen minutes and headed directly for the coffeepot. In the combined halogen and sunlight of the kitchen, his face seemed even more drawn than when he’d left, the dark circles under his eyes more pronounced.

He stood beside the counter, cradling his cup, staring into the steaming liquid. “Jack was very interested in what I had to say. Apparently he wasn’t as sanguine about Ryan’s disappearance as he pretended to be.” His voice was unnaturally expressionless, the same tone frequently adopted by family members struggling to keep their composure after Jillian informed them of a loved one’s death.

“The bureau checked into Vince Taurino’s murder. The medical examiner who handled it died in a car crash more than three years ago. The only other person who got near the body was an FBI agent from D.C., in town on another case. He was coincidentally at a police station a few blocks away when he overheard the call about Taurino. He beat the cops to the scene and claimed jurisdiction because of Taurino’s federal indictment. He kept everyone except the medical examiner at bay and helped the medical examiner haul the body away. The agent’s report positively identified the victim as Vince Taurino and confirmed the medical examiner’s finding that he was dead.”

Paul set his cup on the counter and finally looked at Jillian. “Guess who the agent was? Jack pretended Justice was delaying sending him the files, but when he found out why I’d called, he decided he might as well tell me. It was Ryan.”

Speechless, Jillian went behind Paul and wrapped her arms around him.

He stood stiffly in her embrace. “They’re moving us. We’ll be gone before the fence was set to shut down tomorrow. I didn’t want to leave here, but now with Ryan…” He swallowed hard. “We’re going this afternoon.”

Jillian’s stomach clenched. “Are they separating us?”

He moved out of her arms and turned to face her. “No. Absolutely not.”

“Thank you.” Since Jack, no doubt, had wanted to do just that.

He kissed her hair. “Let’s go swimming.”

“Swimming?”

“It should be safe since no one tried to enter the compound this morning.” He grimaced. “Of course, I thought we were safe in Keystone, and look what happened. But I need a swim. If you don’t want to risk it, I’ll understand.”

No matter what the risk, Jillian wasn’t letting him go alone. “I’ll change into my suit.”

* * * *

Paul and Jillian made their way to the spectacular beach she and Ryan had enjoyed only a few days before. The ocean sparkled, calm and deserted except for an occasional swooping bird and the emerald silhouettes of a couple neighboring islands. Paul removed a pair of binoculars from his bag and scanned the horizon, then took out a blanket and spread it on the sand.

He stripped off his T-shirt and shoes. “Do you want to come swimming with me?” He’d shaved before they’d left the house, and without the dark stubble, his face looked pinched and pale in the bright sunlight.

Jillian stretched out on the blanket. “I’m too lazy to do anything that strenuous, especially if you’re serious about going hiking later.” He’d told her to bring her clothes along, obviously wanting to avoid the house and office. “I’ll enjoy the sun while you exercise.”

Paul pulled a revolver from his bag and set it on the blanket, beside the binoculars. “This is the one you used for target practice. I brought it to be safe, but I wouldn’t leave you if I thought you’d need it.”

“I know.” She moved the gun to within easy reach. She wasn’t sure she could aim at a live target, let alone shoot anyone. But the lessons Paul had insisted she continue had desensitized her enough that she could touch it without flinching.

Paul raced across the sand and into the surf then dove in. He paddled out about a hundred yards then swam back and forth between two rocks that jutted from beneath the turquoise water. Another form of pacing, no doubt—one that made him an easy target.

Jillian reached for the gun.

* * * *

Almost an hour passed before Paul made his way to shore, providing any sniper an even easier target than when he’d been swimming. Jillian raised the gun she’d kept hold of during his swim, her finger now on the trigger, until Paul collapsed beside her on the blanket. He leaned over his bent knees, puffing, his red face a definite improvement over his earlier harsh pallor.

When he straightened, his face was barely flushed, and his breathing sounded as if he’d finished an easy jog. “Nothing like giving your opponents an easy target. That was really stupid of me.”

“At least now we’re sure no one’s here,” Jillian said.

“I assume so.” Despite his words, Paul pulled out his gun. “I wish we’d been able to go sailing, but I didn’t dare take out the boat.” He wrapped an arm around her shoulder then brushed her hair with his lips. “When this is over, we’ll rent a boat somewhere and spend a couple weeks on the water.”

“I thought you’d be anxious to get back to work,” Jillian said.

He wove his fingers through her loose hair. “Not until we’ve gone sailing. Unless you don’t want to go.”

“I’d love to. If I have any vacation time left after this.”

“Your bosses certainly shouldn’t count this as vacation time,” Paul said. “If they do, I’ll take care of it, offer to pay the other doctors double if they’ll cover for you and maybe make a contribution to the hospital.”

“You are not buying me time off.”

Paul gripped her shoulders and pushed her back onto the blanket then leaned over her, his face inches from hers. “I wouldn’t be doing it for you. I’d be doing it for me.” He lowered his lips to hers in a deep kiss that stole her breath. “So figure out a way to handle it, because when this is over, I’m taking you sailing off the coast of Italy.” He sat up and reached for his bag. “Do you want a water?”

They could argue the money part when this was over, assuming he even remembered his proposition. Jillian took the bottle he offered her.

After gulping down nearly half his water, Paul picked up the binoculars and surveyed the empty ocean.

He froze.

“What is it?”

“I thought I saw the light reflect off something, to the left of that island. I can’t see it now, though. It must have been a mirage.” He continued looking through the binoculars.

Jillian could barely make out the outline of the island, and the surrounding water looked peaceful and empty.

“Damn. I was right. A boat’s out there and it’s heading our way.” Paul handed her the binoculars. “I can’t believe they’d risk coming now.”

Jillian looked through the binoculars. “Maybe it’s whoever’s moving us?”

Paul grabbed his cell phone. “They’d never come this close without warning us. It’s possible it’s someone innocent, but we’d better assume it isn’t.” He took the binoculars from Jillian and looked through them as he spoke into the phone. “A couple miles out, I’d say. Uh-huh.”

He set down the phone and binoculars. “Get dressed.”

His eyes never left the horizon as he changed from his wet swim trunks into jeans and a T-shirt. Jillian dressed as quickly as possible, a task complicated by hands shaking like a detox patient’s.

Then she heard it. A dull whirr overhead.

Paul grabbed his phone just as it buzzed.

“I see it. We’re heading to the house.”

“What’s happening?” Jillian felt chilly despite the morning’s warmth. The whirr was louder.

“There’s a plane up there, presumably to create a diversion while the boat comes ashore.”

“A diversion?” Jillian started folding the blanket.

“Like dropping a bomb.” Paul stuck Jillian’s gun in the bag, then zipped it shut and slipped the strap over his left shoulder. He held his gun in his right hand. “Leave everything else.” He grabbed Jillian’s arm and pulled her toward the trees. Once there, Paul separated the trees to expose a rough path. “Follow me.”

Jillian stumbled repeatedly over plants, roots, and rocks as she struggled to keep up with Paul’s half-jog. “Why do they have to come ashore? Won’t the bomb destroy the house and office?”

“Bombs can miss. The plane won’t dare get too close since they don’t know what we’ve got to shoot back at them.”

“Do we have anything?”

He gave her a grim smile over his shoulder. “Harry’s specialty. This way.”

“Isn’t the house the other direction?”

“We’re heading to a cave. You can’t tell it’s there unless you know about it.”