Out of Character (9 page)

“You’re kidding.”

Andy had tried to teach her several times, with no success. Why had Mark succeeded? Obviously because as either an accomplished criminal or a seasoned adulterer, Mark was skilled at manipulating people, at using his mesmerizing eyes to his advantage. She wasn’t going to think about that either. “It’s true. For some reason, things clicked this trip.”

“I still think Kristen had a point about your need to stay in control.” Andy faced her and rested his hand above her knee. “I always felt that even though you said you loved me, you were still holding back. A big part of Tiffany’s attraction was that she didn’t do that.”

“Don’t give me that crap. You chose Tiffany for a lot of other reasons, including that she’s younger and has much bigger boobs than I do.”

He grimaced. “And because I was an idiot. I know you don’t want to talk about it tonight, but I want to say that Tiffany was a mistake and so was leaving you.”

Jillian glanced at the gold Yale Bulldogs desk clock on the end table. “It’s nearly eleven. I’d better get to bed.”

“I’ll drive you to work tomorrow morning,” Andy said.

“I can take a cab.”

“Let me drive you. After how rotten I’ve been to you, it’s the least—”

Jillian pressed her fingers against his lips. “All we’re going to talk about tonight is how much you’ve helped me now and how much I appreciate it.” She kissed his cheek then headed for the guestroom.

“Jillian, line 2. Andy.”

Jillian carried the piece of cold pizza that would have to suffice for lunch over to the phone. She’d slept surprisingly well and woken up convinced she’d overreacted last night, that Mark had lied about his name because he was married, and everything else was either bad luck or the product of stress-induced paranoia. Andy had insisted on checking out a couple things, but he hopefully was calling to give her the all clear.

“Your friend told the Keystone police his name was Mark Jefferson and gave a New York City address and phone number,” Andy said. “The address is for a street in Upper Manhattan, but the number doesn’t exist. The phone number belongs to an Ida Franklin who lives three miles away and has never heard of him.”

“Uh-huh.” Jillian set her pizza on the counter. Lying to her was one thing, but lying to the police?

“Jillian, a probable ear infection in room 4. Shawn said to have you handle it since you’re so good with kids.” Sarah strode toward her with a chart. “Sorry, I didn’t know you were on the phone.”

“Shawn’s afraid if he gets near a kid, some paternal instinct will kick in, and he’ll end up monogamous or, worse yet, married.” Jillian took the chart, happy for the distraction even though it was her fifth ear infection today.

“Shawn’s also a sexist pig who believes women should handle all the kid cases.”

“That too. I’ll be there in a minute.” Jillian reluctantly returned to the telephone. “Sorry, Andy. You were saying?”

“That a Mark Jefferson flew from New York to Denver on United and rented a car from Hertz. The address he gave was the same the cops had, and he must have shown a driver’s license to get the car and board the plane. He used a Visa card, but I haven’t gotten information on that yet. The car was returned to the drop-off at the airport sometime the night you were shot at, but no airline shows Mark Jefferson ever leaving Denver.”

The chart slipped from Jillian’s fingers onto the counter. She sank into the nearest chair. “Does that mean he’s dead?”

“Or made a quick getaway,” Andy said. “I think it’s safe to say you got caught in the middle of something, and it centers around this man.”

Jillian clenched the phone so hard she was surprised the hard plastic didn’t crack.
Damn.
“How did you find that out so fast?”

“I’m worried about you,” Andy said. “The more information I got, the more worried I got. So I called in several favors, including from Phil Mathers.”

Phil was a law school friend of Andy’s who’d spent his career at the Justice Department. For the past five years, he’d been working out of its Denver office. “What did Phil say?”

“That he hasn’t heard of anything the feds or anyone else is into around Keystone, and that if there were anything, he’d know. He also said this warrants checking into. He wants to talk to you.”

Slumping in her chair, Jillian closed her eyes. “Okay.”

“I’ll pick you up after work and take you to Phil’s house. We’ll go out to dinner afterwards.”

“Okay.”

“In the meantime, promise you’ll be careful. Is the guard there?”

A uniformed guard had stayed in her vicinity since she’d mentioned the nonexistent gang threat. “He’s sitting beside the entrance reading
Sports Illustrated.”

“Good. We’re going to get to the bottom of this. I promise.”

“I hope so. See you at seven.”

“Who’s dead?” Sarah asked.

Jillian started. She hadn’t realized Sarah was there. “No one, I hope. A friend’s dog is missing.”

Sarah smiled faintly. “You and dogs. You should go ahead and get one. You’d spoil it so rotten that it wouldn’t mind being apartment-bound.”

“Jillian,” a nurse called.

“I know, room 4.” Jillian dropped her half-eaten pizza into the garbage then headed to the ear infection.

* * * *

Jillian spent the next three hours exactly as she’d spent the previous six, rushing. She’d finally found a minute to relax into one of the tacky but comfortable vinyl recliners in the staff lounge when she was paged to the front desk. She released the footrest. She’d probably made a mistake on those Medicaid forms, something trivial but guaranteed to give government bureaucrats an excuse to delay payment. The ER was switching over to electronic records in August, and she was dreading it. God knows how many more things she’d screw up then.

She approached the desk clerk. “What now?” Those government bureaucrats probably never had to work twelve-hour shifts.

“Over there.” Emily cocked her head toward the uniformed police officer beside the center island.

“Jillian, Shawn said to give you this. Room 3, ASAP.” Eric handed her a chart. “Hey, I’m a poet.”

“Don’t quit your day job. I’ll be there as soon as I deal with this cop.”

The police showed up often in the ER to see patients or to ask questions about former patients. Jillian sympathized with their jobs, but their appearance usually complicated hers since she had to figure out how to avoid annoying them while staying on the right side of doctor/patient privilege.

She strode over to the officer. “I’m Dr. Rodgers. Can I help you?”

“Robert Jones, Denver PD.” The cop held out his ID. “We need to talk to you about Keystone.”

Jillian’s pulse quickened. “Did Andy call you?”

The policeman pulled a small notepad from his pocket. “That would be Andrew Dawson with the district attorney’s office?”

She nodded. “You’re questioning me because Andy called?”

Officer Jones looked sheepish. “Sorry, I don’t know. I was just told to bring you to the station.”

“I can’t leave now. I’m working.”

Officer Jones checked his notepad again. “A Dr. Thomas Binger said you could leave. They called him at home.”

Her heart beat faster. “I’ll get my coat.”

“Are you all right?” Sarah asked when Jillian passed the desk.

“I have to go to the police station and answer some questions about Keystone. The police actually called Tom at home and got permission for me to leave.”

“What happened?”

“I don’t have a clue. Tell Shawn I left.” Jillian skimmed the chart Eric had given her then held it out to Sarah. “And tell him he’ll have to take back the little girl in 3. She’s puking.”

Sarah grinned. “My pleasure.”

Jillian retrieved her ski jacket and purse. She slipped the jacket over her scrubs as she followed Officer Jones.

The security guard at the doorway gave them a quick glance then returned to his magazine. People jammed in the waiting room stared. Police never hauled one of the doctors away.

Jillian followed Officer Jones through the revolving door. The sky was so overcast the street lamps had already switched on, and the air felt cool, although it wasn’t cold enough to frost the damp sidewalks. There wasn’t a police cruiser anywhere. “Where’s your car?”

“Here.” Officer Jones opened the back door of a dark Buick idling in the circular drive. “An undercover unit’s involved in this, but they didn’t want to go inside where they might run into someone they don’t want knowing they’re cops.”

Jillian slid in beside the undercover cop in the back seat. Officer Jones followed and pulled the door shut.

The glass windows, including the one that separated the front and back seats, were all so deeply tinted the world looked black. They certainly didn’t have to worry about being recognized by anyone walking by. She fastened her seatbelt.

The car started moving, and they drove in silence for several minutes.

Too many minutes. The station was only a few blocks from the hospital.

“How are the roads?” Officer Jones asked.

A tinny voice came over the speakers. “Not too bad yet, according to the radio.”

Jillian’s stomach clenched. The only warnings she’d heard were for the roads outside the city, nothing Denver cops would care about. The cop’s ID had looked valid, but ID’s could be faked, and she hadn’t called it in.

The car stopped at a traffic light. If these guys were on the level, she’d apologize later. Jillian launched herself over Jones and reached for the door handle.

“Calm down, lady.” The undercover cop yanked her back to her seat. He had a Texas accent.

She had to get away. She struggled against his hold.

Texas secured her arms against her sides. “I said calm down!”

“You got her, Alex?” Jones cracked his knuckles.

“Yep.” Alex’s hands loosened slightly as the car resumed moving.

Jillian jerked one arm free.

Alex immediately restrained her. “Goddamn it, I told you to calm down!”

“Take me back.” She matched his tone. “Now.”

Jones and Alex exchanged a look. Alex tightened his hands around Jillian’s arms.

Her heart hammered. “You can’t haul me away. People will miss me, and they’ll remember I left with you. Everyone I work with and all the people in the waiting room saw you.”

“Everyone will assume the questioning took so long you decided not to come back to work,” Jones said.

“Andy won’t, and he’s picking me up.”

“When you get off at seven. By then, we’ll be long gone.”

Her blood turned to slush. “Where are we going?”

“Hang onto her,” Alex said. “I’m tying her up. I don’t feel like holding her arms for hours.”

Hours.

Jones secured her arms behind her back. Alex knotted a cord around her wrists, just below her jacket cuffs, then pulled it tight. The thin rope cut into Jillian’s cold skin. Her heart was pounding hard enough to break through her chest wall. She was going to die—

Stop it!
She needed to think, not panic. They’d eventually hit another stoplight, and her legs were free. Maybe talking would make them lower their guard. “Who are you?”

Alex laughed, a low and unpleasant sound that raised the hairs on the back of her neck. “We’re sure as hell not cops.”

“What are you going to do to me?”

“Devlin will explain.” Alex touched Jillian’s cheek with his pointer finger, his thumb raised to mimic a gun.

The pressure triggered a shock that sizzled from Jillian’s face down her neck and spine. She shuddered.

“Let me warn you, lady, Devlin’s not someone you want to piss off,” Alex said. “His nickname’s the Devil, and it’s fucking accurate.”

The car stopped.

Now.

Jillian swung her feet up and kicked Alex’s window.

It didn’t budge.

She struck at the window again.

“Goddamn it, she got my nose,” Alex screamed.

She kicked the window and door furiously. Even if neither broke or opened, someone outside might hear the commotion.

“What the hell’s going on back there?” the driver yelled.

“Tie her ankles.” Alex grabbed her legs, holding them still. “I think the bitch broke my nose.”

“Can you tell me where you’re taking me? Please?” She couldn’t breathe.

“That should hold her. I tied her feet to the magazine rack,” Jones said.

Alex released her legs. “Good.”

“What do you want with me? What did I do?” A needle pricked Jillian’s bare arm where her jacket had slipped down. She jerked away but that didn’t stop the penetration, the release of the liquid from the syringe. “What did you give me?”

“Something to make you relax,” Alex said. “We’ve got a long drive ahead of us.”

“You can’t take me away. People will miss me.”

“We told you why they won’t,” Jones said. “Your boyfriend Andy won’t either, not since you e-mailed him explaining that you were so stressed you were afraid of messing up at work and decided you needed some time off.”

“Andy won’t believe it.” She felt a little fuzzy. Whatever they gave her must be fast acting. She pressed her fingernails into her palms and bit her lip, struggling to stay alert.

“I don’t know why not. Who else would send an e-mail from your account? If Andy checks further, he’ll discover that your boss approved your break, and you booked a flight to Chicago.”

Voices were fading, as if the speakers were walking away. Jillian closed her eyes.

“What’s he want her for?” Jones asked.

Alex snorted. “Don’t know, but it sure as hell isn’t for sex. He likes them younger and a lot more stacked. She must know something.”

“Or she’s involved with one of his enemies.”

“There’s a bad idea. I sure as hell wouldn’t want…”

* * * *

Jillian’s injured shoulder cramped. She must have lain on it wrong since it usually didn’t bother her anymore. She reached to massage it, but her hand wouldn’t move.

Her breath caught, and her heart hit a speed bump. She hadn’t slept funny. She’d ridden for God knew how long with her hands tied behind her back. Her ankles were tied, too. And her brain was having trouble functioning because she’d been drugged after she’d been kidnapped.