Out of Character

by Diana Miller

  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.

  She lay down on her side, hugging a pillow, the searing pain in her stomach quashing every last hunger pang.

  Chapter 12

  “Get dressed.”

  Jillian bolted up in bed, instantly alert. “Why?”

  “Don’t ask questions, just get dressed,” Paul whispered, dropping her ski jacket and gloves onto the bed. “That’s what I thought. Uh-huh.” It took Jillian a few seconds to realize he wasn’t talking to her anymore, but rather on a cell phone.

  “Hurry.” He shifted his attention from the phone long enough to issue the hushed command.

  Although she didn’t have a clue what was going on, Jillian didn’t even consider disobeying him. The urgency in his voice had her pulse sprinting. She slipped from under the covers into a morgue-like chill, the numbers of the digital clock and a thin beam from Paul’s penlight providing enough light for her to locate he
r clothes. She dressed hurriedly in the dark bathroom as Paul continued his quiet conversation.

  “Yeah. I had a feeling. Almost. Uh-huh. That’s why I’m still alive.”

  She hurried out of the bathroom to the chair beside the window.

  “You ready?” Paul asked.

  “Except for my shoes.” She felt under the chair for her running shoes, slipped them on. Her fingers fumbled over the laces.

  Paul shone his penlight on her. “Put on your coat and gloves.” When she’d complied, he shut off the light. “Let’s go. Hold onto me.” He reached back and grabbed her gloved hand then squatted down and crept out of the room, along the unlit hallway, and down the stairs.

  It was so dark Jillian couldn’t see much more than Paul’s silhouette. She felt as if she were playing some kids’ game as she tried to duplicate his stoop and gait. Except her heart was pounding too wildly for it to be a game.

  Paul led her through the kitchen then silently opened a door. “Be careful of the stairs.” Despite his warning, Jillian stumbled against his back on the first step into the pitch-black basement. She clung to him as she blindly descended a steep stairway that Paul seemed to have no problems navigating. After taking a dozen steps across the musty basement, Jillian rammed Paul’s back again. He flipped on the penlight and fiddled with a window high on the wall. It opened, a rush of icy air displacing the cool mustiness.

  He flipped off the penlight. “I’ll go first then help you out. Don’t come out until I tell you to.” He launched himself through the window.

  “It’s clear,” he whispered after a moment. “Reach up. I’ll pull you out.”

  She banged her shin on the sill as he yanked her through the window and onto the snowy ground. She scrambled to her feet.

  Paul took her hand. “This way.”

  The night was frigid and dark, the moon and stars obscured by clouds. Snow-caked pine needles scraped Jillian’s cheeks as Paul guided her through the trees. She wasn’t sure why he’d roused her in the middle of the night and led her out a basement window and into the woods, but she’d bet it wasn’t for a midnight hike.

  “This way. Hurry.” He released her hand and pressed his palm against her back. Within seconds they were jogging, crunching over icy snow that seeped into Jillian’s running shoes and under her jeans, scratching and biting her bare legs above her socks.

  Then she heard it. An explosion behind them. Followed by the odor of burning gasoline.

  She froze as a wave of nausea engulfed her. “No.” She looked over her shoulder toward the sound and smell. Through the trees, she saw flickers of red, yellow, and orange.

  “Come on.” Paul wrapped his arm around her shoulders and urged her forward.

  Her legs wouldn’t move. “The smell. It’s the same smell.” Fire mixed with gasoline, consuming her car. Consuming her best friend.

  Paul’s arm tightened around her, and his lips brushed her ear. “No one’s inside this time.” He gently turned her head away from the fire. “Don’t look at it. Don’t think about it. Think about moving your legs, about running. Just think about running.”

  Paul’s words and pressing arm got her legs moving again.

  “Where are we going?” Jillian puffed out after a couple minutes of jogging through snow.

  “Away.” Paul didn’t sound the least bit winded. “Unfortunately, our car was disabled, so it’s on to Plan B.”

  “Do you have a Plan B?”

  “I always have a Plan B. And Plans C and D. Follow me.”

  The trees were so dense now they had to go single file. Jillian’s breaths came as painful gasps, and her feet and ankles were numb, but she managed to keep up with Paul.

  He stopped. “Stay here. I’ll be right back.”

  Jillian bent over, struggling to catch her breath in the cold. When her breathing had eased, she straightened and looked around. She couldn’t see the blaze or hear it, couldn’t even smell the fire anymore.

  In fact, she couldn’t hear, smell, or see anything besides shadowy trees and endless dark.

  Her heart hit a speed bump then sped up, slamming against her chest. She was alone in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by trees. Someone might be stalking her, and she’d never realize it until too late. She listened, straining to hear over the blood pounding in her ears. A loud crack pierced the dark silence then several clumps of snow hit the ground. Branches giving way under heavy snow or being jostled by an owl or sleepy squirrel.

  Or being bumped by a human.

  She couldn’t breathe, as if the trees were sucking up all the oxygen instead of expelling it the way they were supposed to. A louder crack or maybe it was a shot. She was going to scream, to have hysterics if she had to stand alone for another instant in the terrifying blackness.

  Hug a tree. The words flashed through her mind, from one of those posters aimed at helping kids lost in the woods. She squatted down, felt around for a tree with its lowest branches over her head, and wrapped her arms around it. She immediately felt calmer. She’d always thought the only point of hugging a tree was so the child would stay put and be easier to find. She’d never realized how comforting holding something solid was when you were alone and scared. It was like hugging a hard, prickly teddy bear.

  She crouched with her arms around the tree and her cheek pressed against the cool bark, listening for Paul and shivering. It was so cold. She smoothed her loose hair over her half-frozen ears and stuffed it under the collar of her jacket to hold it in place. Then she hugged the tree again and tried to think warm thoughts, to remember all those Chicago heat waves she’d spent without air conditioning.

  She still couldn’t hear anything besides an occasional crack or a clomp of snow hitting the ground. Sounds that could be something or nothing. No steady crunching announcing Paul’s return. Where had he gone? What was taking him so long?

  Don’t panic. She forced herself to breathe slowly, to think logically. Paul was coming back. He wouldn’t have taken her out of the house if he intended to desert her here.

  Except how did she know what Paul intended? Maybe he planned to kill her, either so she wouldn’t describe him to the authorities or because he had no use for her. Leaving her in these woods was an easy, nearly foolproof way to do it. She’d never find her way out of the trees before she froze to death. Paul might have blown up the house himself to eliminate all evidence she’d been there.

  Her stomach cramped painfully, and she was quaking with cold and fear. She’d never see her brother and his family again, her friends, Andy. She was going to freeze to death in these woods, and she couldn’t do a thing about it. The night was too dark, the trees too dense. All she could do was wait until she got so cold she stopped caring, until she fell asleep in the snow, until—

  “Jillian.”

  Jillian thought she’d hallucinated Paul’s voice until his penlight came on in front of her. She launched herself at him and wrapped her arms around his neck, weak with relief. When her knees buckled, he moved his arms around her to support her.

  He held her for only a few seconds before he spoke again. “We need to go.”

  She nodded against his chest. “I didn’t think you were coming back for me.”

  Paul muttered something under his breath and tightened his arms for a moment then released her. “This way. I found our vehicle.”

  He kept hold of her arm and left the penlight on as he led her through the trees. They jogged at a slower pace than before until they reached a dark-colored SUV parked in a small clearing.

  “Get in.” The instant Jillian was inside Paul started the vehicle, flipped on the parking lights, and drove through the snow and trees. After a couple minutes, he turned onto a snow-packed road and switched on the blower. “The heat should kick in soon.”

  Jillian hugged herself, trying not to shiver. Paul’s return and their jog to the car had warmed her a little. Now that she was sitting still, the chill had returned with a vengeance.
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br />   Paul had a quick conversation on his cell phone, and then stuck it into his jacket pocket. “You warming up?”

  Hot air blew on Jillian’s face. She nodded. “The heat feels good.”

  “Thank God it works. With government vehicles, there’s no guarantee.” He snorted. “I was in Russia one winter, and they stuck me with a vehicle with no heater. When I complained, some bureaucrat told me to shut up, that the cold built character. I won’t repeat my response.”

  “When I went to Girl Scout camp, the counselors always said things like that, like eating burned food that had been dropped in the dirt built character. And cleaning latrines, that was a major character builder.” Jillian broke off, embarrassed by her nervous babbling. “Sorry, I don’t know why I mentioned that.”

  “You were a Girl Scout?” Paul asked.

  “For five years. Were you ever a Boy Scout?”

  “Nope. Although my character could probably have used it.”

  They drove in silence for several minutes, the parking lights barely illuminating the snowy road and ditches and thick trees. Jillian stared out the window, guilt weighing her down. “They found us because I called Andy, didn’t they.”

  “Seems likely.”

  “Damn.” She’d hoped against hope he’d tell her she was wrong. She shut her eyes. “I’m sorry.”

  “Too late for that now.”

  She kept her eyes closed, her eyelids holding back hot tears. Self-pity and self-recriminations—because someone either was trying to kill her or didn’t care if she died, because her stupidity had resulted in destruction and maybe even death—would have to wait until she was alone. She opened her eyes and blinked a couple times until the mist cleared then resumed watching the pale snow and shadowy trees.

  Paul eventually turned off the road and back onto the snow. The vehicle bumped between the trees for a minute then stopped.