by Diana Miller
“His dad wanted him to practice law?”
“His dad assumed that after he got his law degree, Paul would come back home and help his dad and brother run their business. Like that would have ever happened.”
“What kind of business is it?” Jillian asked.
“Paul’s family sells appliances.” He shook his head. “Definitely not Paul’s thing. You can see why the FBI looked so appealing.”
“Paul doesn’t work for the FBI now, does he?”
“On this assignment he technically does,” Ryan said. “Otherwise he never did. He’s always had a gift for languages, so after he left Quantico he went into foreign work.”
“For the CIA?”
“An agency you’ve never heard of. Sorry I can’t tell you more, other than his work’s a lot more dangerous than what I do.”
Jillian nodded. “He told me about being shot.”
Ryan looked at her curiously.
“In South America after his wife was killed.” Had Paul made all that up in another attempt to manipulate her?
“His penance for Helene,” Ryan said. “I know what you’re talking about. I’m surprised Paul mentioned it.”
“I interrupted a nightmare. Why do you call it his penance?”
Ryan removed his arm from the back of the bench and steepled his fingers together. “Paul quit working for the government when he got married. After Helene died, he went back, volunteering for a dangerous mission in a place he hated. I swear he did it to punish himself since he blamed himself for her death.”
“Her death wasn’t his fault, was it?”
“Absolutely not. But Paul’s a little irrational about it.”
Despite the beautiful evening, Jillian felt unaccountably depressed. She closed her eyes and slumped against the bench.
Ryan took her hand. “How are you holding up?”
The concern in his voice prompted Jillian to open her eyes and answer honestly. “I’m doing my best, but it’s hard. I feel like I’ve stepped into someone else’s life. I want my own back.”
Ryan stroked the back of her hand with his thumb. “It’s funny how life works, isn’t it? You think the big decisions matter most, but lots of the time it’s something small. Like deciding to take a skiing class. You’d never have met Paul otherwise, not that I’ve figured out why he took it.”
Ryan’s touch felt comforting, a welcome change from the tangled emotions any contact with Paul produced. “He said he needed to get his confidence back after he broke his leg.”
“His confidence?” Ryan’s thumb halted for a moment. Then he resumed stroking. “Anyway, that minimal contact with him might have been responsible for screwing up your life.”
She gave him a sideways glance. “Minimal contact?”
“One skiing class and one skiing date the next day aren’t exactly a big deal. That still may have been enough to convince someone you’re a threat. Unless you’ve been targeted for another reason.”
“I see.” Jillian pulled her hand from Ryan’s and hugged her knees to her chest, resting her heels on the wooden slats.
“See what?”
She managed a faint smile. “Your point. It is funny how life works.” So Paul not only resented her, he was embarrassed to admit to his best friend that he’d asked her to dinner, let alone slept with her. Now she felt even more depressed.
She moved her feet off the bench and onto the grass. “Are you an only child?”
“God, no. I have five sisters.” He grimaced as he held up his fingers. “Five. Let me tell you…”
* * * *
Jillian and Ryan were laughing when Paul came up behind their bench. He remembered her laugh from Keystone, the way it had warmed him. He hadn’t heard it since.
He wasn’t going to hear it again tonight either. “I hate to break up the party, but you need to go inside, Jillian. It’s getting dark.”
“I’m protecting her.” Ryan draped one arm around Jillian’s shoulders.
“You couldn’t from a sniper.”
“What sniper’s going to make it over the fence?”
“It’s okay, Ryan.” Jillian got to her feet. “Thanks for bringing me outside.” She hurried to the house.
“What’s going on with you two?” Ryan asked when Jillian was out of earshot.
“What do you mean?” Paul asked.
Ryan sat back down on the bench. “I mean you’re stuck here with a beautiful, intelligent, sexy, charming woman, and I’m picking up more negative vibes than at a Senate Judiciary Committee meeting.”
“She doesn’t like me much.” Paul joined Ryan on the bench. “Which is understandable, considering how I’ve messed up her life.” He looked overhead. A nearly full moon glowed in the darkening sky.
“Why did you take a skiing class in Keystone?” Ryan asked.
“What do you mean?”
“I’m asking why an Olympic caliber skier like you would take a beginning skiing class.”
Paul turned his attention to a collection of bird of paradise plants, glowing scarlet and green in the light of one of the yard lamps. “It was an intermediate class, and I did it as a cover, figuring I’d blend in better in a group class.” He wasn’t about to admit that his actual plan had been to use Jillian for his cover, the first of many things he’d never forgive himself for.
“You know, I said something to Jillian about how her minimal contact with you changed her life. She gave me a funny look before she agreed.” Ryan paused for a moment. “Which makes me think maybe the two of you did more than just ski together.”
Paul kept his eyes on the flowers as he considered his options. He didn’t want to admit this either, but he’d always had trouble fooling Ryan. “We had dinner together the night before the shooting.”
“You took Jillian out to dinner?”
“I know. I was stupid to risk it.”
“Not really, and under the circumstances I can certainly understand why you’d want to be with a woman. I meant why Jillian? Ski areas are full of women more your usual type and much better bets for one-night stands. Why’d you pick her?”
“I liked talking to her.”
Ryan snorted. “Since when has talking been a priority for you when it comes to women? After six months of isolation?”
“You try being stuck with your own company for that long.”
Ryan studied him for several uncomfortable seconds. “Why didn’t you mention that to Jack?”
“It isn’t relevant. I wasn’t spotted until the next evening.”
From the way Ryan was scrutinizing him, he wasn’t about to let this drop, had probably figured it out anyway. Paul looked away, at an illuminated cluster of coral and yellow hibiscus across the yard. “All right, so we didn’t just have dinner, and we didn’t just talk. We spent the night together.” He tried to ignore the wave of heat as his body remembered what he had to forget. “No one needs to know that.”
“Because you want to keep it personal.”
Paul gave Ryan a narrowed glance. “No, because it would embarrass Jillian to have anyone know she’d spent the night with a man she’d just met. It was bad enough when the man was Mark Jefferson, a nice, dull accountant from New York City.” He leaned back, focused again on the distant hibiscus cluster. “Then she discovers she slept with Paul Devlin, a man who’s something else entirely. As a result, her best friend’s been killed and her own life’s been decimated. That’s why she doesn’t like me.”
“You’re being a little hard on yourself,” Ryan said. “She might not have been targeted because of you. Even if she was, it’s not like anyone expected trouble at Keystone.”
“My gut did. I should never have invited Jillian to dinner, let alone done anything else. I sure as hell shouldn’t have seen her that second night.” Paul massaged neck muscles that felt soldered together. “My top priority now is keeping her safe. I know the only way to do that is to keep our relationship professional.
Not that either of us wants anything else.”
“What happened to Helene was a fluke,” Ryan said quietly.
Ryan had obviously read between the lines, but his conclusion was wrong. Paul dropped his hand from his neck. “It wasn’t a fluke. I let my emotions interfere with my judgment, and my wife ended up dead. I won’t let that happen again.” He stood. “I’m going to bed.”
“So you won’t care if I go after her.”
Paul looked down at Ryan. “What?”
“I’d usually leave Jillian alone since you saw her first,” Ryan said. “But if you only want a professional relationship with her, I assume you don’t mind if I try to have more.”
“I don’t care what you do with Jillian.”
Paul headed for the house, before Ryan could read between any more lines.
Chapter 18
Thanks to Ryan, Jillian thoroughly enjoyed the next two days. She spent nearly every waking minute with him, hiking around the island, lounging on sandy beaches, and swimming in a protected cove, collecting vegetables from the garden, and cooking dinner. And talking—she hadn’t realized how much she’d missed that simple activity. Almost as important, Ryan insulated her from Paul. He appeared only at dinner, which he bolted down with a few comments to Ryan while ignoring her.
When she went to bed that night, Jillian realized that also thanks to Ryan, she felt like her confident, competent self again. Since being hauled away from Denver, she’d acted like a helpless victim, allowing her life to be disrupted indefinitely. Just because she’d been a victim of this misadventure, didn’t mean she had to keep playing the part. She needed to take control and do something to improve her situation.
Like what? She opened her eyes and stared at the dark ceiling. The government wouldn’t let her leave until they identified the threat to her. They’d limited her involvement to looking at mug shots and staying out of the way, but there had to be something else she could do.
She closed her eyes and let her mind wander, considering and rejecting idea after idea.
Suddenly she had it. She knew exactly what she was going to do.
* * * *
The exercise room where Jillian located Paul the next morning was large and windowless, with more than a dozen cardio and weight machines, as well as benches and free weights. Running on the treadmill, Paul kept a pace she couldn’t have sustained for more than a couple minutes, although his soaked hair and dripping back indicated he’d been going at it much longer. Trying to exorcise some of his animosity for her, no doubt.
Ryan was sitting at a Nautilus machine in the far corner. He waved as he lowered his legs and an impressive amount of weight. Paul didn’t appear to have noticed her.
She passed behind four different elliptical trainers to reach Paul’s treadmill. She spoke over the whirring machine and Paul’s pounding feet. “I want to go back to Denver, Paul.”
He didn’t react.
She repeated her request, even louder.
He still ignored her.
She stood in front of him.
He gazed over her head, lost in some runner’s high, or at least pretending to be, since she doubted he was admiring his reflection in the mirrored wall.
“I said I want to go to Denver,” she yelled.
He finally looked at her. “I thought you believe someone’s trying to kill you.” Despite his profuse sweating, he wasn’t the least bit breathless. The man was inhuman.
“I do. I’m probably in danger because of you, but you aren’t sure.”
Paul sped up the treadmill.
“Send me to Denver so I can smoke out whoever’s after me.”
“You could end up dead.”
“I’m willing to risk it.”
“I’m not.”
She grabbed his damp arm, hanging on as he pumped it. “Can’t you understand I’m sick of being stuck here? Until someone tries to kill me again, is that what we’re waiting for? Why don’t I go to Denver and speed up the process?”
Paul stared at her for long seconds. His distinctive scent, bare torso, and intense gaze, combined with the warm texture of his skin under her fingertips, were doing unwelcome things to Jillian’s hormones. She released his arm and took a couple backwards steps.
He slowed the treadmill to a jog. “We’re waiting for a trial. A Florida crime syndicate is a major drug and arms dealer. Four years ago, the government got indictments against the syndicate head, a real bastard named Vince Taurino. They were convinced that taking down Taurino would destroy the syndicate. He was killed before his trial, and even without him the syndicate’s still thriving.”
Paul entwined his fingers behind his back and raised his arms, stretching his triceps as he ran. “The bureau was pissed as hell, especially since they assumed Taurino’s second-in-command had him assassinated to save the syndicate. The bureau made shutting it down a top priority and requested help from other government agencies. They brought me in because of a cover I’d established years ago. I managed to infiltrate the syndicate and get enough to bury them.” He smiled humorlessly. “My only problem is living long enough to testify.”
He rested his hands on the treadmill’s front railing as he jogged. “We were positive they didn’t know who I was or even that I’d been a plant, but they somehow tracked me down and nearly killed me in D.C. After that, I went to a safe house in Canada to wait for the trial. I spent more than six months there before the isolation drove me crazy, and I demanded a break in Colorado. I’ll continue hiding out until I testify.”
“When’s the trial?” Jillian asked.
“It’s scheduled to start in five weeks. But defense counsel made several pre-trial motions they’ll probably lose and appeal, which will delay things.”
“You’re talking months. Months.” She shook her head. “I can’t wait that long. Especially when I might have been targeted by some wacko who hates me for some unknown reason. Someone the authorities can arrest, and then I can go on with my life.”
“You’re most likely targeted by the people who are after me,” Paul said. “One arrest isn’t going to stop them from trying again.”
“It might. And if someone else is after me, I’m wasting my time here.”
“You’d be endangering your co-workers and friends.”
“So I won’t go to work, and I’ll live like a hermit.” Her voice was shrill with her frustration. “I need to do this.”
“Weren’t you going to make a call?” Paul asked Ryan, who’d moved to a bench.
Ryan dropped his free weights onto the tan carpet and got to his feet. “Right. Jillian, I’ll see you later this morning.”
After Ryan was gone, Paul stopped the treadmill and got off, then took a long drink from his water bottle, his swallows loud in the now-silent room. He set the bottle back on the floor. “I know you’re not happy being here with me. Although I think I’m the best one to protect you, I’ll arrange to move you somewhere else.”
“It isn’t that.” Which was true; Jillian’s difficulties with Paul were primarily a symptom of what was wrong with her life. “If I’d been the type to sit around and wait for things to happen, I’d probably be a clerk at the Walgreens in my old neighborhood instead of a doctor. Since I left Denver, I’ve been letting other people and outside forces control my life, but no more. I need to do something myself.”
Paul wiped his dripping face with a white terrycloth towel. “It’s too dangerous.”
“You think I don’t know that?” She gestured so expansively she barely missed the treadmill’s display screen. “You think I haven’t thought this through, but I have. My mother was impulsive, and I learned what a disaster that can be. I always look three times before I leap and usually overthink things, at least according to Kristen. That’s why she accused me of being a control freak. I’ve decided it’s worth the risk.”
Paul wiped his neck then draped the towel over the railing of the treadmill.
“You’r
e not even going to consider this, are you?”
He took another long drink of water. “It’s too dangerous.”
“I want to talk to your boss. He may disagree.”
“Jack would defer to me on this.” Paul set down his water, stepped back onto the treadmill, and resumed running.
“You know, my mother also had a habit of getting involved with the wrong men, men who used her and made her life hell. I swore I’d never do that either, but this last time I sure did.” Jillian stormed out of the exercise room.
Paul thought this was over. He was wrong. The idea of serving as bait in Denver scared her, but after all the trouble the government had already gone to keeping her alive, they wouldn’t give her second-rate bodyguards. She had to do this.
It was time to retake control of her life.
* * * *
After a long hike around the island, Jillian and Ryan settled themselves on a sparkling sand beach. The otherwise tranquil turquoise ocean rippled and foamed around a couple rocks a hundred yards from shore.
Jillian drank the last of her Diet Coke. “Do you think I’m stupid to want to go to Denver?”
“I don’t like the risk you’d be taking,” Ryan said. “I can understand why you need to do it. I also admire your courage.”
“Paul isn’t going to agree, is he.” She didn’t even pretend it was a question.
“Probably not.” Ryan’s eyes were on the horizon.
“Then I need to talk to someone else. Can you help me contact Paul’s superior? Jack, right?”
“I’d rather not get involved.” Ryan sipped his mineral water, still not looking at her.
Jillian clenched her empty soda can. “Paul won’t even consider it because of what happened to his wife. But this isn’t at all like that.”
“No, you’re definitely not Helene.”
The can crumpled under Jillian’s grip. Ryan’s words stung, but only because they triggered a wave of guilt and regret that she’d slept with a man still in love with his dead wife. “That’s another reason I should go to Denver. So Paul can get some peace.” Ryan might not be willing to intervene for her sake, but maybe he would to help his old friend Paul.