by Diana Miller
“It’s damn good to see you.” Billy’s arms tightened.
“It’s damn good to see you, too.”
“So you finally met Travis.” Billy pointed at the helicopter that was lifting off.
“I assume Travis is the one who kept me off that plane.”
“He didn’t have a choice—government policy, you know. Try not to hold it against him.”
Jillian smiled. “I’ll do my best.”
Billy returned her smile. “Although I bet it was tough turning you away.” He unbuttoned his faded denim shirt. “Much as I hate to suggest it, I think you’d better wear this. You might get a little chilly in the copter.”
“What about you?” Jillian asked.
He flexed his arm. “Hell, I’ve got my impressive biceps to keep me warm.”
Jillian laughed, suddenly giddy. She slipped Billy’s shirt on over her bikini top, enjoying the well-washed soft cotton against her skin, the faintly masculine scent of it. Everything around her seemed more intense, the colors, the smells, the sounds. This was over, and she and Paul had both survived. She couldn’t believe how wonderful she felt.
She buttoned the shirt, rolled up the sleeves, and tied the tails around her waist. Then she turned to Ryan and hugged him. “I forgot to thank you for shooting Taurino.”
He wrapped his arms around her. “You would wait until you put a shirt on to do that. Like I told Paul, it was definitely my pleasure.”
He released her. “We can talk about it in the copter. I don’t know about you, but I am sick as hell of this island.”
Chapter 31
It was over.
Jillian and Ryan were on the fifth floor of a nondescript government building in Honolulu, meeting with Les Winston, an FBI official who’d be taking their videotaped statements.
Paul’s bullet had been removed during the flight by one of the medics, who happened to be a surgeon. Paul was now in a military hospital in Honolulu, expected to make a full recovery. According to Ryan, he wouldn’t have to go back into protective custody. This close to the trial, a judge would let him give an immediate taped deposition to be used if he were unable to testify, not that Taurino’s associates would dare hurt him now.
“Let’s get this over with, since I’m certain this is the last thing you want to be doing at this moment,” Les said with a strong Southern drawl. “What I need are your full statements of what happened on the island since I hear we’ve got a few dead bodies to explain. Not that Vince Taurino is any loss, but we gotta’ cover our asses.”
Les looked at Jillian. “I’d normally question you separately, but given that you’re a civilian and been through so much, we thought you’d be more comfortable with Ryan here.”
“Since we could have coordinated our stories on the flight here, anyway,” Ryan added.
Les flashed a smile. “True.”
“Why don’t you start with Jillian?” Ryan said. “I’ve also got a lot of background info to give you, including why I was on the island in the first place.”
“That’s a good idea, although Deputy Director Worthington already briefed me on your unofficial assignment. You ready Jillian?”
“For this whole thing to be over? Definitely.”
Les nodded to the man operating the video camera, then returned his attention to Jillian. “Please state your full name, spelling your last name…”
* * * *
“I told you it wouldn’t take long,” Ryan said when they recessed half an hour later. Les had gone to take a phone call and the video operator a five-minute cigarette break, so they were alone in the office. “All that’s left is for you to tell them what a hero you were, since you left out that part.”
Jillian sniffed. “Some hero. I was scared to death.”
“That’s the dirty little secret about heroes. Even though most like to pretend it’s all in a day’s work, they’re usually terrified.” Ryan sipped a soda and rocked back in his gray vinyl chair. “As soon as we’re done, I’ll get you a cab to the hospital.”
“Won’t people figure out Paul and I were personally involved if I rush to the hospital without you?” At Ryan’s suggestion, she’d characterized their relationship as friendly yet professional.
“After what you and Paul have been through together, it’s only natural you’d want to see him, even if you were barely cordial,” Ryan said. “Besides, what people may suspect unofficially is irrelevant.”
Les walked back into the room, followed by the video operator.
In no time at all, she’d be on her way to see Paul. Provided she could sit still long enough to finish her statement—Jillian was getting an overpowering urge to pace.
“Ready?” she asked Les.
He stood beside Ryan’s chair, looked down at Ryan, and cleared his throat. “I regret to inform you that Paul Devlin died fifteen minutes ago. He had a blood clot and died during emergency surgery. I’m very sorry.”
And the bullet Jillian had braced herself for on the island finally hit, the pain more excruciating than she’d ever imagined.
It was truly over.
Chapter 32
July 19
“Someone’s trying to kill me.”
“No one’s trying to kill you, Mr. Anderson.” Jillian lowered her stethoscope and Max Anderson’s shirt. For being eighty-eight, he had an amazingly strong heartbeat and pair of lungs. “You’ve got to lay off the Big Macs and fries. You know they always set off your gall bladder.”
“My father lived to be ninety-six and ate at McDonald’s all the time. It’s arsenic. Do more tests.” The man glowered at Jillian, further wrinkling his raisinish face.
Jillian met Mr. Anderson’s demanding gaze. “We’ve already done every relevant test, which is how we know your problem is a bad gallbladder. That means you need to lay off the high fat food. In the meantime, I’ll give you something for the pain. I’ll be right back.”
“Mr. Anderson’s been reading too many murder mysteries.” Sarah intercepted Jillian before she reached the central desk.
“Although thank God he’s quit with the science fiction. I was getting tired of hearing about aliens trying to steal his liver and spleen,” Jillian said. “The liver I can understand, but what would aliens want with a spleen?”
“I assume he needs the usual,” Sarah said. Mr. Anderson’s appearance in the ER was as predictable as the full moon. Once a month he ate something he knew he shouldn’t, which sent him rushing to Denver County Hospital with yet another theory about the real cause of his discomfort.
“Thanks.” Jillian handed Sarah the chart. “I’d better get something to eat. If my stomach growls any louder, it’ll drown out my stethoscope. Is there any pizza left?”
“What do you think?”
“I think I hear the vending machine beckoning me to a lunch of stale cookies.”
“If you’d listen closer, you’d hear your purse beckoning you to the two pieces of pizza I wrapped up and stuck inside a couple hours ago.” Sarah rested a hand on Jillian’s arm. “How are you doing?”
“Better. I haven’t needed a sleeping pill in almost three weeks, and today I actually noticed it was a beautiful day.” Jillian took a deep breath, let it out. “They always say life goes on. I’m finally starting to believe it.”
Sarah squeezed Jillian’s arm. “Good. Now I’d better get to Mr. Anderson.”
Jillian headed for the lounge to retrieve her purse. After more than three months, she honestly was doing much better. She barely remembered that first day anymore, other than that she’d never have gotten through it without Ryan. He’d helped her finish her statement then taken her to a nearby bar to drink a toast to Paul. He’d ended up spending the entire evening with her, even though she’d started crying midway into her first glass of wine and hadn’t been able to stop.
Ryan had understood she couldn’t attend Paul’s funeral and face the questions she’d inevitably get there. With her permission, thoug
h, he had told Paul’s parents about her. They were comforted that Paul’s last days had been happy and wanted to meet her, but Jillian knew that was never going to happen. There was no reason.
Paul’s death had been thoroughly investigated, including flying his body to Washington for the autopsy. The government’s top experts there concluded his death was due to natural causes. Thanks to Ryan, Jillian had also spoken with the primary doctor who’d treated Paul. Paul had been resting comfortably in ICU when he’d developed a blood clot in his lung. He’d been rushed to surgery, but even the best surgeon in the hospital hadn’t been able to save him. Paul’s dying like that after surviving Taurino’s attempts to kill him was one of life’s little ironies.
The government was vigorously pursuing not only its original case, but also numerous additional charges stemming from Paul’s death and the incident on the island. Much to Jillian’s relief, they didn’t need her testimony, since Ryan, Mac, and a fully recovered Harry were all available to testify. The bearded man had been apprehended soon after he left the island, and he’d agreed to talk as part of a plea bargain. Jack had committed suicide, but he’d left a videotape that provided more damaging evidence. In it Jack had claimed that Taurino had threatened not only to publicize Jack’s role in his faked death, but also to kill Jack’s wife and kids if he refused to betray Paul. Whether that last part was true was anyone’s guess; no one able to confirm it was talking.
Jillian had spent a week with her brother and his family in Philadelphia, then gone back to work. It was barely a week after Paul’s death, but when Kristen died, she’d discovered how much work helped her cope. The frantic pace of the ER—and that only Sarah knew of her personal involvement with Paul—helped her deal with the pain, as had the grief counselor Sarah had convinced her to see.
Surprisingly, the only other person she’d told about Paul was Andy. Jillian had initially felt a little strange talking to him about it, but Andy knew her so well he’d figured out there was more to her adventure than she’d admitted. If it hurt him to hear she’d loved someone else he never let on. He’d helped a lot, taking her out at least twice a week, letting her ramble on about Kristen and Paul, never pressuring her for more than friendship. They’d never be romantically involved again, but she couldn’t imagine a better friend.
Except for Ryan. He’d told her he’d promised Paul he’d look out for her, and he’d taken that promise seriously. He’d decided not to leave the FBI after all, and he’d done his best to make the official business easy for her, handling everything possible himself, and twice coming to Denver instead of making her travel to Washington, D.C. He also called her several times a week.
Early on, Ryan had asked if she’d rather not have any contact with him since it had to remind her of Paul, but she wanted to keep seeing him. Partly because much as her memories of Paul hurt, she didn’t want to forget him. But mostly because Ryan was becoming increasingly important to her.
Jillian stuffed the last bite of pizza into her mouth and wiped her fingers on a crumpled napkin then checked the computer. Her x-ray was back, the break evident. Terrific.
Life definitely does go on. Jillian headed for exam room 2.
“Jillian, line 1,” Emily, their desk clerk, yelled as Jillian passed the central desk. She lowered her voice. “It’s Ryan.”
Jillian bit back a smile as she walked to the nearest phone. Her co-workers were fascinated by the way her love life appeared to have taken off, with Ryan and Andy both calling on a regular basis. Jillian picked up the receiver and punched line 1.
“I hope I’m not interrupting anything important,” Ryan said.
“I’m getting psyched to put a cast on the arm of a five-year-old who fell off his bike and clearly hates doctors,” Jillian said. “He kicked me twice while I was examining him and kicked his shoe at me as I was leaving the room. Missed me by an inch. I was impressed by his aim. His mother was mortified.”
Ryan chuckled. “The joys of parenthood.”
“Although usually the parents are way worse than the kids. What do you need?”
Ryan hesitated, only an instant, but long enough that Jillian’s stomach lurched. “It’s not me, it’s the government. They need you in D.C.”
“I’ve answered thousands of questions and signed all sorts of statements swearing my answers were true. Isn’t that enough?”
“Defense counsel wants to interview you. For the conspiracy trial.”
“I’m not a witness.” Jillian plopped into a chair beside the phone.
“Not for the government, and the defense won’t call you after they meet you. They’re just being thorough. You have a reservation at six tomorrow morning on United. We left your return flight open.”
“I have to work tomorrow.” Although she presumed it was a futile excuse.
“You’re off as soon as you finish your shift,” Ryan said. “Your boss was once again delighted to cooperate with us. I’ll pick you up at the airport and drive you to meet the government lawyers. They’ll brief you on what to expect. I’ll also buy you dinner tomorrow night.”
“You don’t have to take me to dinner,” Jillian said. “I know this isn’t your fault.”
“I want to. You like Italian, don’t you? I know a place you’ll love.”
It suddenly hit her, what she had to do. No matter how much she dreaded it, she’d never truly go on with her life until she had.
“Some other type of restaurant?” Ryan asked. “If Italian reminds you of Taurino or you don’t like it? Jillian? Are you all right?”
“I want to see it.”
“See what?”
Jillian looked around. Except for Emily, who was engrossed in conversation on another line, the area was deserted. “Paul’s grave,” she said quietly. Paul had been buried in a family plot in Maryland, less than an hour’s drive from Washington, D.C.
“Are you sure?”
She nodded into the phone. “I need to do it. I think this trip to D.C. is a sign it’s time for me to finish that phase of my life and go on.” Visiting the cemetery would make her face the reality of Paul’s death in a way she could avoid in Denver. “Do you have time to take me there?”
“I’ll make time for whatever you want,” Ryan said. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Uh-huh. And Ryan?”
“What?”
Emily had hung up the phone and was looking her way. Jillian forced herself to smile. “I love Italian.”
* * * *
As he’d promised, Ryan was waiting at National Airport the next day. His smile when he spotted her seemed warmer than usual, his welcoming hug a little longer. Maybe he was ready to go on, too.
Ryan released her and gave her a quick once-over. “You look terrific.”
Jillian wore a sapphire blue silk suit she’d found at a consignment shop and Kristen had convinced her was too flattering to pass up. “Thanks.” She smoothed the skirt. “I thought I should look professional if those defense attorneys are going to try to discredit me. I don’t want any of Taurino’s men getting off.”
“They won’t.” Ryan touched her hair. “I’m glad you left your hair loose.” He picked up her overnighter.
She’d worn her hair down today because she’d be visiting Paul’s grave, and he’d liked it that way. But she’d think about that later.
Despite the sticky July heat, Washington was busy, the streets filled with foreign cars, taxis, limos, and tour buses, the sidewalks a conglomeration of people in suits carrying briefcases and people in shorts and T-shirts lugging backpacks and cameras. Once Ryan learned Jillian had never been there, he acted as tour guide, pointing out noteworthy places and monuments they passed on their drive. Which she appreciated, because it took her mind off her sudden nerves. She’d been so concerned about handling her memories of Paul that she hadn’t thought much about the interview. She didn’t want to say anything that might hurt the government’s case. She hoped the two hours the government’s
lawyers had allowed to prepare her would be enough.
Ryan pulled into a parking ramp attached to one of the nondescript government buildings that filled the area. After checking in, they were escorted to an office on the sixth floor. Its reception area was sleekly elegant, with dark wood and leather, a Persian carpet, and tasteful artwork. An impeccably groomed woman in her fifties greeted them then inclined her head toward an open door behind her. “Go on in,” she said. “You know where things are, Ryan.”
Ryan led Jillian into the similarly decorated office. “Can I get you anything? Coffee? Soda? Something stronger?”
Jillian sat down on the black leather sofa. “Since I’m going to be facing opposing attorneys, I’d better stick with coffee.”
Ryan poured her a cup from the pot on the credenza and brought it to her. She took a sip and raised an eyebrow. “Strong, not overheated, and a porcelain cup. And look at this décor. No way is this a government office.”
Ryan was facing the mahogany cabinet directly behind a coordinating desk. “Actually, it is a government office, but it’s Martin’s. He has excellent taste and the family money to indulge it.” He pulled a glass and a liquor bottle from the cabinet.
Of course, he did. Martin was a friend of Paul’s family. “Does that mean I’m finally going to meet him?” Maybe that was another step toward putting Paul’s memory to rest.
“That’s the plan.” Ryan poured a generous measure into a crystal glass. “Since I don’t have to face opposing attorneys, I think I’ll take advantage of Martin’s excellent taste in Scotch.” He gave her an apologetic look. “It’s been a hell of a week.”
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t expect you to drop everything and take care of me.”
“That’s not what I meant at all.” Ryan returned the bottle to the cabinet then came over and sat beside her. “I like helping you, both because I promised Paul and because of you. My problems are with the bureau.” He sipped the Scotch. “Some of the things it does really piss me off.”