Out of Character (12 page)

“Even if I don’t want—”

“That seems a drastic response to simply being seen with me. Someone might be after you for another reason and target me because I was seen with you. Since the government needs to identify all possible threats to me, they’ll hold you at least until they know why you’ve been targeted.” His features could have been chiseled in stone. His eyes were smoky crystals. Trying to change his mind would be as worthwhile as negotiating with Mount Rushmore.

Jillian let out a long breath and sank into the sofa’s soft leather. “So basically my life is a disaster because I got involved with you.”

“Basically.”

“When I make a mistake, I make a doozy.” She picked up her cup. “How do you intend to figure out why someone’s after me?”

“That’s where you can help us.”

She choked on her coffee. “Why would I help you? I don’t want to be here.”

“Because the more help you give us, the faster you get out of here and back to your life.”

Until she came up with an escape plan, she might as well try to shorten her sentence. “What do I do?”

Paul picked a manila envelope off the coffee table and removed a stack of glossy and newspaper photographs. He sorted through the pile and pulled out several pictures he handed to her. “Tell me if you recognize anyone.” He returned the rest of the pile to the envelope.

Jillian flipped through the photos. “I’ve never seen anyone before.”

“Jillian, this is important. Look at them carefully.”

“Dr. Rodgers, please. Since our relationship is strictly professional, Mr. Devlin.”

“Don’t call me Mr. Devlin,” he said sharply.

“Why, isn’t that your real name either?”

Paul raked his fingers through his hair. “Call me whatever you want. Just look at the damn pictures.”

She went through the dozen pictures again, this time more carefully. They showed people individually and in groups, primarily men ranging in age from thirty to seventy. A few photos were posed, the men in black ties. Others were more candid, shots on a sailboat, sipping drinks on a patio, standing in a parking lot.

“I don’t recognize anyone.” She held the pictures out to him.

He ignored them. “You haven’t seen anyone in the photos around your neighborhood or in the ER?”

“Not that I remember, and I’ve got a good memory for faces.” Since he wouldn’t take the pictures, she set them on the coffee table.

“Sometimes people look different when they’re in unusual surroundings or clothing. Like the guy you pass jogging every day and then see in the grocery store and don’t remember how you know him.” Paul picked up the pictures and offered them to her. “Look again.”

“Usually those people seem familiar, though you can’t think why. No one seems at all familiar, and I don’t need to look again. Who are they, anyway?”

In response, Paul stuffed the pictures back into the manila envelope.

“Now what?” Jillian asked. “Since I’m apparently not allowed to ask questions, and I failed the ID the photo section of this quiz.”

“I ask you questions.” Paul grabbed the legal pad and pen. “Do you have any enemies?”

“Just you.”

“I’m not your enemy. Have you received any threats or witnessed any altercations at work?”

She rolled her eyes. “We treat everyone who comes in. You think they all act like altar boys when they’re injured?”

“What happened?” He held his pen poised over the legal pad.

“Nothing serious, at least not while I was on.”

“Are you sure?”

“I’m sure.”

He nodded once, hopefully satisfied. The last thing she wanted were Alex and Jones harassing her co-workers.

“Were you robbed or attacked before you were shot at on the chairlift?” he asked.

“No.”

“Did you witness any crimes, robberies, assaults, even a purse snatching? Or any traffic accidents?”

“Nothing.”

“Have you gotten any unusual phone calls? Any hang-ups or wrong numbers?”

“Or strange letters or e-mails? No. Andy and I already discussed all this.” She was overdue for a trim. She pulled her ponytail forward and inspected it for spit ends.

“Did you photograph or videotape something you maybe shouldn’t have?”

“No.”

“Have you changed anything about your routine in the last few months, joined a new organization, changed gyms or dentists, started shopping at a new store?”

“Nope.” She dropped her ponytail. Luckily, the ends weren’t too bad, since she doubted Paul would arrange for a hairdresser.

“Has your work schedule changed so you’re home at different times?”

“My work schedule always varies.” Her cuticles could use attention. She pushed them down.

“You told me both your parents are dead. When did they die?”

She looked up from her nails. “My dad died when I was in grade school. In a car accident, but I didn’t care enough to ask for details since I never met him. He left before I was born.”

Paul made a note. “What about your mother?”

“She died of an aneurism when I was a sophomore in college. To save you research, she was a wonderful woman, but too impulsive for her own good. She never thought anything through, just did what felt right at the moment. She spent her life falling for scumbags, wasting her minimal paychecks, and dodging calls from creditors. But when she died, she had enough life insurance from her housekeeping job at Holiday Inn to pay off her debts. She also never slept with married men, so I doubt anyone hated her enough to have a vendetta against me. Are you finished?”

“Not yet.”

She grabbed her cup and stood. “Then I’d like more coffee.” She was halfway to the kitchen when she realized he was following her. “I can’t even go to the kitchen by myself?”

Paul held up his cup. “I wanted more coffee, too, and I didn’t think you’d want to play waitress.”

“You’re right.” She stomped to the coffeepot and poured herself a cup, then refilled his. Giving into the urge to make him pour his own seemed a little childish.

“Thanks.”

She gave him a saccharine smile. “My pleasure.”

“About your boyfriend Andrew Dawson,” Paul said when they were both settled back on the sofa.

“Ex-boyfriend.”

“You didn’t mention he’s with the Denver District Attorney’s office.”

She sipped her coffee. “I told you he was a lawyer.”

“His being a prosecutor could be important.”

“I was talking about my past relationship, for God’s sake.” Jillian gestured with her cup, stopping when she realized it was dangerously close to overflowing. “I wasn’t trying to hide anything. Unlike you.”

“What kind of cases does he handle?”

“He’s been in the Economic Crime Unit for several years.”

“He might have powerful enemies.” Paul made a note. “Did he tell you about any of his cases?”

“We talked about a lot of things in two years.”

“Was he involved with anything someone might be concerned he told you about?”

“How am I supposed to know what someone might be concerned he told me?” She started to wave her cup again, but stopped herself and set it on the coaster before she spilled it—or tossed the contents at Paul. “Besides, until Kristen was killed, I hadn’t seen Andy for over six months.”

“Who have you dated since you broke up with Andy?”

“Why is that your business?”

“Answer the question, please.”

She refused to let him know she was embarrassed. She lifted her chin, met his eyes. “I hadn’t had a single date since Andy dumped me. Which is why I was stupid enough to go out with you.”

Paul dropped his pen on his legal pad. “This is getting us nowhere.”

“Because there’s nowhere to go,” Jillian said. “The only reason anyone would want to kill me is because of you. Why does someone want to kill you?”

“I can’t tell you.”

“Don’t you think it’s only fair I know what’s screwing up my life?”

“I can’t tell you.” He got up, crossed the room, and returned with an iPad. “Look through all the photos in this file. They’re mug shots of felons known to be living in Colorado. Tell me if you recognize anyone.”

She glanced at the iPad screen. “What’s the purpose of this exercise?”

“You might have encountered someone who thinks you witnessed a crime or who’s pretending to be someone else.”

“I also could have encountered someone without a criminal record who thinks I witnessed something or who’s pretending to be someone else.” She tilted her head, widened her eyes. “Maybe I should look through photos of every single Colorado resident and mark everyone I’ve ever encountered. You can check them all out.”

He snorted. Anyone else she would have thought was disguising a laugh, but from his harsh expression, that wasn’t the case. “Look at the damn pictures.”

After five minutes of scrolling through unflattering photos, Jillian looked up. “I found someone.”

Paul had moved to a chair across the room, probably out of fear she’d sneak a peek at his top-secret work. He set down his laptop and came over to the sofa, carrying his pen and legal pad.

Jillian pointed at the mug shots of an African-American male in his early twenties. “I sewed up his arm about a month ago. Cut himself cooking, he claimed.”

Paul made a note. “Was he upset with you?”

“No, because I didn’t bother to report him even though I was pretty sure he didn’t get that cut slicing onions.” She scrolled to the next page. “I know this guy, too. They’re both members of the same gang.” She scrolled through a few more pages then pointed at another photo. “This guy’s in a different gang. I’ve never treated him, but I’ve seen him in the ER a couple times.”

“Do you know every gang member in Denver?”

“Quite a few have come in, either to be patched up or bringing someone else.”

“Have you had run-ins with them?” Paul asked.

“Nothing serious. They don’t dare hassle us too much because they never know when they’ll need our help. None of them would ever want to kill me.”

Paul ripped a few pages from his legal pad and set them and his pen on the coffee table. “List all the gang members you recognize. If you recognize anyone not gang-related, tell me.”

Jillian looked around the living room. “I forgot to ask, where are my friends?”

“Your friends?”

“Those nice men who brought me here last night. Especially that sweet Alex.”

The corners of Paul’s mouth twitched.

Although she’d probably imagined it. He hadn’t looked anything but serious since she’d arrived.

“They all left this morning. But don’t worry. You’re not alone with me. Sam’s still here, and so is another guy named Mac. And this place is so isolated hardly anyone knows it exists, and it has one of the best security systems around. No one can get in.” Cold steel hardened his eyes and voice. “Or out.”

A chill ran down Jillian’s spine. The Devil was definitely an appropriate nickname.

Like she’d said, when she made a mistake…

* * * *

“Time to get up, Jillian.”

Paul’s knock on her door roused Jillian from a sound sleep. After four hours of reviewing mug shots, she’d needed a break. Everyone was looking familiar.

Paul pounded louder. “Dr. Rodgers?”

Jillian glanced at the clock. Nearly six. No doubt, Paul had decided a three-hour break was long enough. She walked over and yanked the door open. “Now what?”

“Time for dinner.”

She smelled tomatoes and basil. “I’d prefer to eat in my room.”

He smiled humorlessly. “I’m sure you would, but I want you to get to know Sam and Mac since they’re protecting you.” He took her arm. “Let’s go.”

“Just so you know, I’m not helping with cleanup.”

Paul left halfway through dinner without having said a civil word to her. Luckily, Sam and Mac proved much better company, especially Sam, who spoke enthusiastically about his high school librarian wife and their three elementary school-aged kids.

Despite her earlier assertion, Jillian ended up helping Sam with the dishes. Then she returned to her room and started one of the paperbacks she’d had stacked on her nightstand at home. It lived up to its reviews, so riveting and unpredictable she couldn’t put it down. Maybe not as riveting and unpredictable as her life had become, but a lot more enjoyable.

Her nap didn’t keep her from tiring before ten. She dug through her suitcase for her favorite T-shirt to sleep in, one from a Rolling Stones concert with especially pleasant memories. Right now, she needed all the pleasantness she could get.

She put on the T-shirt and was walking to the bathroom to brush her teeth when someone knocked on her bedroom door. “Jillian? Open up.”

Paul. He was probably there to lock her in the way Sam had last night, although someone had unlocked her door before she’d gotten up. She opened the door.

“Have you thought of anyone who might hate you, anything unusual that’s happened, or any especially sensitive or significant cases Andy’s recently handled?” he asked. “Anything that might make someone want to kill you?”

“No.”

“Let me know if you do.” He turned away.

“Paul?”

He turned back toward her.

“Is that really your name? Paul Devlin?”

“Paul Harrison Devlin.” His tone was coolly impersonal.

“Did you really go to Harvard?”

“I said I did.”

“Did you really have a golden retriever named Charlie?”

“Why would I lie about that?”

Why was she even asking? “Never a straight answer.” She looked away from him, at a weaving on the hallway wall opposite her room, an intricate combination of oranges, blues, and greens. “You know, the worst part is that even though it had only been a short time, I felt like I knew so much about you. Knew you. That’s why I stayed that night. But it turns out I didn’t know a damn thing, not even your real name.” She met his eyes. “Was everything you told me a lie?”

“I didn’t lie to you.”

“That’s a lie to end all lies.”

Paul raked his fingers through his hair. “What I meant is I didn’t lie about my dog and family, about what I think and believe, about what’s important to me. I only lied about my name and my job.”

She shook her head. “You lie so much you probably don’t even remember the truth. Good night, Paul.”