Out of Character (23 page)

Jillian was up early the next morning, determined to confront Paul about Denver before he disappeared for the day. But when she strode into the kitchen, only Ryan was sitting at the butcher-block table.

The kitchen seemed exceptionally warm and cheery this morning, the sun sparkling off the light granite countertops. “Where’s Paul?” She grabbed the coffeepot.

“He’s already gone to the office.” Ryan grinned. “I think he’s hiding from you.” His grin faded. “I’m glad you’re up early. I have to leave.”

“Leave? When?”

“This morning.”

The kitchen’s light and warmth vanished. “Aren’t you on vacation?”

“It ended early.” Ryan saluted. “My country apparently needs me. I hope you’ll miss me.”

“Of course I will.” She’d known Ryan wouldn’t be able to stay forever, but she’d expected to have a little more warning before he left.

He pushed his chair away from the table. “I need to pack. I’ll be back soon.”

* * * *

Ryan returned in ten minutes, carrying a navy backpack. “I’m going to tell Paul good-bye, then I’ll take off. Do you want to come with me?”

Jillian stood up beside the kitchen table, trying to hide the depression that had set in at Ryan’s announcement. He wrapped an arm around her shoulders, then steered her outside and along the blacktopped path to the office.

When they were still several yards away, Paul emerged. “This is good-bye.”

“Yep.” Ryan removed his arm from Jillian’s shoulders and strapped on the backpack. “A boat’s picking me up on Dune. I’ll head southwest and take a circular route there, so no one spotting me will guess I came from here. Not that anyone’s going to spot me.” He gave Jillian a hug.

“I’m going to miss you,” she said.

He held her close for a moment. “If I don’t see you before, call me when this is over. Paul has my number.”

“I’ll do that. Be careful.”

“You, too. Remember what I said.” Ryan kissed her lightly then released her and shook Paul’s hand. “I’d like to see you again, so take care of yourself. And of Jillian.” He gave her a smile.

Jillian managed a shaky half-smile in response.

Ryan raised a finger. “Au revoir.”

Jillian blinked back tears as she watched Ryan walk away. He’d taken her mind off the complete disaster her life had become. Now that he was gone, she felt more miserable than ever, stuck here with a man who hated her, no matter what Ryan pretended to believe.

She brushed the back of her hand over her eyes. Self-pity was a worthless emotion; she’d learned that long ago. She still had Mac, Sam, and Harry for company. While none of them was likely to become a good friend, they were nice enough, especially Sam. She also didn’t plan to be stuck here much longer.

Things would work out. She’d make sure of it.

* * * *

When Sam walked into the back room that evening, Paul gratefully looked up from his computer monitor. He could usually translate Kashmiri as easily as Spanish, but this document could have been written in Kanuri, a language he didn’t know. After concentrating for nearly ten hours, his brain had apparently gone on strike.

“I spotted something. On the water.”

Sam’s announcement acted like a shot of speed that dissipated every trace of Paul’s computer-induced lethargy. He jumped to his feet and raced to the front room.

Sam pointed to the monitor displaying the open water west of the island. “At eleven o’clock.”

Paul moved closer to the monitor. His pulse quickened. Barely visible on the edge of the screen was a boat. Ryan had left more than eight hours ago. Besides, it was in the opposite direction as Dune. “Did you just spot it?”

“Yeah, and I’ve been watching the water carefully since it’s almost sunset.” Sunset and sunrise were the best times for someone to approach the island undetected. “Any tourist islands around here?”

A logical question, since neither Sam nor Mac knew where they were. “Not near enough that anyone would intentionally be here this close to dark.” Paul squinted at the monitor. “We never get sailboats, which is what that looks like. The currents, winds, and rocks are too challenging.”

“A sailboat’s hardly the choice of assassins.”

“Hoisting a sail doesn’t mean they haven’t got a hell of a lot of horsepower they can switch to. Where’s Jillian?” Paul’s focus was still on the boat.

“In the living room.”

“Tell Harry to stop patrolling and get back here. Keep your eye on Jillian. I don’t want to worry her unless I have to.”

Paul retrieved his gun from the back room then returned to the front. “I’m going to the lookout.”

Sam got to his feet. “I’ll go. You’ll be a sitting duck up there, and you’re the one we need to keep safe.”

“I know this area better. Watch Jillian. And the boat.” Paul grabbed two of the half dozen radios on the shelf and handed one to Sam. “I’ll keep in touch.”

He sprinted out the front door and across the grass to the lookout tower, propelled by the adrenaline coursing through his veins. How the hell could anyone know he was here? He’d been concerned about a leak in Keystone, but this place was different.

He reached the tower’s entrance, punched in the code to open the door, and raced up the spiral staircase, his rubber soles clanking against the metal, his heart pummeling his chest. He exited onto the circular roof, a flat area surrounded by a stone fence low enough to allow viewing but high enough to offer cover. Surveillance cameras—including the one that had picked up the sailboat—were perched there, as well as two high-powered telescopes.

The wind was blowing toward the island from the west, harder than usual for this time of night. Paul pushed his flapping hair out of his eyes and peered into a telescope.

His stomach plummeted.
Damn.

He switched on the radio. “It’s definitely a sailboat and coming our way at a good clip. Did you get hold of Harry?”

“He just got here,” Sam said. “Do you want us to stake out the coast?”

“Not yet.” Paul watched the boat. “What’s Jillian doing?”

“She’s in the kitchen, making a cup of tea.”

“Good. If she looks like she’s going outside, head to the house and stop her.”

“Should I wake Mac?” Sam asked.

“Yeah.” Having both Sam and Mac on duty would guarantee Harry an ally if one of them had figured out their location and leaked it. Unlikely, since neither had access to a GPS or anything comparable, let alone the expertise to get around the island’s sophisticated communications safeguards. But being paranoid had saved his ass more than once.

The setting sun made it impossible to see the boat clearly, but it was definitely approaching the island. After a couple minutes, the boat shifted out of the sun’s direct path. The hairs on the back of Paul’s neck raised.

“I can see two men on deck,” he said into the radio. “One’s driving, another’s pacing. The pacer might be the guy who nearly killed me in D.C.” Cold sweat trickled down his spine.

The image of his near-assassin was branded into Paul’s brain. From this distance, he couldn’t make out the pacer’s features, but he was the right size and had the same dark facial hair. “Give me Harry.”

“I’m here, Paul.” Harry’s perpetually calm voice came through the radio.

“Anything on the other monitors? I don’t want to take my eyes off the boat.”

“Nothing. Still only two guys?”

“On deck.” He didn’t need to mention the dozen possibly crowded below.

“Can you see what they’ve got?”

“Not yet.”

The bearded man stopped pacing and stared in the direction of the island. Paul’s blood froze.

“Head out back,” he told Harry. “Take a radio.”

The evening seemed ominously quiet, the setting sun bathing the world in an eerie orangish glow. This wasn’t supposed to happen. No one was supposed to find them. Even if he summoned help now, no one would arrive for several hours, far too late to do them any good.

Keep cool and think.

He was panicking because of what had happened in the Rockies. He didn’t know for sure anyone had found them. Even if they had, they’d lost the element of surprise. If the boat’s occupants shot, Harry would shoot back. Provided their shot missed Harry, but Paul didn’t dare have Harry shoot first, not until he was positive the boat didn’t hold innocent tourists. Harry wouldn’t miss.

Paul watched the boat through the telescope. He’d always hated waiting. In the thick of things, you couldn’t do much besides act and react. The waiting phase gave you too damn much time to contemplate what might happen. To imagine all the horrifying scenarios that necessitated his Plans A through at least D.

Both men were moving now, too quickly for casual sailing. “Get ready, Harry.” Paul hadn’t expected them to shoot from this far out. They must have something unusually powerful and accurate, something that would cause a hell of a lot of destruction.

Something that would turn him from a sitting duck into a dead duck. He needed to get the hell out of here.

Paul backed toward the door, his focus on the boat, his radio at his ear. The wind gusted, chilling the sweat that had pooled at the base of his spine. He shivered, backed up faster.

Then the sail jibed and the boat turned.

Paul stopped. “They came about and are heading away,” he told Harry through the radio.

“Could be waiting for reinforcements.”

“I know.” Paul returned to the telescope and made a quick 360-degree check. The water appeared otherwise empty.

That didn’t mean the boaters were alone. He switched the radio to Sam’s frequency. “Keep a close eye on the monitors. They might be using the boat to divert our attention from someone already on shore. Is Jillian still in the living room?”

“Drinking tea and reading.”

The boat sailed away for a moment then came about again. The sailors had adjusted their course a little south, but were still approaching the island.

What if a missile destroyed everything in the compound except the house? Paul’s stomach lurched. Jillian might be the only survivor. She wasn’t armed and wouldn’t be able to protect herself from someone on shore.

“I’m heading to the house.” Paul ran to the door then down the steps, two at a time.

He was almost at the bottom when Sam radioed. “We intercepted a call from someplace called the Mimosa Inn. Two couples headed out on a sail this morning and aren’t back yet. Could that be our boat?”

The Mimosa Inn was on an island nearly seventy miles away. Paul considered that for a moment. “With today’s winds, they could be this far off course, and maybe the women are below. Any maydays?”

“Not that I’ve heard.”

“The call may have been faked to put us off. Although maybe the sailors are too dumb to realize how off-course they are. Or too embarrassed to admit it.”

Paul raced back up the stairs then crept to the telescope, keeping below the cover of the fence. He peered through the telescope.

The guys on deck doused their sails. Paul held his breath. The boat turned left then moved faster. Away from the island.

He called Harry. “They’re motoring now, heading east. Go inside and give the authorities an anonymous call with their location.” If the boat’s occupants were inept tourists, they needed more help than they realized. Disorientation was a major problem in this area during the day. In the dark, it could be deadly.

Paul watched until the boat disappeared from view. The sun was nearly down, a sliver of deep orange beyond the heaving sea. He checked the surrounding area one more time. Still empty.

His stomach and breathing calmed, and his heart rate slowed. “I’m coming down,” he told Harry. “Send Mac back to bed, but you and Sam keep watching the monitors. Especially on shore.”

The boat might be the Mimosa’s missing sailors.

But the fact the boat had left for now didn’t guarantee it wasn’t something else—something infinitely more dangerous.

* * * *

Paul pounded on Jillian’s bedroom door at eight the next morning.

The bed creaked then her feet hit the floor, and she stomped to the door. He probably should have let her sleep. He was anxious to get started, though, and God knows he’d been up for hours. The boat had turned out to be the Mimosa’s missing sailors, but its presence had made him realize that he and the guards weren’t enough. Jillian had to be able to protect herself.

She opened the door. “What now?” She looked as if she’d rather be facing a dozen puking kids in the ER than him.

“Do you know how to use a handgun? I didn’t think so,” he said when she didn’t immediately answer. “Get dressed. It’s time for your first lesson.”

“My what?”

“Your shooting lesson. You need to know how to use a gun.”

“Why?”

“So you can protect yourself if someone attacks you.”

Jillian crossed her arms and narrowed her eyes. “You claim no one knows we’re here or that this place even exists. I’ve also got almost as many guards as the president and what Ryan swears is the best security system known to man. What’s the probability I’ll be attacked here, let alone need to protect myself?”

“It’s possible.”

“Anything’s possible.” She threw up her hands in obvious disgust. “I hate guns, and I’m not learning to shoot one because you’re paranoid.”

“You’ll need to know how if you go to Denver.”

She dropped her hands. “I’m going to Denver?”

He leaned against the door jam. “I’m considering it.” Which was true; he
was
considering it—considering how to convince her to drop the whole ridiculous idea.

“I’ll have guards in Denver. I’ve also taken self-defense courses, and I have mace.” She grabbed the door handle.

Paul stepped into her room then towered over her. “Mace and self-defense courses. Jesus. You’re not dealing with purse snatchers here.”

She raised her chin, her eyes fixed on his with the intensity of twin lasers. “I am not using a gun. Please leave.”

That authoritative approach might work on cops in the ER, but he didn’t have to worry about a harassment complaint if he kept pushing. He could get away with hauling her to the shooting range and physically forcing her to hold a gun.