by Diana Miller
“What do you mean?”
She studied the crumpled silver and red can. “Having me around and in danger because of Paul constantly reminds him of what happened to Helene. He resents me for being alive when she’s dead. Not that I’m criticizing him,” she added. “Grief affects people in all sorts of ways, especially when someone you love dies suddenly. I know that from the ER.”
“There’s just one little problem with your theory,” Ryan said. “When Helene died, Paul didn’t love her. He hated her.”
The crumpled can fell from Jillian’s fingers. “He hated her?”
“Yep. In my opinion, he never should have married her.” Ryan stretched his legs out in front of him. “Because of his career choice, Paul was estranged from his entire family for years. His mom wrote to him, but he never saw her or anyone else. Then his mom got breast cancer. That convinced Paul to take a leave from work and go home. Fran’s illness and time had mellowed Paul’s dad, and he and Paul made peace. While he was home, Paul met Helene. Two months later, they were married, and he’d quit the government and gone to work for his dad. He claimed he did it because of Helene, but I think it was out of guilt over his estrangement from his family. He figured getting married and settling down would make it up to everyone.”
Ryan tapped his bottled water on his knee. “No matter why he did it, it was a mistake. Paul thinks Helene started acting like a selfish bitch because he hated his career change and took it out on her. Personally, I always thought she was a selfish bitch. Paul tried his best to make things work. Until he found out about Helene’s affair.”
“She had an affair?”
“She admitted to one, although I bet there were more.” Ryan made a disgusted sound. “Hell, she even hit on me a couple times. She blamed Paul for it, claimed he’d driven her to cheat because he’d made her so miserable. Paul agreed he’d made her miserable, but he wouldn’t forgive infidelity and filed for divorce. He’d paid for their house and wanted Helene to move out. She refused, and Paul sure as hell wouldn’t leave. That’s the only reason he and Helene were still living together when she died.”
“How exactly did she die?”
Ryan resumed tapping. “One morning while Paul was eating breakfast, Helene waltzed in and announced her car wouldn’t start, so she was taking his. He said he needed it; she told him to take a cab. They had an argument that ended with her heading for the garage. When Helene started the car, it exploded. Blew up the garage and put hole in the kitchen wall.”
“Damn.” Jillian hugged her bent knees.
“Yeah.” Ryan set his water on the sand beside him. “An old enemy of Paul’s had tried to take him out. Nobody knows how he discovered Paul’s identity since he killed himself before the government interrogated him.”
“Paul blamed himself because the bomb was meant for him.” Jillian rested her cheek on her bent knees. She understood that too well. God knows she felt guilty about the bomb that had killed Kristen, even though all she’d done was date a man she’d met skiing, with Kristen’s enthusiastic encouragement.
“And because he was so pissed at Helene that he didn’t check whether his car had been tampered with before she started it, even though he was out of the business and had no reason to. Not that Helene would have stopped long enough for him to check it anyway.”
Ryan shook his head. “I’ve never met anyone with a guilt complex like Paul’s. Not only about Helene.”
About her, too. Jillian’s chest felt hollow. “I assumed he disliked me because he was still mourning Helene. Obviously, it’s more personal.”
“You’re way off base on that one, too. Paul told me he did more than ski with you.”
Jillian looked away, her face hot. “I thought guys quit bragging about things like that when they left high school locker rooms.”
“It wasn’t like that.” Ryan rested a hand on her arm. “Paul only admitted it after I guessed from something you’d said. He also admitted that even though no one else was worried about Keystone, he had a feeling there might be trouble. That means he might have skied with you during the day, but nothing else. He sure as hell wouldn’t have seen you two nights in a row.”
“Except he did.”
“Right. The only logical explanation is that he was so attracted to you that he couldn’t help himself.”
Jillian rolled her eyes. “Which is why he treats me like something the cat wouldn’t bother dragging in.”
“That confused me, since Paul usually treats women well, even if he dislikes them.” Ryan moved his hand from her arm. “He’s got this chivalrous streak that makes the rest of look bad. Then I figured it out.
“You’re supposed to ask what I figured out,” he said when Jillian didn’t respond.
“What’s to figure out? Paul resents being stuck with me so much he can’t even be civil.”
“Wrong.” Ryan grinned. “Paul’s convinced he endangered you and missed his tail because he let his feelings for you distract him. Like he thinks happened with Helene, although those feelings were way different. He’s afraid if he gives into his feelings for you again, he’ll screw up again, and you’ll end up dead. But he can’t resist you, so he’s determined to keep you so mad at him that you won’t let him get near you.”
Despite the hurt Paul’s attitude caused, Ryan’s words triggered a genuine laugh. “That’s the stupidest theory I’ve ever heard. Paul was with me because he wanted a woman for sex or his cover. Maybe both.”
“You are so far off base,” Ryan said. “I know Paul, and he’d normally never put a woman at the slightest risk for either of those things. He’d also normally go out of his way to treat you nicely now. That he did and he isn’t prove my theory.”
“You’re crazy. Although I appreciate you trying to make me feel better.” Jillian grabbed his hand and squeezed it. “I’m awfully glad you’re my friend.”
“The feeling’s mutual,” Ryan said. “I’m not wrong about Paul, though. You don’t really dislike him, do you?”
Jillian looked away. Her feelings about Paul were too twisted to sort out, and she was afraid doing so might make her feel worse. A bird cawed in the distance then settled on one of the twin rocks jutting up from the water. “I’m not real fond of him.”
“Maybe not now, but you were in Keystone or you wouldn’t have spent the night with him. Trust me, the man you knew there was the real Paul Devlin, no matter what he was calling himself.”
“Look, I know he’s your friend, but—”
“But you’d rather not talk about him.” Ryan met her eyes. “That’s fine, but first I need to give you some advice. There’s one good reason you should be nice to him.”
“Why?”
“Because of his colossal guilt complex. If he thinks you want to go to Denver even partly to get away from him, he’ll feel too guilty to ever agree.”
* * * *
Jillian spent most of dinner that evening trying to convince Paul to send her to Denver. When they’d finished the fruit salad she’d made for dessert, she thankfully gave up and went to her room.
“She’s got a lot of courage,” Ryan said after Jillian was gone.
“She doesn’t have a clue what she’d be getting herself into.” And he was tired of having to continuously explain that to her.
“I think she has a pretty good idea. She’s used to analyzing a problem, then doing whatever’s necessary to solve it, whether it’s working hard or taking a reasonable risk.”
“This risk isn’t reasonable.” Paul refilled his wineglass from the second bottle he’d opened. Tonight he felt like having more than his customary one glass with dinner. “She’s minimizing it because she doesn’t truly understand, and because she’s anxious to get away from here.” From him. “Besides, it’s unnecessary. You know as well as I do who’s after her. As soon as the trial’s over, she’ll be safe.”
“I’m not so sure.” Ryan’s brow furrowed. “It seems rather drastic for them
to target her simply because she was with you one or even two nights. You probably wouldn’t have told her anything about your assignment, and even if you did, so what? It’s hearsay. It’s not like she can testify against them.”
Paul sipped in silence. The cabernet had received ninety-five points from the Wine Spectator, but tonight it could just as well have been grape juice.
“Won’t you at least consider it?” Ryan asked.
Paul took another sip of wine.
“She’s not Helene, Paul. She’s nothing like Helene.”
Paul slammed his Baccarat crystal glass on the table and glared at Ryan. “You think I don’t know that?”
Ryan held up a placating hand. “All I’m saying is Jillian wouldn’t do something impulsive like Helene did when she took your car. We also know someone’s after her, so we’ll be ready. This situation is completely different.”
“You’re damn right it’s different. For one thing, I’m not letting my emotions interfere with my judgment.”
“Aren’t you?” Ryan studied him for a minute. “She thinks you hate her. We both know you don’t.”
Paul got up and picked his empty plate off the table, followed by Ryan’s and Jillian’s.
“I think part of the reason she wants to leave is because you’re making it hard for her to be here,” Ryan went on. “If you’d treat her a little nicer, she might not be so anxious to go.”
Paul carried the stack of plates over to the sink.
“Think about it.” Ryan pushed away from the table and got to his feet. “Since you’ve apparently offered to clean up, I’ll go check the security system and make sure everything’s still working.”
* * * *
Ryan sat on the grass outside the security fence, watching the glowing tangerine sun dropping into the darkening water. He didn’t need to check the system; he knew it was working. It was a surveillance camera that was having problems, but that was because he’d programmed the computer to shut it off periodically then recycle old images so everyone would think it was still on. Just like he’d programmed the equipment to not pick up certain phone calls, including the one he’d just made.
He took a deep, satisfied breath of warm salty air. When he’d first agreed to do this, he’d been concerned about fooling Paul. Thanks to his knowledge of Paul’s strengths and weaknesses, it had been remarkably easy. Of course, that was why he’d been approached in the first place. His other skills hadn’t hurt, but his years of friendship with Paul made him one of the only people able to pull this off.
Ryan plucked a few strands of grass and rolled them together between his fingertips. He was keeping up his end of the bargain. He’d made good use of Paul’s trust and of his lack of interest in computers.
He’d also made good use of his ability to read Paul. He’d lied to Jillian. He had reviewed her FBI file. From what he’d learned, she definitely wasn’t Paul’s usual type. He’d expected their relationship to be cordial but professional.
Ryan fiddled with the grass cord he’d rolled. Damn, had he been off base. Once he’d figured out the way things really were, he’d pinpointed Jillian as the key to keeping Paul distracted.
Ryan inspected the perfect clove hitch he’d tied, one of the many useful skills he’d learned from Paul over the years. The verbal shoves he’d given both Paul and Jillian today should distract Paul even more. He’d hated to abandon his original plan to seduce Jillian. He’d have enjoyed a few nights with her. But some things were even more important than women.
Ryan dropped the knotted grass and got to his feet. Very few, but keeping Paul preoccupied right now was definitely one of them. Besides, with the payoff he’d negotiated, he’d be able to disappear the instant this was over. Then he was going somewhere far away from here, somewhere he’d be able to enjoy some other lovely woman and a lot of lovely money.
Chapter 19
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 an
yone 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.
