Out of Character (35 page)

Ryan had understood she couldn’t attend Paul’s funeral and face the questions she’d inevitably get there. With her permission, though, 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.”

“Are you regretting staying in? I’ll bet you could still take that other job.”

“Probably, but I don’t regret that. I’m not a private sector guy no matter what they pay, at least not yet.” He took another sip, leaned back, and crossed his legs in front of him. “But the bureau definitely has its faults.”

“Most employers do.”

They drank in silence. After a moment, Ryan straightened and set his glass on the table. “You know how I told Martin the truth about your relationship with Paul so the bureau would be more understanding about what they expected from you?”

She nodded.

“Well, they weren’t.”

At his grim expression, she tensed. She set her cup beside his glass and clenched her hands together on her lap. “What do they want me to do? Not go back to the island.” Her voice shook slightly. “I can’t do that.”

“No, nothing like that.” Ryan pried her hands apart and took one of them.

“Are they sending you away on an assignment somewhere I won’t be able to see or even talk to you? Since this matter’s nearly finished, and I know you need to get on with your life,” she made herself add, although she wasn’t sure how she’d handle Ryan’s absence. She hadn’t realized until this moment just how much he’d come to mean to her.

“It’s not that,” he said. “Although I’m not sure you’ll want to speak to me after today. Even though I swear I didn’t have anything to do with it.”

“What is it?”

He squeezed her hand. “Relax. It’s not that bad. Actually, it is bad, but not like you think.” He picked up his Scotch.

Ryan’s cryptic comments and serious demeanor were making Jillian nervous. “What is it? Tell me.”

He held his glass in front of him and examined the amber liquid. “It’s like Mark Twain, I guess.”

“What is?”

“I think he means that reports of my death were greatly exaggerated. Although I’d have expected a little more originality from a Harvard grad.”

Jillian froze. She couldn’t breathe. The ice filling her chest and lungs made inhaling impossible.

Because standing inside the doorway was Paul Devlin.

“Drink this.”

Ryan raised his Scotch to Jillian’s numb lips. She sipped it. The liquid burned down her throat, and she coughed, the tears that filled her eyes overflowing onto her cheeks.

“Paul.”

“Jillian.” Paul took a step toward her. Then somehow she was in his arms and breathing in his scent, telling herself he felt and smelled too real to be a dream, a ghost, a figment of her imagination. Although of course he had to be. He’d been dead for more than three months.

“I’ve missed you so damn much.” Paul’s hands moved over her, pressing painfully hard, but she didn’t care because a dream wouldn’t bruise her, because the pain meant that even though it was impossible, he was there.

“I thought you were dead.” She was crying, her tears soaking his white shirt and burgundy silk tie, the lapel of his charcoal suit coat. “They told me you were dead.”

“I know, I know.” He tangled his fingers in her hair and pulled her head back to lift her chin. “I’m definitely not dead.” Then his lips were on hers. He held her tightly, as if he were trying to absorb her.

“I’d better stop while I still can,” he said roughly.

“Don’t mind me,” Ryan said from a chair. “I’m reading a magazine and politely averting my gaze.”

“I’d hate to scandalize Martin.” Paul steered Jillian onto the sofa.

Jillian forced herself to blink hard several times, despite her fear that when she closed her eyes Paul would disappear. Each time he was still there, still holding her. “You’re alive.” She stroked his face, feeling the slight rasp of his whiskers against her fingertips. “You’re really alive.”

He took her hand, moved it from his cheek, and kissed her palm. “I’m really alive.”

“Are you all right? Physically?”

“Completely.” He released her hand and ran his fingers through her hair. “You’ve got the silkiest hair.”

“How could this happen? Were Taurino’s men holding you?” Jillian stroked his face again to convince herself that this wasn’t another one of those vivid dreams that always ended with her waking up and crying.