Out of Character (5 page)

A bullet struck their chair. “Damn it. Get down.” Mark pressed Jillian forward with her head between her knees. He covered her head with his chest as a second bullet hit his ski boot.

“What is it?” She sounded confused, scared.

A bullet clanked off their chair.

“I think someone’s shooting at us.” Adrenaline sharpened his senses. He scanned the hillside, but couldn’t see anyone. From the direction of the bullets, the sniper had hidden in the pines. Shooting back would be futile, even if he’d dared stop shielding Jillian long enough to pull out his gun.

She cried out, jerked under him, and dropped her poles.

Mark’s gut clenched. “Are you all right?”

“It hit my shoulder, but I don’t think it’s bad,” she said shakily. “Why is this happening?”

A shot whizzed past his ear. Nearly a bulls-eye.

The next bullet hit the empty chair behind them. Farther back, a woman screamed.

Mark breathed again. “I think we’re out of his range, but stay down anyway.” In case there was a second shooter. “You don’t think your shoulder’s serious?”

“It feels like the bullet just nicked the skin.”

Thank God.
He should never have agreed to ski tonight, but he’d have sworn it was safe. No one would search for him on the slopes at night, and he’d been positive he hadn’t been followed. Obviously his personal radar had malfunctioned, most likely because he’d been preoccupied with getting Jillian off the ski slopes and into his bed. And she was suffering for it.

The lift seemed to be climbing in slow motion. Mark looked around. The slope was empty and quiet. He helped Jillian sit up. He could make out a small tear in her jacket, but no dark stain around it. “Let me see your shoulder.”

“I’m not taking my jacket off in the cold.” She removed her glove and unzipped her coat enough to reach inside. She winced and withdrew her hand. “It’s tender, but I can’t feel the bullet or much blood. From what I know about gunshot wounds, serious ones hurt a lot more than this.”

Serious gunshot wounds hurt like hell; he knew that from painful experience. Although the cold could be numbing it. “Should I press on it to stop the bleeding?”

Her wan smile was encouraging. “Since it isn’t bleeding much, all that would do is make it hurt more. Why would someone shoot at us?”

They’d finally neared the top of the hill. “Don’t know. I’ll help you off.” Mark tossed his poles at the dismount area then removed his right glove and shoved his hand under his ski jacket, grabbing his gun. He put his other arm around Jillian and surveyed the area. The only person he saw was the lift operator.

“We need a medic,” Mark yelled as he helped Jillian off the chair. “Someone’s shooting at the ski lift halfway down the slope. She was hit.”

The lift operator stared at him blankly.

“Call the rescue squad. And get security to find the shooter.”

Jillian slumped against Mark.

His blood froze. “Are you all right?”

“My knees buckled. I was so scared.” Her voice quavered.

Mark pulled her close with one arm. “You’re safe now. I won’t let anyone hurt you. I promise.”

“My God, someone shot at us!” A man spoke behind them, his voice loud and excited.

An equally excited female said, “We couldn’t see him, but we heard the shots. One bounced off the empty chair in front of us.”

Mark removed his hand from under his jacket. No one would dare shoot at him up here, not with all these people around. He tuned out the voices and concentrated on stroking Jillian’s hair and murmuring quietly to her.

A snowmobile roared to the top of the hill, paused by the lift operator then continued to them.

“An ambulance is on its way to the parking lot,” the driver said as he and another man hopped off the idling vehicle. “Let’s get her onto the stretcher.”

“I don’t need a stretcher.” Jillian moved out of Mark’s arms. “I’m an ER doctor, and it’s barely a scratch.”

“She needs to have it checked out,” Mark told the men. “I think you should get on the stretcher, Jillian. In case you start feeling faint.”

“I’m fine.”

She would be, once she got away from him and to somewhere full of medical personnel and cops. “I need to be sure you’re all right. Please.”

She rolled her eyes. “Okay.”

The rescue team secured her on the stretcher then loaded it onto the sled behind their snowmobile. “People,” the driver yelled. “People!”

The small group at the top of the hill quieted.

“More snowmobiles are coming for the rest of you. Ride those down and wait for the police. They’ll want your statements.”

“Give us a minute.” Mark knelt in the snow beside Jillian. “Get that shoulder taken care of. I couldn’t handle it if anything happened to you.”

Jillian nodded.

He dropped a hard kiss on her lips. “I’ll call you.”

Clutching his gun inside his jacket again, Mark watched the snowmobile speed down the hill until the night swallowed it. Jillian would be safe now. No thanks to him.

No, thanks to him, she’d nearly ended up dead. No matter how he tried to excuse it, how convinced he’d been it was safe, the bottom line was he’d endangered an innocent woman for his own selfish purposes. An innocent woman he’d genuinely liked, but had still managed to hurt.

Now he’d hurt her more. Because he’d never call her, never e-mail her, never have any contact with her again. Although that was for the best, she was bound to feel bad about it. To feel as if he’d been using her. Which, of course, he had been.

He let out a long breath, trying to expel the guilt gnawing his gut. Then he pulled out his cell phone. He’d deal with that damned conscience of his later. His top priority now had to be disappearing before the cops got suspicious or reinforcements arrived. He had things to do, and he couldn’t do them from a jail cell—or a morgue.

Kristen looked up from her iPad when Jillian walked into the kitchen at eleven the next morning. “How did you sleep?”

Jillian headed directly for the coffeemaker. “My brain feels numb thanks to those sleeping pills you made me take.”

Kristen waved her complaint away. “So drink an extra cup of coffee. The doctor said to take them because you needed to sleep.”

“Which was ridiculous since I always sleep.” Jillian set a blue and white mug on the white quartz countertop and filled it with coffee.

“You’ve never tried to do it with a wounded shoulder. How is it today?”

Kristen’s obvious concern made Jillian stop griping about the sleeping pills. She carefully rotated her left shoulder. “It barely twinges.”

“Thanks to your good night’s sleep, no doubt. Do you want me to change your bandage?”

“I can manage.” Jillian carried her mug to the table and sat down across from Kristen.

“Did you take your antibiotics?”

Jillian could only handle so much concern. “What are you, my mother?” She swigged her strong French Roast. The familiar heat and tang lifted the fog in her brain long before the caffeine hit her system, a Pavlovian response she always appreciated.

“God, doctors really do make lousy patients,” Kristen said. “You’re lucky the guy didn’t kick you out of the ER when you started arguing about whether you needed stitches.”

“He just laughed.” Which is exactly what she’d have done in his place. Kristen was right about doctors.

“He also gave you stitches.”

“That doesn’t mean I needed them.” Jillian took another satisfying sip of coffee then set her mug on the table. “You didn’t have to stick around this morning. Especially after I ruined your last night.” Kristen had insisted on collecting Jillian’s car from the lodge, picking her up at the ER, and baby-sitting her for the rest of the evening.

“Making sure you’re all right is much more important than anything else,” Kristen said. “You could have been killed.”

Jillian’s hands chilled. She wrapped them around the mug. “I know. If Mark hadn’t reacted so quickly and pushed me down…” She shook her head, trying to dislodge the memories. “Speaking of Mark, did he call? He said he would.”

“Not yet. He’s probably letting you sleep.”

“I hope he’s all right. I didn’t see him after the rescue squad hauled me away.”

“The article doesn’t mention him, so I’m sure he’s fine.” Kristen handed Jillian a section of the
Denver Post.
“It made the front page, bottom left. I watched the news this morning, and the police are still convinced a kook decided to take out a few skiers.”

“Colorado has its share of crazies,” Jillian said. “I’ll bet they never catch him.”

Kristen went over to the counter and picked up the coffeepot. “They might, with the reward the resort’s offering. The cops will make solving this a top priority, since the ski areas will lose a fortune if tourists decide it’s safer to vacation somewhere else.” She refilled Jillian’s mug, then her own. “Did you get to the part where they mention you?”

Jillian looked up. “They promised not to.”

“They don’t give your name, just say a woman was shot but her injury was minor, thanks to her ski jacket.” Kristen grinned. “Maybe Obermeyer will hire you to do commercials about how the outstanding construction, durability, and insulation of their ski jackets saved your life.” She returned the coffeepot to the warmer. “I assume you don’t feel up to skiing this afternoon.”

“I think I’ll wait until tomorrow, at least,” Jillian said. “You go, and take my car. Weren’t you talking about skiing Copper Mountain?”

“I can catch the shuttle.”

“Take the car. I’m not planning on going anywhere until Mark calls. After how he protected me last night, I think I can probably trust him enough to get into his car.”

* * * *

Mark hadn’t called by nine that night, when Jillian’s throbbing shoulder convinced her to take a sleeping pill and go to bed.

The next morning, her shoulder barely ached, and Jillian spent the day skiing with Kristen. Mark hadn’t called her cell phone, but maybe he hadn’t been able to get through while they were skiing and hadn’t been sure she’d get a message. When they got back to the townhouse, Jillian rushed to the phone there, expecting to find a message. She didn’t.

Kristen grabbed a Diet Coke out of the refrigerator. “Call him.”

“He didn’t give me his cell phone number because his service is bad at his townhouse. He gave me the number of the landline at his townhouse, but it doesn’t have voicemail so I can’t leave a message.” As Jillian knew because she’d already called him several times. “I suppose I could call the rental office for the townhouses and have someone leave him a note, but if he doesn’t want to talk to me—”

“My God, you’re not back in high school calling a guy who barely noticed you in calculus.” Kristen waved her unopened soda. “You spent a night and part of the next day with him, even got shot at together. He probably couldn’t get through to your cell phone and lost your phone number here.”

She’d never thought of that. Jillian went into the kitchen to get her phone, found the rental office’s number, and called. Three minutes later, she walked back into the living room, feeling numb. “He’s gone.”

Kristen looked up from her magazine. “Gone?”

“Checked out yesterday.”

“Didn’t you say he was staying all week?”

“That’s what he told me.” Jillian sank down onto the sofa beside Kristen. “I can’t believe I fell for his line about it being more than a one-night stand to him.”

“Except you had plans for a second night. It must be something else.”

Jillian didn’t like the direction her thoughts were taking.

“The shooting must have convinced him to go home,” Kristen said with obvious disgust. “Easterners are wimps. Plus he’s an accountant.”

“Or maybe he’s married.” The words left a bitter taste in Jillian’s mouth. “Maybe the shooting made him decide to clean up his act and never cheat again.”

“I don’t think—”

“God, it makes so much sense now that I think about it.” She rubbed her cheeks with her palms. “We talked so much, but although I told him all about myself, he never told me much of anything personal. Not even what part of the city he lives in or the name of his accounting firm or exactly what he does. He said his wife died in a car accident six years ago, but he didn’t want to talk about it. Maybe that was because she’s still alive.”

“You could be right,” Kristen said.

“I know I’m right.” Jillian scrubbed her lips, trying to remove every trace of him. “That’s why he brought me coffee in bed. He probably does it every morning for his wife.”

“He brought you coffee in bed?”

Jillian nodded.

“No wonder you fell for him. Men can be such scums.”

She nodded again.

“You’re lucky to be rid of him.”

Jillian got to her feet. “You’re absolutely right. Let’s go get something to eat.”

* * * *

“How could I have been so stupid?”

Jillian and Kristen had gone to an Italian restaurant in nearby Dillon for dinner. Jillian had been determined not to mention Mark, but by the time their waiter brought the salads, she’d given up.

“You weren’t stupid. You made a mistake,” Kristen said. “Every woman’s judgment goes to hell when it comes to men and sex.”

The warm sympathy in Kristen’s eyes nearly made Jillian break down. She shifted romaine, radicchio, and olives around her plate until she’d regained her control. “It wasn’t just about sex. I thought we connected in other ways. We seemed to think the same way. We liked the same kinds of movies and music and books. We both went to Harvard, although at different times and different schools.”

She dropped her fork onto her plate and studied her rearranged salad. “I can’t believe the personal things I told him, about how I grew up, about my family, even about Andy. About you and your family and everything you all did for me.” She looked up. “Things I didn’t tell Andy for months.”

“I understand why you’re always cautious and keep your life and feelings under control.” Kristen twirled her wine glass. “But it’s possible to be too cautious and controlled about some things. Like love.” Her eyes were on her swirling wine. “In the almost fifteen years I’ve known you, you’ve never let yourself fall madly in love.”