Out of Character. Diana Miller

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СКАЧАТЬ had seemed as real as this voice, but she knew weren’t.

      “Jillian.” A hand gently shook her shoulder.

      She forced her eyelids open. She felt as if she were looking through the wrong end of a pair of binoculars, Andrew Dawson’s concerned green eyes tiny flecks in an abnormally small face. His chin was covered with stubble, and his dark brown hair was disheveled, but he still looked good.

      And she was so glad to see him. She sat up. “Andy.”

      “Oh, Jillian.” Andy sat beside her and held out his arms. She went into them easily, as if it had been yesterday rather than six months ago since he’d last held her. “How are you?”

      “Horrible.” she murmured. “My car exploded.”

      “I know.”

      “I tried to get to her, but I couldn’t. A man stopped me. He said it was too late. Even when I told him I was a doctor, he said it was too late.”

      They sat there, silently holding each other, until Jillian asked, “Why are you here?”

      “I drove Jason,” Andy said. “He wanted to talk to the police, and I didn’t want him to come alone. Do they know how it happened?”

      “They think it was some bizarre accident, maybe a rock punctured the gas tank and something sparked, triggering an explosion.” Jillian moved out of Andy’s arms. “I was supposed to go with her. At the last minute, I decided not to, that I was too tired. She wanted to take a cab, but I made her take the car.” Her eyes teared. “Why didn’t I let her take a cab?”

      Andy clamped his hands on her shoulders. “Because you knew she’d rather take your car. If she hadn’t, this probably would have happened when you both were in the car. You can’t blame yourself, Jillian. Kristen would be furious if she knew you did.”

      “I know.” Deep sobs wracked Jillian’s body. She’d never see Kristen again, never talk to her again, never argue with her again. Kristen was dead.

      Andy held her, rocking her, crying with her.

      Jillian lifted her head. “I’m sorry for falling apart like that.”

      “Don’t be. Here.” He offered her a Kleenex.

      She took it and wiped her wet cheeks and eyes, blew her nose. “I’ve seen so many violent deaths and injuries in the ER, but it’s never happened to a friend. I’ll never look at another burn victim without remembering. The smell—”

      “Try not to think about it,” Andy said. “How’s your shoulder?”

      She’d forgotten all about it. “It’s fine. Heck of a vacation I’ve had, isn’t it? If I were paranoid, I’d think someone is out to get me, that they put a bomb in my car when they missed killing me on the chairlift.”

      “You’re kidding, aren’t you?”

      She had no idea why she’d said something so outrageous. She attempted a smile. “You think I have a secret life?”

      “No, but something might have happened in the ER—”

      “Nothing did. I’m just having a string of really bad luck. I’m definitely staying away from ladders and black cats for a while.” She took a couple deep breaths. “How did you know I was shot? The paper didn’t give my name.”

      “Kristen told me.”

      “When?”

      “I talked to her the day after it happened.” Andy looked sheepish. “She promised to try to convince you to agree to see me again.”

      A phone rang twice, the floor creaked under someone’s shoes, voices murmured, a door slammed. Normal sounds. Except nothing was normal. Her eyes filled again. “I can’t believe she’s dead.”

      “I know. Neither can I.” Andy wiped a tear from her cheekbone and held Jillian close again. His heart pounded under his cashmere sweater, the one she’d given him a Christmas ago.

      “I’m going to miss her so much,” she whispered.

      “Me, too.” Andy’s arms tightened. “Me, too.”

      * * * *

      At nearly four in the morning, they pulled up in front of the Denver apartment Jason had rented when he and Kristen split up two years earlier. Jillian and Andy muttered a few sympathetic platitudes. Jason got out of the car and plodded to the front door.

      “Stay at my place tonight.” Andy watched her, his hands on the steering wheel of the idling Lexis.

      “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

      “In the spare bedroom,” he added. “Kristen told you that I wanted to talk to you.”

      Jillian nodded. She didn’t want to discuss this now. Seeing Andy tonight was raising conflicting emotions she was in no state to sort out.

      “I do want to, but not tonight. I thought you might not want to be alone in your apartment. I sure as hell don’t.” He took one of her hands. “You can trust me, Jillian.”

      She studied him for long seconds. The last man who’d told her that had been lying. But Andy had never lied to her. When he’d wanted out of their relationship, he’d told her, before he’d started up with Tiffany. Andy wasn’t Mark.

      Jillian squeezed his hand. “I know, and you’re right. I don’t want to be alone tonight, either.”

      Andy’s condo looked the same as the last time she’d been there: all tasteful wool, leather, and wood except for the wagon wheel coffee table he’d had since college and refused to relinquish; neat except for a pile of magazines and newspapers on the floor beside the sofa and a half-full coffee mug on the end table. She followed him into the spare bedroom where he set down her suitcase. The Keystone police had considerately collected her things from the townhouse.

      “Can I get you anything?” he asked.

      She shook her head. “What time do you have to leave in the morning?”

      “By nine. If I’m gone, make yourself at home.”

      She touched his arm. “I’m glad I didn’t go home tonight.”

      “So am I,” he said. “Get some sleep.”

      * * * *

      Jillian didn’t sleep, not really. One of the sleeping pills she’d gotten after she’d been shot knocked her out for a couple hours, but then she woke up and thought about Kristen. All those memories everyone claims will eventually be comforting, but at the moment hurt like hell.

      At eight, she gave up. She dressed then applied blush and lipstick in an attempt to make her pale face look less skeletal. It only accentuated her dark circles, making her look like a skeleton with a couple fading black eyes.

      Andy sat at the kitchen table, typing on his laptop. “How did you sleep?”

      “Lousy. СКАЧАТЬ