Out of Character. Diana Miller

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      “Which makes not bothering with a CPA unlikely. Everything Mark told you might have been true, and he lied about his name because he’s married.” Andy swiveled to face Jillian. “Except you have dinner with him, go skiing with him the next day, and voila, someone shoots at you. You never see the man again, but three nights later, your car blows up. You feel as if you’re being followed, then someone tries to push you in front of a bus. Maybe he was trying to avoid more than a jealous wife.”

      Jillian got up stiffly, as if she’d aged half a century, and shuffled to the only window. She flipped open the chrome blinds. A couple streetlamps illuminated a street as cold and empty as she felt. “Because I got involved with him, Kristen is dead.”

      Andy squeezed her shoulders. “Stop it. The cops determined the car explosion was an accident, right?”

      “They left me a message yesterday.” Jillian watched a man walking a dog. The dog’s shape and jaunty gait identified it as a terrier, although in the dim light, its breed wasn’t obvious.

      “So it most likely was. Maybe Mark did lie because he’s married, the shooter was a kook, the car explosion was a fluke, and some schizophrenic thought God told him to shove you. Maybe you’ve just had a spectacular run of bad luck. Even if it’s more than that, it’s not your fault.” His breath tickled her ear. “You’re the victim.”

      “The victim.” Jillian wrapped her arms around her midriff, trying to warm herself and crush the pain that filled her stomach and chest. Kristen might have been killed because someone had tried, and was still trying, to kill her. All because she’d spent the night with the wrong man.

      Andy turned her toward him and shook her gently. “The most likely explanation is a series of horrible coincidences, but if it isn’t, I promise you’ll be safe until we can stop it.”

      She just looked at him, pain and helplessness overwhelming her.

      He led her back to the living room sofa then sat beside her and wrapped an arm around her shoulders. “You can stay here. I’ve got a doorman, a fancy security system, some of the best locks anywhere.”

      Jillian nodded.

      Andy rubbed her arm. “Tomorrow morning I’ll check with the Keystone police. I’ve also got a contact who’ll know if anything’s going on around Keystone that you might have stumbled into, maybe some major drug action. After I talk to Phil, we’ll figure out what we do next.”

      “I have to work at seven.”

      “Call in sick.”

      “I can’t. They need me.” She forced herself to straighten and focus. “I’ll tell one of the guards I was threatened by a gang member. Under our new hospital policy, that means he has to shadow me for a few days.”

      Andy gripped her bicep. “You haven’t gotten any threats, have you?”

      “Only the usual, guys acting tough to impress their friends. They forget you the instant they leave. We all think it’s a ridiculous policy.”

      “The hospital administrators clearly had more sheltered upbringings than you did.” He released her arm.

      “You mean they distrust anyone who doesn’t wear a suit and make at least six figures a year?”

      “Or their lawyers do. Are you ready to order takeout? I’ll be your official food taster.” Andy grinned. “You never know, the Royal Orchid might be trying to poison you.”

      She wasn’t hungry, but she didn’t want to worry Andy, not when he was being so nice. She managed a wobbly smile. “You’re trying to get more than half of the food.”

      “You know me too well.” He took her hand. “I’ve missed you Jillian. A lot.” He looked away. “Sorry, I know this isn’t the right time to bring that up.”

      “Not right now.”

      He studied her face. Then he dropped her hand and reached for his cell phone.

      * * * *

      After they ate, Jillian and Andy spent a couple hours sitting on the sofa, sipping wine and listening to music, jazz with an occasional country or blues selection thrown in. It was exactly what she’d needed. She moved her stocking feet off the wagon wheel table. “Thanks for taking me seriously.”

      “I hope it turns out to be nothing.”

      Which she was optimistically beginning to think was a real possibility. “It makes me feel better that I’m trying to figure things out, rather than simply reacting.”

      Andy tapped his chin with his knuckles. “Kristen said you’ve never been able to handle feeling out of control. That’s why you don’t like skiing.”

      Her eyes stung. “Kristen loved analyzing me. I can’t believe I’m actually going to miss that.” She refused to think about Kristen tonight. “Believe it or not, I now like skiing.”

      “You’re kidding.”

      Andy had tried to teach her several times, with no success. Why had Mark succeeded? Obviously because as either an accomplished criminal or a seasoned adulterer, Mark was skilled at manipulating people, at using his mesmerizing eyes to his advantage. She wasn’t going to think about that either. “It’s true. For some reason, things clicked this trip.”

      “I still think Kristen had a point about your need to stay in control.” Andy faced her and rested his hand above her knee. “I always felt that even though you said you loved me, you were still holding back. A big part of Tiffany’s attraction was that she didn’t do that.”

      “Don’t give me that crap. You chose Tiffany for a lot of other reasons, including that she’s younger and has much bigger boobs than I do.”

      He grimaced. “And because I was an idiot. I know you don’t want to talk about it tonight, but I want to say that Tiffany was a mistake and so was leaving you.”

      Jillian glanced at the gold Yale Bulldogs desk clock on the end table. “It’s nearly eleven. I’d better get to bed.”

      “I’ll drive you to work tomorrow morning,” Andy said.

      “I can take a cab.”

      “Let me drive you. After how rotten I’ve been to you, it’s the least—”

      Jillian pressed her fingers against his lips. “All we’re going to talk about tonight is how much you’ve helped me now and how much I appreciate it.” She kissed his cheek then headed for the guestroom.

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