Out of Character. Diana Miller

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      Mark nodded. He was glad she was enjoying it. After two more runs, three tops, they were heading back to his place. He didn’t have much more time with her, and he didn’t intend to waste—

      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.

      Chapter 4

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

      Jillian headed directly СКАЧАТЬ