“He might have been the target,” Andy said.
“Maybe he’ll tell me why.” Jillian massaged her temples. “I should think of a reason to be calling in case his wife answers. She might wonder how I know him.” She dropped her hands. “I can’t believe I got involved in something like this.”
“We don’t know you got involved in anything,” Andy said. “Besides, we all make mistakes. I’m certainly an authority on that.” He sipped his wine then set down his glass. “How about if I call Mark? I can pretend I’m officially involved in the investigation and have some questions.”
“I’d appreciate that. But he never gave me his cell phone number.”
“I’ll bet I can find him.”
Jillian tossed the afghan onto the sofa and followed Andy into his study, a small room furnished with modern office furniture in black metal and cherry wood. Andy sat on the black leather desk chair and woke the computer. “Do you know what part of the city he lives in?”
“He never said.”
Jillian watched over Andy’s shoulder as he went into a bookmarked directory and entered Mark’s name, then waited. Two Mark Jeffersons lived in the New York City area, one in Brooklyn, the other in Queens, but both were in their twenties.
“He said his family’s in Connecticut,” Jillian said. “Maybe he lives there. Or in New Jersey.”
But Andy didn’t find a Mark Jefferson living within commuting distance of New York City in either state. “Maybe I’ll have better luck with accountants.” He typed in more information. “Still nothing. Firms and companies don’t always list their employees, so I’ll pull up a list of CPA’s in New York state. Why don’t you get the wine?”
Jillian went to the living room. Andy had no doubt figured out she’d done more than have dinner with Mark, and she felt guilty. Although why should she? For all she knew, Andy had been with Tiffany or some other woman that night. She picked up the wine bottle and carried it to the study.
Andy was scanning a list on the monitor. “I can’t find a single New York CPA named Mark Jefferson. Maybe he never got his CPA.”
Jillian set the wine bottle on the top of the bookshelf, next to a carved wooden moose. “He went to Harvard Law School.”
“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