Beholden

by Pat Warren

  He didn’t need backup, Nick thought. He needed a couple of minutes alone with Luke Tanner to finish the job. “I’ll take care of it,” he told Sam, sounding suddenly confident.

  Wide-awake, Terry stared at the ceiling. She’d slept most of the day, awakened only long enough to eat a little and to allow the doctor to remove all the bandages this time. The bedside clock read nearly midnight and she couldn’t sleep.

  Shoving back the covers, she got out of bed. Since she had to keep her bedroom door open, she’d taken to sleeping in sweatpants and a long T-shirt. Quietly, she walked to the bathroom, noticing as she passed Luke’s room that he was stretched out under a light blanket. The man seemed immune to cold weather. In the mirror, she checked her face again.

  Hard to get used to this image. There was blotchiness and a little swelling. Overall, her face seemed thinner, her eyes appearing larger. The doctor had said in a couple of weeks he’d like to do a little more repair, depending on how the healing progressed. Terry didn’t know if she could go through any more right now. She touched the fuzz on top of her head. Now if only her hair would hurry and grow out.

  Maybe a glass of milk would help her sleep. She had no slippers, so she padded down the stairs barefoot, turning on the light in the kitchen. The heavy drapes were drawn over each window, making it pitch-dark without lights. Terry poured herself a glass of milk and took a sip. The first swallow brought a gurgling response from inside. If only her appetite would return. Maybe it would if she could get the knots out of her stomach.

  Mid-November out there. Cool, but not cold in this area of California. There was probably a moon. She opened the drape over the kitchen window. Yes, a nearly full moon illuminating the yard. She could almost pick up the scent from the sea, mostly through her imagination. Scarcely a leaf was stirring on the trees out back. Yet she caught a movement along the fence line. Rising on tiptoe, she leaned closer. Yes, there it was, something almost streaking along, low and close to the fence. Terry’s heart picked up its rhythm as she ducked to the side, straining to see better.

  “You’re doing it again,” a deep voice from the doorway said. “Exposing yourself to danger,” Luke finished.

  “Jesus!” Startled, Terry all but fell backward as she came down hard off her toes. Her hand flew to her chest, trying to ease her thumping heart. “You must be part cat to sneak around like that.”

  “I better not be. There’s a big black Doberman out there who thinks he owns the yard.” Luke closed the drapes.

  “So that’s what I saw moving around.”

  “I went to get him this afternoon, but you didn’t make it back down for introductions.” His eyes searched her face and saw that the smoky smudges of fatigue were lighter. “You feeling better?”

  Terry nodded, then sipped her milk. “Just sort of slept out, I guess.” Suddenly aware that she wore only a thin shirt, she hunched her shoulders and wandered into the living room, finally curling up in a corner of the couch as she hugged a pillow close to her chest.

  Luke shrugged into the shirt he’d grabbed after stepping into his jeans, and followed her. Instead of turning on a lamp, he opened the flue, struck a match to the fire he’d laid earlier, waited to make sure the flames caught, then sat down at the far end of the couch. Silently he stared into the fireplace, content with the quiet, allowing her to talk only if she felt the need.

  Terry drew her legs up and propped her chin on her bent knees. For several minutes, all that could be heard was the crackling of dry wood as it succumbed to the fire. The scent of hickory and pine drifted to her, and she breathed in deeply. “Mesmerizing, isn’t it?”

  “I could stare at it for hours.” And he sometimes did.

  She could, too. Feeling a bit awkward, she ran a hand into her hair, feeling self-conscious without her scarf.

  “Don’t do that,” Luke said quietly, turning to face her. “Don’t be embarrassed.”

  “But I look so awful.”

  He leaned closer, lightly touching the short, blond new growth. “You couldn’t look awful if you tried, with or without hair.”

  Her eyes widened at his words, at the way his blunt fingers gently caressed her scalp. Then, just as suddenly, he withdrew his hand, as if regretting both the remark and the touch. Terry swallowed, realizing that was the first touch she’d had in weeks that wasn’t from a medical caregiver. She hadn’t realized how much she’d missed that personal contact.

  There were some things that needed to be said between them, she decided. “I’m sorry about getting so emotional on you earlier today.”

  He shrugged. “You have a right to your feelings.” He’d thought about her reaction on and off all afternoon and evening, finally coming to the conclusion that she was most likely going through Post Traumatic Stress Syndrome. He’d seen it before frequently. The roller coaster of emotions, occasional crying jags, temper outbursts followed by contrite apologies. Confusion, a feeling of being overwhelmed, of unreality. People who’d witnessed tragedy or violence often had some if not all of those reactions, usually sometime after the triggering incident. He wasn’t sure he knew how to treat Terry Ryan man-to-woman during the weeks ahead, but he knew exactly how to handle someone with PTSS. That would have to be his approach, something he was comfortable with.

  “But I don’t have the right to lash out at you when you’re trying to protect me. I hope you’ll bear with me. I’m working on it.”

  “Some things can’t be rushed, Terry.”

  His eyes were a warm gray tonight, not the cool silver they usually were. “That’s what Dad always says.” Her curiosity aroused, she studied his lean profile as he turned to stare at the flames again. “Are you close to your family?”

  A muscle in his jaw clenched. “No.”

  The one word bitten off so abruptly seemed bitter, as if a warning to back off. She decided to try another tactic. “I don’t even know if you’re married.”

  Forcing himself to relax, Luke stretched out his legs and leaned his head on the couch back. “No, never took the plunge.” He knew a good deal about her from her bio, but he decided to let her tell him in her own words. “How about you? Anyone special back home?” So far, the only person she’d mentioned missing was her father.

  Terry hugged her knees. “Not at the moment.”

  He was glad there was no guy waiting, someone she’d be pining over. That would have made his job infinitely more difficult.

  “How did you come to work for the government?”

  “Long story. Sure to put you to sleep.”

  Apparently, he didn’t like to talk about himself any more than she did. “I’ll let you know when you start to bore me.”

  He decided to tell her just enough to satisfy her curiosity. “Actually, Bob Jones got me into training. He’s a couple years older, but we grew up together. I admired him, so I kind of followed in his footsteps.” In essence, that was the truth, but volumes were left unsaid.

  He was a master at divulging only the little he didn’t mind someone knowing. But she’d had a head start. “You grew up at the Northern California Boys’ Ranch with Bob?”

  He sent her a sharp look. “How’d you know that?”

  “I didn’t. George told me that that’s where Bob was raised, and since you say you grew up with him, I assume it was there.” She could tell he was annoyed. “I wouldn’t think it was anything to be ashamed of. Are your parents dead?”

  “I don’t really know, and I certainly don’t care.” He rose, his movements choppy as he went to the fire and began poking at it, then added another log. He leaned one hand on the mantel and stood staring into the flames.

  So much for a friendly chat, Terry thought. “I didn’t mean to pry.”

  Luke let out a long breath, then returned to the couch. “You weren’t. I’m just not real comfortable talking about my past. Let’s talk about you. I understand you’re an artist. How’d you get into that?”

  A neat segue, she thought. “I’ve always liked to draw. Caricat
ures are my specialty. My father often discussed local politicians with me, national ones, too. My sense of humor’s a little twisted, I guess, because I started making fun of some of them. On paper with my pen, that is. I had a poli sci prof at ASU who encouraged me to do satirical sketches. I found I liked it. When I graduated, I applied at the Phoenix Gazette after reading that their resident cartoonist was retiring. Lo and behold, they hired me.” A sad thought ran through her mind. “The man who was killed in the parking garage, Don Simon, helped me get the job.”

  He’d seen the pictures, read all the reports, yet her recitation interested him more. “Have you remembered any more about that incident? For instance, about the man who never got out of the car?”

  She shook her head. “I’ve tried, but nothing focuses in.”

  “Don’t force it. In time, your memory may open up.”

  “I suppose.” Terry drained her glass, then stood. “I think I’ll try to sleep now, though I hate to leave this great fire. We should get some chestnuts to roast. We used to do that every Thanksgiving.” And afterward, her mother would add them to the turkey dressing. Hard to believe the holiday season was nearly here, and she was miles from everyone she knew and loved for the first time in her life. What would Christmas be like without her family?

  She was about to get weepy again, Terry realized. Time to be alone. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

  Luke got to his feet, noticing that her eyes were shiny with unshed tears. He didn’t really know her, but he felt a kinship of sorts. He’d spent a lot of years feeling lost and alone. “Terry?” He stepped to block her exit so she’d be forced to face him. “Do you want to talk about it? Might help.”

  When she looked up, she realized he was closer than she’d thought. His shoulders seemed a mile wide and his square jaw was shadowed with a day’s growth of dark beard. She could see an expanse of bare chest covered with dark hair where his shirt hung open and a medal on a silver chain. He was so big and hard-looking, yet his mouth looked soft, inviting.

  God! What was she thinking? Surely she was losing her mind altogether.

  “No, I’m fine. Really.” Giving him a wide berth, she moved around him.

  Luke watched her hurry up the stairs, wondering whether she’d have stayed if he’d asked her, if he’d touched her hand. She aroused unexpected feelings in him. He wanted to comfort her, to hold her. How long had it been since he’d felt like that about a woman? Maybe he never had. He usually was more interested in sex than solace.

  Not that he hadn’t been very aware that she hadn’t had anything on under that thin cotton shirt.

  Walking to the fire, he shook his head at the direction of his thoughts. It was a cardinal mistake to get interested—sexually or otherwise—in the witness you were protecting, a fact that had been drummed into him since day one. He’d forgotten that once, and it had nearly cost him his life.

  Making sure that Terry Ryan walked away whole with as little mental and physical damage as possible was his strategy. Falling for her wasn’t part of that strategy.

  He’d have to keep that firmly in mind, Luke thought as he sat back down on the couch. Moodily, he stared into the wonderful blazing fire all alone.

  “Sam Russo’s attorney is screaming, but so far, I’ve been able to keep the identity of our secret witness under wraps,” Bob Jones said into the phone. “Naturally, they’re throwing names around, but they’re just guesses. How’s Terry holding up?”

  “She’s doing okay.” Seated on his bed, Luke glanced at the closed door. “Have you been able to locate Ozzie Swain yet?”

  Bob leaned back in his desk chair. “No, and we’ve got a lot of men on it, as well as the police. Nick’s the one who worries me. The word on the street is he’s willing to pay big money for information on the whereabouts of Terry Ryan.”

  “But I thought you said they don’t know for sure that Terry was there and witnessed the killing?”

  “They don’t know, but they’re not stupid. They know the Feds are involved and they’ve probably figured we wouldn’t be hanging around unless we had something concrete. By the way, I went to see Mac. The sergeant isn’t talking.” Jones had a gut feeling that Mac knew far more than he was telling, yet he’d refused to answer most of his questions. “There’s only one reason I can come up with that neither Sam nor Mac is willing to implicate others.”

  Luke’s mouth was a thin line. “Let me guess. There’s a contract out on Terry. If she’s taken out, there’s no case.”

  “Right. Is she pretty well healed physically?”

  “Yeah. Not much stamina yet, but she’s finally eating more.” He’d talked Sara into remaining long past the need for her assistance just so she’d cook nutritious meals. “I’m thinking of driving Terry to Monterey or Pacific Grove and getting her a wig. She’s real self-conscious about her short hair.”

  In his Phoenix office, Bob rose to walk to the window. It wasn’t like Luke to be so open to a woman’s needs. It wasn’t that he was insensitive, but more that he was indifferent to anything not directly related to the safety of his witness. Was there more going on with this witness? “Probably a good idea. I don’t have to tell you to be careful whenever you have her away from the house.”

  “No, you don’t. Sara’s leaving today.” They’d been in Carmel ten days and he really couldn’t justify keeping her on any longer.

  Jones had been expecting that. “How does Terry feel about that?” He’d wondered if the naturally empathetic nurse-agent had bonded with Terry.

  “I don’t know. I haven’t asked her.”

  That sounded more like the Luke he knew. “Do you need anything from this end?”

  “Yeah. I need you to hurry up the trial date, to find Ozzie and put him away, and to keep a steady eye on Nick.”

  “I hear you. I’ll be in touch.” Bob hung up, then stared out the window thoughtfully.

  Once, as a young deputy, Luke had gotten involved with a woman on a case. Jill Hastings had known how he felt and had used it against him, nearly costing Luke his life. Terry Ryan certainly wasn’t that sort of threat. Still, an agent whose feelings were involved lost his perspective, and often his ability to protect.

  There’d been something in Luke’s voice. Jones couldn’t put his finger on just what, but something. Maybe he’d make the time for a quick visit to Carmel. Soon.

  Terry pulled down the visor on the passenger side of the van and checked out her image in the mirror. “I’ve always wanted green eyes.” She turned to Luke as he pulled away from the optical store and eased out into traffic. “What do you think?”

  He spared her a quick glance. “They look fine.”

  She frowned at him. “Fine? What kind of a comment is fine? Fine is how you describe your grandmother’s hat or your maiden aunt’s dress.”

  “I don’t really think of you as either my grandmother or my maiden aunt. What do you want me to say? Your green eyes are terrific. Is that any better?”

  Her attention was back at the mirror where her new auburn wig showed her a startlingly different image. “I’m having a little trouble adjusting to this color. I’ve always been blond. I think my skin’s too light for dark hair, don’t you?”

  “I haven’t given it much thought.” Luke swung around a pink Cadillac driven by a senior lady who could barely see over the steering wheel. The sun was warm overhead, the sky a cloudless blue. Gulls dipped low over the sea along the coastal road, the air scented with a blend of fish and salt spray. They’d been cooped up for two weeks and he could well understand Terry’s excitement at being outdoors. He shared her enthusiasm, but that didn’t keep his eyes from scanning every passing vehicle, or checking out the most innocuous-looking tourist walking along.

  “Maybe I should have gotten the light brown wig,” Terry mused, tugging the hair piece more snugly in place.

  “You want to go back and we can pick up one in every color? The neighbors will think I’m living with a harem.”

  She made a face a
t him. “Why not, even though the neighbors never see me? Apparently, the government’s got a lot of money to squander. Or is all this coming out of your pocket?”

  “Expense account.” He spotted a row of shops up ahead on the left. “What kind of store are we looking for to get you some clothes? I’m pretty tired of those sweat suits.”

  “You and me both.” Terry peered through the windshield and noticed a boutique sandwiched between a souvenir store and an ice-cream parlor. “We could try over there.”

  Luke put on his blinker and pulled into an angled parking spot. He handed her the oversize sunglasses they’d picked up earlier. “Put these on.” While she did, he checked again to make sure his .38 was firmly lodged at his waistline at the small of his back, then settled his jacket over the bulge.

  Watching him, Terry sobered, losing her short-lived euphoric mood. The reminder of the gun Luke always carried and the disguise she would have to wear every time she left the safe house had her smile slipping away. As he opened the van door and held out his hand to help her down, her eyes nervously scanned the area, the faces of strolling tourists, the traffic passing by.

  She mustn’t forget that a man with a gun was out there somewhere looking for her, one who wouldn’t hesitate to shoot her as he had Don Simon. Hesitantly, she looked at Luke.

  He thought he knew exactly what she was thinking. “It’s okay, Terry. You’re with me.”

  With him, the man who literally held her life in his hands. She had to trust him; she had no other choice. Slowly, she put her hand in his and stepped out.

  “I thought you said you knew how to shoot,” Luke said, standing back and watching her take aim at the makeshift target he’d put together in the backyard.

  “I do. My father taught us all how to shoot as teenagers.” She assumed the stance she’d been shown years ago, gripped her right hand that held the gun with her left, and lowered her head as if lining up the target. “What’s wrong with this position?”

  “Well, for starters, you’re stiff as a board and poised as if you’re ready to turn and run as soon as you pull the trigger.”