Beholden

by Pat Warren

  Silently, Terry studied his profile. The mouth that had worked such magic on hers was once more a grim line. And suddenly she knew. “It’s because I’m the only one who’s seen the killers and can identify them, isn’t it? Before they had Manning, who might have told them something. But now…” Her voice trailed off.

  Luke felt a muscle in his cheek clench as he gritted his teeth. She was too damn smart for her own peace of mind. And he wasn’t about to lie to her. Pausing to downshift at the base of a hill, he turned to her. “Yes, that’s why.” He watched her swallow hard, then turn toward the side window.

  They rode the rest of the way in silence. Even following the map he’d quickly drawn, Luke nearly missed the turn into the winding drive of the cabin nestled under a large natural rock overhang.

  “Not very big, is it?” Terry commented, glad to have something else to settle her mind on other than the Russo brothers.

  The house wasn’t, but the yard was, with a six-foot cyclone fence and lots of trees and shrubs. Luke opened the gate, parked the van in the carport, returned to close the gate, making a note to get a lock tomorrow. “I’m going to leave Prince with you while I have a look around the grounds.” Getting out, he turned on his high-beam flashlight.

  Terry saw that it was nearly midnight. She’d be glad to get some sleep, and perhaps she could after this tiring day. There hadn’t been a calm moment since the incident in the drugstore, the chase with the blue sedan, the kisses that had left her shaken and needy, and now this night run. Not your ordinary day.

  Luke returned and released Prince into the yard, where he immediately began sniffing around. “I’ll help you inside, then come back for our stuff.” He led the way to the front door and used the keys he’d gotten when he’d picked up the green van. Shoving open the door, he leaned in, groped for a wall switch, and turned on the lights. As Terry waited on the porch, he glanced inside, making sure the rooms were empty.

  Returning, he had a look of amusement on his face as he held the door for her. “You’re going to love this place.”

  Her curiosity aroused, Terry stepped in. Her gaze slid around the room as her mouth opened in stunned surprise. “My God! This isn’t a house. It’s a bordello!”

  CHAPTER NINE

  Luke closed the door behind them, then swung around, placing his hands on his hips as Terry strolled around. They were both a little awestruck. The carpeting was plush and very white, the furniture black leather grouped around low glass-topped tables. Mirrors of all sizes framed in gold were hung on all four of the walls covered in shiny red paper that managed to look like patent leather. A bearskin rug complete with snarling head was spread in front of a brick fireplace. The ceiling was painted with something silvery and iridescent, giving the effect of twinkling stars.

  Bordello was an apt description, Luke thought, unable to resist smiling at Terry’s shocked face. “I guess this is Higgins’s idea of a little love nest.”

  “It’s like a movie set,” she said, venturing farther and passing a small kitchen area off to the side. There were two closed doors on the left. “I can hardly wait to see the rest.” She swung open the first door and began to laugh. “You won’t believe this.”

  Luke came alongside and peered in. The entire bathroom was mirrored, walls and ceiling. There was an elaborate black sunken tub and a glassed-in shower with brass fixtures fashioned to resemble animals’ heads. “There’s no accounting for taste,” Luke muttered as he walked over to shove open the connecting door. His hand found the wall light switch.

  Terry walked into a bedroom such as she’d never before seen. A huge heart-shaped bed with a brass headboard dominated the room, with a long couch covered in what looked to be red satin tucked under the high window. A television screen that had to be five feet across was at the far end, and gold Kewpie dolls frolicked along the ornate ceiling border. “This is incredible,” she commented, moving inside. “How old is this Higgins fellow?”

  “In his sixties, as I understand.”

  “Must be every man’s fantasy, to stash a mistress away in a place like this.”

  “Not every man.” Luke strolled over to glance at the titles on the stack of movies alongside the VCR. As he’d guessed, they were largely porno films. “I’ll bring the bags in.”

  Still looking around, Terry followed him into the main room. “There’s only one bed in this house, Luke.”

  “Yeah, I noticed. Don’t worry. I’ll take the couch.” He stepped outside as Prince ran up to meet him.

  After carrying their things in and setting out a bowl of water for the Doberman, Luke went to the Pullman kitchen to help Terry put away the food they’d hastily packed. “We can give it a couple of days, then drive inland to some small town and get anything else we need.”

  Terry stacked canned goods in the cupboards. “How did Bob Jones activate the electricity and phone from Phoenix, or does he call someone to come up here and turn things on for us?”

  “The Feds have connections all over,” Luke answered vaguely. He placed the coffeepot on the counter, then picked up the phone. “Not working yet, but probably by tomorrow.”

  Finished, she walked back into the main room. “I can’t imagine why the government would want this place.”

  Luke shrugged. “Beggars can’t be choosers. We take what’s available. Besides, who’d think we’d be hiding someone out in this brothel-like atmosphere?”

  “You’ve got a point there.” Terry yawned expansively. It had been a long, tiring day. “I think I’m going to turn in.” She glanced over at the leather couches by the fireplace. They looked cold and uninviting, but at least they were both long enough. “There must be extra blankets somewhere. I’ll help you make up your bed, if you like.”

  He followed her gaze. “Oh, I’m not sleeping out here. I meant the couch in the bedroom.”

  “The… you’re kidding!” She’d figured she’d have trouble sleeping in that odd bed as it was. How could she manage to drop off with him less than four feet away?

  “No, I’m not. These couches are too far away. I wouldn’t be able to see you.” He turned off the kitchen light and waved toward the room. “After you.”

  There was no point in arguing with Luke once he’d made up his mind, even if she weren’t too tired to do so. Silently, Terry marched into the bathroom and closed both doors.

  Who in the hell would think to upholster a couch in satin? Luke thought as for the umpteenth time he rescued the pillow that kept sliding out from under his head. The only spare cover he could find was a satin comforter which he barely kept on even when he clamped his legs around it. He hoped Higgins was equally uncomfortable in his jail cell.

  He’d left a night-light burning in the bathroom, and the door ajar. It was pitch-black outside, the moon hidden by a heavy cloud cover, so only the dim glow could be seen from across the room. To his right, in the center of a bed that seemed larger than a king despite its weird shape, Terry lay with her back to him. As far as he could tell, she hadn’t moved since she’d slipped under her own satin coverlet. Where did a man get sheets for a heart-shaped bed? And how’d Higgins manage to conjure up the nerve to buy the damn thing in the first place?

  Luke shifted and the pillow slid off once again. Swearing under his breath, he grabbed it in a death grip and jammed it under his head. He’d stayed in a lot of peculiar places during his years with the marshals office, but this cabin had to be up there among the oddest. He’d watched over many a witness also, yet Terry Ryan stood out from the crowd.

  Unbidden, thoughts of the way she’d kissed him back returned to plague him, and his body hardened. A lot of passion locked away inside that small form, he couldn’t help thinking. After that first moment of hesitation, she’d thrown herself into the kiss, holding nothing back. He’d been seconds away from slipping his hands under her shirt and closing his fingers over the breasts he’d felt pressing against his chest, warm and womanly.

  He’d stopped in time, thank goodness. He’d remember
ed that he was supposed to be her guardian, not her seducer. He’d felt like a rat, wanting to be her lover when what she needed was a friend. But then she’d turned to him with that wounded look in those big eyes, sure he’d just been feeling sorry for her. Hell, it hadn’t been anything near pity. It had been lust, pure and simple. Well, maybe not so pure, but it surely was simple, at least in his book. Put an attractive female into his arms and his body reacted.

  Only he shouldn’t have let it get that far, not with this female. This one was more vulnerable than almost any he’d run across, and he still felt the heel for having touched her. But even as guilt washed over him, he had to admit he still wanted her. If circumstances were different, he’d leap up off this damnable couch, crawl into that joke of a bed, and make love to her until neither of them could move. Then they’d both sleep far better.

  For he knew Terry wasn’t asleep. There was just enough light that he could see that her breathing was erratic, not the slow steady rhythm of someone asleep. Was she awake because of the nerve-wracking day she’d experienced? Was it because she wasn’t used to someone being in her room? Or was it because he was that someone in her room?

  In the bed, Terry changed positions, but still didn’t turn to face him. Just as well. He hadn’t shut his eyes yet and he didn’t particularly want her to know that. It had been monumentally stupid of him to pull her into that second kiss. He’d wanted to reassure her that she was still attractive. Instead, he’d revealed that he wanted her. And that knowledge sat between them like an uninvited guest, already getting in the way of everything they did and said.

  Sighing, Luke squirmed uncomfortably. He wasn’t used to sleeping in his jeans, but he’d thought it best. They were too tight, too confining. With an oath, he threw aside the cover and got up.

  “What’s wrong?” Terry asked from the bed.

  “Nothing. Go to sleep.” Grabbing his shirt, Luke left the room and walked to the fireplace. He wished he had a cigarette. He wished he was back at his place in Sedona, where he’d slept like a baby, worn out by a hard day’s work. He fervently wished he’d never agreed to take this case.

  “I knew you’d come through, Oz,” Nick Russo said into the phone. “Sam’s going to be pleased.”

  “Why? Did he think I’d desert?” The voice was hoarse from a chronic smoker’s cough.

  Nick didn’t think he should say that that was exactly what he and his brother had been thinking. “Nah, nothing like that. Where are you now?”

  “Over the border. That’s all you need to know.” Swain wasn’t sure he trusted Nickie. Sam was the one who usually gave the orders. The younger brother was the nervous sort and trigger-happy. He needed seasoning. That’s why Ozzie meant to do everything he could to spring Sam. Then the Russo brothers would owe him, big time.

  “How about the girl? You got a line on her where-abouts?”

  “I’m working on it. I’ll tell you this much, my California sources say she’s there and you’ll never guess who’s with her?”

  Lighting a cigarette, Nick thought he knew the answer. “Luke Tanner?”

  “You got it.”

  “Shit!”

  “You got anything new to tell me at your end?”

  Nick blew smoke at the ceiling. “I wish. The Feds are all over the place, investigating the reporter’s death, Foster, and now Manning.”

  “They didn’t buy the accidental death, eh?”

  “No, but they got no proof. You’re in the clear.”

  “Yeah, sure, except word is they want me real bad. I took a big chance coming back in town. I hope Sam knows it’s going to cost him.”

  “Oz, you know Sam takes care of his own. Find the girl and you’ll be the golden prince. Know what I mean?” Nick was itching to do it himself, but the cops were watching his every move. He’d gone to the track the other day, and one followed him into the men’s room. They didn’t even bother to keep their distance. It was getting on his nerves, making him jumpy.

  “Yeah, I know.”

  “The man says you got to move fast on this. Mac’s threatening to call a news conference.”

  Ozzie stuck a toothpick in his mouth and shoved it to the corner. “Tell the man to quit stewing or he’s going to blow this wide open. I said I’d take care of it and I will.”

  “Okay, Oz, but we ain’t got a lot of time left. Prosecutor’s aiming for a trial date shortly after the holidays, probably mid-January. We drew Carmichael on the bench. That’s why Mac’s sweating. That judge’ll lock him up and throw away the key. You know Mac. He ain’t going down alone.”

  “Tell Mac to sit tight and keep his lip buttoned. There’s worse sentences than prison, you get my drift?”

  “Yeah, right. Stay in touch.”

  The line went dead in Nick’s ear. He hung up, took out his handkerchief, wiped his sweaty face, then drew deeply on the stub of his cigarette before crushing it out. Damn but he wished this whole thing was over and Sam was back. Running the operation alone was no breeze. The guys were getting nervous, antsy. He could put off the big boys only so long. Nick desperately wanted to put it all out of his mind, to go to Vegas for a couple of days, get a couple of broads, and just have fun.

  But first, he had to get Sam out.

  He ran a worried hand over his black hair. Maybe they shouldn’t trust Ozzie so much. Maybe he should go himself, find the girl, take her out. Maybe he should lean on the old man, see if he knew anything.

  Luke Tanner’s image popped into his mind. He’d had a gut feeling ever since Sam had mentioned his name that Tanner was involved. So he’d tracked the wily agent to Sedona and learned that he’d bought a ranch, but Luke hadn’t been there in weeks. Now, with Sam’s hunch and Ozzie’s pals reporting a sighting, he was sure Tanner was with the Ryan girl somewhere in California. Nick grinned. Maybe he could get two birds with one stone.

  Why should Ozzie get the prize, be a hero to Sam? Ozzie was chickenshit. Nick was number two man, and he intended to stay second-in-command. Squaring his shoulders, he grabbed his car keys. Whistling, he went out the door.

  The ax cut into the bark of the Douglas fir with a satisfying crack. Luke pulled back and repeated the swing, chopping into the same groove. He’d already made a small vee on the opposite side. It wasn’t a very big tree. A couple more whacks and that should do it. He took aim again.

  From a safe distance, Terry watched the tree-cutting ceremony with mixed emotions. On the one hand, she was pleased that Luke had suggested they find a Christmas tree and take it back to the cabin to decorate with whatever they could find. On the other hand, she wasn’t sure that the contrast of this makeshift tree with the ones she remembered from her past might not be her undoing.

  Hard to believe that tomorrow would be Christmas Day. She’d managed to keep her spirits, if not joyful, at least not despondent over the past two weeks that they’d been staying in the bordello bungalow, as they called it. But as the twenty-fifth approached, she’d had to struggle to keep the tears at bay.

  To his credit, Luke had left her alone when she got in those moods. And he’d surprised her with his perception when he’d suggested cutting down a tree this morning. Because of his effort, she was determined to keep a smile in place. She wouldn’t be having a Christmas as usual, but at least she’d be having one. Unlike Lynn, who was gone forever.

  She could only imagine what her parents and Aunt Julia, plus her brothers and nephews would be going through this holiday. They couldn’t possibly miss her more than she missed them. Having to stay in this ludicrous house with still no word on when the trial would begin and her exile would end was definitely taking a toll on her.

  As was being in such close quarters with Luke Tanner.

  Though he slept—or tried to sleep—on the couch next to her bed every night, he otherwise had kept his distance from her ever since the night they’d shared those powerful kisses. She knew he remembered, as she did, for she’d turn and catch him looking at her in a way he couldn’t disguise quickly enoug
h. He rarely touched her even by accident, and he kept his remarks studiously impersonal. He spent much of each day outside with Prince or by the fire whittling figures from pieces of wood he’d found nearby.

  She also kept busy separately, cooking time-consuming recipes to eat up the hours, drawing enough sketches to fill two art pads and reading every paperback she could pick up on their rare visits to nearby towns for supplies. They talked, of course, and the tone was friendly even. But it was as two barely acquainted coworkers in the same building might.

  Yet there was a tension between them as real as their independent efforts to deny it.

  “Timber!” Luke sang out as the fir hit the ground. Up the hill confined behind the fence, Prince’s sharp ears picked up the sound and he barked in response. He’d decided not to let the dog run loose on their occasional walks along the trails for the big Doberman had a tendency to wander.

  “Now what?” Terry wanted to know. “Surely you aren’t planning on carrying that big tree back yourself?”

  Luke hefted the trunk up with one gloved hand and hoisted the ax over his other shoulder. “Now, we drag it back.”

  “Aha! I guess I never would have made it in the wilderness.” She fell in step with him as they headed back to the cabin, thinking that he looked every inch the outdoor woodsman. Since their arrival at this cabin, he hadn’t shaved and he hadn’t had a haircut since joining her nearly two months ago. She rather liked his new look, though the change made his lean face appear even more dangerous.

  “Does your family open gifts on Christmas Eve or Christmas morning?” Luke asked.

  “Christmas Eve after dinner. Then we all go to midnight Mass.” She felt uncomfortable discussing the holiday, not just because she was away from her family, but because she couldn’t help but wonder what Luke and Bob Jones had had in the way of Christmas celebrations spending years at a boys’ ranch. Not much, she imagined.

  She had a face that expressed her every emotion, Luke thought, studying her as they strolled together. “We used to open ours on Christmas morning,” he said softly, giving in to an odd need to reassure her that those years hadn’t been all bad. He caught her surprised glance and shifted his gaze to the clouds in a darkening sky. “Different churches would collect things and distribute them to us. Gloves, slippers, scarves, hand-knit sweaters. Cookies and homemade fudge. Footballs and secondhand bikes. We did all right.”