Beholden (13 page)

“I’m not hungry.” With that, Luke left.

Men, Sara thought, especially men in law enforcement. She’d known her share of them. Too much macho pride and too little sensitivity,
most of them. Shrugging out of her jacket, she decided to fry some bacon. Perhaps a BLT would awaken Terry’s taste buds. The
poor thing didn’t eat enough to keep a bird alive.

Humming to herself, she unpacked the groceries.

Nick Russo watched his brother walk over to the cubicle in the prison visitors’ room. Sam’s tan had begun to fade; his face
appeared sallow. He’d lost weight, too. Nick could only imagine how a sharp dresser like Sam must feel having to wear the
prison issue blue cotton shirts and pants. He pasted on a smile as his brother sat down and picked up the phone on the other
side of the glass.

“What do you know, Nickie?” Sam asked, his dark eyes intense.

“You were right, Sam.” Nick kept his voice low. “There’s been no body turned over to the family. I’ve got a feeling the Feds
are hiding something.”

Sam nodded. “I knew it. I’m telling you, that girl’s not dead. My gut’s never wrong.”

The guard by the door shuffled his big feet. Nick shifted uneasily in his chair. “What do you think we should do?”

“You heard from Ozzie?”

“Not a word.”

Sam’s eyes narrowed. “Why not? You got plenty of money. Why can’t you find him?”

Nick hated these visits, hated not having the right answers. “Take it easy, Sam. I got two guys looking. Ozzie’s dug in deep
somewhere. He’ll surface, honest.”

Sam leaned forward. “Easy for you to say. You’re out there and I’m the one in here.”

Nick ran a finger around the collar of his silk Pierre Cardin shirt. They kept it too damn hot in here. “I know it’s rough…”

“No, little brother. You don’t know. I don’t ever want you to know. You gotta get me out of here.” Sam swiped at his damp
forehead. “That girl’s alive. Find her, take her out, and their witness will be gone. And so will their case.”

“Our snitch at Central tells me the Feds are in on it. They probably got her tucked away somewhere out of state. She could
be anywhere—New Mexico, Colorado, California.”

“It’s up to you to find out where. Watch the old man. He could know more than he lets on. Get pretty boy to help. He owes
us. You tell him I’m going to sing if something doesn’t happen soon.”

“Right, Sam. I’ll tell him.” Nick could feel the guard’s eyes on him, and he wondered if the guy could read lips. Beads of
nervous sweat rolled down his back. He wanted out of here. “Anything else?”

Sam shook his head and was about to hang up when he remembered something. “The Feds. You remember that agent you almost took
out awhile back? What was his name?”

“Tanner,” Nick answered, savoring the memory. The knife had gone in, slick and clean. Trouble was that Tanner had rolled,
throwing off Nick’s aim. Otherwise, the tough agent would’ve bought the farm.

“Yeah, right. Check it out. I heard he’s on leave somewhere in Arizona. If he’s involved, you better get backup. He’s mean
as shit and he’s got a score to settle with you.”

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. Caricatures 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.