Beholden (10 page)

It was a lovely day in San Diego, even though it was late afternoon and the end of October. Terry sat curled in a corner of
the couch leaning her crossed arms on the back, looking out the third story window. It was the kind of day she’d like to have
gone wandering down by the waterfront, to feed the gulls, do a little shopping, then stop at Anthony’s for lunch. Like she
and Lynn used to do when they’d drive to California for weekends.

Terry swallowed around a huge lump in her throat and blinked back a fresh rush of tears. Her grief was like a prickly blanket
she couldn’t shed. When would her emotions settle down? When would she be able to live with her losses?

She raised a hand to brush over her nubby hair. Her first day up since the facial surgery and she’d looked in the bathroom
mirror. That had been a mistake. She looked like a damn scarecrow with frizz on her head and her face bandaged. The pain was
still there, but she’d refused Sara’s offer of medication after dinner. She was sick and tired of being fuzzy-minded. It was
better to be hurting some than be out of it all the time.

Terry glanced through the archway into the kitchen and saw that Sara was baking a pumpkin pie, which Terry had mentioned was
her favorite. Sara was awfully nice and even
George, sitting at the table playing his endless hands of solitaire, was kind to her. But she missed her family and her friends.
She missed her life.

Turning back toward the window, she noticed a gauzy black witch figure hanging from one of the balconies across the way. Hard
to believe it was almost Halloween, four weeks since the accident. She had no idea exactly where their motel was located,
just that it was “somewhere in San Diego.” Federal agents liked to keep everyone in the dark. After trying to get information
from them, Terry decided all of them, from Bob Jones to Sara and George, were obsessed with secrecy.

Just then, she felt more than heard something behind her and swung toward the door. She became peripherally aware of George
suddenly in the archway, gun in hand, Sara right behind him. The man who stood in the doorway was tall and tan, wearing a
navy three-piece suit, his hair clipped short. Terry blinked at Bob Jones, wondering why he’d entered so stealthily.

But no! Her frantic mind registered subtle differences. The man could have been a clone, but he was younger, leaner, harder.
She saw no weapon in his hand, but nonetheless, she sank back into the couch, drawing her legs up close as a silent scream
built in her throat.

“For Christ’s sake, Luke,” George said, returning his gun to his shoulder holster. “Did you have to scare us like that?”

Luke Tanner’s cool gray eyes took in the room, the girl with the bandaged face and the two agents by the kitchen. Slowly,
he raised his hand and held up a small pick. “I got in with just this. No dead bolt. The chain wasn’t even on. I thought this
place was supposed to be secure.”

George’s face turned red. “It’s broad daylight and we’re both here.”

Luke nodded toward the couch where Terry sat, trying to calm her breathing. “And if I’d been the wrong person, she’d be gone
by now.” He set down the case he’d been carrying. He’d inspected the grounds before entering, checking everything
out thoroughly. He couldn’t believe George Everly thought the place safe. “Get her packed up. This place is too accessible.
Outdoor walkways all around, too easily scaled walls and cheap windows, to say nothing of flimsy locks.” He didn’t add that
an agent who was more than a little careless hadn’t helped the situation, but he thought George got the picture.

“I’m not sure Terry should be moved,” Sara interjected, coming forward. “Her doctor comes over daily.”

“I’ll talk to him,” Luke said brusquely, settling the matter. “We leave in thirty minutes. Get her ready.” He turned to the
door.

Annoyed, Sara’s mouth was a thin line. “Wouldn’t you like to at least be introduced?” she asked him, barely suppressing a
trace of sarcasm.

Luke’s eyes were calm and as cool as the ocean on a winter day. “What I’d like is everyone’s cooperation. Sorry we can’t take
the time for social amenities just now. George, step outside with me, please. Sara, I’ll be back as soon as I make a couple
of calls.”

Awkwardly, George indicated the wall phone in the kitchen. “You can call from here.”

Luke glanced at the older man. “You’re absolutely certain that line is secure?” When George dropped his gaze instead of answering,
Luke turned the knob. “I’ll be back in twenty-nine minutes.” He waited while George preceded him outside, then closed the
door firmly.

Terry unclenched her hands and released a shaky breath. “Who in hell was that?” she asked.

Sara made a disgruntled sound. She respected Luke Tanner, but she didn’t always approve of his methods. However, if ever she
had to go into the witness protection program, he’d be the one she’d want in charge of keeping her safe. “That, honey, is
the new federal agent assigned to safeguard you.”

Lord help us all
, she finished silently.

She was sweating, anxious, frightened. Her heart was pounding and she could taste her own fear. She smelled gas fumes, felt
a searing heat. The sound of metal ripping, crashing, burning invaded her ears, followed by a piercing scream. Was it her
own? Then she was being wrenched forward, tossed in the air, landing hard. Sirens were screaming and she was wrapped in a
blanket of red-hot pain.

With a start, Terry awoke, jerking upright, trying to escape the images behind her closed eyelids. The seat belt she was wearing
stopped her progress, yanking her back, causing her to bump her head on the window. “Shit!” she muttered, gingerly touching
the spot. That was all she needed, another bruise.

Still disoriented, she blinked, looking around, absorbing the eerie sensations of darkness and movement. Memory drifted back
slowly. She was on the back couch seat of the gray van with tinted windows that was hurtling through the night toward what
Senior Deputy Luke Tanner considered to be a safe house. A fortress complete with barred windows, barbed wire fencing, and
two snarling dogs in all probability, she thought crossly.

Over her protests, Sara had given Terry her pain medication
before they’d set out just as the sun dipped behind the shoreline. She’d struggled to stay awake, but the pill had tugged
her under and she still felt groggy.

She saw that Luke was in the single seat behind the wheel, driving the way she’d imagined he would, with steely control. On
the bench seat in front of her, Sara was asleep, snoring softly. Terry thought that she was certainly entitled, for in the
week or so they’d been together, she’d scarcely seen the woman close her eyes.

Bending to retrieve the bottled water she’d tucked under the seat, Terry moved too swiftly and felt a sharp pain race along
her shoulder. A groan she couldn’t prevent escaped from her.

“Are you all right?” Luke’s deep voice asked.

Terry glanced up at the rearview mirror and met his steady gaze. In the dim dash light, she saw that his eyes were the color
of the old pewter candlesticks her mother had on the mantel. The look lasted mere seconds, but she felt the impact throughout
her system.

“I’m terrific,” she answered. “On top of the world.” It was the longest exchange they’d had since meeting, including his terse
commands when they’d been leaving.

For several minutes Luke had been glancing into the mirror, watching her struggling with her restrictions and discomfort.
She had to be hurting, scared, probably missing her family. He’d half expected tears, but she’d surprised him.

Terry Ryan was feistier than he’d originally suspected. He’d been impressed that she hadn’t screamed when he’d easily broken
into the motel room. He’d been surprised just now when she’d sworn after bumping her head. Studying Bob’s file notes earlier,
he’d had her classified as a Catholic school–educated Girl Scout who likely wouldn’t say it if she had a mouthful of it. Maybe
he was wrong.

The thing was Luke hadn’t had much experience protecting young women. He’d had several criminal types in the program, being
tucked away so they could testify against the
kingpin in return for immunity. Unsavory characters he hadn’t trusted. He’d had whole families he’d had to relocate, to set
up with new identities since the father in the family was vulnerable because of what he knew. But only once before had he
been assigned to watch over a single young woman, and that had turned out badly.

“Why don’t you move up here?” Luke suggested, indicating the single seat to his right. He could gain her cooperation more
readily if he got to know her.

Terry wasn’t sure she wanted to sit up front, close to the windshield, where she’d probably relive the accident. Yet she didn’t
want to annoy her protector by refusing, either. Somewhat awkwardly, she made her way to the seat and quickly buckled herself
in, noticing that Sara slept on.

She could see more clearly out the windshield than through the more heavily darkened side windows. They were on a four-lane
divided highway which, she gathered from the occasional road signs, was heading north along the coast of California. There
probably was no point in asking Luke exactly where they were going since she doubted he’d tell her. Fog had rolled in from
a churning sea and a chilling gray rain had begun to fall. The weather added to the gloomy atmosphere inside the van.

Though he’d invited her up front, it apparently hadn’t been for a chat, Terry thought as she surreptitiously studied Luke’s
profile. Grim was the best word she could come up with to describe his closed expression, his hooded eyes. Not a man one would
want to run up against in a dark alley. Or one a person might choose to spend weeks with under what amounted to house arrest.

He’d changed from his business attire into jeans and a denim shirt, the sleeves rolled up. He had a leather jacket draped
on the seatback and he wore black sneakers. The better to creep around undetected, she imagined.

Terry decided she preferred dull, boring George.

“You fired him, didn’t you?” she asked, still looking at Luke. She needed to talk, if only to occupy her mind.

His eyes on the road, Luke frowned. “Who?”

“George.”

“I don’t have the authority to hire or fire. That’s Deputy Chief Jones’s job.”

“But you told Jones that George wasn’t exactly doing a great job, right?”

Luke let out a long breath. “A federal agent’s responsibility in the program you’re in is to keep you safe from all danger,
to remove all potentially harmful obstacles humanly possible. I think George fell considerably short on that.” He sent her
a quick, assessing glance. “I take it you prefer to remain alive?”

He had her there. “Yes.” But her sympathetic nature still nudged her. “He’s a nice man.”

“Nice isn’t what this is all about. Nice won’t cut it if the men who are after you find you.” He let that sink in. She had
to be made to realize the seriousness of her situation. What she was going to go through before all this was over wasn’t going
to be a day at the beach.

Terry sighed. “I don’t suppose you smoke?” She hadn’t smelled cigarettes in the van.

“Not anymore. Do you?”

“I did, before all this.” It’d been awhile now, and the doctor had advised her not to start again. But the craving would hit
her at the oddest times. “Right now, I’d kill for a cigarette. But I guess it would be stupid to go back to it.”

“I can get you a pack next time we stop. With all the changes you’ve had to undergo, maybe this isn’t the best time to quit.”

That was the first spurt of human understanding he’d shown. “How long ago did you quit?”

“Six years, five months and… eleven days.”

“Odd how every ex-smoker seems to remember that time frame almost to the minute.” He still wasn’t smiling, but
with a shared weakness in common, he seemed less formidable somehow. “So now you have no bad habits, I’ll bet.”

He sent her another quick glance, his hard mouth softening. “Absolutely none.”

She checked him out again more thoroughly, noticing his workingman’s hands, scarred and callused, and wondered why a federal
agent wouldn’t have smooth, soft skin. “What about your hands? You bite your nails, don’t you?”

“No. I sort of tear them off. Same thing. You caught me.”

His admission relaxed her another fraction. “I’m surprised you don’t have a car phone in here,” she commented, studying the
dash. He had every other gadget known to man—a compass, a CB, a fuzzbuster.

“Car phones use the airwaves. Others on the same frequency can listen in. Ham operators can monitor the calls. Too risky.”

Terry was sure he was right. She drew in a deep breath, catching the still-unfamiliar scent of the sea drifting in through
the window Luke had cracked a bit. The faint moan of a boat’s foghorn sounded far away. The wind beat against the palms along
the left and the rumble of the tide rolling in could be heard vying for attention with the distant thunder. She shivered and
pulled her knees up, hugging them.

“Are you cold?” he asked.