Beholden (11 page)

“No, I’m just not fond of being out in storms.”

“It’s only a little rain.”

She watched the windshield wipers slap back and forth, letting their monotonous rhythm all but hypnotize her. But her mind
wouldn’t be still, the memories attacking her awake or sleeping. A loud clap of thunder seemingly just overhead had her jumpy.
“When I was a little girl, my father used to tell me that angels in heaven were bowling when it thundered.”

“One just got a strike.” He’d read John Ryan’s profile in the folder Jones had given him. The retired cop hadn’t struck him
as a whimsical father, yet the report had indicated that
John Ryan was very close to his daughter. In the shadowy light, he noticed that Terry’s skin was nearly as pale as her white
bandages. “You miss him a lot, I guess.”

Terry swallowed. “Yeah, a lot.” Keep talking, she told herself. It’s so much better than thinking. “He makes me put a quarter
into a Mason jar every time I swear,” she confessed, almost able to smile.

“Then you already owe one. I heard you back there.”

“If you could read my mind, you’d know I owe fa-more.”

Luke slowed as the highway trailed through a small town, one of many along the coastal road. “You’ve had a rough month.” Pretty
dumb, stating the obvious, but it was as close as he could come in trying to let her know he understood.

Odd how kindness made her want to cry. Terry touched the scarf she’d taken to wearing over her patchy hair. “This probably
sounds stupid, but even my hair hurts.”

“A little nerve damage probably. It’ll go away.” His quick glance took in her appearance. New white tennis shoes, navy sweatshirt
and pants, checkered scarf twisted about her head. She’d had no clothes so Sara must have picked out her outfit at a local
San Diego store. He had a feeling Terry would have chosen differently. According to her file, it was the cousin who’d died
who’d been the conservative one. “Why don’t you take off that scarf? It can’t be real comfortable.”

“Because I look like a scarecrow trying out for Halloween.”

“No one’s staring. Besides, I’m sure I’ve seen worse.”

“That’s really a comfort.” She might have if George had been the driver, but something about Luke Tanner had her feeling doubly
self-conscious.

She shifted her gaze out the window. They were going through a small town with low buildings, a church steeple illuminated
on a hillside, the influence of Spanish architecture
evident everywhere, not unlike some Phoenix neighborhoods.

The dashboard clock read ten after nine as she listened to her stomach growl. They’d missed dinner.

Luke heard the sound and realized he ought to stop for food. It’d be too late to find anything open by the time they reached
their destination. Up ahead, he spotted a sign advertising the golden arches coming up in five miles. “I’ll pull up to the
drive-in window and order takeout. What would you like?”

“I’m not hungry,” Terry said, despite her noisy stomach. The problem was that every time she ate, she developed pains shortly
after. Chewing made her cheeks ache where delicate stitches had been taken. “Maybe just a milkshake.”

If he were alone, he’d have driven through. Long ago, Luke had disciplined himself to hold off on food in order to get to
safety first. He didn’t honestly think anyone had discovered where Terry Ryan was; nor were they being followed. Still, he
had to consider the two women in the car, one young and frightened, the other just waking from a nap. If he wanted their voluntary
cooperation, that is.

“You have to eat in order to get well.”

The simple, soft-spoken statement was nearly her undoing. She knew he was right, but she was so damn tired—of hurting both
physically and inside on a much deeper level. And she was afraid—of more pain, of dying as horribly as Lynn had, of going
to sleep because she was sure to relive the nightmare. How could she explain all that to a cop whose main job was to keep
her alive, not chase away her fears?

“All right, you order for me and I’ll eat it.”

This concern for someone’s health and well-being was new to him. “Listen, I know what you’re going through. I…”

“No!” Terry gritted her teeth, feeling altogether fed up and frustrated. “I wish everyone would stop saying that. You
don’t
know how I feel, not any of you. I don’t have a speck
of ID, no driver’s license, no money of my own. My purse is gone, all my… my pictures of my family. My best friend is dead
and no one I love even knows where I am. Someone tried to kill me and may still succeed. I have peach fuzz for hair and God-only-knows
what my face will look like after these bandages come off. How can you possibly know what I’m going through?”

Luke listened, knowing she had every right to feel as she did. To have a close brush with death was a reminder that the next
time we might not be so lucky, something the young rarely gave much thought to under normal circumstances. He’d had plenty
of close calls and each had made changes in him. He wondered if he could make her see.

“I know because I’ve been where you are. I tangled with one of the men involved. I appreciate your fear and I respect your
feelings. You’ve got to trust me. I’ll keep you safe from him and the others, but you’ve got to put your whole trust in me,
to do
what
I ask
when
I ask.” He shifted into the right lane, then turned into the parking lot, heading for the lane that led to takeout. He glanced
over to see her watching him intently. “Do you think you can manage that, Terry?”

It was the first time he’d used her name, giving a more personal slant to their relationship. God knew she wanted to trust
him, wanted desperately to turn her worries over to someone else. Maybe he was the one who could end the nightmare and return
her to her world. “I’ll try,” she said softly. “I’m sorry I lashed out. It’s just that my life is out of my control and I
hate that. I dislike being beholden to strangers for even the toothpaste I use. I’ve been on my own for years and I loathe
this dependency.”

“I’m not good at relinquishing control, either. I’ll do everything I can to get your life back for you as quickly as I can.”

Terry sat staring out the window, wishing her emotions weren’t so raw.

Luke pulled the van up to the ordering menu, then swung
around toward Sara. “Dinnertime. What’ll you have, ladies?”

In the city of Phoenix, Officer Neil Manning was on night patrol, his squad car assigned to the downtown district frequented
by prostitutes and drug dealers. Since his partner, Jerry Foster, had been found dead in an alley several weeks ago, Neil
was traveling with a rookie named Pete Hansen, fresh from eight weeks of training after the Academy. The kid was twenty-six
and nice enough. But he talked incessantly about his wife and newborn son, things a single guy like Neil couldn’t get into.

He missed Jerry.

“Take a left onto Roosevelt and let’s swing along there, see if there’s any action,” he told Pete.

“Sure thing.” Pete licked his dry lips. “Mind if I pull in over at Circle K and get something to drink? Betsy made fish for
dinner tonight—fried perch fillets so tender they melt in your mouth. But man, am I thirsty.”

“Yeah, go ahead.” Neil watched the lanky kid run inside and sighed heavily. Things just weren’t the same. He and Jerry had
been friends for a long time, and roommates in an eastside apartment they shared since Jerry’s divorce two years ago. They’d
been on the same wavelength in so many ways. Neil just couldn’t figure why someone would off a nice guy like Jerry.

The scuttlebutt around the station was making him fighting mad. Some guys were saying Jerry had been on the take and that
he’d been eliminated because he’d been about to spill the beans. Neil didn’t believe the gossip for a minute. Jerry had complained
a lot after his divorce, saying he was being sucked dry by his ex over child support, but he’d kept up his payments. He’d
even managed lately to buy some spiffy clothes and a new Buick. The two of them had put in a lot of overtime and Jerry had
learned to handle his money better, that was all. Apparently there were guys at the station
who were jealous. Just yesterday, Neil had almost come to blows with Fred Harmon, a loudmouth who suggested Neil didn’t know
his partner’s secret life.

That was crazy. Neil knew everything there was to know about Jerry Foster. Hell, his mother, a widow who’d been blind for
years, was depending on Neil to settle her son’s financial affairs. He’d even made the funeral arrangements. It was the least
he could do.

Pete pulled open the door and got in, drinking through a straw stuck in a huge plastic container.

“How can you drink that sugary garbage?” Neil asked crossly.

“Sugar’s energy, my friend,” Pete said, backing up, then pulling into traffic.

You aren’t my friend
, Neil thought sadly.
Never will be
.

The stucco house painted a desert brown was so well camouflaged by the surrounding shrubs and trees that a passerby might
well miss it, Terry thought as she peered out through the windshield. In the headlights of the van, she could see that the
structure was two stories high backing up to a rising hill, the property completely enclosed by a chain-link fence. Luke had
jumped out and opened the padlocked gate with a key from his pocket, then hurried back to drive through before relocking the
fence.

“Who owns this place?” she asked as he climbed back in.

“The Bureau. Confiscated a while back during a drug bust.”

Staring out at the overgrown bushes trailing onto the pebble drive, Terry frowned. “It looks neglected.”

“They deliberately keep the yard this way. It discourages visitors.” Luke pulled the van close up to the attached garage door.
“You two sit tight while I have a look around.” Taking his high-beam flashlight, he stepped out into a light drizzle. Once
in the yard, he reached for his .38 before disappearing around back.

“He’s the most cautious man I’ve ever met,” Terry said to Sara.

“Honey, that kind of caution will keep you alive.” Sara stretched her long legs. “I think we’ll all be glad to get into a
real bed.”

Terry felt tired and stiff, but not necessarily sleepy. She’d watched the storm blow off to sea and settle into a light rainfall
as they passed through the coastal towns. After they’d eaten, Sara had dozed, but Terry’d been too curious to drop off. She’d
asked only one question of Luke, why he wasn’t taking the highway instead of the slower inland route. He’d explained that
it was more difficult to follow them through the rural roads where there were always plenty of turnoffs. She figured he probably
was right.

She’d seen the sign indicating that they were on the outskirts of Carmel, and had sat up straighter when Luke had told her
they were almost at their destination. With Lynn, she’d visited the small artists’ colony last summer, and they’d both loved
the town. Never had she dreamed that one day she’d be hiding out from a killer in the same peaceful area.

“No one asks too many questions around here,” Luke had volunteered when he’d seen her interested look. “It’s sort of an unspoken
rule that people here believe in live and let live, respecting one another’s privacy. That’s one reason I use this safe house
whenever I can.”

They passed an ice-cream parlor and an arcade of shops. “I don’t suppose we’ll be able to come into town?” she’d asked hopefully.

“We’ll see,” he’d answered in the maddening tone a father might use on a pesky child.

Suddenly floodlights illuminated the yard just before Luke stepped out of the front door. Terry saw that heavy black wrought
iron shielded each window and nearly groaned aloud. While the practical side of her knew that
made the house even safer, she hated the prisonlike feel of protected windows.

Luke opened her door and helped her down while Sara climbed out of the van’s sliding door. He turned on lights inside, then
went back out to bring in their luggage. Terry stretched her sore muscles before taking a look around.

It was a surprise to find that the place, though quite old, was far cozier than she’d expected. A stone fireplace in the corner
of the living room, a long corduroy couch, deep comfortable chairs, a cluttered bookcase, and several colorful pillows. A
narrow archway led into a dining room with a wooden table, and past that she could see the kitchen. The colors were golds
and browns with a touch of orange, circa 1970. The only criticism she might have were the heavy drapes covering all the windows.
For security reasons, no doubt, she decided.

“It’s not so bad,” Sara said, gazing at the stairs leading up.

“I’ve never been in a so-called safe house,” Terry said, shivering in the chilly room. “Is this better than most?”

“By far.” Sara unbuttoned her jacket. “I understand that the dealer who owned the place had a wife. She probably did the decorating.
Definitely a woman’s touch in here.”

“Can law enforcement do that, take a person’s property, furniture and all?”

Sara stifled a yawn. “Sure. For nonpayment of taxes, for fines levied. In this case, I believe the owner’s in prison and the
wife’s been deported.” She moved to the stairs. “Let’s go up and have a look. I think you need to get to bed.”

Luke returned and preceded them with the bags, placing her small suitcase in the room he’d apparently decided would be hers.
It was small, sparsely furnished, but done in soothing shades of blue and white, and directly across from a very masculine
room with heavy pine furniture. Terry watched Luke set his leather case in there before carrying
Sara’s plaid bag to the room at the end of the hallway. The closed door she assumed was to the bath.

So he’d decided to keep an eye on her from across the hall, had he? She wouldn’t have been shocked if he’d have dragged out
a sleeping bag and unrolled it next to her bed. A sneeze shook her and she reached for a tissue from a box on the nightstand.
A man who took protecting very seriously, that was Luke Tanner.

She should probably be grateful, Terry thought as she blew her nose. Not much would escape those cool, watchful gray eyes.
However, the loss of her privacy bothered her greatly. Would he wait outside the bathroom door until she finished showering
and taste her food before she took a bite?