Beholden (26 page)

Luke tried not to let his excitement over this possible new lead show. “She got on the eight-ten?”

“Guess so. She bought a ticket to San Jose.”

From his pocket, he removed a copy of the fax that Jones had sent to the hotel and held out the artist’s picture of Terry
for Curt to see. “Did she look like this?”

The druggist peered through his bifocals. “Sure looks like her. Seemed nice. I thought she was a runaway. I offered her a
donut, but she wouldn’t take it. Finally took a Styrofoam cup of black coffee, but she insisted on paying me. Hope she’s not
in any trouble.”

Luke hoped she wasn’t, too. “Thanks for your help.”

San Jose. About twenty-five miles north on Highway 101. What was Terry planning to do in San Jose? Luke wondered as he rushed
to the inn to check out.

***

Risa was a large woman with warm brown eyes and an overbite that should have been corrected years ago. She had a face that
inspired trust, Terry thought as she approached her desk in the reception room of Safe Harbor Shelter for Women & Children
on a side street near downtown San Jose.

“What can I do for you?” Risa asked, pinning her name badge on the lapel of her gold blouse. Darn thing kept falling off.

“I need a place to stay,” Terry said. The room smelled heavily of lilacs, as if a deodorizer had been sprayed to mask the
smell of disinfectant and fried onions. She felt a queasiness in her stomach, already jumpy with nerves.

The older woman’s smile was warm and welcoming. “How long will you be staying with us?”

“I’m not sure. I just need to get on my feet.” Through the arch, the sound of a baby crying could be heard. What if they were
full up? Where could she go from here?

Risa’s shrewd eyes appraised the young woman. She was obviously wearing a wig in what she probably thought was a good disguise.
Her features were fine, almost patrician, but there were dark smudges beneath her green eyes and two scars on her cheeks.
Probably a battery case runaway. No matter. There was always room for one more in need. “We have a bed available.”

Terry relaxed fractionally. “Just until I get a job.”

“Maybe we can help you find work. What kind of experience do you have?”

Terry thought quickly. She could hardly go to work for the local paper. “Waitressing.” She’d worked summers at Garcia’s Mexican
Restaurant in Phoenix while in college. It hadn’t been all that long ago.

“Plenty of those available this time of year. What’s your name? We use only first names here.”

“Emily.” Her mother’s name was the first that had popped into her mind.

Risa rose to her full five-eight and came around the desk. “All right, Emily, let me show you to your cubicle. You got any
more things?”

“No… no, I don’t have a bag.”

Poor kid, probably had to leave in a hurry. Running from some damn man, no doubt. Bastards, all of them. “We have some donated
items in the back if you want to look through to see if anything fits.” She moved through the archway, limping heavily, a
permanent souvenir from her second husband.

The large room was partitioned off with curtains hung between the beds to afford the occupants a small measure of privacy.
Terry saw that there were six cubicles on each side and a larger arch led into another room where more beds could be seen.
As she followed Risa, she saw a painfully thin woman curled up on a cot asleep, another younger woman changing a wiggling
baby, and a third one with scraggly hair and a black eye sitting in a rocker reading the newspaper and marking ads.

Risa stopped at the last partition. “This be all right?”

It was a single cot with a pillow, pink sheets, and a blue blanket, plus a hardback chair. It was a far cry from home, but
it was clean and safe. “Yes, just fine. I don’t have much money, but once I get a job…”

“You don’t have to worry about that for now. Margaret Mary’s in the kitchen fixing lunch. Should be ready soon. You get some
rest. You look all in.”

Tears sprang to Terry’s eyes at the woman’s kindness. “Thank you.”

“One thing more I need to know,” Risa said, pausing. “Is there a man after you?”

She wouldn’t mention Luke, for if he found her, he’d never harm her. But the other two posed a very real threat. “Yes,” she
admitted, her voice low and suddenly wary. “Two men.”

“I thought so. Don’t worry. They won’t get past the front door, honey.” With that, Risa limped on toward the kitchen.

How ironic that she should wind up in a shelter for battered women, Terry thought. She’d almost been one once, but she’d had
the good sense to walk away from Chuck at the very first hint of violence. The women she’d passed on the way in looked as
if they hadn’t been that fortunate.

It was not yet noon, but she lay down gratefully and closed her eyes. She couldn’t remember ever being so tired.

It was four by the time Luke checked in at a Best Western Motel on the outskirts of San Jose, then set out to find the Greyhound
bus station. Most weren’t in the best sections of town, he knew. Of course, it would have been broad daylight when Terry arrived.
But still, she was so small and defenseless, and she looked about seventeen in jeans and sneakers. She’d be easy prey for
the type of men who often lurked around bus stations.

His mouth a hard line, he parked in the lot alongside the station and hurried inside.

Ten minutes later and no wiser for information gathered, he set out on foot. No one had seen any young girl arrive today from
any location. Right. No one had paid attention was the problem. He supposed he couldn’t blame the ticket agents and washroom
attendants. It wasn’t their job to monitor arrivals.

Terry undoubtedly would have been walking, scared and tired, he decided. Where would she have gone from the bus station? Did
she have a destination in mind, or was she just hoping to find something? It was sunny and cool with the sun lowering in a
pale blue sky. Not much to recommend this area of town, Luke thought. A seedy-looking hotel, an Indian restaurant, a boarded-up
building. Across the street, a burger joint, a check-cashing establishment, a sleazy bookstore. Good God, he hoped she hadn’t
lingered long around here.

Still, he’d have to check them all. Desperate people did desperate things.

Luke found his hands forming fists as his frustration mounted. He wanted desperately to find Terry. Not just because he knew
that Jones was pissed that he’d let her get away, although he hadn’t said as much. Not even because she could be found by
Russo’s men or by other unsavory characters, although that was his primary concern. Aside from all that, he wanted to find
her because he had feelings for her.

He wasn’t about to put a name to those feelings. Not ever. He’d heard words like love and caring and commitment bandied about
all his life. Wives swore to love their husbands for all time. Men vowed till death do us part. What a crock!

Forever was a joke. His father’s forever had lasted till some stronger need had drawn him away. His mother stayed true a few
months past that. Both had spoken words of love, to each other and to him, but had walked away with incredible ease. His grandmother
had said she loved him. And she had, until the burden of raising a sad, confused, antagonistic little boy had become too much
for her. The foster families—shit! They’d all been in love with the state’s monthly check.

Then there was Tim Rogers, the guy who’d run the boys’ ranch. Thank God, love hadn’t been part of Tim’s vocabulary. He’d preached
discipline, hard work, and clean living. That Luke had finally bought into. Something solid to believe in. Not sentimental
shit like love and forever and always.

No, he wasn’t going to muddy up the waters by labeling his feelings for Terry Ryan. He wanted her, he liked being with her,
and he cared what happened to her. But that was it. Hell, he loved no one, not even his dog.

He stopped at the first storefront, a twenty-four-hour coffee shop, ordered a cup at the counter and started a conversation
with the middle-aged man with a patch over one eye who poured his coffee. Two refills later, he’d learned nothing new. Luke
moved on.

The wind picked up and he pulled up the collar of his jacket. He was chilled and hungry, grumpy and tired. But he couldn’t
quit. If there was one thing Luke Tanner wasn’t, it was a quitter.

If it took the rest of his days, he’d find her, by God.

She’d forgotten what hard work waitressing was. Only two days and her feet ached, her back hurt, and her stomach churned with
nerves. Butch, the short-order cook behind the counter, signaled that it was her break time, and Terry sighed gratefully.

She got herself a glass of milk and moved to the last table in back, where most everyone took their breaks. Wearily, she sank
into the chair and took a sip, hoping the milk would ease the burning. She was back to being unable to eat without stomach
cramps.

The Metropolitan Café had been serving San Jose residents for over twenty years, or so Stefano, the mustachioed owner, had
told her when he’d agreed to take her on. Stefano hailed from Athens and his heart was almost as big as his stomach, or so
Risa had informed her. He’d given work to quite a few women she’d sent over, providing them with uniforms and asking few questions.
His parents had immigrated years ago and had faced tough times. Stefano knew what it was like to get by on the edge. Terry
didn’t know how he managed to fudge the paperwork. She didn’t want to know.

Lighting a cigarette as she walked over, the older waitress named Phyllis sat down opposite Terry. Or Emily, as she was known
here. She hadn’t chatted much with anyone, although they all seemed friendly enough. Phyllis had a sixty-year-old face, platinum-colored
hair, and a size twenty-four uniform. But she’d been with Stefano since he’d opened and was the self-appointed mother hen
to all the younger women.

“You want something to eat with that?” Phyllis asked. “Stefano told you, it’s on the house, two meals a day. You should eat
more, Emily. You’re too skinny.”

Terry gave her a small smile. “Thanks, but I’m not hungry.” As always, her eyes were scanning the passersby strolling along
the street outside the large plate glass windows of the café. Would she ever be able to stop looking over her shoulder?

Phyllis blew out a cloud of smoke, studying Terry through the haze. “Honey, you got someone after you?” she finally asked,
her raspy voice lowered.

Terry’s eyes widened. “What makes you ask?”

Phyllis’s chuckle was throaty. “The way you act, kind of jumpy and nervous, for one. The way you’re always looking out the
window. And because there was this guy in yesterday evening asking Stefano if he’d hired on a young woman. The description
fit you to a tee.”

Terry gripped the glass, the pulse in her throat beginning to throb. “What… what did Stefano tell him?”

Phyllis took another deep drag. “Hell, you got nothing to worry about with him. He told the guy everyone here been with him
for years.”

She relaxed fractionally, but only for a moment. “What did the man look like?”

“Tall, broad shoulders, dark hair, good-looking. Had a beard.”

Terry almost spilled the rest of the milk. She looked down into the glass, trying to get herself under control before she
gave herself away to this kind woman. How had Luke tracked her? Far better that he had than one of Russo’s men, but still,
if he’d come this far, he wouldn’t give up. It was just a matter of time before their paths would cross.

The thought of moving on had Terry sagging back in the chair.

“Honey, you’re white as a sheet. Is that guy after you? Let’s tell Stefano. He’s got friends. They’ll get him to back
off, that’s for sure.” Phyllis ground out her half-smoked cigarette in the small ashtray, then placed her freckled hand on
Terry’s arm. “You in trouble, Emily?”

“No.” She nearly choked on the lie. “Yes.” Running a hand over her face, she sat back. “I don’t know,” she finally confessed.

Phyllis leaned closer, her lined face concerned. “Tell Stefano, honey. He’ll help you.”

How could she? She couldn’t involve that good man in her problems. Besides, she didn’t want anyone to harm Luke. And as for
the others who might find her, she wouldn’t think to let Stefano go after those killers. She was stuck in a trap of her own
making. She’d left Luke, put herself at risk, and now was exposing others to a possible threatening situation. She had no
doubt that if the man she’d seen gun down Don Simon found her here, he’d open fire, killing anyone who got in his way. Yet
if she went out on the street and let Luke find her, he’d take her straightaway to a hospital where they’d whisk her into
surgery.

What on God’s green earth could she do?

Phyllis was still staring at her. Terry took a deep breath. “Please don’t say anything to Stefano. I’ve got to think this
through.”

“Are you sure? You don’t want to take a chance on getting yourself hurt.”

A hysterical laugh almost erupted from Terry. No, she didn’t want to get herself hurt. But she’d done a damn fine job of setting
up just that. “I’ll be okay. Thanks, Phyllis.”

“Okay, honey. I’m here if you want to talk.” Lighting another cigarette, Phyllis rose and headed for the ladies’ room.

Terry drained her milk and hoped it would stay down. Her stomach was still burning. Maybe the best thing would be if she finished
out her shift, quit the job, and holed up in Safe Harbor a couple of days until Luke and any others looking for her gave up
the search. Risa wouldn’t let them know
she was there even if they stumbled into the shelter. Then, when things died down, she’d either move on or find a job where
she didn’t work with the public. She wasn’t sure exactly what that might be, but there had to be something she could do.

Terry saw Butch signalling from behind the counter that he needed her back on the floor. Shakily, she got to her feet and
went back to work.

The rain began around two, turning into a real deluge by three. Outside the windows of the Metropolitan Café, the street was
nearly flooded, the traffic thinning as dark clouds overhead warned of a greater storm building. Inside, Terry shuddered as
a clap of thunder reverberated throughout the old building.