Beholden (27 page)

Thankfully, her shift would end at four. She’d opened at seven with Phyllis and wondered why the older woman seemed to handle
the work more easily. She’d be glad to get off her feet, though the weather had cut down on the number of customers. The problem
was that Safe Harbor was six blocks away and she had no umbrella.

Oh, well, Terry thought ruefully, she’d survived worse. Compared to all she’d been through, what was a little drenching rain?

She’d already had a talk with Stefano, telling him as little as possible to make him understand, and he’d regretfully accepted
her resignation. Though he could have held it up, he paid her for the two days she’d worked. With tips, she had eighty-one
dollars. Not a fortune, but she could at least pay Risa something. She couldn’t keep sponging off the kindness of Safe Harbor.

She and Phyllis were the only waitresses working the slow time between lunch and dinner except for Robbie, the counterman.
Only two booths were occupied, an older couple having a late lunch and two younger tourists lingering over coffee as they
pored over maps and guide books, both
in Phyllis’s section. An older woman carrying a shopping bag came in and took a stool at the counter, ordering from Robbie.
Terry’s tables were all unoccupied, giving her a chance to catch her breath as she stood by the short-order counter, watching
Butch build a club sandwich.

Suddenly three chattering women walked in, dripping wet and complaining about California rain. They seated themselves in one
of Phyllis’s booths, causing the older waitress to roll her eyes in Terry’s direction. Despite her own fatigue, Terry felt
sorry for the poor soul having to be on her feet for hours at a stretch at her age, so she grabbed a tray.

“I’ll get their water and setups, Phyl. You go take their order.” She caught the woman’s grateful smile and turned to the
service area.

Terry had just lifted the tray and turned toward the front when the door swung open. She froze in her tracks as she watched
the man step inside, shaking rain from his tan London Fog. He was of medium height, built stocky with a swarthy complexion
and pockmarks on his face. A toothpick was stuck in the corner of his mouth. It bobbed as his small, dark eyes met Terry’s
and he smiled.

Ozzie Swain!
Her senses went on red alert and Terry gasped out loud, dropping the tray, sending water spritzing in all directions, followed
by shards of broken glass, napkins and silverware clattering to the floor noisily. Everything happened in a matter of seconds.

Startled, Butch leaned over the counter. “Hey, what happened?”

Phyllis swung around, her mouth open in surprise as all the customers in the café looked toward the back. “You okay, honey?”
she asked, walking toward a white-faced Terry.

Poised for flight, Terry narrowed her eyes at the newcomer and belatedly realized that she’d been mistaken. This man was taller,
with a kind face and shocked expression. He stepped forward, glancing around, wondering what to do.

Nerves, Terry thought. Her nerves had caused her to
overreact. Embarrassed, she bent to pick up the broken glass as Butch came around with a mop to clean up the water.

“Slipped out of your hands, did it?” Butch asked, trying to be helpful. She looked pale as a ghost and he wondered what in
hell had caused her to freak out.

“Yes, I guess so.” In her haste, Terry cut her finger on a sliver of glass and cried out. It was the last straw. She sucked
on her finger, fighting tears.

“Honey,” Phyllis said, coming over and easing Terry upright. “Why don’t you go into the back room and sit a spell. You’re
maybe coming down with something.”

“Hey, lady,” the man in the London Fog said, walking closer, his hand sliding into his inside pocket, “don’t I know you? You
look kind of familiar.”

Terry tensed all over again, wondering if she’d been right the first time. After all, she’d only caught a glimpse of Swain
in the parking garage that evening. What was he reaching for in his coat pocket? Oh, God, she had to get out of there, now.

Shoving at the hands trying to help her, Terry turned and ran toward the back door. The man in the raincoat holding a pack
of cigarettes stared after her with a puzzled frown, but she didn’t look back. Hitting the crossbar, she set out down the
alley, unmindful of the rain, her need to escape to safety uppermost in her mind. She heard footsteps behind her and Butch
calling her Emily and beseeching her to stop, but she didn’t even turn around.

At the corner of the building, she emerged onto the street, glad to be out of the narrow, deserted alley. There weren’t many
people out in the rain and few cars, but the street was less threatening. Hardly breaking her stride, she ran toward Safe
Harbor, her sneakers sloshing on the damp pavement with every pounding step. She had to get away, had to.

After only a block, she became aware of footsteps still following her. Why was Butch still after her? She picked up her pace.

It was then that her pursuer yelled out. “Terry! Wait!”

Oh, God. Someone knew her real name. Someone had found her
.

Terry’s blood ran cold as fear clutched at her heart. She had to know, had to chance a look. Swiveling her head around, she
barely slowed her pace as she glanced over her shoulder.

It took but a moment for her to recognize the tall, broad-shouldered man wearing a black leather jacket and sporting a dark
beard running toward her. Her relief at not seeing Ozzie Swain or anyone who resembled him was so great that her steps slowed
and she turned.

Luke. Thank God. Suddenly drained of energy and hope, she stopped, waiting for him to catch up. It was over.

She was through running, too tired to fight. She couldn’t do this alone. He’d won.

Luke didn’t notice the dispirited look on her face or the surrender in her eyes. He saw only Terry, saw that she was whole
and unharmed. He’d taken a hell of a chance when he’d spotted the sprinting figure and thought he’d recognized her a block
back. He’d called out her name, praying no one who wanted to hurt her would be within earshot. And miraculously, the woman
running in a downpour had been Terry.

Reaching her at last, he crushed her to him, burying his
face in her neck. “Thank God I found you,” he said into her ear. “I was afraid I’d lost you.”

Had she heard right? Terry didn’t dare trust the hope that flared. After a moment, she eased back from him, ignoring the rain
that was soaking them both, capturing his eyes. “What did you say?”

He spoke from his wary heart, his relief at finding her greater than a lifelong reluctance to reveal his feelings. “I thought
you didn’t want to be found. I looked everywhere for you. I’ve been going crazy.”

She still hesitated to believe him, though his tone more than his words held the ring of truth. Luke Tanner was a cool professional
whose major focus was his work, his job, his responsibility to the marshals service. Surely he couldn’t feel more than that
for her, the need to recapture an important witness and keep her safe until such time as she testified in court. Could he?

Her wig was sodden and lopsided on her head from the rain and the chase. She’d run off without her jacket and the thin waitress
uniform was soaked, her shoes sopping wet. She was chilled to the bone and trembling. She noticed none of it, noticed only
the intensity of his eyes on her. “You’re in trouble with the home office about my leaving, right? The case is in jeopardy,
so you’re naturally upset. That’s why you were anxious to find me, right?”

Luke didn’t blame her for not believing him. She’d told him that it took her a while to trust a man. “No, because of this.”
Action. He was always more comfortable with actions than words. His arms tightened, his head lowered, and his mouth took hers.

Days of frustration, nights of distress, hours of worry boiled over into the kiss. He was none too gentle, none too patient.
His mouth ravished, conquered, claimed ownership of hers. His hands at her back molded, crushed, kneaded. And finally, after
an instant of shock, she responded in kind.

He was kissing her the way every woman wanted to be
kissed, Terry thought—masterfully, possessively, thoroughly. He left no doubt in her mind what he wanted. He wasted no time
on the niceties, on romancing her, nor had she expected as much. His beard rubbed along the tender skin of her face and even
that felt good. He was a rugged man in a dangerous line of work, and his rough edges would never all be smoothed out. It shocked
her to acknowledge that he was exactly what she’d been seeking.

She tasted different, wild with need, giving as good as she got, unapologetic in her desire as she sent her tongue to tangle
with his. Hunger raged through Luke’s system and had his head reeling. Her slender arms wound around him and his heart thundered
a welcome.

This, this was what he’d almost lost. This seemingly fragile woman who’d taken over his mind, his senses, his life. This was
the one who might very well bring him to his knees, Luke knew. And he must not let her realize it.

Breathing hard, he pulled back as thunder shook the leaden sky, underscoring the turbulence he felt. “Do you understand now?”
he asked, the hoarse words dragged from his throat.

She saw far more than he guessed, Terry thought. “Yes,” she whispered.

He had to ask, had to know if he’d been right. “It was the surgery, wasn’t it? That’s why you left.” He wanted to hear that
it wasn’t him she’d been running from, but the situation.

“Yes,” she answered instantly. “Please don’t let them operate on me. Please, Luke.”

“I won’t. I promise you.” He kissed her again, fiercely, to seal the vow.

Relief flooded Terry, reflecting in her eyes.

He saw it and swore he’d never let her down again, never let anyone hurt her. “Where are your things?”

What did she have but a few tired pieces of clothing? Terry waved a dismissive hand. “Never mind them.”

He picked her up into his arms and hurried to where he’d left the van.

The room he’d taken at the Best Western was perhaps fifteen by twelve with a king-size bed, oak veneer furniture, blue tweed
carpeting a bit worn in places, and a cheerless dark drape hanging crookedly on the single window. The presidential suite
couldn’t have looked better to Terry as she entered and removed the leather jacket Luke had draped over her shoulders.

Despite the van’s heater, she’d shivered during the entire ride over, more from nerves than cold. Luke hadn’t spoken much
on the drive, hadn’t even questioned her about the last several days, but rather he’d concentrated on the rush hour traffic
in a downpour. She watched him lock the door behind them as she slipped out of her soaked shoes, wondering what he was thinking,
wondering if the kisses they’d shared, the words they’d said, had had as much impact on him as on her.

He stepped closer and pulled her snug against himself. The ride over had been torture. He bent his head, nuzzling her throat,
nipping her earlobe. He was rock-hard and hurting, unable to recall a time when he’d wanted a woman more. This woman.

She felt him pressing into her, aware of his arousal, aware of her own. “I really need a shower,” she said, as a shiver raced
along her damp spine.

He let her go, but his hungry eyes stayed on her face. “I could use one myself.”

They stood in the wide tub enclosed by the white plastic curtain dotted with silver and blue fish while steaming water spilled
over them. She’d been reluctant to reveal her body with its faint scars in the harsh overhead light, but when Luke had bent
his head to kiss each one, she’d felt her heart turn over. Beneath the spray, he washed and shampooed her short hair, then
his hands went exploring. There was no
reluctance on his part, no hesitation, as he worked up a soapy lather and smeared it along her back, over her shoulders and
onto the pale slope of her breasts.

Terry was helpless to do anything but feel, absorb, immerse herself in the sensations buffeting her. His hands were rough,
callused, yet gentle on her sensitive skin. His mouth was on hers, stealing her breath, her very will. His fingers slid down
her rib cage and around to linger on her breasts, causing them to swell, to ache. She braced herself on his strong shoulders
as her knees threatened to buckle. Then he slipped the bar of soap lower, between her legs, caressing silkily until she moaned
out his name.

Turning off the faucets, Luke stepped out, ignoring the water dripping from him. Too impatient to dry off, he picked her up
and carried her to the waiting bed. He yanked back the spread and blanket, then, in the dim light of the bedside lamp, he
followed her down onto pale pink sheets. He paused, his eyes roaming her body in a way they hadn’t been able to in the shower.

Terry felt the flush begin, the knowledge of her imperfections coloring her skin. There was nowhere to hide. This thorough
inspection was what she’d been dreading. She wanted desperately to look her best for him and knew she didn’t. Frizz for hair,
a scarred face, her body too thin and marked by barely healed cuts. She raised one knee in a protective gesture and brought
her arm up to shield her breasts as her eyes dropped to his chest. “I know I’m not much to look at… ”