Beholden

by Pat Warren

  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.

  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.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  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 romanci
ng 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.”