by Pat Warren
“Ah, I guess you’re hungry.” Only she saw his attention shift back up to her breasts, his eyes darkening.
Leaning down, he blew his warm breath on them and saw them pucker in invitation. “Hungry? Yeah, I think I am.” He kissed the full curve of one breast and heard her draw in a quick breath. He looked up and saw the surprise in her eyes. “What?”
“I’m just still amazed at how you make me feel. Here with you now, I feel safe. I feel not so lost.” Her hand moved to stroke his hair.
“Maybe you need to stop playing Wonder Woman and let someone help you. Sometimes being strong means asking for help.”
“I never claimed to be strong. That’s a man thing.”
Turning her toward him, he nuzzled her breasts with his bearded face. “You’re definitely not a man.”
She smiled, realizing that a serious conversation at this moment was impossible. Did she really want to talk or did she want… ? She sighed out loud as he tossed back the sheet the rest of the way and pulled her to him.
“I want you again, Terry.” The admission felt as if it had been wrenched from him, but that didn’t make it any less true. “Again and again and again.”
“No more than I want you,” she confessed in a hoarse whisper, then turned her face into his throat and gave herself up to the magic of his touch.
Three A.M. The bewitching hour, or was that midnight? Terry didn’t know. She did know that awakening in the middle of the night in a dark, unfamiliar room and being unable to go back to sleep was becoming an all-too-familiar feeling. She stared at the ceiling, wondering how many strange beds she’d slept in since this whole nightmare began. Too many.
The motel’s parking lot lights drifted in faintly over the top of the sagging drape covering the window. It was enough so that she could make out the time on the bedside clock. And the features of the man sleeping beside her.
She was afraid to move, knowing what a light sleeper Luke was. She wanted to study him at her leisure when he wasn’t aware of her. He lay on his side facing her, one arm extended under the pillow, the other resting atop the sheet that covered him only to his narrow waist. Even in sleep, it seemed as if his features weren’t entirely relaxed. There seemed an almost indiscernible tenseness about him, a readiness to leap up at the slightest sound or movement.
He probably needed his rest more than she, for she knew that he’d been walking the streets searching for her for days, scarcely sleeping, hardly eating. She’d never meant to put him through that. Thankfully, he didn’t seem to hold her little escapade against her. He hadn’t even asked her to promise she’d never do anything that foolish again, although she’d vowed to herself that she wouldn’t.
And oh, the glorious way he’d made her feel when they made love. After they’d made love again, he’d ordered dinner sent up from the motel restaurant, which had turned out to be better than she’d expected. She hadn’t really eaten a solid meal in days with her nervous stomach acting up. Perhaps she’d felt better because she was being watched over by Luke again. Or perhaps good sex, which she hadn’t had in many months, had increased her appetite.
At any rate, they’d eaten steak sandwiches and fries and hot coffee. Then they’d watched the news on television from bed, becoming drowsy together. It had felt so wonderful falling asleep in his arms after they’d made love again. He’d managed to keep her fears at bay, to cause her to relax until she’d felt lethargic and contented.
She noticed the scar on his right side, the one he’d told her earlier was a knife wound put there by Nick Russo. He had another smaller one on his face near one temple, and he couldn’t even recall who’d put that one there.
Ah, but he was still beautiful. Such a strong face, such a determined, focused man. Thank God he hadn’t given up and left her to fend for herself. She’d been mistaken about the man in the restaurant being Ozzie Swain. But perhaps the next suspicious man she saw might be the real thing. She couldn’t have hidden out at the shelter forever, going from one entry-level job to another. And it didn’t seem as if the Russo men were going to give up, either.
How long were the police and the courts going to drag this thing out? Why couldn’t they set a trial date and stick to it? Surely the prosecution of police officers and mob criminals accused of brutal murders ought to take precedence over more minor crimes. In every major city, Terry was aware, court dockets were full to overflowing. Justice was no longer a speedy thing, if it ever had been. It crept along slowly, leaving a lot of gaping loopholes that clever attorneys discovered daily.
But how long could she be expected to remain in hiding? How long could one man, as finely trained as Luke was, be expected to be able to keep her safe from harm? The criminals were many in number and he was but one. Jones had said that Ozzie Swain and probably Nick Russo were searching for her. But they could also have put a price on her head, enticing even petty criminals to hunt her down and score with the big boys. What chance, no matter where they hid away, did they have against the mob, men with no scruples to get in the way of their methods?
“You’re doing it again,” Luke’s voice said, startling Terry.
She turned toward him. “What am I doing?”
“Obsessing. Conjuring up scenarios that could happen. Getting yourself worked up over what might happen.” He shifted to a more comfortable position, punching up his pillow, then taking her hand in his. “Am I right?”
Terry let out a ragged breath. “You know me too well.”
Apparently she wasn’t aware that her expressive face revealed her emotions so clearly, especially when she thought no one was looking. “Don’t obsess. It’ll only upset you.”
“Yeah, well, I guess I have a right to be upset from time to time.” She watched her thumb trace the blue veins on his hand as she spoke. “The mob never forgets, do they, Luke? What I’m really afraid of is that even if I testify and the men in jail are convicted and sent to prison for a long while, Sam’s brother will never let up until he finds me. There’s nowhere I can go, nowhere to hide. And he can hire others who’ll look, too. I’ll never be safe, never be free.”
Luke knew it was a legitimate fear. He didn’t know if he could ease her mind, but he had to try. “That’s not true. We have ways. If necessary, we can change your whole identity, set you up in another city of your choice far away from here, and they’ll never find you.”
“That doesn’t sound very appealing. I don’t want a new identity.” Again, she’d be away from her family, her friends. She’d have to start all over.
Discouraged, Terry sat forward, drawing her knees up and hugging them. “You know, all I ever wanted was to be the best political cartoonist in the state. Maybe to get syndicated. I couldn’t do that with a new identity. My style would be recognized and I’d be identified.” She let out a sigh. “Oh, well, it was a stupid dream anyway.”
He sat up with her. “Dreams are never stupid. Unrealistic sometimes, but not stupid.” He touched her chin, forced her to face him. “I’m going to do everything in my power to see that you realize that dream, Terry. Do you believe that? Do you trust me?”
She searched his eyes and could see he meant every word. She was as aware as he that he could only do so much, but that wasn’t important. What was was that he wanted to help her in every way at his disposal. “I trust you,” she whispered, and handed him her heart with that simple statement.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
“Oh, my. Listen to this.” In the passenger seat of the van, Terry folded the newspaper so she could read the article written by Carlos Dunahee, the Phoenix Gazette reporter who’d been like a one-man crusade needling the police to do more about finding Don Simon’s killer.
“Is he poking jabs at Central again?” Luke asked as he swung onto Highway 580 north, which would intersect with Interstate 80 leading to Truckee. It was a sunny morning after yesterday’s rain, for which he was grateful. They had a full day’s journey ahead.
Terry had been following Dunahee’s articles for sever
al weeks. He’d been relentless in calling for public support of police reform in light of the arrest of several cops accused of heinous crimes. Her friend, Andy Russell, had joined Carlos at a public forum, calling for a citizen’s committee to investigate the happenings at Central Precinct since Internal Affairs and even the county attorney were dragging their feet. She didn’t know Carlos, but she wished she could talk to Andy to find out how things really were.
“He sure is getting people worked up.” Terry took a sip from the Styrofoam cup of coffee she’d picked up along with the newspaper while Luke had gassed up the van. She began to read. “ ‘This reporter feels a decided coolness at Central Division these days, and it’s not difficult to figure out why. Since Don Simon was found slain in the parking lot across from the Gazette, even police beat reporters are made to feel unwelcome in the precinct, as if somehow our very presence might precipitate another murder.’ ”
“He’s feisty, isn’t he?” Luke commented as he signaled before moving into the left lane of the highway.
“We’re just getting to the good stuff.” Terry took another hasty sip before continuing. “ ‘Speculation runs rampant nonetheless throughout the precinct. From Homicide to Missing Persons, from Burglary to Records, in every department cops are nervous, conjecturing under their breath, trying out theories on one another. Overheard in the men’s room was the most believable hypothesis, that Terry Ryan, thought to be the only witness to reporter Simon’s brutal slaying, is still alive and well, stuck away somewhere under protection of the Feds.’”
Luke glanced over and noticed that her expression had closed in. “They’re only guessing. Rumors like that circulate at every precinct.”
She looked up. “I suppose it was only a matter of time till someone put that in print. They’d be fools not to have thought of it.” She returned to her reading, silently now. But the next paragraph had her gasping aloud.
“What?” Luke asked, frowning. Maybe he should see to it that she couldn’t get ahold of newspapers from now on.
“My father. He’s had another heart attack.”
Just what they needed right now. “Read it to me.”
Terry swallowed around a lump. “ ‘Retired Officer John Ryan, Terry’s father, naturally has been following the case more closely than most. A day hasn’t gone by that he hasn’t been at Central, bothering the big boys, demanding answers. As with the rest of us, Ryan’s pleas fell on deaf ears. Which is probably one reason he was taken to Good Samaritan Hospital last week with severe chest pains. Ryan retired several years ago with a heart condition. Having a daughter’s fate be unknown for months wouldn’t be easy on a well man. Officer Ryan also lost his eldest daughter, Kathleen, twelve years ago in a drunk driving accident.”’
Terry lowered the paper, blinking back a rush of tears. Oh, Dad. Please be all right.
“Chest pains, it said, Terry. Not a heart attack.”
“That’s how the first one started out, too.”
“I’ll call Jones when we get to the cabin and have him check out your father’s condition, okay?”
She nodded before turning to stare unseeingly out the side window. Questions raced around in her mind. Was her father still in the hospital? If it was serious, as bad as last time or even worse, he would be. Oh, God, she’d give anything to talk with him, to hear his voice, to let him know she was all right so he wouldn’t worry. She knew how much John Ryan worried, about money, his children, his job. If only she could remove at least one concern from him, she would in a heartbeat.
Maybe, if she asked him, Luke would let her call home, talk with her mother and reassure them she was safe. After all, wasn’t the phone at their destination supposedly secure? Didn’t that mean that no one could tap the line and listen in or trace a call from the number? Given their new closeness, maybe he’d grant her this small wish.
She glanced over at Luke’s profile, saw that he was concentrating on traffic in that focused way he had. Studying the hard angles of his face, the grim expression, her doubts returned. He wouldn’t let her call, citing a dozen reasons why she shouldn’t phone. She’d have to be content with hearing news thirdhand from Bob Jones to Luke and then to her, each of them editing along the way. She didn’t even know exactly where they were headed.
“I don’t suppose you’d tell me where we’re going?” she asked, thinking it was worth a try.
At this point, he saw no reason not to. “Bob and his wife own a cabin somewhere between Grass Valley and Reno near Truckee. He gave me directions. No one knows about this place, so it’s particularly safe.”
What did it matter where? Terry thought. The real question was how long would they be there, and that Luke couldn’t answer. She slid on her sunglasses, leaned her head back and closed her eyes.
“Get some rest,” Luke told her. “You’ll feel better.”
She had rested, but she hadn’t slept much. She’d been too stimulated by Luke’s lovemaking, too worried about her future, too saddened by the prospect of one day soon having to give up what she’d just found. Life so rarely was fair, she decided as she heard Luke snap on the radio.
Willie Nelson’s gravelly voice began with “On the Road Again.” You can say that again, Terry thought.
It was early evening when they stopped outside of Sacramento at Pomeroy’s Country Store. Luke decided it was as good a place as any to stock up on supplies they’d need for an indeterminate stay in the mountain cabin. The air had turned much colder as they’d driven north. Radio weather predictions were for snow on the way and colder temperatures. As he stepped out, he spotted the first snowflakes.
He walked around the van to help Terry down, but she’d beat him to the punch and jumped down herself. She’d been quiet most of the day since reading the upsetting newspaper article, leaning back, hiding behind her sunglasses and pretending to sleep though he knew she hadn’t. He’d decided it would be best to leave her to her thoughts. They’d talk things out once they got to the cabin and were safely entrenched.
He fell in step beside her as they walked toward the door. “Pick up everything you think we may need. If a storm hits, we may not be able to get to a store again for a while.”
Wordlessly, Terry went inside and grabbed a basket.
It took half an hour for them to push the cart through all the aisles, piling in food and staples that they’d need. They had no way of knowing just what the cupboards at the cabin held, if anything. Terry added a few personal items, including hair dye. Her wig had pretty well been ruined yesterday and she was tired of wearing it anyway. She chose a warm light brown shade and decided that the cuts on her scalp were healed enough to handle the dye. Then she could leave off the knit cap she’d been forced to wear today.
At the register, Luke reached for his wallet as Terry shoved the loaded cart within reach of the cashier. He glanced out the window and saw that the snow was picking up. “Maybe we should pick up a couple of sandwiches and eat them in the van. We have another two hours to go and I’d like to be there before the storm worsens.”
“Fine with me.” The short-order counter was off to the side. “I’ll go put in an order. What would you like?”
“A sub with roast beef, Swiss cheese, lettuce, and mayo. And a real Coke, not that diet stuff.” He handed her a twenty.
Taking it, she gave him a look of disapproval. “If the cholesterol won’t kill you, the sugar will.”
He grinned. “Gotta die of something. Might as well enjoy the trip.”
Shaking her head, Terry went to the counter.
She accepted the sandwiches and drinks from the slim blonde behind the deli counter as Luke joined her with the bagged groceries. She handed him the change then glanced around, finally spotting what she wanted. “I need to make a stop at the ladies’ room. I’ll be out in a jiffy.”
He saw the two rest rooms side by side in a small corridor past the deli counter. “I’ll wait for you in that hallway.”
He was back to dogging her every step, Terry th
ought as she walked to the rest room. Just doing his job or because he didn’t trust her not to take off again? Remembering her fear when she’d thought she’d seen Ozzie, she supposed she should be grateful, but moments like this, that smothered feeling returned. Shoving the door in, she saw that the room was unoccupied, both stalls empty. She hurried into one.
Finishing, she came out and stopped at the sink to wash her hands. It was then that she spotted the wall phone just under the closed window. Her heart leaped into her throat as she dried her hands.
Terry glanced toward the door. Was Luke just outside? Could he hear her? She had left the money she’d earned at the Metropolitan Café in her suitcase and she’d returned the sandwich change to Luke. But in her jeans pocket were two quarters from the night she’d been in the theater.
Making a quick decision, she pulled out a quarter and lifted the receiver before she could change her mind. She inserted the quarter and dialed the long-distance operator as she checked her watch. Seven in California, which would mean eight in Arizona, with the winter time change. In a hushed voice, she told the operator she wanted to make a collect call, and recited her parents’ number. With heart pounding, she waited.
“Hello?” The voice was male, sounding faint and some-what fuzzy.
The operator came on. “Collect call for anyone at this number from Terry. Will you accept charges?”
“Terry? Did you say Terry?” The voice seemed stronger, as if the man had been asleep and now was wide-awake.
“Yes, sir,” the operator said. “Terry. Will you accept charges?”
“Yes, yes,” John Ryan said impatiently, sitting up in his easy chair in his Phoenix living room. “Terry, is that you?”
Tears sprang to Terry’s eyes as she heard the operator click off. “Yes, Dad, it’s really me.”
“Oh, thank God you’re alive. I wasn’t sure until this very minute.”
