by Pat Warren
And poor Aunt Julia, having to listen to the vivid details of Lynn’s death. The testimony of the two officers first on the scene of the accident and the mechanic’s report about the tampering of her VW were difficult for Terry to sit through. She could only imagine what her aunt was feeling.
So much heartache caused by those vile men and their insatiable greed. And there were others, the drug dealers who’d used the Russos to launder their dirty money, and who’d so far escaped being named. Even if the Russos worked a deal, which she wouldn’t put past them, their sources from Mexico and Colombia were long gone, probably setting up shop in some other state. The main players, the big boys, were as evasive as the morning fog. One crime syndicate broken up, but others would surface.
It seemed to be the nature of so many to want more than they’d rightfully earned, no matter who got hurt along the way. The whole experience had taught her that it’s truly an unsafe world out there and that anyone can become a victim.
In a way, her father had been a victim, too. While no one had held a gun to his head and forced him to turn dishonest, to look the other way and accept payoffs, life had slammed him once too often and made him vulnerable to the pros who knew just whom they could entice into their illegal activities. Perhaps if he hadn’t been passed by for promotions so often no matter how hard he worked, John might have had the strength of character to refuse to participate. Maybe if Kathleen hadn’t died as she had, leaving John and Emily with staggering debts, things might have ended differently. Perhaps if John hadn’t had that heart attack that forced him into an early retirement with too small a pension, he wouldn’t have been susceptible.
No one would ever know, Terry thought. Ultimately, the decision had been his and the strong man she’d known had turned weak. Her father’s funeral had been huge, despite the cloud that hung over his memory. He’d been loved by many. She blinked back a rush of tears, already missing him so badly. She deeply resented that she’d been robbed of the last few months of his life because of this whole thing. She was convinced that John Ryan, with his ailing, grieving heart, probably wouldn’t have lasted very much longer even if he hadn’t made that trip to California.
Terry listened with half an ear as the prosecutor led Luke through some dry details. Since he’d been the federal agent who’d wounded Nick Russo, finally stopping him, he’d naturally had to testify. So much had happened since that fateful day when she’d walked out of the offices of the Phoenix Gazette and crossed the street with Don into that parking garage. Just over four short months ago, yet it seemed as if years had passed. She’d been physically and emotionally battered, changed from a happy, secure young political cartoonist into someone she scarcely recognized these days.
Who wouldn’t be affected by all she’d witnessed? After the kitchen shootout, the ambulances and police had finally arrived at their California mountain hideaway. Her father’s body had been driven to the morgue, while Nick Russo had been dispatched to a hospital. Later, they’d both been flown back to Arizona. The memory of that day would forever be a part of her. She wondered if Luke was troubled by the same haunting dreams.
Terry studied him on the witness stand with his once again clean-shaven face, his regulation haircut, his navy pin-striped suit. He looked so good, so in charge, so authoritative. She wanted to run up there and throw herself at him, to force a reaction, to break down that iron control. Irrationally, she wondered if he’d even pause in his testimony.
She’d broken through his reserve a time or two, in the bedroom. But otherwise, Luke did things his way. They hadn’t had too much to say to one another flying back to Phoenix. She’d been too numb mourning her father to think about much else.
On the plane, she’d finally confessed that she’d called her father that night from Pomeroy’s, in case Luke hadn’t overheard her last conversation with Dad. She’d expected a reaction—anger, disappointment, perhaps a lecture. But Luke had merely nodded and continued jotting notes for the report that Bob Jones had requested.
Then there’d been the reunion with her family and friends, and later, the funeral. She felt drained, adrift, lost. She was back home, yet nothing was the same. She’d moved in with her mother, who was now alone, and they’d clung to each other, trying to handle their sorrow. Emily and Julia had long ago closed up the apartment she’d shared with Lynn, a fact for which she was grateful, for she didn’t think she could have managed that.
Luke had shown up at her father’s funeral, even dropped in at her mother’s house for the reception. He’d experienced his first Irish wake, and had seemed a little overwhelmed. She’d introduced him around and he’d received a hero’s welcome from one and all. But he’d been cool, almost remote, and hadn’t stayed long, taking her aside before ducking out. They’d had a very disquieting conversation.
He’d told her that he was going up to his ranch in Sedona and that he’d like her to go with him. He’d even gone so far as to say he wanted her in his life. She’d waited, hoping for some words she could hang her hopes on. Not a marriage proposal, but something that told her he cared. When she hadn’t answered, he’d shrugged and said to think about it, that she’d be welcome to visit anytime. A half-assed invitation that was less hurtful than the usual kiss-off, but just barely. She hadn’t seen him again until today.
He’d said a lot of things to her during their time together—that he wanted her, that he needed her. There’d been a time when she’d been so certain he loved her. But he’d never used the L word, the one he feared above all others. So be it. She couldn’t see herself just living with him, although she might have if love had been part of the picture. But without an emotional commitment, without hearing the words and knowing he truly meant them, she knew she’d start to lose her self-respect.
He would probably take a little time off, Terry guessed, putter around his ranch, then let Bob coax him back with another intriguing case. He was drawn to the thrill of danger like a moth to a flame. Stroking the medal that she’d worn since he’d put the chain around her neck, she decided she’d have to give it back to him. He’d need it for protection on his next assignment.
The sound of the gavel ending the testimonies for the day brought Terry out of her reverie. She stood as people around her rose, and they all waited while the judge left. She said a few words to Chief Jones and the prosecutor. Then she glanced around the courtroom, but she couldn’t see the tall, broad-shouldered man her eyes had been seeking.
Luke had left without saying good-bye.
The last days of March in Sedona can be cold, days in the forties and fifties, nights often below freezing. Luke didn’t mind. He was in his barn, rebuilding the last of four horse stalls. Next he planned to tackle the hayloft. He’d read in the local paper that there was going to be an auction of purebred quarter horses in a couple of weeks. He planned to bid on a couple to keep the stallion he’d be bringing home soon company, and he wanted his barn ready.
Luke glanced over at Yuma asleep on a small pile of hay in a dribble of sunshine. The mutt had it made, he thought as he placed the plank board across the sawhorses and started cutting along the pencil line he’d drawn after measuring. There was always plenty to do on a ranch. Once he had livestock, there’d be even more. He could also go riding whenever he felt like it. Maybe he’d read up on breeding, try his hand at that. Lots to do, lots to keep him tired, to get him exhausted so he could sleep.
Not that it was working all that well, not yet. But in time, he’d get used to it again. He’d stop thinking about the things he couldn’t have, stop wanting changes that weren’t good for him or her.
Her. Terry Ryan, to be specific. God, she’d looked beautiful up there on the witness stand in court. Her hair was a light blond, still short, but looking good, curling softly about her face. He’d never seen her with makeup and dressed up before. She’d worn a long white double-breasted jacket over a short black skirt and heels. She was a knockout in any man’s book.
But he was the one man she definite
ly didn’t want. She’d scarcely looked at him, hardly spoken to him since their return from California. He’d wanted to talk with her, wanted to tell her that he’d thought over some of the things she’d pointed out to him the night of their quarrel. But after the funeral, she’d seemed distracted, grief over her father’s terrible death and awful revelations consuming her. Later, he’d thought. But later hadn’t come.
He wasn’t a man who would beg. So he’d left. He’d told her he wanted her in his life and she hadn’t responded. When that hadn’t worked, he’d invited her to drop by and visit him sometime, hoping when she had time to recover they could talk. She knew she could get directions to his ranch from Bob. She was familiar with the Sedona area since her family had a cabin up here somewhere. The trial had ended a couple of weeks ago and he hadn’t heard a word from her nor had she shown up.
What more could he do?
He sawed clean through the board. Luke put both pieces on the stack he was forming, and picked up another plank. He wasn’t one who had to be hit over the head to get the message. She wanted no more to do with him. Fine. People had walked away from him before. He’d survive. He always had.
Yuma’s bark and belated gallop to the barn door had Luke looking up just before a voice spoke. “Hey, Luke.”
His hand was already on his .38 when he swiveled around. He saw Bob Jones walking toward him and relaxed. Perhaps his state of mind could best be judged by the fact that he hadn’t heard a car engine approaching. Of course, there’d been the noise of the saw. But still…
“Keeping busy, I see.” Jones stopped in front of Luke, noting his scowl.
“Yeah. Always something to do.” He turned to frown at Yuma. “Some watchdog you are, not barking till the guy’s practically on us.” Taking the scolding to heart, the Labrador slunk back to his spot of sunshine. Luke finished sawing the second piece, then stepped back. “What brings you up my way?”
“I had some errands to run, so I thought I’d see how you’re doing.” Bob strolled to the next stall, looking it over. “Nice work. You bought any new horses?”
They discussed horses for a few minutes, but Luke was sure that Jones had an ulterior motive for his sudden appearance. “Don’t tell me that you’ve got another special case you need help on?”
Bob shook his head. “No, not right now. I think you deserve some time off.” Luke didn’t look rested, though he’d had plenty of time to rest. The worry lines around his eyes had deepened. He stepped on the bottom rung of the ladder leading up to the hayloft, testing its strength. “The conviction for all three came as no surprise to any of us. Judge Carmichael’s set sentencing for next month.”
“I hope he throws the book at them.” Luke returned to his sawing. He’d made it a point to pick up the local paper regularly, following the rest of the trial after his own testimony had ended. “So everyone’s happy now, I guess.”
“I think so. I know Terry is.” From under lowered lashes, he watched Luke for a reaction. Apparently, none was forthcoming. Jones cleared his throat. “Something happen between you two?”
Luke set down his saw and began stacking the cut planks by the stall he intended to repair. “Weren’t you the one who told me that I never should have touched her? So I stopped touching her.” He straightened the boards, taking his time.
Bob rubbed along the back of his neck, wondering why in hell he’d stuck his nose into this. Because he cared about Luke, that was why. “Yes, well, that was then and this is now. The case is over. You’re no longer watching over her. Naturally, it’s your business, but I visited Terry after the trial in the hospital and…”
Luke’s head shot up. “The hospital? What was she doing in the hospital?”
“She had surgery to remove the scars on her face.”
“Was she… is she all right? I mean, I know she was really afraid to go under the knife again.”
“She dreaded it, but she didn’t want to go through life with scars on her face. She’s doing fine, healing well. Another week or so and you won’t be able to see a sign of what happened to her.”
Sure, on the outside. But what about inside? Was she still hurting, was she scared? Did she sometimes cry at night and there was no one to hold her? Damn, maybe he should have played his hand differently. “I’m glad to hear that,” he said, turning back to his woodpile. He hoped his feelings weren’t written all over his face.
“And she’s getting counseling for Post Traumatic Stress Syndrome, learning how to handle her memories and feelings.”
“That’s good.”
Bob studied his friend closely. “She still loves you, you know.”
“Yeah, right. That’s why I haven’t heard from her in over a month.”
“Luke, I… ”
“Leave it alone, Bob.” He tossed the last of the planks into the stall and pulled off his gloves. “Come on in and have a cup of coffee. It’s cold out here.”
The inside of the house was looking good, too, Jones thought as he sat on the big leather couch while Luke took the Barcalounger. He took a sip from the mug Luke had handed him. “I guess you plan on staying here and working the place, eh?”
“For a while. I’ll probably get bored with it in time.” The days were already too damn long, the nights even worse. It wasn’t just that he was alone once more. Hell, he’d been alone most of his life. It was more like he was empty inside. “I’ll let you know when and maybe you can put me back to work.”
“Sure thing.” Bob took another swallow, then set down the mug, not really wanting more coffee. He stood, fished his keys out of his jeans pocket. “I’ve got to run. I took the day off and brought Laura and the boys with me. They’re up wandering around the shopping center. I promised I wouldn’t be long. They’ve found this Western place they want to go to for dinner.”
A rush of unexpected envy hit Luke, for the family Bob had, the fun times they apparently had together. Funny but he hadn’t thought much about Bob’s home life, how he always seemed eager to return to his family. He’d met Laura, of course, many times, and had even spent a weekend with all four of them. The two boys were spitting images of their father. “Marriage really agrees with you, doesn’t it?”
“I never thought it would,” Bob confessed, “but, yes, it does. When I left the field, things changed for me, Luke. I changed. Inside. I like knowing Laura’s home waiting for me to come back to her, just like I’m waiting until I can be with her again.” Flustered at speaking so openly about personal feelings, Jones shrugged. “It’s hard to explain.”
There was no explanation necessary. Luke thought he understood perfectly, though probably he wouldn’t have before meeting Terry. He could have had that kind of life, he realized, if he could have swallowed his pride and told Terry how he really felt. If he hadn’t rushed off, if he’d insisted they talk things out.
Something still nagged at him at the oddest moments: was it possible for a man like him to love, to have a normal life? Bob had made the transition. Could he?
Luke shoved out of the chair and stood. “Nice of you to drop by.” He walked outside with his friend, the lingering coffee a bitter taste in his mouth. Yuma came dancing over, sniffed at Bob a moment, then shot off into the woods, chasing something only he could hear.
Jones opened the door to his blue Buick, then turned to the man he’d spent his teen years with. “You know, Luke, working hard is good for any man. You and I both know that. But nobody on his deathbed ever wished he’d spent more time at work. Especially if he was dying alone. You might want to keep that in mind.”
From somewhere, Luke found a tight smile. “Sage advice from my superior officer. I’ll surely mark that down. See you, pal.”
He watched Jones back up, swing the car about, then disappear down his dirt road. For a long time, he stood there staring after him, frowning, his hands in his pockets.
What the hell was wrong with him and what was he going to do about it?
Detective Andy Russell held Terry’s chair for her,
then sat down across the table. “Have you ever eaten here before?” he asked as she accepted the menu from the waiter. Shadowlands was a new restaurant in Scottsdale offering a varied menu and a breathtaking view of the mountains off to the west. Andy had asked Terry out to a welcome back dinner, their first real time together since her return, the trial, and her surgery.
“No, but I’ve heard a lot about it.” She glanced at the menu as she patted the back of her head self-consciously. She’d had her hair trimmed and shaped this morning and she wasn’t sure she liked it. It wasn’t bad, but she was impatient at how long it was taking to grow out to a more decent length. Maybe if she looked more like she used to, she’d feel more like she used to feel.
“I can order for us, if you like,” Andy suggested.
Terry closed the menu and smiled at him. “That would be fine.” She really didn’t care what she ate since her appetite was still sporadic.
The waiter returned and she folded her hands, listening to Andy order a bottle of wine, a special cut of steak, and a baked potato that was a house specialty, so large that they’d have to split it. While the two of them discussed the salad, Terry studied Andy.
He was attractive enough, with his longish blond hair and chocolate brown eyes. His height of six-four was a little intimidating, but he was a gentle man who smiled easily and often. He was five years older than she, a man who invited trust. Although they’d dated for several months a year or so ago, the attraction had been low-key and both had decided that friendship was preferable to a botched romance. She’d accepted Andy’s invitation tonight because she felt that an evening with a man who was no threat to her emotions was what she needed.
Andy waited until the waiter brought their wine and went through his little tasting ritual before he raised his glass to Terry. “To you, lady. Welcome back.”
“And to you for your invaluable help. Thanks, Andy.” She clinked her glass to his and took a sip.
