Beholden (14 page)

Making sure that Terry Ryan walked away whole with as little mental and physical damage as possible was his strategy. Falling
for her wasn’t part of that strategy.

He’d have to keep that firmly in mind, Luke thought as he sat back down on the couch. Moodily, he stared into the wonderful
blazing fire all alone.

“Sam Russo’s attorney is screaming, but so far, I’ve been able to keep the identity of our secret witness under wraps,” Bob
Jones said into the phone. “Naturally, they’re throwing names around, but they’re just guesses. How’s Terry holding up?”

“She’s doing okay.” Seated on his bed, Luke glanced at the closed door. “Have you been able to locate Ozzie Swain yet?”

Bob leaned back in his desk chair. “No, and we’ve got a lot of men on it, as well as the police. Nick’s the one who worries
me. The word on the street is he’s willing to pay big money for information on the whereabouts of Terry Ryan.”

“But I thought you said they don’t know for sure that Terry was there and witnessed the killing?”

“They don’t
know
, but they’re not stupid. They know the Feds are involved and they’ve probably figured we wouldn’t be hanging around unless
we had something concrete. By the way, I went to see Mac. The sergeant isn’t talking.” Jones had a gut feeling that Mac knew
far more than he was telling, yet he’d refused to answer most of his questions. “There’s only one reason I can come up with
that neither Sam nor Mac is willing to implicate others.”

Luke’s mouth was a thin line. “Let me guess. There’s a contract out on Terry. If she’s taken out, there’s no case.”

“Right. Is she pretty well healed physically?”

“Yeah. Not much stamina yet, but she’s finally eating more.” He’d talked Sara into remaining long past the need for her assistance
just so she’d cook nutritious meals. “I’m thinking of driving Terry to Monterey or Pacific Grove and getting her a wig. She’s
real self-conscious about her short hair.”

In his Phoenix office, Bob rose to walk to the window. It wasn’t like Luke to be so open to a woman’s needs. It wasn’t that
he was insensitive, but more that he was indifferent to anything not directly related to the safety of his witness. Was there
more going on with this witness? “Probably a good idea. I don’t have to tell you to be careful whenever you have her away
from the house.”

“No, you don’t. Sara’s leaving today.” They’d been in Carmel ten days and he really couldn’t justify keeping her on any longer.

Jones had been expecting that. “How does Terry feel about that?” He’d wondered if the naturally empathetic nurse-agent had
bonded with Terry.

“I don’t know. I haven’t asked her.”

That sounded more like the Luke he knew. “Do you need anything from this end?”

“Yeah. I need you to hurry up the trial date, to find Ozzie and put him away, and to keep a steady eye on Nick.”

“I hear you. I’ll be in touch.” Bob hung up, then stared out the window thoughtfully.

Once, as a young deputy, Luke had gotten involved with a woman on a case. Jill Hastings had known how he felt and had used
it against him, nearly costing Luke his life. Terry Ryan certainly wasn’t that sort of threat. Still, an agent whose feelings
were involved lost his perspective, and often his ability to protect.

There’d been something in Luke’s voice. Jones couldn’t put his finger on just what, but something. Maybe he’d make the time
for a quick visit to Carmel. Soon.

Terry pulled down the visor on the passenger side of the van and checked out her image in the mirror. “I’ve always wanted
green eyes.” She turned to Luke as he pulled away from the optical store and eased out into traffic. “What do you think?”

He spared her a quick glance. “They look fine.”

She frowned at him. “Fine? What kind of a comment is fine? Fine is how you describe your grandmother’s hat or your maiden
aunt’s dress.”

“I don’t really think of you as either my grandmother or my maiden aunt. What do you want me to say? Your green eyes are terrific.
Is that any better?”

Her attention was back at the mirror where her new auburn wig showed her a startlingly different image. “I’m having a little
trouble adjusting to this color. I’ve always
been blond. I think my skin’s too light for dark hair, don’t you?”

“I haven’t given it much thought.” Luke swung around a pink Cadillac driven by a senior lady who could barely see over the
steering wheel. The sun was warm overhead, the sky a cloudless blue. Gulls dipped low over the sea along the coastal road,
the air scented with a blend of fish and salt spray. They’d been cooped up for two weeks and he could well understand Terry’s
excitement at being outdoors. He shared her enthusiasm, but that didn’t keep his eyes from scanning every passing vehicle,
or checking out the most innocuous-looking tourist walking along.

“Maybe I should have gotten the light brown wig,” Terry mused, tugging the hair piece more snugly in place.

“You want to go back and we can pick up one in every color? The neighbors will think I’m living with a harem.”

She made a face at him. “Why not, even though the neighbors never see me? Apparently, the government’s got a lot of money
to squander. Or is all this coming out of your pocket?”

“Expense account.” He spotted a row of shops up ahead on the left. “What kind of store are we looking for to get you some
clothes? I’m pretty tired of those sweat suits.”

“You and me both.” Terry peered through the windshield and noticed a boutique sandwiched between a souvenir store and an ice-cream
parlor. “We could try over there.”

Luke put on his blinker and pulled into an angled parking spot. He handed her the oversize sunglasses they’d picked up earlier.
“Put these on.” While she did, he checked again to make sure his .38 was firmly lodged at his waistline at the small of his
back, then settled his jacket over the bulge.

Watching him, Terry sobered, losing her short-lived euphoric mood. The reminder of the gun Luke always carried and the disguise
she would have to wear every time she left the safe house had her smile slipping away. As he opened the van door and held
out his hand to help her down,
her eyes nervously scanned the area, the faces of strolling tourists, the traffic passing by.

She mustn’t forget that a man with a gun was out there somewhere looking for her, one who wouldn’t hesitate to shoot her as
he had Don Simon. Hesitantly, she looked at Luke.

He thought he knew exactly what she was thinking. “It’s okay, Terry. You’re with me.”

With him, the man who literally held her life in his hands. She had to trust him; she had no other choice. Slowly, she put
her hand in his and stepped out.

“I thought you said you knew how to shoot,” Luke said, standing back and watching her take aim at the makeshift target he’d
put together in the backyard.

“I do. My father taught us all how to shoot as teenagers.” She assumed the stance she’d been shown years ago, gripped her
right hand that held the gun with her left, and lowered her head as if lining up the target. “What’s wrong with this position?”

“Well, for starters, you’re stiff as a board and poised as if you’re ready to turn and run as soon as you pull the trigger.”

“That’s because I know it’s going to be a loud sound. Dad took me to the shooting range where they have protective ear coverings.”

“Out here, we have to rough it a bit.” He stepped up behind her, placing his hands on her elbows. “Loosen up. The tension
should be in your wrist and hand, not throughout your body.” Close behind her now, his hands slid along her arms, adjusting
her fingers. “Your left hand should lightly grip your right wrist to steady it, not in a death hold. If you grasp it too tightly,
you’ll cause the shot to jerk to one side.”

She was wearing the navy corduroy jacket they’d bought earlier this afternoon, yet even through the heavy material, she could
feel his touch along her arms, the strength of him. Terry swallowed. “I see.”

“You’ve got to leave some play in your stance.” Molding himself to her, he touched first one leg then the other with his bent
knee, getting her to relax a little. “Now line up your head so your eyes are directly across from the target.” Placing his
cheek along hers, he aligned their upper bodies.

It was a cool evening, but Terry suddenly felt warm. She could feel his breath on her neck, his five o’clock shadow brushing
her still-sensitive skin, his heart steadily beating against her back. The clean masculine scent of him was playing havoc
with her concentration. She shifted her feet nervously.

“Are you ready?”

“Yes.”

“Then go ahead and shoot.”

Terry took careful aim at the empty twenty-eight-ounce can of tomato sauce sitting on a stack of wood about fifty feet away.
She pulled the trigger.

And missed by a mile. “Shit!”

Luke stepped back. “Don’t get discouraged. It takes practice.” He pointed to the glass jar he’d placed next to the back door.
“And go put a quarter in the jar.”

“I don’t have any money, remember? And you’re not my father. Besides, how’d you know I’d swear and you’d need the jar?”

“Because I’ve been living with you for two weeks.”

That had an uncomfortably intimate sound to it. “Swearing releases tension.”

“Not as well as a few other things I can think of.” He held out a closed fist to her.

She chose to ignore his last comment. “What’s that?”

He reached for her hand and dropped in a pile of quarters. “I know your father would appreciate it if I’d make sure you clean
up your language.”

That made her smile. Dutifully, she walked over and tossed a quarter in the jar, then shoved the rest in the pocket of her
new jeans before returning to try again. But when he
stepped close to surround her again, she lowered the gun. “Look, why don’t I try this on my own? You… you make me nervous.”
Which was certainly the truth.

Luke waved his hand, indicating she should proceed.

Drawing in a deep breath, Terry again assumed the stance. She shuffled her feet until she felt just right, corrected her grip
the way he’d shown her, and took careful aim. When the bullet pinged off the can, knocking it onto the ground, she let out
a victory yell.

He smiled at her. “Okay, hotshot. One hit doesn’t a marksman make. Let’s see some more.” He’d lined up six cans.

She managed to hit two more making it fifty-fifty, not a bad first day out. She hadn’t practiced in years. They strolled back
toward the back door as the sun slipped into the sea and the breeze picked up. Terry hefted the small gun, gauging its weight.
“Dad had me practicing on a Smith & Wesson five-shot snubby, I remember he called it. It was lighter than your .38.”

He took his weapon from her. “Yeah, but not much. This is a Colt Special, used by most police. I’ve got a Magnum locked in
my case that would probably knock you on your ass, which is probably the only place you haven’t had a bruise lately. We might
try it one day. I think it’s important that you practice daily.”

Her hand on the doorknob, Terry paused. “Why? Do you think we might get into a shootout?” She felt foolish just asking.

“No, but being prepared for anything is what keeps people alive.” He touched the ends of the short wig and remembered her
file picture, the long blond hair that used to fall past her shoulders. She was right. The color was all wrong. “Does this
feel kind of like wearing a tight hat?”

“Yes, it does.”

“Why don’t you take it off when we’re inside? I prefer short hair to fake hair, don’t you?”

It seemed to Terry that ever since Sara had left, Luke’s remarks tended to lean more toward the personal than before. She
didn’t answer, but instead opened the door. Prince rushed out, relieved to have his freedom back. She waited until he walked
to her, then stroked the sleek black Doberman’s coat.

Watching, Luke was amazed that Prince had taken to Terry so quickly. She’d been raised around dogs, she’d told him, but not
dogs trained to guard and attack on command. Yet he noted that she was very careful not to move too quickly or to surprise
Prince from behind. For his part, the Doberman seemed smitten with her.

Shivering, Terry stepped inside and went to hang up her jacket. The clothes she’d picked out earlier did make her feel more
comfortable, more like her own things. And she’d gotten used to the house, the dog, and even some of the restrictions imposed
on her, for she knew they were only temporary and very necessary.

A movement outside the kitchen window caught her eye. She stretched on tiptoe to watch Luke throw a stick for Prince to go
fetch. What she hadn’t gotten used to or comfortable with, Terry realized, was the federal agent she was forced to live with,
someone she was having trouble thinking of as a protector instead of a man.

Neil Manning dropped the stack of papers he’d been studying onto the coffee table and leaned back on the couch. Wearily, he
scrubbed a hand over his face. He’d been going through his friend’s, Jerry Foster’s, papers over and over for days now. There
was no getting around what he’d found. Numbers didn’t lie.