Beholden (15 page)

Jerry had to have been on the take.

A surge of anger had his hands curling into fists. How could Jerry have risked everything—his future, his friendships, his
very life—for money? Neil was as fond of money as the next guy. But to look the other way while scumbags manipulated his fellow
officers in the city he’d called home all his life—the thought was inconceivable. How had Jerry been suckered into playing
along?

He’d worked with the man for ten years, lived with him for two. How was it that he hadn’t even suspected? Neil sat up, slamming
a fist into his open palm. Because he’d trusted his friend, that’s why. He’d turned from the gossip making the rounds at the
station, defending Jerry to the point of getting into some near-fights with some of the guys. Not Jerry, he’d told them all.
Not his best friend.

Yeah, right.

He’d found the bankbooks in the pockets of Jerry’s old suit at the back of the closet when he’d been bundling up the clothes
to give away, as Mrs. Foster had asked him to do. Three separate accounts. And crudely sewn into the lining of an old leather
jacket, a plastic bag of money. Eighteen thousand, to be exact. Neil stared at the stack of small bills he’d just finished
counting, struggling with his emotions.

But that wasn’t the worst of it, Neil thought as he picked up the small black notebook and thumbed through it. Coded names,
dates, amounts—all recorded in Jerry’s neat handwriting. Enough here to end half a dozen promising police careers.

He felt betrayed. How was he going to tell Jerry’s blind mother that her son was a thief, a bad cop, a turncoat? He swallowed
down his anger, trying to think clearly.

He’d have to report this, of course. A frisson of fear raced up his spine as he wondered if they’d think he’d been in on it
with Jerry. Well, they could check his bank account. About seven hundred in savings, maybe two in checking. That ought to
prove something.

Neil wished Mac was still around. He’d always been able to talk to Mac. Had Jerry been involved in the same thing that Mac
was accused of? Had Jerry been killed by some of his cohorts in crime because he’d been about to spill the beans? But, if
it had been a hit, how was it no one had come to check out the apartment? They probably hadn’t known about the notebook.

Was
anyone
at Central still clean? he wondered. Who could he trust? The captain was still on the sick list. He probably wouldn’t have
gone to Marino even if he weren’t. He was no longer the man he used to be.

Of course, Neil knew the Feds had been sniffing around. He could call them. But loyalty to the honest cops he knew at Central
made him decide to check it out at the local level first. But who should he take all this to?

Best option left was the lieutenant. Remington wasn’t
exactly a cop’s cop. He’d always given Neil the impression he thought he was a shade better than the other guys. Still, he
was a man who got the job done.

Neil scowled with distaste as he gathered the notebook and evidence into a neat stack, then shoved it into a large manila
envelope. He had three days off. He wouldn’t talk to anyone till after he thought things over. A dead friend’s reputation
was at stake here, as well as those of several prominent cops at Central, to say nothing of possibly endangering himself.

Should he see a lawyer? No, that would make it seem as if he had something to feel guilty over, some act to defend. Should
he call Internal Affairs? Hell, they’d probably call for him once he turned everything over.

Neil rose and walked to Jerry’s room, placing the envelope in the top drawer of his dresser. He’d sleep on it. Meanwhile,
he’d pack up the rest of his friend’s clothes. Disappointment weighed heavily in his chest as he moved to the closet.

Terry adjusted the earplugs of her Walkman, then fiddled with the radio dials until she found the station she wanted. She
stretched out under the covers of her bed, hoping the music would lull her to sleep. She’d talked Luke into buying the headset
for her yesterday when they’d gone shopping in town, explaining that she was having trouble sleeping. The trouble was that
she didn’t do enough during the day to wear herself out sufficiently to sleep. Boredom was tiring, but rather than becoming
drowsy, she was wide-awake till the wee hours most nights.

“Are you lonesome tonight?” the deep voice of the male singer on the golden oldies station asked.
You can say that again
, Terry thought. Lonely and feeling sorry for herself. A bad combination. And the situation wasn’t apt to improve soon.

Physically, she was feeling better. The clavicle was healing,
for she was able to move her shoulders with hardly any discomfort. The bruises had faded. Her hair was only about an inch
long, but that obviously couldn’t be rushed. There were two slashes on her face that, despite the surgery, were still very
visible. Apparently the glass shards had been jagged. The doctor who’d checked on her recently had hinted that she should
consider more corrective surgery soon, but when she’d grown agitated at the very suggestion, he’d backed off and said she
could wait awhile.

The very thought of entering another hospital, of once again being open to that kind of pain and dependency on others, had
Terry feeling suddenly warm and sweaty. She shoved aside the covers, glancing toward the open door that faced Luke’s room
across the hall. He was in there, she knew, probably in one of his half-asleep states. The man was so in control of himself
that he didn’t seem to allow sleep to totally take him under. No matter what hour she got up to use the bathroom, as she passed
by and glanced in, she could see his eyes were open and watchful. At the slightest sound, he was instantly in the hallway,
gun in hand, a constant reminder of the ever-present danger she faced.

“Do you miss me tonight?” the singer went on.
God, yes
. She missed so many people. Tomorrow was Thanksgiving, a day she always looked forward to. The whole family gathered at Mom
and Dad’s, her nephews already excited about Christmas, climbing on her lap and confiding their wish lists. Not this year.

She’d gathered from their spotty conversations that holidays didn’t mean much to Luke. Yet he seemed to sense that this time
of year was special to her. So he tried, in his way, to fill the void. Since Sara’s departure, he’d taken over the cooking
until she’d insisted she needed more to do. He’d encouraged her, allowed her to plan the meals and cook her favorites, praising
her efforts. Yesterday, they’d bought a turkey and all the trimmings for tomorrow’s dinner. She knew he was making the effort
strictly for her.

And she wondered why. Surely, his job description didn’t include keeping the little witness well fed and happy during the
holidays. Was it simply easier than watching her mope and pine away for all that she was missing? Terry had a gut feeling
it was more than that. Maybe he ignored the holidays because he hadn’t grown up with the traditions that had fashioned her
life. Maybe he wanted to enjoy the celebration, yet wouldn’t admit to something he’d consider a weakness, even to himself.

Luke Tanner was a hard man to figure. He’d revealed so little about his past that she felt as if she scarcely knew him even
though they’d lived under the same roof for weeks now. It was unnatural to be that reticent. Was he hiding some terrible secret?
Or had he grown up along with Bob Jones at that boys’ ranch in such a miserable fashion that even discussing that time would
sadden him too much? It might be interesting to try to find out. It might relieve the boredom somewhat as well.

Damn, but it’s hot tonight. There goes another quarter
, Terry thought as she pulled off the earphones and stood up to remove her sweatpants. Down to only her T-shirt and underpants,
she decided that, rules or no rules, she was closing her door. Privacy was something she longed for almost as much as her
family. Quietly, she closed the door. She punched up the pillow, put on the earphones, and lay back.

If only she could turn off her mind and invite sleep. Wiggling into a more comfortable position, she concentrated on listening
to an old Elton John tune.

She couldn’t have said how long she lay there before the door slammed open, the crashing sound drowning out the low music,
the overhead light flipped on, and Luke stood in the doorway, his gun aimed directly at her.

“Oh, my God!” Terry jerked upright, scooting back toward the wall, her eyes wide with fright. “What is it?” Her earphones
dangled from her neck while her heart felt as if it might burst within her.

“Are you all right?” His left hand still on the flattened door, Luke’s eyes surveyed the room before he stepped inside.

“Yes. Why? What’s happened?” Odd how the gun she’d used daily for target practice looked much larger and more deadly when
it was pointed at her.

“I woke up and saw your door was closed. I knocked—twice—but you didn’t respond.” He lowered the gun, feeling suddenly foolish.
“I didn’t know what to think so I…”

“So you came charging in here and scared the holy hell out of me again.” Terry placed her hand over her still thudding heart.
“Jesus, Luke. We won’t have to wait for those men to find me. I’m going to die of a heart attack brought on by my protector.”

“Why the hell did you close the door? You know the rules.” His voice was gruff, more from embarrassment than anger.

For the first time, she noticed that he was wearing only blue low-riding briefs. In the harsh overhead light, she could see
the broad expanse of his chest and the medal hanging on a chain that he was never without. On his right side she saw what
appeared to be a scar. His hips were lean, his legs muscled and strong. The bulge in his briefs drew her attention a shade
longer than it should have before she raised her eyes to his.

“I was warm so I stripped down. I closed the door because I… I can’t relax dressed in so little when I know you’re just across
the hall.” Her explanation sounded stupid and teenage, even to her own ears. She hugged her knees and dropped her gaze as
she felt her face color. The sudden emotional reaction had her trembling again. She closed her eyes, wishing she had better
control.

The tension drained from Luke as guilt took over. He’d upset her yet again. He turned off the glaring overhead light and flipped
on the bedside lamp. He put the safety back on
and set the gun on her nightstand. His first instinct was to comfort, to reassure her, and he didn’t stop to question it.
Moving to the bed, he sat down and hesitantly touched her shoulder. “I’m sorry I scared you.”

The trembling that he’d thought to ease only increased. Slowly she raised her head and opened her eyes. Without her contacts,
her eyes were a deep blue and filled with confusion and lingering fear. Luke felt awkward and uncertain as he trailed his
fingers down her slender arm. “I always seem to do things that upset you without meaning to.”

Yes, like charging into her room nearly naked and making her starkly aware of his masculinity. The clean male scent of him
had her struggling with an arousal she hadn’t felt in months. How could he sit beside her so casually and not notice? She
dropped her gaze to her toes and pretended a nonchalance she was far from feeling. “It’s all right. My nerves are on edge,
that’s all.”

He wasn’t a man used to explaining or to comforting. He was twelve years older than this fragile woman, and tonight he felt
every day of it. Yet he couldn’t seem to look on her as a younger sister, which would have been far more appropriate, or even
as a stranger he was guarding. Instead, he saw her as a woman who was making him feel things he wasn’t sure how to handle.

If circumstances were different, he’d pull that woman into his arms and comfort her in a way that would relieve both their
tensions. He’d caught Terry looking at him a time or two in a manner that told him she’d not pull away. But she was entrusted
to his care, and he had no business violating that trust, no matter how badly he ached to reach out for her.

Abruptly, he stood, turning his back to her. “Get some rest. And leave the door open.” He needed to walk away while he still
could. Grabbing his gun, Luke marched to his room.

Terry realized she was still trembling and suddenly cold. Slipping under the covers, she pulled them up close around
her. Luke Tanner was a man of icy control, she decided. Apparently he could storm in and view her wearing next to nothing
and remain totally unaffected. Awhile back he’d told her she couldn’t look awful if she tried, with or without hair, but that
comment had obviously been made to placate her. It was apparent that she held no appeal for him whatsoever, for he’d treated
her like a kindly older brother just now.

How could he want her? she asked herself, blinking back the tears. She’d lost weight and was too thin. Her face was scarred,
possibly permanently. Her once-lovely hair was little more than peach fuzz. What’s more, she was angry or weepy by turns.
What man would want a woman like that?

Not that she wanted Luke to be attracted to her. God knew her life right now was complicated enough without tackling a relationship.
Still, it hurt her feminine pride to watch him walk away from her so casually after he’d set her churning.

Wasn’t it enough that she had turned into a frightful mess, that she had to be separated from everyone she loved, that she
was being hunted down like an animal by men who would shoot on sight? Did she also have to feel a sensual pull that she was
too vulnerable to cope with just now?

Left to his own devices, Luke probably would have broiled a steak for dinner. More truthfully, if he were spending Thanksgiving
at his house in Sedona, he probably wouldn’t have even taken note of the holiday, for all it usually meant to him. But he’d
seen the melancholy look in Terry’s eyes when they’d stepped inside the supermarket with all the seasonal decorations and
come-ons. So he’d suggested that she pile the basket full of whatever her family usually ate for dinner.

You’d have thought he’d handed her the winning lottery ticket. It was the first time he’d seen her look truly happy in the
weeks they’d been together. She’d picked out a turkey with as much care as any White House chef, then proceeded
to gather yams and bread cubes for dressing and cranberries, plus the makings for a pumpkin pie. He’d smiled indulgently,
surprised at how easily pleased she was. And even more surprised at how good it made him feel to please her.