Beholden by Pat Warren

makes me put a quarter
     into a Mason jar every time I swear,” she confessed, almost able to smile.
    “Then you already owe one. I heard you back there.”
    “If you could read my mind, you’d know I owe fa-more.”
    Luke slowed as the highway trailed through a small town, one of many along the coastal road. “You’ve had a rough month.” Pretty
     dumb, stating the obvious, but it was as close as he could come in trying to let her know he understood.
    Odd how kindness made her want to cry. Terry touched the scarf she’d taken to wearing over her patchy hair. “This probably
     sounds stupid, but even my hair hurts.”
    “A little nerve damage probably. It’ll go away.” His quick glance took in her appearance. New white tennis shoes, navy sweatshirt
     and pants, checkered scarf twisted about her head. She’d had no clothes so Sara must have picked out her outfit at a local
     San Diego store. He had a feeling Terry would have chosen differently. According to her file, it was the cousin who’d died
     who’d been the conservative one. “Why don’t you take off that scarf? It can’t be real comfortable.”
    “Because I look like a scarecrow trying out for Halloween.”
    “No one’s staring. Besides, I’m sure I’ve seen worse.”
    “That’s really a comfort.” She might have if George had been the driver, but something about Luke Tanner had her feeling doubly
     self-conscious.
    She shifted her gaze out the window. They were going through a small town with low buildings, a church steeple illuminated
     on a hillside, the influence of Spanish architectureevident everywhere, not unlike some Phoenix neighborhoods.
    The dashboard clock read ten after nine as she listened to her stomach growl. They’d missed dinner.
    Luke heard the sound and realized he ought to stop for food. It’d be too late to find anything open by the time they reached
     their destination. Up ahead, he spotted a sign advertising the golden arches coming up in five miles. “I’ll pull up to the
     drive-in window and order takeout. What would you like?”
    “I’m not hungry,” Terry said, despite her noisy stomach. The problem was that every time she ate, she developed pains shortly
     after. Chewing made her cheeks ache where delicate stitches had been taken. “Maybe just a milkshake.”
    If he were alone, he’d have driven through. Long ago, Luke had disciplined himself to hold off on food in order to get to
     safety first. He didn’t honestly think anyone had discovered where Terry Ryan was; nor were they being followed. Still, he
     had to consider the two women in the car, one young and frightened, the other just waking from a nap. If he wanted their voluntary
     cooperation, that is.
    “You have to eat in order to get well.”
    The simple, soft-spoken statement was nearly her undoing. She knew he was right, but she was so damn tired—of hurting both
     physically and inside on a much deeper level. And she was afraid—of more pain, of dying as horribly as Lynn had, of going
     to sleep because she was sure to relive the nightmare. How could she explain all that to a cop whose main job was to keep
     her alive, not chase away her fears?
    “All right, you order for me and I’ll eat it.”
    This concern for someone’s health and well-being was new to him. “Listen, I know what you’re going through. I…”
    “No!” Terry gritted her teeth, feeling altogether fed up and frustrated. “I wish everyone would stop saying that. You
don’t
know how I feel, not any of you. I don’t have a speckof ID, no driver’s license, no money of my own. My purse is gone, all my… my pictures of my family. My best friend is dead
     and no one I love even knows where I am. Someone tried to kill me and may still succeed. I have peach fuzz for hair and God-only-knows
     what my face will look like after these bandages come off. How can you possibly know what I’m going through?”
    Luke listened, knowing she had every right to feel as she did.