Twisted Shadows Read online

  “Don’t let them drag you into their web,” her mother warned. “Victor… the others…”

  “I won’t.”

  A pause. She knew her mother didn’t want to let her go, probably wanted to ask a dozen questions about Nick, but she had always been a very private, very proud woman. The fact that she had not asked to talk to him said volumes.

  There was a hopelessness in the sigh that came over the line.

  Then Sam said what she hated to say. “The FBI knows about you. Why don’t you stay where you are?” She was careful not to say where. It was a unique experience, weighing every question, every answer, every comment.

  “I knew it was coming,” her mother said, resignation softening her voice into a mere whisper.

  But Sam had not, and now she felt wracked with guilt. She had been so consumed with meeting her brother that she’d not considered the cost to her mother, the fact that a life she’d so carefully constructed might collapse.

  “I’m sorry,” she said.

  “Don’t be,” her mother said. “It was going to happen sooner or later. Secrets have a way of leaking out.”

  “It could hurt you.”

  “You’ve already been hurt. That’s what grieves me,” her mother said.

  “I’m safe here,” Sam said. She wanted to assure her mother that she should be, too, now that Paul Merritta was dead. She was struck by the irony of feeling grief for a father she’d never known, while being relieved that the threat to her mother had probably died with Paul Merritta. “Why don’t you stay where you are until I come home? Then we can spend a few days together before…”

  “Before all hell breaks loose?” her mother said.

  It was an uncharacteristic comment from her mother. “Yes,” Sam said.

  “Be careful of Nicholas. He was raised by them.”

  Sam winced at the strain in her mother’s voice and wondered what it had cost her to say that about her own son. “That wasn’t his fault.”

  “No, but it’s fact.”

  Sam knew that. The seed of doubt that McLean had planted hadn’t entirely faded. Nor had the finger of fear. It was just that the emotional need to get to know Nick was stronger. That didn’t mean she wouldn’t be careful.

  “I’ll see you tomorrow,” she said. She heard a relieved sigh. “Will you call Terri and tell her?” Sam said. She didn’t want to go over the explanations again with her friend.

  “Of course.”

  “I’ll try to reach you,” Sam said. She didn’t want to give her Nick’s number. She shuddered at the idea of some stranger listening in on a conversation between them.

  “I love you, Samantha,” her mother said.

  “I love you, too,” Sam said, and turned the phone off. God knew it was true. She was angry, even furious at her mother for hiding the truth so many years. And yet she couldn’t deny thirty-five years of love, or caring. It was as much a part of her as her heart. Or maybe it was her heart.

  And what would happen to Western Wonders when rumors started flying that the Carrolls might be connected to organized crime? How could her mother lose that, too?

  Sam sat down in a comfortable chair and looked about the office. It was much neater than her own, the product of an organized mind. How organized? How compartmentalized? How much did she really know about him?

  She heard the faint sound of a voice. She hadn’t heard a phone ring, but then she probably wouldn’t hear a cell phone. She stood and went over to the door, but was able to hear only a word now and then.

  She did hear the word “Pop,” and she thought he would probably only use it with a member of the family. She opened the door and walked in.

  “I’ll talk to you later,” Nick said into the phone, then replaced it in his pocket.

  “You didn’t have to stop talking for my sake,” she said, wondering why he felt she shouldn’t hear any of the conversation. That wriggle of doubt ran down her spine again.

  “I was through. By the way, Kelley brought over your luggage. He also checked the safe and retrieved what you left there. They’re in your room upstairs.”

  She felt a tug of annoyance. It had probably been easy enough for Kelley to open the safe since he was an ex-officer, and then there were the adjoining rooms. Still, she felt choices being taken away from her. “How did he open the safe?”

  He shrugged. “Did you use your birthday?”

  Feeling somewhat simple, she nodded.

  “That’s probably it, then.”

  He peered at her as if aware of her disquieting feelings. “Hungry?”

  “Starving.”

  “Can you cook?” he asked. “I have bacon and eggs.”

  She nodded. “I enjoy cooking.”

  “Good. I can make the toast,” he offered.

  He seemed more relaxed than at any time since she’d met him. She wondered whether it was real or a pose.

  There were so many things she didn’t understand about him.

  She followed him into a spacious kitchen that was as tidy—and pristine—as the rest of the house. She got the bacon and eggs from the fridge and, at his instructions, found the frying pan in the cabinet. He took a stool and watched her as she started frying the bacon. “Mother asked about you.”

  “Thirty-four years late,” he said abruptly.

  She was becoming accustomed to his broad Boston accent and short answers.

  She sighed. “Her life is turned upside down, too.”

  He didn’t reply.

  What was she doing here? He obviously didn’t want her. Her mother probably needed her. Her mother would need her once she was assaulted by federal officers and the resulting publicity.

  “Was that someone with the family?” she asked about the phone call he’d just ended.

  “Yes.”

  “Who?” she asked with exasperation.

  “Victor.”

  The one her mother warned her about. “Did he say anything about what happened last night?”

  “Says he doesn’t know anything about the attempt on your life. About Pop, only that the maid discovered him this morning. He wanted me to know that’s why no one showed up at the hospital. They were all detained.”

  “Could the two be a coincidence? The attempt on my life? His death?”

  He gave her a sharp look. “His death was apparently natural.”

  She was struck by his coolness, by his concern for food rather than going to the Merritta house and sharing grief over a lost loved one. “Are you going over there?”

  “Later.”

  “I want to go.”

  “Glutton for punishment, aren’t you?”

  She turned over the bacon and put down the long fork with more emphasis than she’d intended. “Don’t you care?”

  He gave her a long, level look. “Not that it’s your business, but yes, I care,” he said through clenched teeth. “But I didn’t intend to show it in front of McLean, and I don’t care to share it with Victor or George or the others.” He waited a minute, then said softly, “Or with you. You didn’t know him. You don’t know me.”

  His icy disdain chilled her from her toes to the top of her head, stunning her.

  She thought him capable of anything at that moment. Had she been wrong to trust him? To come here? What did she really know about him, other than they shared the same blood?

  “Can you tell me anything about him? And the business?”

  “I only know that he’s been trying to steer the family toward legitimate businesses. He saw the handwriting on the wall. Every family in the northeast has been decimated by the feds. There’s damn little loyalty any longer. People turn on a dime.”

  “Did everyone agree on the new direction?”

  “No,” he said flatly.

  “Who didn’t?”

  His eyes grew hard again. “Don’t get into it, Samantha. Don’t even think about it.”

  “I still don’t know why he asked me to come.”

  “You probably never will. Just as I w
on’t. If you go home and disappear, you’ll probably be safe. You and your mother. But butt into this, and all bets are off. Whoever forced us off the road last night wasn’t playing games.” Her blood ran cold. “You and your mother.” He’d mentioned her mother several times. Why? What had happened more than thirty years ago couldn’t possibly threaten anyone today… could it? Maybe someone thought she might take some tiny part of an inheritance. But why her mother?

  Something nagged at her. It was more than apprehension. It was foreboding.

  “Was his death natural?” she asked.

  “I have no reason to believe otherwise. You saw him.”

  “Yes, I saw him. He looked sick but not as if he would die in a few hours.”

  “And you’re a doctor?”

  The sarcasm hurt. “Agent McLean seems to think it wasn’t natural.” She wanted to ruffle him. She was tired of his cool demeanor, his seeming indifference to his father’s death, his lack of curiosity about his mother. Or perhaps, she thought, it was his defense. Hers had been charging forward. His might be retreating.

  But at the mention of the FBI agent’s name, he became silent, building a wall too high for her to breach. She put the food on the table while he rummaged with his one good hand for silverware.

  They ate in silence. He’d closed up like a clam, apparently unwillingly to let her inside whatever walls he’d built. She wished Terri were here. She would have had him talking in a moment. But Sam couldn’t do that. There were too many secrets between them, too much pain, too much time.

  “When do you plan to fly home?” he asked as they finished the meal.

  “Tomorrow. When is the funeral?”

  His face tightened. “It’ll be at least five days away. There will be an autopsy, thanks to the police, and a lot of people will want to attend. It will take some time to arrange that.” He scowled at her. “You aren’t thinking of coming back?”

  “Eager to get rid of me?”

  “That’s not what I meant. I just think you will be safer in Colorado. Why in the hell do you want to go to the funeral, anyway? He meant nothing to you. You didn’t even know he existed until a few days ago. Why pretend differently?”

  She felt violated. Insulted by his judgment of her. She wasn’t pretending. She really didn’t feel anything toward the man whose seed had created her. But she wanted closure on this, and somehow she felt the funeral would do that. It was obvious from his voice that he didn’t want her here. The thought hurt more than she believed possible. “I’ll make reservations now.”

  “Are there people there who can watch out for you?”

  “Yes,” she said sharply, angry with him for his lack of interest in her mother and, for that matter, in her. He was making token queries, nothing more.

  “I’ll have Kelley take you to the airport and wait there until the plane leaves.”

  “Thank you,” she said, hoping her voice held the same frigid indifference as his had.

  He stood and carried his plate to the sink. She did the same. Then she retreated to the bedroom he’d showed her. She found the airline number and dialed.

  In minutes, she had booked a flight for the next afternoon. It would put her in Denver at seven.

  She remembered the FBI agent’s words. “We don’t want you to leave town.”

  But she knew enough law to know she could go anyplace she wished unless she’d been charged. Thus far, she’d only been a victim, and she was damn tired of being manipulated by everyone who had a dog in this fight.

  Her mother had lied to her, as had her father. The brother she’d always wanted was cool, indifferent. Her biological father had shown not the faintest paternal interest. An FBI agent had tried to convince her to betray a family she’d just found. And she had, she thought. She’d betrayed them by kissing the enemy. A kiss she couldn’t forget.

  She felt as if she were wandering in an alien landscape. She wanted to escape it, and all its land mines, even as she realized she could never really go home again. That, too, would be changed. Nothing would be as it had been a week ago. That knowledge left a huge hole inside her.

  She returned to the living room. “I have a flight tomorrow.”

  Nick simply stood there. “I’m sorry you didn’t find what you wanted,” he finally said.

  “It would mean a lot to Mother if you would contact her.”

  “I can’t do that.”

  “I’ll tell her about you.”

  “What? That I’m on the FBI’s most favorite target list? Or that I’ve managed very well without her?” He paused. “I’m going to work in my office. Consider the rest of the house yours. There’s books, an entertainment room. Stay inside until Kelley’s people arrive.” He started for the door, then turned. “I’ll have someone meet you in Denver.”

  “It’s not necessary,” she said. “That’s my home turf.”

  He strode over to her. He took her chin with his good hand and forced her gaze to meet his. A muscle throbbed in his throat. “It’s not going away, Sam. That’s not the way this family works.”

  “You said I would be safe back home.”

  “Safer, at least,” he corrected. “But you still should take precautions until everything shakes out.”

  “You mean against your family?”

  “I like the way you choose when it’s my family and when it’s yours,” he said with a slight shadow of a smile. “I honestly don’t know who’s responsible for last night or why. I do intend to find out.” He paused, then added, “My father was able to keep peace while he was alive. Now…”

  “But why me? No one knew about me. I’m not a threat to anyone.”

  “Maybe Pop’s will has something to do with it.”

  “Will?” She knew she must be looking stupid. “But why? He never even knew where I was until a few days ago.”

  “You think so?”

  “That’s what he said.”

  Nick shrugged. “Then it must be true.” He said it with such sarcasm that she took a step backward.

  She was tired of being treated as a simple child. She was even more tired of riddles no one wished to explain. “I need some fresh air.”

  Before he could stop her, she found the door. She opened it and stood outside, looking around at the stately town homes. The street was bumper to bumper with parked cars. She longed to take a run. She thought she could smell the sea from here. Instead she leaned against the wall.

  Nick came out. “You shouldn’t be out here,” he said. She turned to him, even as she became aware of a car pulling out of a parking place. Nothing unusual about that. Nick jerked her down and fell on her as she heard the car speed up. She was conscious of his weight, then everything was blotted out by shots shattering the summer day, thudding against the heavy wood of the door and spraying the pavement below.

  eighteen

  Sam could hardly breathe from the pressure of Nick’s body. She felt numb, then a burning pain in her arm.

  She heard a yell, more gunshots, then the roar of an engine and the screeching of tires.

  Silence. A deadly, still silence.

  Heavy breathing above her. A curse. The weight left her.

  “Nick,” she whispered.

  “I’m all right,” he said.

  She struggled to sit. Her entire body was sore from the impact on concrete. He was bleeding again, but she saw it was from the earlier injury. Then she looked down at her arm. A large wooden splinter protruded. She looked at it, her mind in turmoil, her senses still ringing with noise and dulled by the smell and sight of blood.

  “Are you all right?”

  A voice. Not Nick’s. She looked up. Nathan McLean stood there, a gun in his hand.

  “I’m not sure,” she said, ashamed that her voice seemed to waver.

  She watched as Nick stood unsteadily. The bandage and sling were bright red, as was her blouse.

  “Nick?” she asked. “Were you hit?”

  “No major harm done,” he said. “Just opened up the wound.�
� He ignored McLean and pulled out the splinter, then pressed a handkerchief against her arm.

  McLean appeared to be doing a quick visual survey of the area. The car with the shooters was long gone. His gaze stopped at the door.

  “The bullets were high,” he said. “And low. You were lucky they were such bad shots. If,” he said, “they were.” He took the handkerchief from her arm and looked at the gash. “It’ll need stitches. I’ll drive you to the hospital.”

  Nick shook his head. “It will take too long. I’ll call my doctor. He’s a block away. How did you happen to be here?”

  “I thought she might need a little more protection than you could provide.” Nate paused. “I hit their windshield. Maybe more.”

  “You appear at very convenient times,” Nick observed. “Perhaps you think that this could scare my sister into helping you.”

  She heard what both were saying. The FBI agent had noted the attackers were poor shots, obviously implying that it was staged. Her brother was likewise accusing Nate of having some kind of involvement, perhaps setting up the attack so that she would want protection.

  They both claimed they were protecting her.

  Nick was right. McLean always was conveniently close.

  She stepped away from both of them. The pain in her arm was intensifying and she knew she needed those stitches.

  She also knew she had to get the hell out of Dodge before one—or both—of these two men destroyed her. Her purse was upstairs, and her luggage. Her credit cards.

  She heard the sirens. Someone must have heard the shots, or McLean himself had called it in.

  She didn’t stay. She whirled around, ran inside and grabbed her credit cards and money, stuffing them in pockets. Not wanting to deal with either man right now, she grabbed a towel and escaped through the back way. She had to leave before the police tried to detain her.

  She wanted home.

  She wanted familiarity.

  She wanted to feel safe again.

  Foolish, maybe, but at the moment she felt safer on her own than with either of the men at the front of the house.

  She hurried to the walkway between the backs of the houses, turned right, away from the road. Two more turns, each taking her farther from the house. She looked around but didn’t see anyone.