Twisted Shadows Read online

  “You said you were a friend of Sam’s.” Accusation tinged the large man’s voice. He stepped back inside, and Nate knew he was going for a phone. Probably to call a buddy law enforcement officer.

  “I am. She left a few hours ago, and I don’t think she knows what kind of danger she might be in.”

  “You ride?”

  “Not well.”

  “Can’t get to where she usually goes on wheels,” he said, eyeing him with something close to disdain.

  “I’ll manage,” Nathan said. He’d ridden when a boy. His mother had wanted it for him, and he hadn’t realized until years after she had died what she must have sacrificed to give that to him. His stomach knotted just as it always did when his memories, vivid and ageless, returned to that time. He’d lived with the color red and had felt the warm thickness of blood for all these years.

  Those memories had kept him alive. The instincts aroused in those terrible minutes had guided him, or he had thought they had.

  Until now. Now they were fading, becoming blurred.

  He shook off the thought as he followed the other man to the stables. They were at the door when a horse, its mouth foaming, galloped in, reins dangling. Blood dripped from its hindquarters.

  “It’s Sam’s horse,” Dan said, moving quickly to the horse and inspecting the wound. “Gunshot,” he said.

  He moved quicker than Nate thought possible into a back room and returned with a rifle. “You got a firearm?”

  Nate nodded.

  Dan took the cell phone hooked to his belt and dialed a number. “Something’s happened. Get over here. I think Terri and Sam might be in trouble.”

  Another shot hit a log just an inch from her head.

  Sam had no doubt now. This was no mere threat. Someone wanted to kill her.

  Shock had been an anesthesia for the first few moments, then the pain struck with the impact of a torch thrust into her thigh. Another shot rang out, and Terri rolled next to her, trying to shield Sam’s body with her own.

  No. She didn’t want that. “Run,” she said.

  “You want to get me killed?” Terri replied with humor that stunned Sam as much as the bullet had.

  “We need help.”

  “It’s a sniper,” Terri said. “I don’t think he’s going to let us go.” Then she put a hand on Sam. “Can you move? There’s a small ditch behind us. If we can roll into it…”

  Sam nodded. The burn was spreading. She had to bite her lips to keep from screaming out loud as she willed herself to roll down a slight incline. A bullet spit up earth just inches from her.

  She’d been terrified during the earlier incidents, but everything had happened so fast then—and stopped just as swiftly—that the fear hadn’t been prolonged. Now her heart slammed against her rib cage. She could barely breathe. The terror was paralyzing.

  She was being hunted. And because of her, so was Terri.

  She heard the rustling in the woods. To the left. Then she heard another crack from another direction.

  Two shooters.

  She and Terri looked at each other and with a nod crawled—an inch at a time—several feet away until they were protected by a rotten log. More movement in the woods. She could hear it. She wanted to lift her head. She wanted to see what was going on, but she knew better than that.

  Another shot, a curse. She heard the sound of someone crashing through underbrush. No longer stealthily. They were moving away from them. More gunfire. Farther away.

  A ruse? She didn’t dare raise her head. She looked at her hand. It was trembling. Fear still pounded through her. She swore she would never, ever leave the revolver behind again.

  But even if she had it, she doubted she could do any good. Whoever was shooting was probably using a rifle. A revolver against a good rifle wasn’t much of a match. Still, she wouldn’t feel so helpless.

  Her thigh burned. She touched her slacks and felt the warm, thick liquid congealing. How long had it been? Each second had stretched into minutes. It seemed like an eternity since the first shot had hit Jupiter.

  The pressure of Terri’s body next to hers relaxed slightly, but neither of them moved.

  Then she heard shouts—Terri’s name, and her own.

  Dan Faulkner.

  And McLean.

  Terri audibly exhaled a breath as she moved.

  “Over here,” Sam called. The voice didn’t sound like hers, she thought. Just as her body didn’t feel like here. Dear God, but she hurt. “Terri?” she said.

  “I’m okay,” Terri said. “I think.”

  Through her own haze of pain, she saw that Terri, too, was bleeding.

  Terri apparently saw her expression and followed her gaze to a stream of blood flowing down her shirt sleeve. She pulled it up. Blood poured from a ragged wound. She shook her head. “Just a rock, I think.”

  But guilt was as strong as pain. Sam was turning into a Jonah, a danger to anyone near her.

  Then Dan was next to them, stooping beside his sister. A shadow loomed over her. She looked up.

  McLean stood there, a gun in his hand. A heavy-looking weapon. Then he was next to her, his hands running over her body until he stopped at her thigh. “This is becoming a bad habit,” he said, but his voice was rough, broken.

  He took a pocket knife from his pocket, unfolded it and cut the cloth until he saw the wound. He examined it briefly. “It went in and out. Good.” He muttered something else to himself, then glanced at Dan. “How is she?”

  “A bad cut on her arm.”

  McLean turned back to Sam, cut a strip of material from her slacks and held it against the wound. “Know a good doctor?”

  “They need to go to the hospital,” Dan said. He took out a cell phone and started to dial.

  “No,” McLean said.

  Dan stared at him.

  “You can take your sister, but I expect someone will be waiting for Sam there. I’m not going to chance it. I’ll find a private doctor.”

  “Any doctor has to report a gunshot wound.”

  “I realize that,” McLean said patiently, “but by then we’ll be gone.”

  “I can’t—”

  “You can, unless you want her death on your conscience.”

  “Dan,” Terri said, “there’s Doc McIntyre.”

  McLean cast a quick glance at him.

  “He’s retired,” Dan explained. “He also hates authority. He’ll do it.”

  “I’ll take Sam there. You take your sister to the hospital.”

  “One of my brothers will meet you at the ranch house. He’ll make sure you aren’t followed.”

  McLean nodded.

  “You sure about this?” Dan asked. “The police chief is a friend. He’ll look out for her.”

  McLean looked at him. “I don’t think he can,” he said. “Not for long. She needs to disappear.”

  Dan gave him a long searching glance. “Are you sure you can make her disappear?”

  “I have the best shot.”

  “What about witness protection?”

  “She’s not a witness. And it’s more and more difficult to hide people.” He looked at Sam. “I don’t think she wants to be hidden. It would mean giving up the gallery, her friends—”

  “I won’t do that,” Sam said.

  “Let’s get them to help first.”

  Dan slid his arms under his sister and helped her up.

  McLean leaned over Sam, put an arm under her shoulder. “It’s going to hurt,” he said. “Can you make it?”

  She nodded. The pain was getting worse, and the amount of blood scared her. His pressure against the bandage had slowed the flow slightly.

  When she moved, a small cry escaped. She knew then how Nick had felt days earlier. Still, she tried to rise on her own.

  McLean shook his head. “Let me do it. Lean on me.” He picked her up as though she weighed no more than a basket of feathers. Her arms closed around his neck, and for the first time since the shooting began, she felt safe. Still, a doz
en questions reverberated in her head. How had the snipers found them? Who would know this valley? The woods? She would have sworn that no one had followed her.

  The shooters were like ghosts—unseen and deadly.

  It was an invasion she’d not expected. She’d been on her guard, yes, but she’d really believed that once she left Boston, she would be safe.

  Would she ever be safe anywhere again?

  “What happened to the people shooting at us?” she asked although she was feeling weak.

  “Damned if I know,” he said. “I heard a shot, then another from a different location. We found blood. No body. I think one shot at the other.”

  “It appears you have another protector,” Dan said.

  She couldn’t comprehend it. None of it. She didn’t even want to. Not now. She just wanted to lay her head back and rest. She Wanted the pain to go away.

  She wanted to erase the nightmare that had become her life.

  Sam woke slowly. The room was small, bright. It was very clean but casual with old, comfortable furnishings. For a moment, she wanted to sink back into the feather bed she found herself in.

  Memories intruded. Impressions. Flashbacks.

  She was in a small cabin. She knew it belonged to Ed McIntyre, a retired doctor who’d been ousted by the local hospital for violating their rules once too often. She’d known him for years—as had Terri and Dan. He’d asked no questions, not even when he saw the gunshot wound. Instead he’d cleaned it and stitched it closed. He’d also given them a prescription for antibiotics.

  McLean had sat next to her, held her hand. He’d been there when she’d gone to sleep.

  When she asked about going home, he told her in stark terms about a contract.

  A contract on her and her mother.

  It seemed so impossible. Everything that had happened in the past few weeks was the stuff of the Twilight Zone.

  And yet very real.

  The one thing neither she nor McLean understood was who the second shooter was.

  She suspected she would have died yesterday without his presence.

  McLean was sprawled out in a chair beside her. His eyes were closed, his cheek dark with beard, lines etched deeper in his face. She wondered if he had been there all night.

  She no longer cared about his agenda or why he was so single-mindedly trying to bring down the Merrittas. She would trust him with her life now, no matter what. She should have all along.

  Her mother should know about the contract, but how could Sam get word to her? Or did her mother already know?

  She shifted, and that slight move woke McLean. He blinked, then his eyes flew wide open.

  He leaned down and kissed her. So much tenderness in that gesture. So much caring.

  She tried to equate that with the cool, deliberate man she’d first seen at the airport, then in her brother’s hospital room. She had been struck then by a simmering energy, a barely contained impatience. But now she was struck by his gentleness.

  She held out her hand to him and he took it, holding it tightly.

  “We’ll have to leave soon,” he said.

  She nodded. She no longer had any defiance in her. “My car?” she asked.

  He grinned. “You mean that wreck? You sent me in circles, lady.”

  “Has Dan learned anything?” she asked. “Someone…”

  “He called me. He and his brother combed the area after seeing to your friend. Two sets of footprints. Shell casings. No more.”

  “But how would they know where I was? I was so careful.”

  “People know you and Terri Faulkner were friends. Who else would you go to?”

  “But our place. I never—”

  “Would your mother know about it?”

  Of course! She realized what had been staring her in the face: If her mother thought that Sam was in danger, she never would have left her alone…

  “Mother,” she said.

  “What?”

  “The second man out there was from my mother.”

  twenty-four

  Nick paced his living room. He’d gone to the office, but he couldn’t concentrate and had left early.

  Where had Samantha gone?

  He knew why she had fled two days ago. Hell, she’d lasted longer than he’d thought she would.

  He was slowly getting used to the idea of having a sister. He wasn’t sure he liked that idea. He’d never had to worry about anyone before. He didn’t quite know how to go about it. Should he be protective? Or should he sit back and let her return to her own life?

  That would be the best thing for both of them, but especially better for her. She shouldn’t come within a million miles of this family. It consumed its young.

  The phone rang. He hesitated before going to it. He hadn’t left a number at the office, telling his secretary he didn’t want to be disturbed.

  He listened as his answering machine picked up. “Nick, it’s Victor. I know you’re there.”

  The bastard.

  Still, he answered the phone. “Victor,” he acknowledged.

  “The will is to be read on Friday. The attorney wants you to be there. Along with Samantha Carroll and her mother.”

  “She left. I’m not going to ask her to return. Not after what happened.”

  “What about the mother?”

  “What about the mother?”

  “I thought the girl might have said something to you about where she is.”

  “Nope. I didn’t ask. I would have thought your people knew.”

  A hesitation on the phone. Then, “We need to know.” There was an urgency in Victor’s voice.

  “Hell we do. The will can be read without all the parties there.”

  “But Tracy… your mother should be there.”

  Nick didn’t dignify that with an answer. He was fully aware Victor could care less whether Tracy or Patsy or whoever she was attended the reading of the will.

  “Tell me why you really want to know,” Nick said.

  “She appears to be missing.”

  “I would be missing, too, after what happened to her daughter.”

  “I told you before I didn’t have anything to do with it.”

  “Why don’t I believe you?”

  “Have you considered the possibility that McLean might have tried to turn her against us?”

  “I have.”

  “And…?”

  “I’m withholding judgment.”

  “You wouldn’t if you knew the true story,” Victor said.

  “You’ve never told me why McLean’s hell bent in sending us all to prison,” Nick said.

  “He’s a fed.”

  “It goes deeper than that, and you know it,” Nick said.

  “Not over the phone. Meet me for lunch and I’ll tell you.”

  “Outside, The small park.” Nick knew Victor would realize where he meant.

  “Noon.”

  “All right,” Nick said, and hung up. Victor had been very careful, weighing each word. He obviously knew, as Nick did, that his phone was tapped.

  “I told you before we had nothing to do with it.”

  Nick had made the accusation after the shooting on his doorstep. He’d immediately recognized that the shots were meant to threaten or warn rather than kill. Still, mistakes were possible, and he or Samantha could have been killed. He hadn’t been surprised that Samantha had disappeared when she had gone back inside the house.

  Victor had thought he would be dealing with a woman who could be cowed and intimidated. That assumption fit his general opinion of the gender. He should have learned from Anna, but he’d always underestimated her, too.

  It just so happened—unfortunately for his uncle—that Samantha Carroll/Nicole Merritta was smarter and far more independent than he had ever imagined. She had not been seduced by thoughts of wealth as Victor had believed. In fact, the very thought of inheriting what she considered ill-gotten gains had seemed to affront her.

  It was a notion Victor could n
ot comprehend.

  Now Nick had no idea what to do. He’d been disconcerted and worried when she’d left the town house. He’d extracted a statement from Victor that he’d not been responsible for the shooting or for Samantha’s disappearance. Nick wasn’t sure he believed him.

  But he wanted her away from Boston. Away from the Merrittas. She appeared to be a catalyst. Whether it was for his family, McLean or someone else, she was pure trouble.

  Yet he was drawn to her. Surprisingly, Samantha had begun to fill a void in his life, something no one else had been able to do. His father had tried on and off, but was never able to resist trying to twist him into his own image. Nick hadn’t liked that image.

  He checked his watch. He wanted to know why Victor was so intent on finding a woman who had been missing for more than thirty years. This time he would discover the truth.

  The park was nearly empty except for a few nannies and a dog walker or two. A hot dog stand provided lunch.

  His uncle seemed to have aged in the past few days. He was now head of the family, at least for the moment, but he didn’t have the surface smoothness that his brother had, or the respect he would need. He’d been second banana too long.

  And he was too tired. Nick saw it in his eyes.

  Now was the time to ask questions. Some Nick had the answers to. Some he did not. But he had to know what Victor knew. He had to know what part Victor had played in what had happened thirty-four years ago.

  But first he had to know about McLean. McLean had followed Samantha. That much was obvious. He’d defied his own bureau to do so.

  How much harm could he do?

  “You told me you would tell me why McLean is so persistent.”

  “All feds are persistent.”

  “Not like him.”

  Victor’s mouth tightened. “You really want to know?”

  “No, I’m asking you for the fun of it.”

  Victor hesitated, then sighed in surrender. “Your grandfather had his mother killed. She was a waitress in the restaurant be frequented, and she overheard a conversation she shouldn’t have.”

  “McLean knows this?”

  “Hell, he was with her when it happened.” Victor muttered something about the gunmen should have killed the kid, too.