Twisted Shadows Read online

  Her mother would be driving in this evening. She thought about trying to reach her on the cell phone, but her mother seldom kept it charged. Besides, Sam wanted to be in the same room with her. She wanted to see her face.

  This was going to be a very long day.

  She went back downstairs to the kitchen and glanced at the pan of milk. The bottom of the pan had burned. One of the policemen had probably turned it off, but the scorched smell permeated the kitchen. Coffee. Coffee would be better anyway. But when she tried to fill the carafe with water, her hand shook. She looked at the offending part of her body. It shook even harder.

  “Damn,” she muttered to herself.

  She set down the carafe.

  The two men said they would return to the store today. She had to go there. She had to know if they were the ones who had invaded her home. They probably wouldn’t admit it, if they had, but she wanted to ask the question. She wanted to show them she could not be intimidated.

  Still, she didn’t move.

  Her world had tipped over. She didn’t know where the dangers lay. Unlike the challenge of hiking and skiing on risky trails and runs, the dangers of this situation couldn’t be anticipated. And she feared the emotional ones far more than the physical ones.

  Who am I?

  She gave up on the coffee and went to stare at the framed portrait of her mother and father that hung above her fireplace mantel. She had commissioned a painting of them on their twenty-fifth wedding anniversary and had ordered a copy for herself.

  She had been twenty-four then, and just hired at a ridiculously high salary at a technology firm because she had the ability to combine marketing skills with computer innovation.

  Twenty-fifth anniversary. She’d held a huge surprise party for them. Her father had been handsome and her mother looked so much in love. They’d always been extraordinarily close. That was eleven years ago. If the tale she’d been told was true, that anniversary was a lie as well.

  She studied the man she thought she knew so well. David Carroll had been the ultimate westerner. He’d loved the outdoors and took the family camping, swimming, fishing and hunting. He had been the one who started calling her Sam, though her mother always insisted on Samantha. But though he loved the outdoors, he had a genius for mathematics. Sam had always wondered why he’d settled for such an undemanding job as business manager for a small gallery in a remote valley in Colorado. Had Paul Merritta been the reason?

  Sarsaparilla rubbed against her legs.

  “You’re useless,” she said. “I need an attack cat.”

  Sarsy meowed plaintively, telling her she’d tried to point out danger yesterday in the gallery but had been rebuked.

  “I know,” Sam said with a sigh, wondering whether she was really having this conversation with the cat.

  The gallery. She could go there. But she seemed unable to leave the house.

  Normalcy. How she craved it right now.

  But there was none. She no longer felt safe here. Even Sarsy seemed unusually nervous.

  Then she thought of the computer again. It had been on, when she was pretty sure she’d turned it off. Maybe her assailant had left some clue. She went up to the loft and checked recently opened files. The times posted indicated someone had used the computer after she had. He’d apparently backtracked her own search on the Menittas.

  But why?

  Then she looked at the papers. She’d noticed before the assault that they’d looked different. She skipped through them. Nothing there of any interest except to her.

  She turned to her desk drawers. The top drawer had also been invaded. She kept two credit cards there for easy access when ordering for the gallery. They were still there, but again not where she always left them.

  Her throat tightened. Her personal address book was missing.

  She searched every drawer, every comer, every space between the drawers, between the desk and the wall. She was puzzled at first, then angry and finally frantic.

  It was gone!

  She sagged into her chair, trying desperately to find an explanation.

  This was a personal invasion and more frightening than if a string of pearls or a painting had been taken. They were things. Her address book was the bits and pieces of her life.

  Why would anyone want that?

  three

  Boston

  FBI agent Nathan McLean felt anticipation bubble up inside him. It was a rare emotion after all these years of one defeat after another.

  He leaned forward in the chair as he listened to the tapes from the taps on Paul Merritta’s multiple phones. Nate and Gray Evans, his partner, had been listening nearly all night, but only this conversation caught their attention.

  “I don’t know if she’ll come willingly.” Nate recognized the voice as belonging to Tommy Camda, one of Merritta’s most trusted lieutenants.

  “She saw the birth certificates?"

  “Yes, Mr. Merritta, and the photos.”

  “How did she react?”

  “She didn’t believe it. Not at first. She believed your wife’s… husband was her biological father.”

  “Dammit!” Paul Menitta’s voice sounded as strong as ever. If the rumors that he was sick were true, it wasn’t evident in this exchange.

  “I left the envelope with her. I told her I would get back to her.”

  “Her mother wasn’t there?”

  “No, I waited until she went out of town.”

  “Good. She’ll turn the girl against me.” A pause. Then, “What’s she like?”

  “Smart, but then you expected that. Not easy to rattle.”

  “You didn’t try—”

  “No, sir. I did exactly as you told me.”

  “Did she ask any questions about me?”

  "No.” The answer was regretful. As if Camda would have preferred to give any other answer than this one.

  “She will. I know almost everything there is to know about her. She has a curious mind and she likes challenges.” He said the word with satisfaction. “Like her brother.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Did you tell her… I was sick?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then she’ll come,” Merritta said, though Nate thought he detected just a tremor of uncertainty in his voice.

  “What do you want us to do now?”

  “Take care of her. Watch her. Make sure she’s safe.” The phone went dead.

  “Maybe it’s true,” Gray said as he leaned forward and turned off the tape. “Maybe he is dying.”

  Nate snorted.

  “You think the daughter’s for real?”

  Nate shrugged. “I’m just wondering why in the hell he would let us know about it.”

  “He might think we don’t have his newest cell number,” Gray ventured. “And he’s taking the usual precautions. No names. No places.”

  “He’s a devious son of a bitch. He has something in mind,” Nate said. “I don’t think he’s suddenly got religion or wants to become a papa again.”

  “Who is she?” Gray asked. “I thought the only daughter had been killed years ago.”

  “So did I,” Nate said thoughtfully. “Thirty-four to be exact. Both she and her mother in a car crash. Burned beyond recognition, but the mother was identified by dental records.”

  Gray raised an eyebrow. “A crash. That’s convenient.”

  “Paul Merritta was out of the country at the time, but flew back immediately. Every other member of the family had an alibi. There was no indication of foul play and some evidence that she drank a lot.” He didn’t add that he’d looked into the deaths years ago, hoping to develop a murder case. He’d talked to investigating officers and the federal agents who’d worked the case. He’d wanted to talk to the medical examiner, but the man had died in an accident himself two years later. Nate had thought it an unlikely coincidence but hadn’t had enough evidence to proceed. Not after so many years had passed.

  Gray shook his head. “Is there anything you d
on’t know about the Merrittas?”

  There wasn’t much. Nate probably knew more about the Merritta family than anyone in the Bureau. But his partner—the closest thing he had to a friend—had no idea that the name of Merritta was like a burning brand in his gut, that Nate existed to take that family down. Most kids wanted to be a basketball or football pro. His only ambition as a foster kid had been to send members of the Merritta family to the electric chair. Today, a lethal injection would do.

  But he hadn’t known the daughter and wife were alive. What the hell had he missed?

  And now it appeared that the daughter—and possibly the mother—was being resurrected. Why?

  That was the million-dollar question.

  Gray was regarding him curiously.

  Nate ignored his partner’s comment. “Let’s hear the end of the tape again.”

  Gray pushed the rewind, then play buttons.

  “Take care of her. Watch her. Make sure she’s safe.”

  Safe with Merritta? Like his mother. He stifled his anger. Think opportunity. Don’t let feelings get in the way. Not this time.

  “Maybe he really does just want to see her before he dies,” Gray said.

  Nathan gave his partner a disbelieving look. “A benevolent Merritta?”

  Gray shrugged. “Maybe, but the conversation falls in line with the other reports we have. Visits to several oncologists. Prescriptions for pain killers, though he has enough links to narcotics to get almost anything he wants unless a particular combination isn’t available. And now this sudden desire to see this woman.”

  “And,” Nate said, “risking opening an investigation into two unsolved murders. If his wife and child weren’t killed, who was in the car?”

  “Merritta must know that. Why open himself up to that unless he has a damn good reason?” Gray paused. “Maybe we’re jumping to conclusions. Could it be anyone else? Another child?”

  Nate shrugged. “Doesn’t seem likely. Camda mentioned a wife. Photos. Birth certificates, and the fact the woman thought someone else was her biological father. Merritta already claimed George. He probably would have claimed any other illegitimate child. And he mentioned a smart brother. That has to be Nicholas.”

  “There’s George,” Gray suggested.

  Nate snorted. “We know what Merritta thinks of him.”

  “How do you suppose brother George will take it?”

  Nate cheered up. “Not well. Neither will his mother. She’s been Merritta’s mistress so long she thinks she owns him.”

  “Poses any number of questions, doesn’t it?” Gray said.

  “And possibilities,” Nate said. “We’ve never been able to get anyone inside the family. Maybe this is our opportunity.”

  “A civilian?”

  “An informant,” he corrected. “It’s worth trying. She shouldn’t have any great fondness for Paul Merritta, especially if her mother ran from him.”

  “Barker would never approve it,” Gray said, referring to their superior.

  “No sense in mentioning it if we don’t get her agreement,” Nate said. “You know Barker has his own snitch inside the family, and I suspect that’s why some of our investigations have bummed out. Someone told the Merrittas what we were doing.”

  They looked at each other. They both knew agents who used snitches—and protected them to the extent of overlooking such offenses as murder or permitting another agent’s investigation to go bust—to advance their own careers. Barker was a cowboy, a man who would do anything to climb the Bureau ladder.

  A daughter, by God. Someone must have put two other bodies in the car that had gone into a ravine and burst into flames thirty-four years ago. That could be murder, and there was no statute of limitations on murder.

  If Merritta was ill, as reports had it, he might not live long enough to be tried and convicted, but members of his family might.

  Opportunities.

  “Then the next step is to get a handle on the former Mrs. Merritta and her daughter,” Gray said. “Tommy used a cell phone. Our people know the call came from central Colorado, but that’s as far as we can pinpoint it. We don’t know her name, have nothing to start with.”

  “Damn it. I can’t believe our guys lost Camda,” Nate said.

  “Merritta’s learned to be cautious.”

  “Yeah, but he slips occasionally. That brother part, for instance.”

  “Perhaps we should pay Nick another visit,” Gray suggested.

  “I think it would be better if we can get a tap on his phone.”

  “They wouldn’t grant it last time.”

  “This time we might have a potential witness at risk,” Nate said. “Maybe we can hang an authorization on that.”

  “Barker will have our hides.”

  “He’s in Washington this week,” Nate said.

  “Ah, dammit, McLean.”

  Nate shrugged. In truth, his career in the FBI meant a lot less to him than bringing the Merrittas to justice.

  Gray surrendered with a sigh. “What judge?”

  “There’s McQueen, Cannon, McGuire and Dempsy. They’re the most friendly to us. I’ll start with McQueen. You take Cannon. If neither of them will sign, we’ll go to the other two.”

  “Do you know anything about the mother? Where she came from?”

  Gray couldn’t know. Why should he, when it was ancient history? But Nate had gone over every scrap of information ever compiled against Paul Merritta and his father. “If she’s who we think she is, her name is Tracy Edwards. She was a poor kid on a scholarship. Married him in Las Vegas. I don’t know if she knew who—or what—he was when she married him, but two years later she was dead.”

  “Or so everyone thought.”

  “Merritta wouldn’t have just let her walk away,” Nate said. “He doesn’t operate that way. Once something’s his, it stays his. She must have had something damaging on him if he left her alone this long.” He tapped a pen against his desk, adrenaline charging his thoughts. Maybe this woman was his ticket to a long-delayed justice. He tried to tamp his rising hope. He’d been disappointed too many times.

  “What if the daughter doesn’t come?” Gray said. “If her mother told her only a little about Merritta, she should run like hell.”

  “She’ll come. Out of curiosity or greed. Merritta wants it, and he usually gets what he wants. But maybe we’ll get a break and get to her first.”

  “Then what?”

  “We’ll try the forthright be-a-good-citizen approach, but if that doesn’t work, we should have some leverage with her mother. Tracy Edwards must know something. She might even have had something to do with the ‘accident,’ if it meant her freedom.”

  Gray nodded. “I’ll start the paperwork for the judge.”

  Once Gray left, Nate stretched back in his chair. It would be ironic if cancer took Paul Merritta before he could. But there were other members of the family. Nate wouldn’t rest until every one of them was taken down.

  Introducing a prodigal daughter to the mix could stir up some dust. He might finally get the evidence he needed against the Merritta family, including Nick Merritt. Even if he broke all the rules to do it.

  For a moment, the all too familiar image flashed in his mind. His mother holding his hand on the walk to school. A speeding car. His mother turning. Shots. His mother falling. A sharp pain in his side. Then he was kneeling next to her, his fingers covered with blood as they followed the stitch work of bullet holes in her body…

  Maybe, at last, his mother might rest in peace.

  And he might obtain some peace of his own.

  To Sam’s surprise, her two visitors from the previous day were not at the gallery when she opened it an hour late. Nor did they appear during the rest of the morning.

  Every time the little bell on the door rang, electricity shot through her despite a dullness from lack of sleep. It was all she could do be pleasant to the potential customers who wandered in to the shop.

  Terri appeared at lunchtim
e. She took one look at Sam and blinked. “You look awful.”

  “I didn’t get much sleep,” Sam said in one of the world’s greatest understatements.

  “Why don’t you go home? I’ll watch the shop.”

  Sam desperately wished she could do that. But what if the two men returned?

  Terri noticed her hesitation. “What’s going on, Sam?”

  Sam wanted to confide in Terri, but again she didn’t feel she could tell even her until she knew the truth. She did tell Terri about the break-in, though. One of Terri’s friends was with the police department, and she would find out anyway.

  Terri stared at her with concern. “Have you been to a doctor?”

  “No, I just have a little bump.”

  Terri’s gaze didn’t leave her. “Could it have anything to do with those two men yesterday?”

  Sam shook her head. “I don’t think so.”

  Terri gave her a dubious look but didn’t press the point. “You should have that injury checked. You know any head wound could be dangerous.”

  “I’m fine,” Sam insisted.

  “I’ll go with you,” Terri persisted.

  “I’m all right, really I am, and we can’t both be gone.”

  “If you start feeling bad…”

  “I’ll let you know.”

  “I can stay here with you.”

  “Not necessary and there’s some errands you can run for me. Some paintings need to be packaged and shipped.” She didn’t want Terri here when—or if—the men returned. She didn’t want questions asked she couldn’t answer. She had lied to the police. She didn’t want to lie to her best friend.

  The moment Terri left with wrapped paintings in hand, the two men appeared.

  Sam was at her desk this time when they entered. She didn’t rise and didn’t intend to. Nor would she be intimidated this time. By God, this was her gallery, in her town. They had invaded it, and possibly had invaded her home. She barely suppressed her rage, but she wanted some answers. Anger might not get them.

  The older man held out another envelope.

  She made no attempt to take it. “What is it this time?”