Twisted Shadows Read online

  “A round-trip plane ticket to Boston. First class.” The last was obviously meant to impress her.

  It didn’t. “I won’t do anything until I talk to my mother,” she said.

  “She’ll lie,” the man said flatly, letting the envelope fall on her desk.

  “Why?”

  “She abandoned her husband and son. No decent woman would do that.”

  “And the man you claim is my father is decent?”

  The older man looked surprised. “People lie about him.”

  “Really?” she said. “And what’s your name?”

  “Tommy.”

  “Tommy what?”

  “Just Tommy. I’m a friend of your father’s.”

  “A soldier?”

  He blinked, then shrugged. “An associate,” he corrected. The younger man coughed.

  She looked at the envelope he’d dropped on her desk. “I don’t want it. If I decide to go, I’ll pay my own way.”

  A flash of annoyance flickered in his eyes. “Stubborn. Like your brother.”

  She couldn’t resist the question. “How?”

  “Come to Boston and you’ll find out.”

  “Does he know about me?”

  Satisfaction flickered across his face. She’d indicated curiosity and he obviously thought his mission had succeeded. Well, it hadn’t. She wanted more information. That was all.

  “No,” he said.

  “Why not?”

  He shrugged, and she knew he was not going to say more.

  She gave in to her curiosity. “How long has… Paul Merritta known about me?”

  “He’s been searching for you for years, ever since the… ever since your mother disappeared. He just recently found you.”

  “How can someone just disappear?’

  “You might ask your ma that.”

  “Then how did he find me?”

  He looked uncomfortable. “It’s easier to find people today.”

  It sounded logical. She knew that computerized advances had made the world much smaller. And why would Paul Merritta choose to contact her now, if he’d known where she was for years?

  “You can have your answer in the morning,” she said.

  “The ticket is for this afternoon.”

  “Too bad you wasted your money.”

  He hesitated. “My boss isn’t happy that your mother kept him from you all these years.” There was an odd note in his voice. Odd, and even malevolent.

  A threat. And aimed at her mother.

  But he wasn’t going to see her flinch. She wouldn’t show fear. Not in front of them. “You can call me in the morning.”

  She did not bother to offer her phone number. It was obvious he knew a lot more about her than she did about him, or the Merrittas. It was equally obvious he was not going to say anything more unless she agreed to go.

  And if she didn’t? She would not put it past them to take her by force.

  She thought again of the articles that reported the activities of crime families. To her, they meant murder, narcotics, prostitution, gambling, and God knew what else.

  If true, did she want any part of it?

  “My house was burglarized this morning,” she said, dropping what she hoped was a bomb.

  Surprise crossed his face, then anger. It was the first time she had seen him disconcerted.

  “When?” he asked.

  “While I was jogging. I apparently came home too soon. He… struck me.”

  Something indefinable crossed his face. For a moment, she thought it might be concern.

  “Would you know anything about it?” she challenged him.

  “No,” he said flatly.

  For some reason, she believed him. “Then who?”

  “I don’t know,” he said. “I’ll try to find out.”

  Odd, that his reply relieved her even as she wondered why she would believe anything he said. Yet he had been surprised. She would swear to it.

  Her world had been turned upside down by these men. Her life had been normal, happy, loving, peaceful. It had been uncomplicated, marred only by the death of her father.

  Without another word, the two men left the shop. The older one left the envelope on the table.

  For a moment, she felt an odd victory. She had survived the encounter on her terms. But after the door closed, she remembered the satisfaction in his eyes. He’d seen her face when they had referred to her mother. She must have shown some emotion. Fear? Certainly she had tried to hide it.

  Now she wasn’t sure she had won anything at all.

  Instead she felt as if she had just been trumped.

  four

  The day went all too slowly. Sam’s head still ached. And the thought of the looming confrontation with her mother made her nauseous.

  She closed the gallery early. Her mother was due home this evening.

  Sam would know then if it was all a terrible lie. Or an even more horrendous truth.

  Sam decided to go home early and take a nap, but once there, she couldn’t sleep, or even rest. She no longer felt safe there. The house she loved so much had been invaded.

  Every rustle of a breeze against the window startled her and she found herself wandering listlessly around the house. For the first time, she wondered whether she needed an alarm system and extra locks. She’d never wanted to live in a fortress. Now she didn’t want to live in fear.

  She fed Sarsy and watered plants, knowing she was avoiding thoughts she didn’t want. Giving up any idea of resting, she took her keys and drove over to her mother’s condominium.

  Once there, she let herself in, poured a glass of red wine and went out to the balcony. The clouds were heavy, ominous, the summer wind heavy with moisture. She hoped her mother arrived before the storm broke.

  She went back inside. Her gaze roamed over the family photos that decorated the living area and the grand piano. Her mother was a fine pianist, although she’d never studied music.

  Or at least she’d said she never studied.

  Sam realized she was now questioning whether anything she thought she knew about her mother was true.

  She gazed at all the photos, looking for a secretive glance, a hint somewhere of a life kept concealed. She was tempted to prowl through her mother’s drawers, but the thought repelled her.

  No clues. At least no obvious ones. Her father had served in the early years of Vietnam. She knew that only from small slips, the odd observation when they’d watched a television show about the war, or she’d talked about a film. Neither of her parents ever talked much about years that were usually important to couples. Early years. Formative years. Dating. Marriage.

  “Where did you go to college, Mom?”

  “A little college in the Midwest. Your father swept me off my feet and I never finished.”

  “Maybe I should think about looking at that one.”

  “Oh, no, honey. You wouldn’t like it. It was small. I couldn’t afford anything else. Your father and I want the best for you.”

  And so she had gone to Stanford with a double major in computer science and marketing.

  “Oh, Mom, what happened?” she whispered to herself.

  She didn’t turn on the lights, just watched as the sky grew darker, the clouds more formidable, hoping to hear the key turn in the lock. And dreading it.

  Finally she did.

  She kept sitting, her purse next to her. In the purse were the photos, and birth certificates.

  Her mother turned on the light, then saw her. “Darling, what are you doing sitting here in the dark?”

  “Find anything on your trip?”

  “Some great paintings. You’re going to love them. I took them by the gallery. We’ll go over them in the—” She stopped suddenly. “What’s wrong? What’s happened?”

  For a moment Sam couldn’t speak. Did she really want to do this? And yet she must. She had to know.

  She finally forced the words out. “I had visitors yesterday, and again today. They… they said
my father… my biological father… is alive but dying and wants to see me.”

  All the color drained from her mother’s face, and in that moment, Sam knew the story was true.

  Her mother’s purse dropped, and she reached for the arm of a chair to steady herself. “No,” she whispered. “No.”

  “They said I have a brother. A twin brother.”

  Her mother slumped into the chair.

  Sam noticed the bracelet she always wore. Her good luck charm, her mother said. Sam had thought David had given it to her. Now she wondered. It did not look like something her father would buy. And it never left her wrist.

  “I told them they were wrong. That David Carroll was my father.”

  “He… was.”

  “My biological father?”

  A long, painful silence. Every muscle in her mother’s face seemed frozen.

  “Were you married to Paul Merritta?” Sam felt like a bully now. She wanted to stop as she watched her mother crumple, but she couldn’t. She had to know now before her courage failed her.

  “Yes.” The word was little more than a whimper.

  “He’s my father?”

  “No! David’s your father.”

  “But not my biological father.”

  “In every way that was important.” Her face twisted with grief.

  A clap of thunder rocked the condo. Lightning streaked the sky. Rain fell in torrents, beating against the balcony doors, the windows.

  “So it’s… true,” Sam said in a half whisper.

  “He swore…”

  “He swore what?” Sam asked.

  “That he would never try to find you.” A tear wandered down her mother’s cheek. “And David took precautions.” She stopped. “Oh, my God, what did I do?”

  Sam felt as if the floor had fallen away under her, that she was falling down into Alice’s rabbit hole.

  Until now, she hadn’t realized that she’d really believed everything was a lie. She had been waiting for her mother to deny everything. A terrible mistake. Doctored photos. Doctored documents. Something. Some explanation.

  “Samantha…”

  But Sam couldn’t answer.

  Her safe, sane, comfortable world had just exploded.

  Sam didn’t know how much time passed before she could speak again.

  Her mother looked stricken. She was sitting stiff and pale as a statue, tears puddling in her eyes.

  Her own face was probably every bit as pale through the tan. Sam felt as though she herself might shatter.

  “David took precautions?” she repeated. “And what did… you do?”

  “My sister. I contacted my sister. I believed that so many years had gone… we were safe.”

  Sister? More lies. Her mother always said she had no family. But that was a small lie compared to the big one being confirmed by her mother’s face, her words.

  A brother she had never known. A biological father whose existence had been hidden from her. Lies and more lies.

  “They left photos.” Barely suppressing her outrage, Sam placed the family photo on the coffee table in front of her mother, then the one of Nick Merritt.

  Her mother stared at the latter one for a long time, touched it in an unmistakable caress, then put it down, a hopeless look in her face. “There were reasons.”

  “I’m thirty-five. There’s been time to explain. For God’s sake, I always wanted a brother…” Sam’s voice trailed off, as her mother kept glancing at the photo, as if she couldn’t see enough.

  “I know,” her mother said, her voice cracking. “It broke my heart.”

  “Did it?” Sam said coldly, fury and confusion ruling her now.

  “Yes,” her mother said. “You said he—Paul—wants to see you?”

  “My father,” Sam corrected. The word was like a huge cold stone in her gut.

  Her mother winced. “You have his blood, yes. But you have nothing else in common with him. Don’t go,” she pleaded. “Don’t have anything to do with him.” Again, her mother’s gaze returned to the photo of Nicholas, seemingly riveted to it.

  “I haven’t decided,” Sam said, knowing it wasn’t true. She had to find out about her brother. If only her biological father was the issue, she doubted she would consider it. Apparently he had let her go. But Nicholas…

  Nicholas!

  “My name was Nicole?”

  “I wanted you to have similar names,” her mother said with a sad whisper of a smile. “I always liked Nicole.”

  “It’s… pretty.”

  “You were a beautiful baby, but I’ve told you that.”

  “And my brother? Was he a beautiful baby, too?”

  “Yes.” Her voice sounded strangled. “Samantha—”

  “Did we like each other?” Sam asked, ignoring the plea in her mother’s voice, hating herself for pressing. But she couldn’t stop. “Did we play with each other?”

  “Yes.” A sigh. Resigned.

  “How could you do it? How could you abandon a child?”

  “I could save only one,” her mother said. “He would have killed both of us to keep the boy.”

  “The boy? Is that how you justified leaving him? Save one? Throw away the other?”

  Her mother’s tears were coming faster now. Sam felt she was drowning in her mother’s pain. In her own bewilderment. The boy. Not Nicholas. Not my son. Her mother’s way of coping, her defense? Sam wanted to rip that defense away from her.

  “I’m going to see him,” she said.

  “Paul Merritta?” Horror was in her mother’s voice.

  “My brother. Maybe Mr.… Merritta.” She couldn’t say father again. Despite what she’d said earlier, that title still belonged to David Carroll.

  “No!”

  “Why?”

  “They’ll destroy you.”

  Sam met her mother’s gaze. “Did they destroy you?”

  “They tried to.”

  “And yet you left my brother there?” She tried to keep her voice steady. “How old was I when… you left?”

  Her mother’s head drooped. “Eight months.”

  “I have a birth certificate with Daddy’s name on it,” Sam said, suddenly seizing on something that might still deny what she now knew was true.

  “David arranged for it,” her mother said.

  “My father, the ex-soldier. I always knew he was a man of many talents. I didn’t know it included forgery.”

  Her mother’s head shot up. “Whatever you think of me, he was the best thing that could possibly have happened to both of us.”

  Sam wanted to strike out at something. Everything she thought was solid and right and true was sinking under the weight of what she was hearing.

  “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “That your biological father was a murderer, a crime lord? Would you have wanted to know that?”

  “Perhaps not when I was young, but later… I had a right to know. What if there was something hereditary? What if I had children?”

  “Then perhaps I would have said something. But you haven’t shown any interest in marriage yet and…”

  “And my brother?” Sam’s voice broke. My brother. Strange how naturally the words came to her tongue. “You thought it was right not to let me know—”

  “He’s lost,” her mother interrupted in an emotionless voice. “Anyone raised in that family is corrupted.”

  Disbelieving, Sam stared at her. “You must have seen something in my father. How could you…” Her voice trailed off.

  “Marry a criminal?” her mother said bitterly. “I was young. Poor. I was on a scholarship at the University of Chicago. Paul was a last-year law student. Older than most. I met him in the library, and he was everything I thought I ever wanted. He was charismatic. He treated me like a princess.”

  Her hand clenched in a fist. “I fell in love. I didn’t know who he was. Or what he was. We eloped to Las Vegas immediately when we graduated. I never questioned why he didn’t want a formal wedding. Why I di
dn’t meet his family first. He kept saying he was afraid I would change my mind. I thought he feared his family wouldn’t think I was good enough for him, but I thought love would conquer everything.”

  Her fingers twisted together. “We took a long honey moon. He had a lot of money, and he bought me clothes and jewelry. He was kind and gentle. Then he took me home, and the nightmare started.

  “We moved in with his family. I was the outsider from the beginning. It was obvious everyone disapproved of his choice. They were Italian. I was Anglo-Saxon and a Protestant. But I loved Paul and I tried to please his family. That meant not asking questions.

  “I wanted to teach music or art. They were my double majors in college. But he said no. I was pregnant then, and I foolishly thought he was being protective. But that wasn’t it. He didn’t want me to hear the rumors. I became a prisoner under the guise of my health.

  “It didn’t take long to discover I’d married into a crime family. Paul always swore he wasn’t involved. I wanted to believe him. Then I overheard a conversation…

  “My blood ran cold, but by then I was very, very pregnant with two babies. I didn’t have any place to go. I had a sister who’d raised me after my mother died, but she had two children and no money. I was afraid I might put them in danger.”

  She stood and walked unsteadily toward the balcony. “I didn’t want you to grow up in that way.”

  Sam tried to absorb it all. She couldn’t. It was something out of a novel. Her mother married to a crime lord?

  “Does… Nicholas know about us?” Her mother’s voice broke the tense silence.

  “They said not.”

  A visible shiver ran through her mother’s body. “You can’t go,” she said again. “You have no idea what they are like. What they do.”

  Sam didn’t say anything. To be lied to as a child for one’s sake was one thing. To continue the deception was something else. She wondered whether she would ever totally trust her mother again.

  And yet as she looked at her, Sam felt an equal amount of love and even compassion. She’d always respected her mother’s values, her sense of right and wrong. But now she also remembered how watchful she’d been. Until Sam was sixteen and had her own car, her mother or father drove her to school every day and picked her up. She never walked like other kids in the neighborhood despite her many pleas.