Twisted Shadows

by Patricia Potter

  “Do you think it’s someone in the family?” she asked.

  “I don’t know. But if I had to guess, no.”

  “Why?”

  “The suspicion would go straight to them. They can’t afford that. Not now.”

  “Why?”

  “The other families would sense a weakness. While the Merrittas were tied up in an investigation, their rivals could take over the protection part of the business. City contracts are another big part of their activity. If they’re under a microscope, they will likely lose them all.”

  He drove onto a secondary road, and she saw the alertness in him, the way his gaze never stopped moving from the road in front to the rearview mirror. “The only thing I can figure is that whatever your mother knows, or has, involves a third party. That’s why we need to get to her.”

  “And Nick?”

  She watched him hesitate, then carefully chose his words. “I’ve been convinced for years that he was involved in his father’s business. But I saw his face in the hospital. He didn’t like what happened. He hadn’t expected it.”

  “I should… call him. Maybe he’s in danger, too.”

  “Believe me, Nicholas Merritt can take care of himself.”

  She looked over at him. His jaw was set. “Why do you distrust him so?”

  He turned his gaze from the road. “Because he says one thing and does something else. He keeps saying he wants out, but he used his father’s money to start the business. He claims he has nothing to do with the family, but he’s met with his father several times a week in the past year.”

  “Maybe because he knew his father was ill.”

  “Merritta himself didn’t know until two months ago.” She stared at him. “We tapped his phones,” he said unapologetically. “We had court orders.”

  “Then he knew about them.”

  “I’m sure he did. He kept changing cell phones, though. He may not have realized we found most—if not all—of them.”

  “How much can you track?”

  “If we have your number, we can get the number you’re calling almost immediately. The location takes more time. We tapped Tommy’s calls to your father when he found you.”

  “So if I called my mother…”

  “If she stayed on long enough, sophisticated equipment could find her, right down to the street address.”

  “How many people have that kind of equipment?”

  “More than you would like to know.”

  “Do you think Nick knows what my mother… might have?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “I want to talk to him.”

  “I’ll arrange it so it will be safe.”

  She nodded. She was going to do it whether he helped her or not. A public telephone someplace. It didn’t matter. She had to let him know that violence had followed her. She wanted to hear his response. She wanted to believe him.

  “Nick seems to think your… diligence goes deeper than your job,” she probed.

  He was quiet for several moments, but the watchfulness never lessened. She felt wariness in him. Tension. “Your grandfather killed my mother,” he said.

  The words were another body blow, more painful than the gunshot wound.

  She looked at his hands. The knuckles were white where he clutched the steering wheel.

  “But why?”

  “She was a waitress in a restaurant he and some of his people frequented. He was in a private room when she brought some food. They were talking about assassinating a public official. She dropped a dish and fled.”

  His voice was emotionless, as if it was a story he’d recited too many times. “She came to the school to pick me up. She was going to take me to a friend’s home in Pennsylvania. They found us just as we were exiting the school, and a gunman in a car sprayed bullets at us. She covered me with her body. I watched her bleed to death.”

  “How did you know who…?” She wanted to believe there was some mistake, that he hadn’t really known.

  “She told me as we left the school. She said Mr. Merritta was very angry. I knew who he was. I sometimes met her at the restaurant. He was there most days.”

  “And then?”

  “I was sent to foster homes.”

  “How old were you?”

  “Eight,” he replied, a muscle flexing in his cheek.

  “She had no family?”

  “No. My father was killed in Vietnam. At least she said he was. I’m not sure if he was or not, or whether he was just someone who left when she got pregnant. But she didn’t give me away. She tried her best to care for me.”

  Sam had had her own horrors in the past few days, but nothing like this. An eight-year-old boy watching his mother get shot? An eight-year-old boy lying in his mother’s blood as she died? She swallowed back the cry rising in her throat, blinked away the tears. “Does Nick know?”

  “I don’t know,” he said.

  “Did Paul Merritta?”

  He shook his head. “I don’t know whether they ever associated an inconvenient waitress with me. She probably wasn’t important enough to remember.” His words were tinged with bitterness.

  “Does your partner know?”

  “No. Neither does the Bureau, or I would never have been allowed near the Merrittas.”

  She turned her gaze away from him, from his striking face, his clear green eyes that probably too often saw the bloody scene repeated over and over. Still, she cherished the trust he’d just handed her.

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be. You had nothing to do with it.”

  “I’m sorry for that boy.”

  “That boy grew up.”

  “But he still feels the pain.”

  “It faded.”

  “But the outrage never has.”

  “No,” he said.

  “You said you could lose your job.”

  “Possibly. I’m disobeying orders in a big way.”

  She angled herself in the seat so she could see him. “Because of me?”

  “Because of you,” he agreed. “For the first time since I was eight, something else is more important.”

  She saw a muscle move in his neck, the bunching of muscles in his jaw. She believed him.

  He had never lied to her. He hadn’t told her the full truth, but he’d never lied. There was a strength, an integrity in him that had shone through the hard facade, his distaste for the Merrittas. They had been there when he helped her save Nick’s life, but she’d been assaulted by so many emotions, so many questions, so many possibilities, that she hadn’t really believed in them.

  “What’s the plan?”

  “Get you out of here,” he said. “Then try to find out who put out the contract. Gray is working on that, and I have some people I can call.”

  “And find my mother.”

  “Yes.”

  “How?”

  “Keep trying her cell phone. Then, let whoever is helping her find us.”

  “If we lost the… bad guy, wouldn’t we have lost the other, too?”

  “Yep. But your protector, whoever he is, has more information about you. Think about it, Samantha. Where might your mother expect you to go?”

  The only place that came to mind was the cabin. But she had been there, and her mother was gone.

  Still…

  Sam had sworn she would never tell anyone about it. Did she trust him or didn’t she? And if she didn’t, what in the hell was she doing here?

  “There’s a cabin,” she said. “No one knows about it. My mother was staying there when I was in Boston, but she came back to Steamboat for some reason.”

  “No one knows about it? Not even your friend Terri?”

  “No,” she said. “Dad always said it would be our special place if no one knew about it. I never suspected there was any other reason.”

  “And now you do?”

  “Of course,” she said. “It was meant as a place where we could hide if need be.”

  “So he knew?” />
  “I’ve come to accept that,” she said softly.

  “His history didn’t start until he married your mother,” he said carefully.

  “He was in Vietnam,” Sam said. “I know that.”

  “Why do you think that?”

  “Just odd comments. We would be watching a movie and he would shake his head occasionally as if something was wrong. Things like that.”

  “Will you tell me where this cabin is?”

  “Sixty miles north of here. It’s beside a stream. There’s two exit roads.” She’d been thinking about it a lot lately, about the way it was positioned near two roads going in two different directions.

  He turned and looked at her.

  “Take the next exit,” she said.

  She’d made her choice. She only hoped it was the right one.

  twenty-six

  Nicholas Merritt drove through Steamboat Springs. He’d been here once before and had liked it.

  Unlike some Colorado ski towns, it was unpretentious. It still had the feel of a small town where people knew each other. He passed a restaurant he’d visited, then the condominium where he’d stayed. He immediately saw Western Wonders. He knew he must have passed it five years ago when he’d been here on a skiing trip. But he didn’t remember seeing it.

  It was late. He wondered whether it would still be open. He found a parking place and went inside. He scoured the place with his gaze, noting a pretty woman with hair the color of gold and memorable blue eyes. A bandage was wrapped around her arm. His gut twisted as he wondered if she was yet another casualty of his family. He tried not to show it. “Hi.”

  “Hello,” she said in a cool voice, her eyes widening at seeing him.

  “Your shop looked interesting,” he said inanely.

  “It’s not mine,” she said. “I’m the bookkeeper.” She rose, her gaze meeting his directly. “Can I help you?”

  He found himself off balance. He’d heard about cornflower blue eyes but had never seen them before. Now he had. “You must be Terri.”

  She nodded, her eyes wary.

  “I’m Nick,” he said.

  “Samantha’s brother,” she said.

  “So I’m told.”

  Her face reddened with a flush. “She’s not here.”

  “Can you tell me where she is?”

  “No.” The flush grew deeper. “I mean that I don’t know,” she said.

  “When did you see her last?”

  “Yesterday.”

  “Was she all right?”

  “No. Someone shot at us when we were riding. She was hit.”

  The twist in his gut knotted and something like fear stuck in his throat. For the first time in his life, he couldn’t seem to form words. “How bad?” he finally asked, his voice strained.

  “Shot in the thigh.”

  He inhaled sharply, forcing the air out slowly, and tried again. “She’s alive,” he stated.

  “Yes.” Another statement, made in an equally even tone. Terri leaned forward. “Hey,” she said. “She’s okay.” He looked at her arm.

  “She went to the hospital?”

  “No, to a private doctor.”

  “Then where is she?” he asked, his heart thumping against his rib cage.

  “She got medical attention. She’s fine. Truly, she is.” Then she gave him an abashed smile that was appealing. “So is my horse. He was grazed in the hind quarter.”

  He forced a smile, then averted his gaze. Somehow Terri’s mention of the horse was the last straw. He’d always known what his family was capable of, and even guilty of. Yet never had it struck him as it did now—like a boulder falling squarely on his head without granting him the mercy of unconsciousness. Innocent women and helpless animals.

  “You shouldn’t be here,” he said, unable to look at her.

  “Where else would I be? I don’t have anything to do with Boston.”

  “Are you the only person here?”

  “There’s Helen Peevy. I told her to go home.”

  “But you stayed. Gutsy lady.”

  “It’s safe enough. Sam had a panic button installed. One push and the whole police department will be here.”

  “I’m properly warned,” he said.

  She relaxed and gave him a smile. “She likes you, you know. She’s happy to have a brother.”

  “I’m trouble,” he said. “Just like the rest of the family.”

  “Then why did you come?”

  “I was afraid that something would happen. I really need to reach her, Miss Faulkner.”

  “I can’t help you. I wouldn’t, even if I could. And I can’t.”

  He forced his gaze from her. She was one of the most attractive women he’d seen recently, the type he liked. Pretty, smart, loyal. But he’d decided long ago not to get involved with that kind of woman. She was definitely not a one-night stand, and she was Samantha’s friend.

  It was a long time since such distinctions had been important. His business partner was the only person he really cared about or respected. Until Sam.

  He took a long breath.

  “Can you get a message to her?”

  “No.”

  He raked his hand through his hair in frustration. “Tell me what happened yesterday.”

  “We were riding. Someone fired at her, hit the horse she was riding. We thought it might be a hunter,” she said. “Maybe for a moment,” she added with a trace of humor. “But it’s not hunting season. At least the legal hunting season.”

  He couldn’t smile back. “And…?”

  “Someone kept firing. Obviously aiming for us.”

  He waited, his blood running cold at the image of two women being hunted.

  “My brother and… an FBI agent appeared. There was someone else, someone we didn’t see, who chased the sniper off. Both disappeared, but we think the sniper was wounded. There was blood.” She paused, those blue eyes searching his face.

  “Where was Samantha hit?”

  “Her leg. My brother said it was a flesh wound. It didn’t hit the bone.”

  “Thank God for that.” He felt as if he could breathe again. He hadn’t realized how much he had come to care about Sam.

  Then his mind turned to the FBI agent. “Was the agent named McLean?”

  “Yes.” Her gaze hadn’t left his face. He wondered how much she knew about his background… and McLean’s.

  “And she’s with him now?”

  She nodded.

  He wondered whether his face was as frozen as it felt. Ever since he heard about McLean’s mother, he’d worried about his sister. How far would McLean go to get his revenge, or his idea of justice?

  “And you have no idea who chased away the sniper?” he finally asked.

  “As I said, he just disappeared.” She paused, then asked, “It wasn’t you?”

  “No.” He wished it had been when he saw the light disappear from her face.

  “Then it must have been someone Patsy sent. Sam believes that.”

  Patsy. His mother. He didn’t want to talk about Patsy Carroll. It was too late for that. But he did want to continue talking to Terri Faulkner. And he wanted to know more about Sam. And McLean. “Will you have supper with me?”

  “My brother is going to pick me up,” she said.

  “I’ll take you home afterward,” he offered.

  “My brothers might well end up eating at the next table,” she said. “They are skittish after what happened.”

  “I’m glad they are,” he said. He told himself he wanted to take her to supper only to learn more. But another voice in his head chided him for lying to himself. He needed her at the moment. Someone who didn’t want anything from him. And perhaps he would get to know more about Sam.

  And her mother.

  He had to admit in the past few days to a curiosity. He didn’t want it. No matter the circumstance, she had chosen to abandon him. But she’d also evoked strong loyalty from Sam and even from the husband she’d betrayed and left.
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br />   “Okay,” she said. “But I have to make a phone call.” She paused. “Where will we be going?”

  “Your choice.”

  “There’s a good restaurant down the block.” She seemed to be holding her breath.

  “Sounds good to me.”

  “Give me a few moments.”

  She disappeared into the back, and a cat wandered out. A calico. It eyed him with haughty dignity as if she belonged and he didn’t.

  He smiled. He’d often thought about getting a dog, but it just didn’t work with his lifestyle. He traveled overseas too frequently, and spent long days at the office when in Boston. He’d never had a pet. As a boy, he’d longed for one. But he’d been in military schools.

  Terri emerged from the back room. He’d come here to warn Samantha but he knew—reluctantly—she was probably in good hands. If McLean didn’t let the past get in the way.

  She’s an adult. She cm take care of herself.

  He kept telling himself that.

  Still, he wanted to find her. Maybe Terri Faulkner could help him.

  Terri turned the open sign on the door to closed.

  “Ready,” she said.

  She didn’t say anything else and he didn’t ask. He was grateful to have gotten as far as he had.

  He touched her aim lightly as they left the gallery and she turned to lock it, then they walked down the street. Several people stopped to speak to her, and she introduced him as a Maid from the East.

  She had an easy, friendly manner and a quirky sense of humor. He enjoyed being with her more than he should have. He was used to escorting attractive ladies, most of whom were businesswomen climbing the corporate ladder. Sam had told him about Terri, said she was a teacher.

  He’d never dated a teacher before.

  This wasn’t a date, he told himself. He just wanted information.

  His mind went to McLean, who’d watched his mother die in the streets, according to Victor. No wonder he was after the Merrittas. Nick wasn’t sure he would have had that kind of patience to pursue his enemies within the boundaries of the law.

  It was early enough that they were quickly seated. The restaurant was “Old West rustic” with candles on the table. He leaned back and studied his companion. She wore a simple pink blouse and jeans that were just tight enough.