Twisted Shadows (20 page)

She walked to the door that separated the two rooms and peered inside. Kelley was sitting in a chair, reading a newspaper. He looked up.

“You haven't slept?” she asked.

“No,” he said. “But I often go without sleep for a day or two.”

She sat down on his bed, running her hand through her hair, aware for the first time that she was wearing only an overlarge shirt and panties, and hadn't given a thought to her hair.

“I'm going to make plane reservations,” she said.

He nodded.

“Have you been a private detective long?”

“Eight years. Before that, I was in the Boston P.D.”

“Then Merritta is not a name unknown to you?”

His eyes met hers. “No.”

“Does that bother you, that I'm Paul Merritta's daughter?”

“No. I never believed in damnation by association.”

“What do you know about Nick Merritt?” she asked.

“Only that he's paying the bill,” Kelley said.

A diplomatic answer, but she looked at his face and knew she would not get a better one.

He apparently had a certain set of ethics, even if it did include working for a family connected to crime.

“Do you think someone will try again?”

“No,” he said. “Not immediately.”

“Why?”

“They had surprise on their side last night. Now they don't. Now they know Mr. Merritt will be expecting something and be prepared.”

“Now?” she said. “What about next week or next month?”

His expression told her she was right, that she might well be in danger beyond “now.” Her head hurt from the possibilities.

“How long are you going to stay with me?” she asked.

“Until you leave Boston. Mr. Merritt might want someone to meet you on the other end.”

“I can't go through life with a bodyguard.”

Once more, his expression said clearly what he didn't put into words. She might not have a life without one.

She returned to her room and went into the bathroom. Unfortunately, she glanced in the mirror. Her eyes were shadowed, her usually tanned face drawn and pale, and her hair limp and straggly.

She put her fingers to her lips. She could still feel McLean's kiss. The way it had ignited feelings that were so explosive.

She'd been tired and frightened, she told herself. That was why she'd reacted that way. Still, she couldn't forget his image nor the passion in his eyes as he'd kissed her, or the way her body had reacted.

After a quick—and painful—shower, she brushed her hair dry, annoyed that her hand trembled slightly. She thought she had conquered her fear last night, but now she knew it lingered deep inside. Someone had actually tried to kill her. She also kept remembering Nick's warning about her mother yesterday, that she could lead to her mother's destruction.

Why?

She willed her hand to still. She had to contact her mother, but how? She'd lost her cell phone and her purse in the explosion. She could buy a new one, but then she would have to charge the batteries. She couldn't call her mother from here. The call could be too easily tracked.

Kelley might have a cell phone. But he worked for her brother. He might well be able to retrieve the number and her mother's location at the cabin.

She had to get to a pay phone, and she wanted to do it without Kelley. Otherwise, he or someone else might get access to her mother's number.

She had closed the connecting door but had not locked it. She couldn't do that now without alerting Kelley.

Instead she dressed quickly, took her credit card and money from the room safe and stuffed them in her pocket. Then she turned on the shower again. She took one look at the connecting door, then left the room, closing the hall door quietly behind her.

She avoided the elevator and took the exit steps downstairs, going out the back entrance.

Sam walked several blocks and finally found a pay phone in a coffee shop. Then she dialed her mother's cell phone.

Her mother answered on the first ring. “Samantha? Thank God. I've been worried about you. I tried to reach you but the phone was out of service. You said you would keep it on.”

“I know. I'm sorry,” she said, trying to decide how much to say without panicking her mother. “There was an accident last night and I lost the phone. I'm not hurt,” she added quickly. “Not a mark,” she lied.
Not serious ones, anyway
.

“What happened?” Apprehension laced the words.

“Nick was driving me home. Another car came too close and bumped his. He went off the road. Really, it was nothing. I'm untouched.”

“And Nicholas?” Fear was evident in her mother's voice.

“A few minor wounds. Nothing serious. He'll be home today.”

“Minor?”

“His arm.”

She heard the rush of an indrawn breath. “What
about
his arm?”

Sam hated lying, or even being misleading, but she knew her mother's response if she explained exactly what had happened. She would probably be on the next plane. “He's fine, Mother, really he is. So am I.”

A brief silence. “Has … he changed his mind about seeing me?”

“Not yet. He has to get used to the idea first. He thought you and I were dead. That we had died in an automobile accident.”

“I didn't know that.”
And she hadn't
. Sam knew that from the stunned tone of her voice. Sam wanted to ask about a divorce, or lack of one, but that was something that had to wait.

“How did you think he would explain your—our—disappearance?” Sam asked.

“I didn't—” Her mother's voice dropped off.

“Didn't think about it?” Sam asked.

Her mother didn't answer. Instead she asked a question of her own. “What does
he
want?”

Sam didn't have to ask who he was. “I still don't know. He said something about unfinished business. But he really is sick. I don't think he has long to live. I said I would see him today, but first I want to see Nick again.”

“Has Nicholas asked anything yet … about me?” She'd asked the same question yesterday.

“No,” Sam said as gently as she could.

“I … wanted—” Her mother's voice trailed off. “I could never go near him. Paul told me …”

“He told you what?”

“He
warned
me,” her mother corrected. “When are you coming home?”

“Soon,” Sam said. “Probably tomorrow.”

“Maybe I'll return home. The gallery—”

“The gallery is fine, Mother. Terri and Helen can handle things just fine. You should stay where you are.”

“Is there any reason—?”

“I don't know,” Sam said honestly. “I just think you're safer where you are right now until I get back. Promise me you're staying put.”

Sam could feel her mother's reluctance over the phone.

“For another day,” her mother finally said. “I won't promise more.”

“I'll call you tonight,” Sam said, eager to get off the line before her mother changed her mind.

“Nick,” her mother said again. “Tell him … I would like to see him. Try to explain …” The pain in her mother's voice was excruciating.

“I will,” Sam promised. She remembered what her mother had said in Steamboat Springs. It was too late for Nick. She evidently hadn't believed that herself, had only wanted to keep Sam from going.

“Be careful.”

“I'm always careful,” Sam replied.

“No, you're not.”

“Then I'm not foolish,” Sam said, wondering whether that was an honest statement. Maybe coming here had been foolish. But how could she have not?

She hung up, then called Terri. She needed a friend. She needed sanity.

Terri answered immediately, almost as if she had been waiting next to the phone. The thought warmed Sam.

“Terri?”

“Sam. I didn't expect to hear from you so soon. Are you all right?”

“Yes, but I'm worried about my mother. She's promised to stay away. I think she will, but if she doesn't, please stay with her. I don't want her alone.”

“I will,” Terri promised. “Has anything happened?”

“Just a minor accident,” Sam said, not wanting to explain everything now. “But I would like you to look after things.”

“I will. When will you be back?”

“No later than tomorrow night.”

“Can I reach you if necessary?”

“I lost my phone,” Sam said. “I'll call you.”

“That sounds ominous.”

“Not really. I'm just moving around a lot.”

“Everything's fine here.”

“Good. And thanks.”

She hung up, went into the shop and bought two cups of coffee and some donuts, then returned to the hotel. Her gaze kept darting along the street, but nothing seemed out of the ordinary.

When she arrived back at her room, he was pacing the floor. “Where in the hell …?”

She held out the bag.

“There's room service, you know,” he said grumpily.

“I know. I had cabin fever.”

He gave her a look that said he knew exactly what she'd been doing. “I'm not sure you understand that someone tried to kill you.”

The simple, stark statement hit her broadside. Her knees buckled, dropped her onto the bed behind her. She'd been running on automatic pilot. Somehow hearing it said flat out made it more real.

“Let me ask you something,” she said.

He nodded.

“Just before I came here, my house was burglarized. I was attacked when I apparently interrupted whoever it was, but they didn't really hurt me. Just knocked me unconscious.”

“Mr. Merritt knows about this?”

“Yes. But why would they just hit me then, and try to kill me now?”

“Maybe they didn't have orders to kill you then. Maybe someone just wanted to discover how much you knew. Or frighten you.”

She nodded. “Maybe they just wanted to frighten me again last night.”

“Maybe,” he said. He paused. “As long as I'm watching over you, don't keep anything from me,” he warned.

She ignored the detective and picked up the room phone. Sam called the airline, told them that she had an electronic ticket and wanted to book a return flight. In minutes she'd checked on flights and discovered one was available at three today, another at midnight, and several tomorrow. All were available. She decided to wait to make her choice. First, she had to say good-bye to Nick, had to make sure they would keep in touch. She wasn't going to let him go, now that she'd found him.

She called the hospital and asked for his room. He answered.

“Hi,” she said. “This is Sam.”

There was a silence, then, “I'd hoped you would be flying home by now.”

“Have to see you first.”

Another silence. Then a sigh. Finally he said, “I'll be leaving here as soon as the doctor comes by.”

“I'm on the way,” she said.

“With Kelley?”

“With Kelley,” she agreed.

A pause. “Did you call the family about last night?”

“No. I thought that should be your decision.”

“You show promise.” It was the nicest thing he'd said, and despite the last deadly hours, she felt a warm glow replacing some of the chill inside, even though she knew she had to be cautious. For her mother. For herself.

“See you,” she said, and hung up.

Nick was dressed in street clothes and appeared ready to leave when she arrived at his room in the hospital. His arm was in a sling, and he hadn't shaved. He grimaced with each movement, and she knew he shouldn't be leaving the hospital yet. But his face was grim and his lips were tight in a determined line. Another man stood to his side, and she looked at him with curiosity. It must be Nick's partner.

The man was slender and slightly balding, and he had a pleasant face.

Nick's expression didn't change. “This is Cal, my partner,” he said. “Cal, this is … Samantha Carroll.”

Sam had thought for a fraction of a second that he was going to say
my sister
. She wondered whether he was still fighting that truth.

“Where are you going?” she asked Nick.

“Home.”

It was a strangely stiff conversation, completely lacking any of the fleeting warmth from last night. They were strangers again, and he seemed intent on keeping it that way.

She wasn't going to allow him to do that. “Will you keep in touch with me?” she asked.

“Why?”

“Because you're my brother.”

He looked out the window. “That's an accident of birth, nothing more.”

Frustration filled her. Every time she thought she might be building a relationship with him, he kicked it away.

“Ah … both of you.” The voice came from the doorway, and she spun around. Nathan McLean stood there along with another man dressed in a suit and tie.

The FBI agent's gaze went from her to Nick, then to Cal before finally resting on her. “You saved me a trip, Miss Carroll,” he said formally. There was no hint of the explosive intimacy they'd shared yesterday. Or maybe it had been only lust to him. Or technique.

Nick stepped between them. “What do you want now?”

“You haven't heard?”

Nick's eyebrows drew together. “Heard what?”

“Your father's dead.”

sixteen

Her father.

Shock stunned Sam.

He had been that only a few days. How do you find a father—even a not very likeable one—one day and lose him a few days later?

She was grateful she'd at least met him. Now it wouldn't be an open sore. But she would never know what he had meant by “unfinished business.” She swallowed, surprised at the lump in her throat.

She looked at Nick. After all, Paul Merritta had been his father since birth.

His expression didn't change. It was like a mask—but it usually was.