Twisted Shadows (21 page)

He didn't ask why or how.

Nick stared at the FBI agent. “Is there anything else you want?”

“Only to tell you we're requesting an autopsy.” His gaze met hers. “Miss Carroll, meet my partner Gray Evans. Gray, this is Samantha Carroll. She was with Mr. Merritt last night.”

His fellow agent studied her. She felt uncomfortable under his scrutiny until he smiled. Warm and disarming. “Not much of a welcome,” he said. “I'm sorry for your loss.” How many times had she heard those same words in some police series on television? It was, apparently, the condolence of choice.

She should feel something. Instead she was just numb. Numb from the news, numb from the stillness and the hostility of the man who stood stiffly across from her. It was difficult to imagine how he had kissed her last night—or had it been this morning? He clearly regretted it now.

“I don't understand why there's a need for an autopsy,” Sam said. “He was very sick.”

“You don't often drop dead suddenly of cancer,” McLean replied.

“Any signs of violence?” Kelley interceded.

McLean gave him a look of contempt. “Going to the dark side, Kelley?”

“I won't dignify that,” Kelley said. “Were there any signs that it was anything but a natural death?” he persisted.

“Not outward ones,” McLean said, “but we find it strange that he died the same night someone was trying to kill you two.” His gaze pinned Nick. “You called him last night. Would you like to tell me what you talked about?”

“No,” Nicholas said. “I wouldn't.”

“Why?”

“It's none of your business, unless you think I shot myself, and Miss Carroll here is lying and you didn't see what you saw.”

“Want me to list how many times your family and others like it have gone to extremes just to establish an alibi? It might be worth a bullet in the arm and a totaled car to keep a will from being changed.”

Sam saw Nicholas's eyes darken. Then it was as if a curtain had dropped over them, for all the emotion they showed. She shivered as the FBI agent's implication sank in.

He thought Nick had staged the accident and had had Paul Merritta killed to keep her from inheriting?

“He wouldn't … He knows I don't want …” She shook her head, cleared her throat. It was more than she could take in all at once. Only one thing seemed real.

Dead. Paul Merritta—her biological father—was dead.

And she
did
feel grief, she realized. Or was it regret? Not solely for the man she'd never known, but for all she hadn't learned and now probably never would. Why had Paul Merritta let her go? Why had her mother let Nick go?

Nick's eyes lowered just a bit, a crease between his brows. Pain. Yet it didn't seem to be physical pain. He, too, was feeling the loss. And his was by far the greater loss. She realized how much luckier she'd been than Nick. She'd had a mother and father, both of whom had loved her.

She wanted to touch Nick, to share the loss, not only the immediate one but the loss that had been created more than thirty years earlier, but he was even more unapproachable than before. But for that one small betrayal of emotion, it was as if he'd turned to stone.

Then he turned away from McLean. “You've delivered your news. You're not wanted here.”

Neither agent made any move to leave. Instead McLean leaned against the wall, looking fresh and relaxed—and irresistibly attractive—even though she knew he hadn't had much, if any, sleep last night.

She felt warm again even though the emotional temperature in the room had grown decidedly chilly.

McLean studied first Sam, then Nicholas. “No one told you about your father's death?”

“You did,” Nick said flatly.

McLean's mouth moved, as if he muttered a curse beneath his breath, yet he showed no other sign of remorse or regret for the way Nick had learned of his father's death.

Sam felt the same palpable tension between the two men as she had last night. If anything, it was stronger. She had the instant impression of animals staring one another down, each refusing to show weakness. Or fear.

McLean's gaze dueled with Nick's for a moment. “I find that strange. Just like I find it strange that none of your family is here.”

“I imagine they were busy enough with my father,” Nick said.

“What time did he die?” Sam asked.

“He was found around seven this morning,” the other FBI agent said. “We came to ask him some questions about last evening, and the maid checked on him. He'd been dead perhaps an hour. I expected that someone would have contacted you.”

“I doubt anyone knew where I was,” Nick said.

McLean turned to her, his eyes cool. “And you? What did you and Merritta talk about last night?”

She shot a look at Nick, then her gaze went back to McLean. “Very little. He said I was unfinished business. I hoped he would say more, but he had an attack of some kind. And that's all
I
know.”

She was angry now. Angry at his veiled accusations concerning her brother, at the icy way he regarded both of them.

His gaze met hers. Held it. Probing. She remembered that she'd promised to talk to some officers today about the accident, but there hadn't been time. “Nothing about what he expected from you?” McLean asked. “No questions about your mother?”

Then she remembered. “
I swear I will do nothing to harm your mother if she does nothing to harm me.
”

The reminder must have shown in her face.

“Miss Carroll?” McLean tried again.

“Nothing. He just asked about her.”

She saw in his face that he knew she was lying. She wished she were a better liar. That was another first.

“My brother has an alibi. He can't be a suspect.”

“He wouldn't have to do it himself.”

Nick was watching them, a curious smile on his face. It sent a chill down her back. “My sister and I appreciate your giving us the news. Now, if you don't have a warrant, you can get the hell out of here.”

“No gratitude for saving your life?” McLean said.

His partner looked surprised.

“We both know why you did that.” Nick didn't elaborate.

“Why?” she asked.

“Can you think of a better way of getting your help?” Nick said. “And there would have been questions if he hadn't. His people know how he feels about the Merrittas.”

Sam looked at her watch. It was hours after Paul Merritta had been found. Long enough for someone in the family to have found Nick and told him. She looked at him again and saw him give an almost imperceptible shake of his head. He was telling her not to pursue it.

She looked down and saw that her right hand had balled into a fist. She forced herself to open it before the FBI agent saw it and seized upon the gesture as weakness. Loneliness washed over her.

She fastened her gaze on the window. She needed someone who was objective. But there was only herself and her instincts, and those seemed to have gone into hibernation.

She swallowed hard. She wished she could talk to McLean. There had been a moment last night when she'd felt she could confide in him, when a moment of magic seemed to wrap around them, shutting out everything else. When she'd felt safe, when she'd felt complete trust. She still felt the tingling of her body, the taste of his lips.

But his face had warmth in it. No remembrances for him, apparently. She had to remind herself he was Nick's declared enemy.

“You've delivered your news,” Nick said.

McLean ignored his suggestion. “His death makes you the heir,” he said.

“Does it? Then you know more than I do.”

“What are your plans now, Merritt?” McLean asked.

“None of your business.” They were bristling like two junkyard dogs.

“Don't go out of town, Merritt,” the other agent said softly.

“You can't keep me here. You have no cause.”

The other agent stepped forward. “The attack last night is under investigation. You and Miss … Carroll are material witnesses.”

“My attorney won't think so,” Nick said.

“I was planning on leaving soon,” she said.

McLean's attention shot to her. “Not staying for the funeral?”

Funeral
. She hadn't thought about that. She was speeding down a roller coaster that had no end.

“That's her business,” Nick said.

McLean's gaze remained on her. “We can help you, Miss Carroll,” he said coolly. “After last night, we thought you might change your mind. We can give you protection. Just say the word.”

Sam thought briefly about staying for the funeral. She'd just met the man. A cold chill ran through her as she realized he'd died just hours after she'd met him.

But staying would be a fraud. She hadn't particularly liked him. She didn't want any of what he had.

Because of him, her life had become the stuff of nightmares. She suspected it would remain a nightmare for a long time.

She suddenly knew she had to get home, had to ask more questions of her mother. Perhaps then she could return. But now she wanted her life back. The nice sane life that she'd loved. She longed to sip a glass of wine while watching a sunset over the mountains, to see people without wondering whether they wanted to kill her.

“I plan to leave in the morning.” She challenged the FBI agent with her eyes. She couldn't take his offer even if she wanted to. He had pretended an attraction and sympathy when all he'd wanted was to use her to destroy her brother. “Unless you have a charge …”

He studied her as if she were a butterfly on a pin, and that hurt more than she thought possible. So much for that brief intimacy, for the safety she'd felt when he'd caught her in his arms.

“We'll want to talk to you again,” he said. “Let us know where you will be staying.”

“As I told you, I met Paul Merritta for the first time yesterday. I know nothing about his business and I really don't care to know anything.”

“You could be one of his heirs,” he said. “If so, you would have an interest in his death.”

“Since he showed little interest in me yesterday, I doubt he left me anything,” she said.

McLean looked skeptical. “Your brother called his father early this morning,” he said. “Probably not long before he died.”

She swiveled around to stare at Nick. She'd been under the impression that he seldom saw, or talked to, his father. He gave her a bland stare, and she turned back to McLean. “How do you know?” she asked.

“We checked with the phone company,” he said.

“He has a tap on all the phones at the house,” Nick corrected with a slight half smile.

Sam looked at McLean. “You can do that?”

“They can do any damn thing they want,” Nick said. “And they do. In fact, I don't suppose you have anything to do with the new IRS audit.”

“Different jurisdiction.”

“Like hell,” Nick muttered. “Just leave Samantha alone,” he added. “She has nothing to do with this. She didn't even know we existed until a week or so ago.”

That plea cost her brother. Sam felt it to the marrow of her bones. His supposed indifference toward her was a lie.

“
You
could cooperate with us,” McLean said.

Nick gave him a look of disbelief. “Peddle your wares someplace else.”

McLean shrugged and turned back to Sam. “Do you still have my card?”

She hesitated.

He took one out of his jacket and dropped it in her pocket. “Even from Steamboat Springs,” he said.

She wondered whether he knew about her calls to the airline this morning.

Everyone knew more about her than she knew about them.

It was disconcerting …

Terrifying.

Nate watched Samantha Carroll carefully. There was no mistaking the shock in her face at the news of Paul Merritta's death. Her brother's face was far less easy to read. Nate had never been able to touch him, and that frustrated him no end.

If Nick Merritt wasn't directly involved in his family's business, particularly laundering money, then he had information. But Nate had always felt deep in his gut that Nicholas Merritt
was
involved more directly. Original seed money for the company came from a bank that also managed most of the Merritta family's accounts.

Coincidence? Nate didn't think so. Despite audits, despite wiretaps, they'd never found a connection between Merritta's family businesses and Nick Merritt's corporation. He would, though. One of these days, he would.

If
Merritt survived the next few weeks.

His instincts convinced him that the hit last night had been meant for Nick Merritt, not the woman. A hit on Samantha made no sense, not unless she was in Paul Merritta's will, and he didn't think anyone knew if that was the case yet.

Nate had no illusions about what would happen now. The Merrittas had gradually moved much of the family wealth into legitimate businesses, but the family was still involved in protection and city contracts, both areas the Irish mafia coveted. He also was well aware that some members of the Merritta family wanted to get back into narcotics.

In the past few hours he'd checked further into Samantha Carroll's background. The big puzzle was why—after all these years—Paul Merritta had asked to see her. Most likely, he'd known she existed—and where she lived—for the past thirty-four years.

One interesting fact was her business. Like her brother's firm, Western Wonders had the right dynamics to launder money. It served international clients over the web. But he suspected Paul Merritta's interest went deeper than that.

Paul Merritta had been dying of cancer, but no one had expected his death to come this soon.

That it had sharpened Nate's instincts.

So had his impression that Merritt hadn't heard about his father's death. Merritt had been expressionless, but Nate thought he'd seen a flicker of surprise in his eyes. Had no one called the man who predictably would inherit most of the Merritta empire? They had known where he was. He himself had informed them, waiting to see their reaction. They had shown precious little concern—or even interest—for their relative, but they had been stunned by the old man's death.