Twisted Shadows (39 page)

“I thought it had. I truly thought it would when Paul died …” Her voice trailed off.

Sam wondered how much Simon had told her. She thought her mother should know the whole truth. “Nathan thinks there might be divergent interests after us. That someone in the family feels you or I will complicate the estate, and that someone else believes you can tie an old murder to him.”

A silence. “Samantha—”

“Nick's in Steamboat,” Sam interrupted. She didn't want any more apologies.

“Why?”

“I don't know. He went to the gallery. He met Terri and took her out to supper. I'm not sure why, but she said he's desperate to get in touch with me.”

“But not me?”

“Once he knows you—”

“He could never forgive me. I can't forgive myself. I deserve anything that happens to me. But you don't. Neither does he.”

“We'll be there soon. We'll sort it out.”

Sam heard a voice in the background. “You'd better cut it off, Patsy.”

“I should go,” her mother said.

“See you soon.”

“I love you.”

“I know,” Sam said. “I love you, too.”

Despite his earlier reservations, Nathan decided he and Sam would take the room Maddox had already rented. He could drive to another motel, but Sam was exhausted and obviously in pain.

And Maddox had had his chances if he'd intended any immediate harm.

Nate looked at the table and the cell phone Maddox had left with them. He didn't know exactly what Sam's mother had said, but Sam was convinced now that her mother was in safe hands and had dropped all her suspicions of Jack Maddox.

Nate knew he would feel better when he had a complete report on Sam's new benefactor; he knew Gray would have something for him in the morning. In the meantime, he intended to be very, very cautious.

The room was only three doors down from Maddox. That meant an extra gun. An additional set of eyes.

The thing to worry about was Chicago. And getting there.

Tomorrow he would exchange rental cars again.

He carried what few things they had into the room, secured all the locks, then for good measure put a chair under the doorknob. Primitive, but useful.

The room contained two double beds, a small refrigerator with ice trays and a large bathroom.

Sam headed for that, and in seconds he heard the sound of a shower.

He filled a glass with ice, then water from a faucet in the room, and he sat back in a chair and tried to keep his mind off the woman in the shower and on the matter at hand. His problem with Maddox and his friend Simon was they were too good to be true. Yet it made sense that David Carroll's precautions wouldn't end with his death. Men like him thought beyond the grave as thoroughly as they saw beyond shadows. And Sam was convinced her mother wasn't under any kind of restraint, that she completely trusted the men who had been friends of her husband.

He heard a voice from inside the bathroom, an off-tune but lilting melody, and smiled. He wanted to go in there. He felt dirty and grungy and frustrated that he'd not been more effective.

He rose and went into the bathroom. Steam drifted up around him and he grabbed a towel just as she stepped from the shower. She looked startled, then her lips curved into a smile that went straight to his heart.

Nate wrapped the towel around her and slowly dried her, massaging her neck and back. Then he used a second towel to dry her hair.

He stood back and stared at her. She looked glorious to him with sleepy eyes and that slight smile on her face.

“You're beautiful,” he said.

“Thank you,” she said.

He liked that, too. No demurrals. No protestations.

He leaned over and touched her lips with his before stepping back, then he lifted her easily and carried her to one of the double beds. He changed the wet bandage on her thigh. It looked raw and angry to him, but he knew the antibiotics would work their magic. He finished, fetched her a glass of water with pills and watched as she downed them.

Then he sat next to her and massaged her neck again.

“How did you learn to do that?” she said.

“It's a natural talent,” he replied. He had learned to do it for his mother when she would return home from waiting tables, barely able to walk. He would make toasted cheese sandwiches for her or heat canned soup and massage her neck.

He'd recognized, even then, how hard she had tried to keep them together. His fingers paused and Sam murmured, her eyes drifting shut.

“Stay with me,” she said as he rose.

“I'll be here.”

“I mean in bed.”

That hadn't been his intention. He meant to stay at the window that overlooked the parking lot.

A few moments …

He shucked his shoes and socks. He wanted to shuck the jeans and shirt as well, but that, he knew, wouldn't be wise. Above all, she needed rest, not a horny agent. He lay down next to her, and she snuggled in his arms. He was very aware of her nakedness, of the awareness spreading in his own body.

He couldn't help but reach out with one hand and touch her damp curling hair and trace his fingers down her cheek, relishing the smooth, soft texture.

A purr escaped her, and he knew he was smiling. He wanted her to purr. He wanted her to relax and sleep and feel safe again.

He stayed there, unmoving except for an occasional touch of wistful yearning. He stayed until he knew she was well asleep, then gently disengaged himself and walked over to the window. He scanned the lit parking lot. There were a few more cars, none of which looked suspicious. He turned out the last light and pulled a chair up to the window, resting his weapon within reach on the bedside table.

His thoughts kept returning to the naked woman sleeping in the bed beside him while his gaze continued to roam the parking lot. Every movement, every new car was scrutinized. He glanced at the clock. Four in the morning.

He would try to catch a few hours' sleep when she woke.

It was going to be a long time before dawn.

Nick had never been so frustrated. He'd barely slept last night after leaving Terri Faulkner.

Thoughts tumbled in his mind. He'd been in Steamboat a day. There was no sign of Sam. Nor of Nathan McLean. He wanted to believe that meant she was safe. Ironically, her best chance of safety could be Nathan McLean, though he hated to admit that, even to himself. The very qualities in McLean that angered Nick were the ones needed to protect Sam.

Still, he wished he knew how far McLean would go to bring down the Merritta family. Especially since he'd heard why McLean had been so relentless in his investigations.

Worse, Nick worried about Sam being hurt emotionally, when he should be worrying that she could be killed. The last thing
he
needed was to allow Sam into his life.

The last thing
she
needed was any kind of personal connection with any member of his family.

Sam, as an heir, had become a very valuable commodity.

So had her mother, though for a different reason.

Whoever made both of them disappear would make a great deal of money. And someone who used them to prosecute the Merritta family would advance his career immeasurably.

Nick wasn't going to let either happen.

He checked his e-mail. That, he'd concluded, was the safest method to talk to Victor.

He'd told Victor through an agreed-upon e-mail address about the shooting and that he didn't want any more incidents involving Samantha.

In his reply, Victor vehemently denied having anything to do with the latest attack and said he'd passed on Nick's message to other members of the family. But then he'd lied to Nick before.

He ran over other possibilities.

Rosa? Anna? According to Terri, she and Samantha both thought the shooter meant to kill. According to the contract on them, the other party involved wanted them alive to retrieve property lost three decades earlier.

He e-mailed Victor back.
Tell the family I'll crush anyone I find involved in the attacks on my sister
.

He signed off and sat back, pondering his next move. Terri either didn't know or wouldn't tell him where Sam was. He suspected it was the first, since McLean appeared to be in charge. But Terri would be in contact with Sam. He knew his sister well enough now to know she would want to make sure Terri Faulkner was safe.

Maybe if he spent enough time with Terri …

Dammit, but it wouldn't be hard. He wondered whether he was making up a reason to be with her.

She'd made him relax. She was the least self-conscious person he'd ever met, and it was obvious from everyone who greeted her that she was a much loved person in the town.

She was gentle, funny, bright. She'd made him smile. It had been a long time since that had happened.

He made coffee in the small drip machine, grimacing as he tasted it, then sat back at the desk in his room. He shouldn't be thinking of a woman. Matters were coming to a head. The violence was stepping up. No telling how many people were looking for his sister and his mother.

His sister and his mother
. Strange words for him. Uncomfortable ones. New. Even painful.

Terri Faulkner could be the key to finding his sister.

He told himself that again as he picked up the phone and dialed her number.

thirty

“Samantha!”

Nathan's voice was brusque, rousing her.

It had been such a deep sleep that it took her a moment to recognize the urgency. She opened her eyes and sat up.

“Nate?”

“Get dressed,” he said.

His tone told her not to question. Her clothes were folded neatly at the end of the bed. She'd left them in the bathroom last night. At least, she thought she had.

He was looking out the window. He was fully dressed, his weapon out of the holster attached to his belt. Something had obviously alerted him.

Sam put on the bra, pulled the T-shirt over her head, then shimmied into her briefs and jeans. Her leg was stiff. It still hurt but not as much as yesterday.

“What is it?” she asked as she reached his side.

“Call Maddox. Room 128. See if he's awake. Then ask him to look outside.”

His eyes glinted approval as she followed his instructions, trusting his instincts over her own fears.

Maddox was curt. Sam finished the short conversation and hung up the phone. “He's awake. He says you're right and to give him five minutes, then expect one hell of a disturbance. We should leave then.”

“And go where?”

“We have a number to call,” she said. “And his cell phone. He insists it's safe.”

She saw Nate look at his watch. She looked at her own. Only a few moments had passed between a sound sleep and more fear, more running.

Time crawled. She wanted to go to the window but his body language told her he didn't want her there. Instead she went quietly throughout the room, picked up everything and packed their belongings in one bag. She took her own weapon from her purse, gripping her gun with her right hand and the bag and purse with her left hand.

He motioned for her to go to the door. She dropped the bag while she undid all the locks, then picked up their meager belongings again.

Suddenly she heard a loud crash outside followed by loud angry voices.

Nate had car keys in one hand, his pistol in the other. “Leave the bag,” he said, and tossed her the keys. “Go to the car. Unlock it and get in. I'll be right behind you.”

She obediently opened the door. A pickup truck had smashed into a black sedan. She saw two men swearing at Maddox. She sprinted the few feet to their car and unlocked it, sliding over to the passenger's side, and leaving the door open on the driver's side.

She glanced back at the wreck Maddox had caused. Jock was growling. Maddox was bristling, loudly telling them that there was no need for hostility. He'd turned away, forcing the two men to do the same. She heard one last complaint from him—it was a simple accident—as she closed the door and ducked down. Sirens wailed, the sound growing louder as official vehicles approached.

Maddox obviously had timed everything to the last second. He'd probably called the police to report the accident just before he'd rammed the car.

Nate got into the driver's seat and steered the car out onto the road just as a police car turned into the parking lot.

He grinned. “Maddox must have been damned good at his job. He has them neatly foxed. He's the righteous citizen who called the police when he'd backed into a car. No need for harsh words. It will take them a few moments to sort things out.”

“But they'll know about Maddox then.”

“Not really. I imagine they might guess what happened, but they have more important goals now.”

“To find us.”

“Yes, and we're going to make it hard on them.”

She saw his twitching mouth. He was obviously still amused by Maddox and Jock. “How?”

“I need sleep. I can't go much farther without it, and you can't drive with that leg. That leaves plane, train and bus,” he explained. “If they know about Chicago, they'll be looking at airports and airline manifests, but buses and trains …”

“How did they find us?” she asked.

“Your friend Terri's phone might be tapped. House wired. Next time you talk to her, you might ask whether there have been repairmen at either the gallery or her home. Or we could have a GPU unit secreted someplace in this car. I checked pretty thoroughly but it's basically just a chip. It could be anywhere.”

“Then which is it? Bus or train?”

“My preference is a train. Except in the northern corridor, we can purchase a ticket aboard the train. We need a photo identification, but I doubt if anyone will find us soon. Not only that, there's a number of stations near Chicago. We can get off at any one of them.”

“We need cash,” she said.

“I picked some up before leaving Boston,” he replied. “I thought there might be a time I wouldn't want to leave a paper trail.”