Twisted Shadows (18 page)

“Someone else apparently does, too. We can offer both of you protection.”

“I've seen what happens to people you protect,” her brother said. “A lot of them end up dead. You can leave now unless you have a warrant.”

“A crime's been committed tonight.”

“I was the victim. I think even you would have a hard time dreaming up a federal charge.”

“The time will come. Why get Miss Carroll involved?”

“If you want to talk to her, then talk to
her
.”

“He has,” she interrupted.

Nick looked surprised and glanced at the door, apparently noticing her for the first time. She'd been standing there, unseen, she thought, since the two men were so intent on their own personal agenda.

McLean didn't move. She wondered whether he'd known she had been there, listening. “She's as close-mouthed as you,” he said. “I don't think she understands how dangerous that can be. How dangerous being with your family can be.”

Nick said nothing.

She stepped inside the dark room. Only the light from the bathroom cast any illumination. “I think you should go,” she said to McLean.

The agent's eyes glittered as he turned to her, then back to her brother. “Who was the shooter?”

“I don't know,” Nick said.

“You must have suspicions.”

“
You
always have suspicions, McLean. That doesn't seem to help you.”

McLean shrugged and turned back to her. “Will you reconsider a ride to your hotel? And protection?”

“No,” Nick said. “Someone is coming here for her.”

“One of your soldiers?”

“Go to hell,” Nick said.

Hostility vibrated in the room.

Emotions warred inside her. She was protecting someone the FBI obviously thought was a bad guy. She recalled her mother's strained face, the fear in her eyes, and she felt as if her world tipped upside down. She'd always felt safe before, safe and loved. She'd always trusted people, trusted her instincts. Now she didn't know whether she could trust anyone again.

Yet the man in bed had protected her, taking a bullet meant for her. He was the brother she'd always wanted. She didn't want to believe he was involved in his father's business.

There it was again.
His
father.
Her
mother. Neither of them had entirely accepted the new family dynamics except perhaps for each other. In the past twenty-four hours she felt they had started building something together.

She tried to tell herself it didn't matter what he did, or what he was. He had protected her at risk to himself and that meant everything to her.

Events had happened so quickly, she thought part of her must be in shock, which was why she still didn't quite know what she was doing, or why, or what the ramifications would be. For someone who had always been so methodical in her life, she felt she was on a runaway roller coaster, holding on to Nick for dear life.

She realized the FBI agent had not moved, but was watching her carefully. “I'm going to get some coffee,” she said as she turned to the door. She stepped outside and let the door close slowly behind her.

Nick had called for someone to come and stay with her, but how long would that take? And how could she trust even that person? She hadn't been safe in Nick's car. Maybe …

So many maybes were flying through her head. She needed to call her mother, reassure herself that Patsy was safe. But how? Her pocketbook with most of her money was in the car that had gone up in flames. So, she realized, had her cell phone.

She could ask McLean for a couple of quarters and call collect, but then there would be a record. A call from the hospital room had the same problem.

“Damn,” she said. She needed to get back to the hotel room where she'd left both money and two credit cards in a safe. It was always a precaution she took when traveling after a thief had snatched her wallet on one of her business trips.

She knew one thing. She didn't want to talk to McLean again. She was too tired. Too uncertain. Too vulnerable.

She had no idea how long it would take for the man her brother had sent for to arrive.

She would do some exploring, then return up here. Perhaps McLean would be gone then, and her brother would fall asleep.

She walked down to the nurses' station and waited patiently. There was only one person there and she looked swamped. Another nurse was going into a room down the hall.

Finally the woman looked up. Her name tag said
SUSAN
.

“I'm going to get some coffee,” Sam said. “By the way, my brother needs some rest. There's a gentleman there …”

She walked swiftly down the hall to the elevator, turning to see a nurse head toward her brother's room. She got in the elevator, thankful that the doors had opened almost immediately. It never did that. An angel was with her.

Or a devil.

She took the elevator to the second floor and wandered down the hall, stopping at a rest room. She entered the small room and locked the door behind her. Then she leaned against the wall and took a deep breath.

Everything had always been easy for her. No big problems. No big decisions. No one had ever betrayed her. She'd never lost a friend, or at least didn't think she had. Distrust was something she'd never really experienced. Fear was part thrill as she skied down a steep slope.

Now she was in a different world, and she didn't know the rules, or whom to trust. She had never believed she would be terrified to go out on a street. Now an empty lobby raised the hackles on the back of her neck.

She never should have come. She knew that now. She might have put her mother in jeopardy, both physically and emotionally. And yet she'd always thought she could control things, control her life, because she'd always been able to. She had blithely believed she had made some ground rules and everyone would honorably respect them, simply because a long-lost father had wanted to meet her.

Her rules were obviously not
their
rules. And she couldn't even be sure—not if she was entirely honest—whether her rules were Nick's rules.

She'd always hated stupid heroines in books and movies. Now she felt like one.

The question was how to repair the damage she might have caused by her curiosity, by her need to discover what had happened so many years ago.

Or even how
not
to make things worse.

She went to the mirror and faced herself. She was pale, haggard looking. No lipstick, and no purse in which to find lipstick. Her silk shirt was splotched with blood. She looked as if she'd staggered in from a war zone.

She rinsed her face with water and did her best to comb her hair with her fingers. Without her purse, it was the best she could do. There was nothing to be done about her clothes. They were ruined.

What to do now?

She could go back to Nick's room, but Agent McLean might still be there, and she was too tired to fence with him. And too wary.

And Nick's bodyguard? He probably wouldn't be there yet.

She could hide here.

Dear God, she was emotionally drained.

She decided to go down to the lobby. Surely there would be people there. She had never believed the movie world's myth of empty hospital corridors. She wished she had a sweater to cover her stained clothes, but blood shouldn't be out of place at a hospital.

She returned to the elevator and pushed the Down button. When the doors opened, a technician of some kind stood inside. Safe and normal.

Sane.

Her throat felt as if it had a boulder in it. But she was free for a few moments. Free of the hatred that had vibrated between the two men upstairs, of the accusations each had made of the other.

When she reached the first floor, she turned toward the lobby.

She'd always thought a hospital lobby would be occupied, if not busy. This one wasn't. She didn't see another soul. She did see the front door, an information desk that was empty. Lord, but she needed a breath of fresh air, a relief from the antiseptic odor. From being trapped.

She looked first, then stepped outside and glanced around, trying to figure out where she might be. A street name. A cross street. The air wasn't refreshing as she'd hoped. It was hot, stuffy, cloying. A large medical office building across the street looked mainly empty, and a parking lot was only a quarter filled. Several cars were parked along the street, all in places that said “No Parking.”

She thought she saw movement in one car, and she edged back toward the door. Then she heard the sounds of a siren and saw an ambulance hurtling around a corner and turning into the hospital. A police car followed.

There was something particularly lonely about a siren in deep night. She fought a wave of quiet despair. She could call Paul Merritta and ask for help. But where had the car come from earlier if not from one of the Merrittas?

In truth, she had no place to turn except to the man her brother had called earlier. If only she had her purse, if only she could get to the hotel, then she would have resources of her own.

She peered at the cars parked in the “No Parking” place again, and wondered whether the police would make them leave. Then she saw one man get out. He walked toward the steps, toward the hospital, toward her.

She turned back into the hospital. The halls were as empty as before.

She looked at the bank of elevators down the hall, but what if she had to wait? She turned down the hall. The waiting room. It was at the other end of a very long corridor, but there would be people there.

Something told her to hurry. She glanced around. One man had entered and was moving toward her. He was large—not fat, but big.

Then he increased his pace. She could hear his steps behind her. She followed the arrows toward the emergency section. God, there had to be someone cleaning. But there wasn't. The only sound was that of footsteps echoing in the hall.

fourteen

Panic raising, Sam turned a corner and ran into a body. A very solid body. Arms wrapped around her and kept her from falling.

“Whoa,” said a voice.

She knew that voice.

“What is it?” McLean asked.

“Someone … I thought someone was behind me.” She glanced over her shoulder.

He steadied her, then let go and strode to the corner. “No one there now,” he said.

“It was probably nothing,” she said. Someone going on duty. Someone making a late visit to a critically ill patient. It was a measure of what had happened these past few days that she'd assumed it was all about her.

She straightened. She had felt safe for a moment, safe and something else. Somehow, it hadn't surprised her that he was the one there to reassure her. Her arms burned where he'd touched her. But the warmth cooled when he returned and she remembered the exchange in Nicholas's room. She steeled herself against wanting the solidness of his body, that momentary safety she'd felt. “What are you doing here?”

“I was looking for you. The nurse said you would be back. I didn't think you should be alone, so I decided to try the emergency waiting room.”

“You wanted to ask more questions.”

“I would be lying if I said no.”

“Nick doesn't trust you. He said you used people, that you wanted to use me.”

She tried to hold back tears. For a while earlier in the evening McLean had been a savior. Even at the airport, she'd sensed safety rather than menace in his presence. Now she didn't know whether he was saint or sinner, at least where she—and her brother—were concerned.

“We go back a way.”

“How?”

“He has the kind of business that's the perfect front for money laundering. Foreign sales. Clients worldwide, including in Switzerland.”

“Do you have any proof of money laundering?”

“No,” he admitted. “But …”

“He's a Merritta?” she said. “So am I. Does that make me a criminal?”

“Did your father finance your business?”

“No.” At least she didn't think so. Could Merritta have had something to do with the business? Perhaps even secretly? He said he hadn't known where they were, but was that the truth? The shadows were thick again, filling her mind with suspicion and doubts. Nothing was real and whole and honest.

She felt chilled.

“What did you see just now?” he asked.

“Probably no more than someone going to work or to see a patient.” She tried a small laugh. “I'm a little spooked.”

“That's understandable,” he said. “Someone tried to run you off the road and shoved a pistol in your face. Anyone would be.”

Anyone might be, but she'd always conquered fear before. She'd always thought she could handle almost anything, and now she was fleeing through hospital corridors like a ninny. She didn't like the image at all, or that this man had witnessed it.

“I'm fine now,” she finally said.

“Let me take you somewhere safe,” he said.

She was surprised at how much a part of her wanted to accept that offer. He still carried the aura of authority and safety. And he attracted her as few men did.

But he wanted something from her. He wanted her biological father. Her brother. Perhaps so much that he would destroy her mother to accomplish it.

“I'm sorry, but I really have to get back to his room.”

“Don't trust him, Miss Carroll.”

“He said the same thing about you.” She looked at his face, at the eyes that had always attracted her, that had remained painted in her mind. They went through subtle changes in color. Perhaps that's why they fascinated her so. That and his restless energy and the intensity of emotions she sensed in him. It was almost like watching the approach of a hurricane.

Attraction rippled between them again, strong and vibrant and so alive and heated that she forced back a gasp.

Nick saved your life. He doesn't trust this man. How can you?