Twisted Shadows (24 page)

“I'll make reservations now.”

“Are there people there who can watch out for you?”

“Yes,” she said sharply, angry with him for his lack of interest in her mother and, for that matter, in her. He was making token queries, nothing more.

“I'll have Kelley take you to the airport and wait there until the plane leaves.”

“Thank you,” she said, hoping her voice held the same frigid indifference as his had.

He stood and carried his plate to the sink. She did the same. Then she retreated to the bedroom he'd showed her. She found the airline number and dialed.

In minutes, she had booked a flight for the next afternoon. It would put her in Denver at seven.

She remembered the FBI agent's words. “
We don't want you to leave town.
”

But she knew enough law to know she could go anyplace she wished unless she'd been charged. Thus far, she'd only been a victim, and she was damn tired of being manipulated by everyone who had a dog in this fight.

Her mother had lied to her, as had her father. The brother she'd always wanted was cool, indifferent. Her biological father had shown not the faintest paternal interest. An FBI agent had tried to convince her to betray a family she'd just found. And she had, she thought. She'd betrayed them by kissing the enemy. A kiss she couldn't forget.

She felt as if she were wandering in an alien landscape. She wanted to escape it, and all its land mines, even as she realized she could never really go home again. That, too, would be changed. Nothing would be as it had been a week ago. That knowledge left a huge hole inside her.

She returned to the living room. “I have a flight tomorrow.”

Nick simply stood there. “I'm sorry you didn't find what you wanted,” he finally said.

“It would mean a lot to Mother if you would contact her.”

“I can't do that.”

“I'll tell her about you.”

“What? That I'm on the FBI's most favorite target list? Or that I've managed very well without her?” He paused. “I'm going to work in my office. Consider the rest of the house yours. There's books, an entertainment room. Stay inside until Kelley's people arrive.” He started for the door, then turned. “I'll have someone meet you in Denver.”

“It's not necessary,” she said. “That's my home turf.”

He strode over to her. He took her chin with his good hand and forced her gaze to meet his. A muscle throbbed in his throat.

“It's not going away, Sam. That's not the way this family works.”

“You said I would be safe back home.”

“Safer, at least,” he corrected. “But you still should take precautions until everything shakes out.”

“You mean against your family?”

“I like the way you choose when it's my family and when it's yours,” he said with a slight shadow of a smile. “I honestly don't know who's responsible for last night or why. I do intend to find out.” He paused, then added, “My father was able to keep peace while he was alive. Now …”

“But why me? No one knew about me. I'm not a threat to anyone.”

“Maybe Pop's will has something to do with it.”

“Will?” She knew she must be looking stupid. “But why? He never even knew where I was until a few days ago.”

“You think so?”

“That's what he said.”

Nick shrugged. “Then it must be true.” He said it with such sarcasm that she took a step backward.

She was tired of being treated as a simple child. She was even more tired of riddles no one wished to explain. “I need some fresh air.”

Before he could stop her, she found the door. She opened it and stood outside, looking around at the stately town homes. The street was bumper to bumper with parked cars. She longed to take a run. She thought she could smell the sea from here. Instead she leaned against the wall.

Nick came out. “You shouldn't be out here,” he said.

She turned to him, even as she became aware of a car pulling out of a parking place. Nothing unusual about that.

Nick jerked her down and fell on her as she heard the car speed up. She was conscious of his weight, then everything was blotted out by shots shattering the summer day, thudding against the heavy wood of the door and spraying the pavement below.

eighteen

Sam could hardly breathe from the pressure of Nick's body. She felt numb, then a burning pain in her arm.

She heard a yell, more gunshots, then the roar of an engine and the screeching of tires.

Silence. A deadly, still silence.

Heavy breathing above her. A curse. The weight left her.

“Nick,” she whispered.

“I'm all right,” he said.

She struggled to sit. Her entire body was sore from the impact on concrete. He was bleeding again, but she saw it was from the earlier injury. Then she looked down at her arm. A large wooden splinter protruded.

She looked at it, her mind in turmoil, her senses still ringing with noise and dulled by the smell and sight of blood.

“Are you all right?”

A voice. Not Nick's. She looked up. Nathan McLean stood there, a gun in his hand.

“I'm not sure,” she said, ashamed that her voice seemed to waver.

She watched as Nick stood unsteadily. The bandage and sling were bright red, as was her blouse.

“Nick?” she asked. “Were you hit?”

“No major harm done,” he said. “Just opened up the wound.” He ignored McLean and pulled out the splinter, then pressed a handkerchief against her arm.

McLean appeared to be doing a quick visual survey of the area. The car with the shooters was long gone. His gaze stopped at the door.

“The bullets were high,” he said. “And low. You were lucky they were such bad shots. If,” he said, “they were.”

He took the handkerchief from her arm and looked at the gash. “It'll need stitches. I'll drive you to the hospital.”

Nick shook his head. “It will take too long. I'll call my doctor. He's a block away. How did you happen to be here?”

“I thought she might need a little more protection than you could provide.” Nate paused. “I hit their windshield. Maybe more.”

“You appear at very convenient times,” Nick observed. “Perhaps you think that this could scare my sister into helping you.”

She heard what both were saying. The FBI agent had noted the attackers were poor shots, obviously implying that it was staged. Her brother was likewise accusing Nate of having some kind of involvement, perhaps setting up the attack so that she would want protection.

They both claimed they were protecting her.

Nick was right. McLean always was conveniently close.

She stepped away from both of them. The pain in her arm was intensifying and she knew she needed those stitches.

She also knew she had to get the hell out of Dodge before one—or both—of these two men destroyed her. Her purse was upstairs, and her luggage. Her credit cards.

She heard the sirens. Someone must have heard the shots, or McLean himself had called it in.

She didn't stay. She whirled around, ran inside and grabbed her credit cards and money, stuffing them in pockets. Not wanting to deal with either man right now, she grabbed a towel and escaped through the back way. She had to leave before the police tried to detain her.

She wanted home.

She wanted familiarity.

She wanted to feel safe again.

Foolish, maybe, but at the moment she felt safer on her own than with either of the men at the front of the house.

She hurried to the walkway between the backs of the houses, turned right, away from the road. Two more turns, each taking her farther from the house. She looked around but didn't see anyone.

Another turn and she was on a main road. She saw a cab and hailed it.

She would take the first train to Washington, then take a plane from there. Thank God she had a credit card with a photo on it.

She would go to the cabin, and both she and her mother would disappear for a few days. She would hear the whole story, then together they could decide what to do.

It was nearly two in the morning when Sam reached Steamboat Springs in the car she'd rented at the Denver Airport. Thank God, she had a gold card, which expedited the procedure, and she didn't need a driver's license. There had been no commuter flights until the next day.

She was dead tired, and her arm burned like the furies, though she'd had the taxi drop her at a small emergency care office in Boston before she'd gone to the train station. Her arm had required ten stitches, but it had stopped bleeding.

She'd had precious little sleep during the past few days, and her eyes wanted to close despite the wide but winding interstate with its sharp turns and shoulders that plunged hundreds of feet down.

She continued to glance in the rearview mirror window to see whether or not someone was following her. She hadn't relaxed since she'd first sat in the driver's seat of the rental car, though she usually enjoyed driving.

She'd planned to drive up to the cabin, but she desperately needed some fresh clothes and sleep and she didn't know if she could last that long. Better to stop at home, get a change of clothes, then stay at a hotel tonight. She didn't want to stay in her own house. Not after those shots last night and this afternoon.

Yet, Boston was the dangerous place. Not Steamboat Springs. Still, she meant to take a few precautions. She was aware now.

She circled her neighborhood twice before parking several streets away and moving stealthily through the shadows and trees to the back of her house.

She hesitated. Suddenly she wasn't sure she wanted to go inside. She kept remembering what had happened there just a few days ago. But, dammit, she wasn't going through the rest of her life in hiding.

She would purchase a gun in the morning before going to the cabin. Her father—David Carroll—had taught her how to shoot when she was sixteen. She'd practiced occasionally since then, but her pistol had been stolen from her car in Washington. She'd never bought a new one. Why supply criminals?

Another reason she'd never replaced it was her mother's dislike of guns and her disapproval when David Carroll had insisted their daughter learn. Now that aversion took on new dimensions. Had she hated guns because of the Merritta family's fondness for them?

Sam found the extra key she kept beneath a stone and unlocked the back door. She hesitated, letting her eyes get used to the darkness. She took off her shoes so she wouldn't make any sound, then padded to her room and quickly packed a suitcase. She wanted a cup of coffee, but she didn't want to stay here that long.

Her answering machine light blinked. She went over to it. The readout indicated eight messages. The first six were all business oriented. The seventh was from her mother. “Now that Paul is dead, I don't think there's any reason to stay at the cabin. Call me at home when you get here, sweetie. We need to talk.”

Sam's thumb slipped off the play button. Why hadn't she told her mother about the shootings? Because she hadn't wanted to worry her. She had thought her mother would stay at the cabin. Now …

She quickly dialed her mother's house. No answer. She should have been there. Her mother did not wander at night, particularly when she expected to see Sam. Fear rippled down her spine.

Sam grabbed her extra set of keys from a drawer and ran back to her own car, fumbling the key into the ignition. Her mother's house was just a few moments away.

Be there. Be all right,
she prayed.

The house was dark, the driveway empty. She used her key to open the door, wishing she had that gun.

The house was neat as always. No sign of her mother, or of an intruder. Nothing was out of place.

As she had at her own house, she moved through her mother's condominium carefully. She paused occasionally to listen for a sound. Any sound.

No one downstairs. She went up to her mother's bedroom. The bed was made. The bathroom looked unused. Not a drop of water in the sink or bath.

She went to the kitchen and froze. A note was attached to the fridge by a magnet. Sam read it slowly, measuring every word.

Dear Samantha …

I'm sorry to leave when you planned to return home, but once I arrived, I noticed that someone had been in the house. I didn't think I should stay here and I was afraid to go back to our place. I also need time before I talk to the FBI. Time to put things in order. I contacted a friend who found a safe place for me to go. He'll be looking out for you, too. I couldn't reach Terri, but I know she can take care of the gallery while I'm gone and until you return
.

I hope you found what you needed to find.

Don't worry about me. I'll be back in a few days
.

In the meantime, you have my lasting love
.

Mom

It didn't make sense. She used her mother's phone to call her mother's cell phone and received an “out of service” message. The fingers of fear became a fist in her heart.

“Meow.” The low keening preceded the feel of fur rubbing against her.

Sam leaned down and picked up the cat, examining her.

Her mother would never have left without Sarsy, not without knowing she was all right, not without being absolutely sure that there would be someone to care for her. Or maybe she knew Sam would be home.

Sam checked the water dish. Full. So was the food dish. There was enough for several days.

One question answered.

But it was still unlike her mother.

Call the police
.

And tell them what?

Would she betray her mother by doing so? She read the note again. It was in her mother's handwriting. She was sure of that. No waver. No hint that anything was wrong. If she had been forced, wouldn't her mother have left a clue? Called her Sam, for instance, rather than Samantha. Her mother never used her nickname. That was something no one would know.