Twisted Shadows (41 page)

“We have time,” she pointed out logically and, hopefully, steadily. Her body was already reacting to his in very sensuous ways.

He didn't require more convincing. He nibbled at her neck until her body felt as if it were on fire. His fingers played with her pubic hair, then touched the most intimate part of her until she was writhing with need.

When he finally entered her, his movements were slow and tantalizing until she was nearly mad with wanting him. She wondered whether this kind of madness remained through the years, the fierce urgency that counterpointed moments of extreme tenderness and wonder. He stopped and leaned over, showering her face and neck and shoulders with light teasing kisses, titillating and tormenting her until she arched her body toward him.

Nate's slow deliberate strokes fanned the blazes inside her. He moved faster until the world swirled with such speed that she thought she would be carried away by some magical force. Shattering explosions rocked every fiber of her being with rolling waves of sensations.

They both sank down to earth, depleted and sated, and she felt a warm, wonderful lassitude that cosseted and enveloped them like a thick feather comforter on a cold winter night. She heard his heartbeat. It seemed in rhythm with the song of the wheels beneath them, and nothing in her life had ever seemed so natural. So right.

The back of her hand rubbed against the bristle on his cheeks. Then her tongue ran over them, then licked the tiny lines that fanned from his eyes.

“Oh, you're heading for trouble, Miss Carroll,” he said lazily, even as he rolled away from her and easily sprang to his feet. He leaned down and kissed her lightly before looking at his watch. “You have five minutes before the train stops, then fifteen to find a phone booth outside the station.”

Still feeling fuzzy and warm and filled with him, she forced herself to get up, pull on the same clothes she wore yesterday and run a comb through her hair while he took a hurried shower. She rinsed her face and noticed it was glowing. The train whistle blew and the car seemed to slow.

She quickly added a touch of lipstick and then left the tiny bathroom.

Nathan pushed the chair away from the door and unlocked it. He still hadn't shaved, but she liked the way he looked just fine.

They met the attendant. He smiled, and she wondered whether her face told him exactly what had happened a few minutes ago.

“Would you like coffee and breakfast?” the attendant asked.

“We're going to step inside the station for a few moments,” Nate said. “Then we'll go to the dining car.”

“As you like, sir, madam. Would you like me to make up your room?”

Nathan nodded.

The train slowed, jerked. Came to a halt.

“We leave in twenty minutes sharp,” the attendant said.

“We'll be back.”

Together they stepped off the train, went through the station and looked around. Nate wanted anything but a train station phone. He saw a café and they hurried over to it. She found a phone and dialed Terri's cell number.

Nate had said they might have four or five minutes before anyone could trace the numbers.

Terri picked up immediately.

“Terri?”

“Yes. Are you all right?”

“It's been quiet,” she said.

“Any repairman at your home?”

“I don't think so.”

“Is Nicholas still there?”

“Yes. He needs to talk to you. He knows who is behind at least some of the attacks. He says he has to see you.”

Sam looked at Nate. He had his eye on his watch. He held up one finger. She covered the mouthpiece. “Nicholas says he knows who is behind what's been happening. He wants to see me.”

“Tomorrow,” he said. “The Adler Planetarium in Chicago. The Sky Show at eleven a.m.”

She stared at him for a moment, then relayed the message to Terri.

“Get off,” he mouthed.

“Have to go. I'll talk to you later.” She hung up before Terri could say anything else, then turned to him. “How did you know the schedule?”

“I was there three months ago on business.” He took the phone and dialed Gray's cell phone.

It took eight rings, then Gray answered. As he'd listened in on her conversation, now she did the same.

“Had to duck out, buddy,” the disembodied voice said.

“What did you find out?”

“Very little. Your man Maddox seems on the level. He
is
ex-CIA. Has a company in Flagstaff. He's well liked, well respected.”

“And Simon?”

“Not so lucky. Can't find a Simon in Durango. Checked all the local airfields. I have a list of private plane owners but it's extensive, and I have to be careful.”

“That's okay,” Nate said. “Drop it. You gave me what I needed.”

“The photos of those officers will take time,” Gray said.

“I need only one,” he said.

“Which one?”

“McGuire.”

A long silence. Too long.

“You've got to be wrong.”

“I might be,” Nate said. “But if you can find one of him as a patrolman, e-mail it to me. I'll find a computer someplace.”

“Done, but I think you're wrong.”

Then Nate took a step away from her, and she knew he wanted a few words in privacy.

She left the telephone and walked to the door. Waited.

In another minute, Nate met her there. “Let's go,” he said, grabbing her hand and walking swiftly back through the station and on board the train. They went to the compartment, and it had been transformed back into a sitting room. A newspaper was on the table.

Nate took a quick visual check of the room, then they walked to the dining car as the train started once more. They walked—or lurched—through three cars as the train gathered speed.

A few more hours of peace, then … all hell was going to break loose.

Nick picked up the telephone.

“Hi, it's Terri.”

Just the sound of her voice brightened his day.

“I have to talk to you,” she continued.

“Breakfast?”

“Yes,” she replied.

“Where?”

“The coffee shop next to the hotel down the street.”

“I'll be there in ten minutes.”

“Good.”

He shaved hurriedly. He'd already had a cup of coffee and read the national paper that had appeared at his door.

She was seated in a corner table. Her hair was pulled back in a braid, and she wore jeans and a dark blue shirt.

“Sam called,” she said.

Relief flooded him. “She's all right?”

“At the moment.”

“Where—?”

“I don't know, but she said she would meet you at the Adler Planetarium in Chicago at eleven a.m. tomorrow.”

“How did she contact you?”

“I don't know where she called from,” Terri said. “But she called me on my cell phone.”

“How long was she on it?”

“Just a few minutes.”

“Good.”

“Do you really think someone's tracking my cell phone?”

“I don't think we can dismiss the idea.” He took a sip of coffee. “Is she still with McLean?”

“She didn't mention it, but I think so.”

“Good.”

“I didn't think you liked him.”

“I don't, and I'm still afraid he will try to use her, but he'll do his damnedest to keep her alive.”

“You're going to go, then?”

“Yes.”

“I want to go with you.”

He studied her for a moment. “Why?”

“She's my friend.”

“And you're afraid I might hurt her?” An unexpected pain struck him.

“No,” she said. “I don't think that. But you might need someone to run interference.”

“It's too dangerous.”

“I won't stay around except for the meeting,” she said. “Please.”

“What about the gallery?”

“We can close it for several days.”

He shook his head, then ran a finger along her cheekbone. “I would like to have you with me, but you could endanger everyone. If I have to look out for you, I can't look after Samantha.”

It was the one argument he thought might work. And it did. Her face fell.

“I'll come back,” he said.

Her expression was disbelieving.

“Believe it,” he said.

She smiled and looked up straight in his eyes and through to his soul.

And he knew it was one promise he would keep.

Nathan and Sam left the train in Naperville, the station before the Chicago terminal. “Time to use the cell phone,” he said.

Sam dialed the number Maddox had given them when they'd arrived in Fort Collins. The same man answered after half a ring.

“Yes.”

“This is Samantha.”

“We've been worried about you.”

“Mr. Maddox?”

“He's fine. He arrived a few hours ago.”

“Jock, too?”

“Yep. They used my plane. Where are you now?”

“Is this line safe?”

“I would stake my life on it.”

“Naperville.”

“How did you get there?”

“Train.”

“Paid with cash?”

“Yes.”

“Good. Go to the Riverwalk. Be at the foot of Chicago Avenue and Main Street at eight tonight.”

“Who do I look for?”

“Don't. I'll find you.”

The phone went dead.

Sam and Nathan looked at each other. Five hours to kill and they should have some answers. At last.

The house where Sam was to meet her mother was in an area north of Chicago, in a lake community of large wooded lots and contemporary houses. Simon drove up a long, curving driveway to a stone house. It was shielded from other houses by a stand of trees.

The man in the driver's seat of a plain black sedan had been mostly silent since he'd approached them on Chicago Avenue. A quiet, wiry man who walked soundlessly and said little, he, like Maddox, had a certain vitality about him.

He'd merely nodded at them and said, “Follow me.”

He wasn't any more talkative as he drove. His mouth had tightened when he heard about the calls to Terri Faulkner and the proposed meeting with Nicholas Merritt.

“We don't have to meet him,” Nathan said. “But I wanted him in a place where we can find him if we do need him. He says he knows who did it.”

Sam noticed that Nate didn't add that he knew, too, or thought he did. He was waiting, she suspected, to see what the others knew. She also knew he'd checked his weapon just after they got in to the car and that he'd insisted on the backseat.

She wondered whether there would ever be a day when such precautions wouldn't be necessary. But right now, she felt a thrill of excitement at seeing her mother.

It increased as the driver parked in front of the house. He opened the door to her side while Nate exited the other.

The house door opened before they could ring the bell or knock. Sam saw her mother standing there, a broad smile on her face. They embraced for a moment, and then Sam stepped back and studied her face.

It had been only a few days, but it seemed a lifetime.

Patsy Carroll looked different. Older. Yet there was also an ease about her that hadn't been there before. It was almost like a tremendous weight had been lifted from her shoulders.

Nathan had entered and stood to the side. Her mother turned to him. “You must be Nathan McLean.”

“Yes, ma'am.”

“Thank you.”

Nathan didn't say anything, but Sam watched his eyes evaluate her mother. There was reservation in his voice, in his face, but she was familiar with that.

“Whose house is this?” Sam asked.

“Friends,” Simon said. “They're out of the country and friends often stay here when they're gone. The neighbors are used to comings and goings.”

He led the way into a kitchen. Sam smelled coffee and knew it would probably be a long evening.

Papers were spread across the table. So were photos.

Nate sat down and looked at the names on the list, then the photos. “Do you have a computer here?”

The man called Simon disappeared and returned with a small laptop, plugged in the modem and turned it on.

He turned to Nate with a question in his face.

“Find McGuire,” said Nate. “Terrence McGuire. Boston.”

Simon showed surprise for the first time, and his fingers raced over the keyboard. He went to the
Boston Globe
site, then searched on McGuire. Articles and a photo appeared. He turned it around for Patsy to see.

“I don't know,” she said. “It was so long ago.…”

Simon was reading one of the articles. “Nominated for the Federal Appeals Court. Former police officer, assistant district attorney, then district attorney.”

“He's a favorite of ours,” Nate said. “He leaned over backward to give us search warrants and other orders.”

Simon mumbled something that sounded like a curse.

Patsy looked at the photo again. “It could be. He had dark hair then and was thin. I thought he had a … hungry look.”

But the photos now were of a well-fed man with gray hair. He looked benign, not hungry.

But then maybe that was because he'd eaten his fill of what he wanted.

“He's Irish,” Sam said. “Why would he connect with the Merrittas?”

“Good for both of them,” Nathan said. “No one would suspect him. And he might have had knowledge of the Irish families that Merritta wanted, and vice versa.”

“How could he have kept it quiet all these years?”

“I'd guess he quit when he went to law school. People died. And I'm sure he had a lot of insurance of his own.”

Nathan's glance turned to Patsy. “What exactly happened?”

She looked at Simon, and he nodded.

Her hands twisted together in front of her. “Lucas Gaberna was a driver and often chauffeured the children and me. I saw him as the only way out. I thought he … he liked me, and to my everlasting shame, I used that.