She’d noticed a small seafood restaurant down the street. “The Chowder House?” she asked. “It’s on—”
“I know where it is,” he said. “At two? It won’t be so crowded. How will I know you?”
“I’ll know you,” she said. “I have a photo.”
“I’ll be just inside the door,” he said. “Don’t show up if you’re not who you say you are.”
The phone went dead. She held the receiver for a moment, then placed it gently in its cradle. She looked at her watch. Five hours before she would meet him.
And five hours avoiding whoever wanted to find her. The image of the sandy-haired man from last night sprang back into her mind, followed by those of the two larger men who’d approached her at the airport. She remembered the fear that had run down her spine.
Had the first man deliberately headed the others off, as she’d thought? Or had it been one of those coincidences that seemed to come straight from the Twilight Zone?
Maybe Nicholas Merritt would know who they were. And why someone might be tracking her.
If he even acknowledged her.
seven
Sam took one last look at herself in an office building rest room.
She had tramped around Boston for hours and was in the same clothes she’d worn this morning. A pair of slacks, a coral blouse with long sleeves and a matching scarf. Black sandals.
Fine for Steamboat Springs. Not so fine for Boston. Or for the first meeting with a brother she hadn’t known existed until a few days ago.
But her dress was in her luggage back at the hotel, and acting on an excess of caution, she hadn’t wanted to chance a meeting with someone who might be looking for her. Maybe later.
Paranoia again. She knew it, yet she couldn’t dismiss the events of the past few days. Paranoia might be a good thing.
A look at her watch. One-forty.
She checked her purse, making sure the birth certificates and photos were there. Then she took a deep breath and left the relative safety of the rest room.
The streets were busy with people in a rush. Returning from lunch. Shopping. Going to business appointments.
She felt very alone in the crowd. Stomach churning, she forced herself to walk to the restaurant.
He was just inside the door. Even if she hadn’t seen the photo, she would have known him. His eyes were a deeper blue than her own. Almost black, in fact. Or maybe it was the lighting. His hair was also darker than her own and it had a reddish tint that hers had never had.
Her breath caught in her throat as their eyes met, and she knew her pulse was racing. Her brother. It hadn’t really been real until this moment, but now she saw herself in him, and a jab of familiarity made her reach for a wall to steady herself.
His eyes sharpened and his body stiffened as he saw her, and his hand grasped her elbow to catch her. Just as quickly he withdrew it. His gaze traveled over her, lingering on her eyes. “Miss Carroll?”
She nodded. She knew she was looking at him with the same intensity that radiated from him.
He shook his head as if he couldn’t believe what he was seeing. Then he seemed to jerk out of the daze and looked for the maitre d’. Almost immediately they had a table, although there were people waiting.
Nick Merritt remained standing as the maitre d’ pulled out the chair for her. Then he sat down across from her.
He studied her carefully. “There are similarities,” he finally admitted. “But blue eyes and dark hair are not uncommon. Easy for them to find.”
“Them?”
His lips turned upward, but the expression couldn’t be called a smile. “The family,” he said with a shrug.
His hand, though, looked white as it clasped a water glass, and she knew he felt far more than he wanted to show. Anger was in the tilt of his head, the strain of a muscle in his throat.
“I was angry, too,” she said, swallowing hard and shaking her head. “Those first unbelievable words. Disbelief. Then the feeling of loss and betrayal. I still—” Again she swallowed. She reached for her water glass, then drew her hand back. It was trembling. She forced it to still. “I didn’t believe it, either,” she said again.
“Then why are you here?”
“My mother confirmed it. Unwillingly. With the kind of grief I hadn’t seen either before or after my father died.”
He stared at her, his dark eyes unblinking.
She realized what she had said. “My mother married him after she… left…” She was suddenly aware she had taken a napkin and was folding and refolding it. She put it back on the table.
“After she left my father and me,” he finished grimly. “That’s what you meant, isn’t it? I think I prefer my version.”
“What is your version?”
“My mother and sister were killed in an automobile accident.”
She bit her lip. It was a cold, even cruel statement, but she couldn’t fault him for it. She could only guess what he felt upon being told that he’d been abandoned by a mother he thought he’d lost in an entirely different way.
“I’m sorry,” she said.
“Why?” he asked coolly. “You had nothing to do with it. If it happened.”
She didn’t have an answer for that.
“What explanation did she give you?” he asked in a detached voice.
“That I was born a twin, that she was married to Paul Merritta, and that she had to leave him to save—” She stopped.
But he finished for her. “Us? You? I guess we know which one she chose,” he said ironically. “If what you claim is true.”
That if again. But she understood. “It took me several days to accept the possibility that it was. But now I know it’s true, or my mother never would have confirmed it.” She took out the photos and the birth certificates and put them on the table, pushing them over to him.
His face didn’t change as he perused them.
“It’ll take me longer,” he said. “I want a blood test.” His face was set in hard lines. It was a handsome face. But now his mouth was grim, his eyes cold. She understood. She’d had three days to get used to the idea of having a brother, of being fathered by a reputed mobster. He hadn’t had any time to get used to the idea of having a sister and a mother who had apparently deserted him.
She nodded. “I don’t think Mother had a choice about whom to take with her,” she said, trying to mitigate the hurt she would have felt had she been him. “If she had, she never would have—”
“I’ll arrange the test for tomorrow morning,” he said, cutting her off.
“That’s fine,” she said. “I need that proof, too. That’s one reason I came.” She was sure now, but she knew the agonizing steps she’d taken to reach that truth. He had to take his own journey.
She reached for the documents and photos.
His hand flattened on them. “I want to keep them. At least for a while.”
She was reluctant to let them go. But she’d had them several days and had made copies of everything. She expected him to do the same. They probably shared an overabundance of caution.
The waiter appeared, and she ordered grouper and he a steak. Nicholas chose a bottle of wine with an ease she’d never mastered. She suspected it would be expensive. “Where do we go from here?” she asked.
“I have no idea,” he said flatly as his hand scooped up the photos and placed them on his right-hand side. “Why did you come? You know what my father is?”
“I read the news accounts I found on the Internet. Arti cles in the Boston papers.” She caught his gaze, held it. “I wanted to meet you. I have always felt that something was missing. I wanted to know if that something was you.” Some emotion flickered in his eyes, but she couldn’t define it. She wondered whether he had ever felt the same. She didn’t ask, though. It would be asking for a commitment, and he wasn’t ready for that.
“Is he?” she asked instead. “Is he a mobster, a criminal, a crime boss, a don, whatever it’s called?”
He ra
ised one dark eyebrow. “The papers say so. The feds say so.”
“I don’t believe everything in the papers.”
“That’s wise.” He gave her another long look. “I can’t help but wonder, though,” he said, “if you’re here because you think you might inherit when he dies.” The words were coldly and meanly said.
“I’m not rich, Mr. Merritt, but neither am I poor. I’m part owner of a growing business I love. I don’t need money, particularly dirty money. I don’t want it. I wouldn’t take it if it were offered.”
“Then you’re the only one,” he said.
“Who else?”
“Two uncles, an aunt, cousins, my half brother.”
“Half brother?” She didn’t miss the “my” that preceded it.
“George—Georgio, as he prefers. He’s the son of my father’s mistress. I always wondered why he didn’t marry her. Maybe he didn’t want to commit bigamy.” That enigmatic smile passed his lips again.
“Bigamy?”
“If my father knew his wife was still alive, maybe he feared she… might just reappear someday. He wouldn’t want to be charged with bigamy. The feds would love that. They couldn’t get him on racketeering, but they bust him for bigamy.” He looked amused at the thought.
“If my father knew his wife was still alive…” Not “my mother.” Still, it was the first sign that he thought their relationship might be a possibility.
Sam closed her eyes. She had assumed her mother had divorced Paul Merritta. If she hadn’t…
Slowly she opened them again and saw Nicholas’s gaze intent on her, watching every emotion. He had reached the same damning conclusion, obviously. Why couldn’t she be as expressionless as he? But it wouldn’t make the earthquake impact on him as it did on her. He didn't know Patsy Carroll. He didn’t know the woman who had stressed honesty and honor and law all her life.
She tried to change the subject “George? I didn’t read anything about him.”
“He goes by his mother’s name. My father has always protected his privacy. To hell with mine.”
“Do you see him often?”
“My father? Not any more than necessary.”
“I promised I would see him tomorrow. Will you go with me?”
He looked startled. “Tommy isn’t picking you up?”
“I told him I would go on my own on Saturday. I want to be able to leave when I wish.”
A glimmer of admiration lit eyes that had shown precious little emotion. “A taxi?”
“No, for then I would still be dependent. I planned to rent a car.”
“Planned?”
He was quick. “Plan,” she corrected herself.
“Where are you staying?” he asked suddenly.
She paused.
“Or is it a secret?” he asked.
It was. Even to her. She had no idea where she was spending the night. “Will you go with me?” she asked again.
“My father won’t like it.”
“I think his invitation should include whomever I wish to bring.”
“You don’t know my father. He sets the rules.”
“Not this time,” Sam said. “He wanted me to leave several days ago on a flight he paid for. I refused. I wanted to pay my own way.”
Merritt lifted his glass. “One for you.”
Sarcasm? Approval? He was impossible to read. She did not know what she had expected, but it wasn’t this cool, almost indifferent demeanor. He acted as if he were an observer. But occasionally she would see a muscle flex in his cheek, and she wondered whether he’d just mastered supreme control.
Her fist knotted under the table. She wanted some emotion, dammit. She wanted it in herself, and she wanted it in him. She’d felt a momentary sense of familiarity, but his responses had been cold, distant.
This was a mistake. A terrible mistake. They had been apart thirty-four years. They were strangers. Yet she had expected…
She didn’t know what she expected. She just knew bitter disappointment. Still, she struggled not to show it. “You were in the army?”
“You read all about me, too,” he said with that wry twist of his lips.
“What I could find,” she said honestly.
“Aren’t you afraid of me?”
“Should I be?”
“You should run like hell back to Colorado.”
“That’s not an answer.”
He shrugged. “There’s no reason to fear me. The family’s a far different story.”
She couldn’t tell whether it was a warning, a threat or a statement. His voice had not changed at all. She absorbed that. “Tell me about Paul Merritta.”
“He’ll charm you. He’s sick and he’s under investigation by the feds, but he’ll charm you anyway.” He paused. “You should know that once you see him, you’ll be on the FBI radar, if you’re not already.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean that they will turn your life upside down and keep it that way.”
“Have they done that to you?”
He laughed, but there was no humor in it. “If you don’t want to explore the possibility, take the next plane back to wherever you came from.”
“Steamboat Springs,” she reminded him.
“You see, you never should have told me that.”
“Why? Those two men who visited me knew where I was.”
“When you are a Merritta, you don’t give out information for free.”
“Not even to a Merritta?” she asked before she could think better of it. The very good food in her stomach turned sour, and the knot in her chest tightened. The family. FBI radar… She hadn’t considered what being a Merritta would mean to her business, to her life—
He was studying her carefully. “Having second thoughts?”
She closed her fist around her napkin, suddenly tired of watching every word, every movement, tired of examining every emotion she felt in herself or observed in others. “I was approached by two men in our gallery and told about my father and my brother without ceremony—without any of the consideration I’ve shown you. They issued veiled threats when I didn’t go along with them. My house was broken into and I was attacked.” She stopped for a moment, catching her breath, then started again before he could interrupt her. “I was accosted at the airport by two men who chased me out of the terminal. I gave a false name at the hotel. All day I’ve walked around looking for thugs or assassins or whatever that might be following me. I’m suddenly conducting my life as if I were on the run and trying to hide.”
She pinned him with a glare she’d perfected on board members and men with more machismo than manners. “I came because I wanted to meet my brother. And I came because I’m angry and outraged and want to let Mr. Merritta know that I will not run around on his leash.” Her hands were clenched so tightly they were numb.
He stared at her. “Someone attacked you at the airport? Describe them.”
“First there was a man alone. He was standing at the gate when I arrived. He watched every move I made. Then he was behind me when two other men started coming toward me.”
“The first man—what did he look like?” Nicholas demanded, cutting her off.
“Tall, lean. Probably about twenty pounds less than you. Sandy hair.”
“Green eyes?”
She nodded. “Do you know who—”
“Turn around.”
She did as he asked.
Vivid green eyes met hers. He was sitting at the bar. He wore the same tweed coat despite the summer warmth. He gave her a brief smile and a salute.
For a moment, she couldn’t move. Then reluctantly she turned back to Nick.
“He came in just minutes after you did,” Nick said. “He apparently followed me. Or you.”
“Who is he?”
“A bastard,” Nick said bitterly. “A real bastard.” It was the first real emotion she’d heard from him. The anger curdled her blood.
“Why?”
“You’re now on the FBI
radar,” he said. “His name is McLean, and he’s a fed. He’s been after the Merrittas for at least five years. He’s tried to destroy my business. He’ll do the same to you. Stay away from him.”
The stab of disappointment was deep, more painful than she would have thought possible. “I think he… saved me last night. The two men… he intercepted them.”
“It was probably one of his games,” Nick said. “I don’t agree with my father on much, but if he invited you here, you’re safe from his people. And from any other family. He has his own kind of honor. No one would dare violate it.”
“What about my home in Colorado, the one that was burglarized? Would that be included in his honor?” she asked sarcastically.
“I don’t know. I’m not privy to what he does. I don’t want to be privy to it. And if you’re smart, you won’t want to be, either.”
Sam had to force herself not to look back at the bar, at the man who had so attracted her last night. The man she hadn’t been able to get out of her thoughts.
And then he was there. At the table. Looming over them.
“Want to introduce me?” he asked Nick.
“No.”
The intensity in him was as strong as, if not stronger than, it had been the night before. There was a light in those green eyes as if his fondest desire in life was to torment the man across from her.
He leaned over and held out his hand. “I’m Nathan McLean,” he said in a surprisingly gentle voice. “I’m sorry I missed you last night.”
Her hand tingled in his. Heat spread from his hand into hers and jolted up her arm and through her. His eyes flickered slightly and he looked surprised, as if he might have been affected as well.
“You’re not welcome at this table,” Nick said in a low voice as he rose from his seat. “I think there is something called harassment.”
“I didn’t hear the lady ask me to leave.”
Sam heard the enmity between the two men. It was poisonous.
She knew that if she didn’t retreat from McLean’s hold, she might lose her brother forever.
She jerked her hand away. “Please leave,” she said.
“We can give you protection.”
“I don’t need protection.”
Twisted Shadows Page 8
