Twisted Shadows

by Patricia Potter

  So had his impression that Merritt hadn’t heard about his father’s death. Merritt had been expressionless, but Nate thought he’d seen a flicker of surprise in his eyes. Had no one called the man who predictably would inherit most of the Merritta empire? They had known where he was. He himself had informed them, waiting to see their reaction. They had shown precious little concern—or even interest—for their relative, but they had been stunned by the old man’s death.

  Or had they been? Rosa had been crying. Victor had been stoic. George had appeared, looking sleepy. He’d demanded to know why the police and FBI were there when his father obviously had died of natural causes. He’d announced he would fight an autopsy, but Nate knew George couldn’t stop it.

  Trying to decipher the Merritta clan was like stumbling through a maze. Or quicksand.

  And then there was the kiss. He still couldn’t fathom how it had happened. Samantha had looked tired and vulnerable and wounded, and there had also been something so damned appealing about her.

  It had been impulsive and stupid, but the moment their lips touched, he’d felt explosions inside. God only knew the last time that had happened to him. He couldn’t remember ever feeling an overwhelming need such as the one that had seized him early this morning. Especially when her body had started to melt into his, and her lips had been as eager as his own. For a moment he’d lost himself in the magnetism that had bound them together since their gazes had met in the airport.

  He’d been dazed, even thunderstruck when the elevator had pinged and opened.

  He’d never mixed business with pleasure. Never. And this particular business was the Merrittas, the family that had killed his mother.

  “Nate?”

  His partner’s expression told him to pay attention. How long had he been standing there like a panting fool?

  He tried to tell himself he could keep his interest purely professional. There were any number of mysteries evolving around her, and more than anything he wanted to get her away from her brother and just try to talk to her. But he might well have ruined any chance to do that, first with his kiss early this morning and now with the professional coolness he was struggling to maintain. The hostility between Merritt and himself didn’t help, either.

  And now she would probably want an attorney before talking, an attorney who was associated with the family and who would advise her to say nothing.

  He’d watched as she digested the death of Paul Merritta, the emotion that had flashed across her face. A face too expressive for deception. He’d seen shock, regret, fear.

  Nate still wondered what had happened years ago. He’d asked for copies of the death certificates of the mother and daughter. Deaths that hadn’t happened at all. He wondered exactly who was in the accident that supposedly had claimed the wife and daughter of the heir apparent to Boston’s deadliest crime family.

  He had someone checking into other disappearances at the time.

  What would the mother have to say?

  That would have to be his next move. He had to get to Patsy Carroll before either Samantha or Nick did.

  Patsy would have a story to tell. No one left a crime family and lived to tell about it. It followed that she just might have something on them all. Something that had given her a passport to the rest of her life. And she would have no love for or loyalty to a man she’d likely had to blackmail into granting her freedom, particularly now that he was dead.

  She might even want Nate’s protection if Merritta had been all that stood between her and the rest of his family.

  He looked at his watch, then at Samantha Carroll. Her dark eyes caught his, and a frisson of heat ran down his spine. He didn’t know when he’d last experienced anything like it, and God knew it had never happened to him with someone who was—or might be—involved in a case.

  He dismissed the thought. He’d always been able to control his libido. He could damn well do it now.

  He could do it better without distraction in the form of a dark-haired, dark-eyed woman with more guts than sense.

  Despite her lack of cooperation, he sensed she was an innocent. She had walked into something she couldn’t possibly be prepared for.

  He’d like to get someone in to watch over her, someone unconnected to either side. Nick Merritt had beat him to it. And regardless of his theories on who was guilty and who wasn’t, he knew Kelley to be a good man. Hell, he might have chosen him for the job if Merritt hadn’t already done it.

  “I’ll be talking to you,” he said, directing the comment to Nick Merritt as he headed for the door. If he didn’t get out of here soon, he’d start believing that Merritt was as innocent as his sister just because it would make her happy.

  Sam stared at the door as it closed behind the two agents, then looked at Nick. “Did you know about your father’s death?” she asked.

  “Yes. Reggie called.”

  “You didn’t tell me.”

  “No.”

  “Why?” She was getting more and more angry.

  “I wanted you to go home. It’s dangerous here. Someone might think you plan to claim part of the estate.”

  “Do you have any idea who that might be?”

  “No.”

  “You would tell me if you did?” It was a ridiculous plea, and she knew it the moment the words came out of her mouth. If he really was hiding something, of course he wouldn’t tell her.

  But she so badly wanted one person—just one person—she could trust.

  His gaze didn’t quite meet hers. “I can’t promise that.”

  “You know more than you’re telling me,” she accused.

  “No, Samantha, I don’t. I can only imagine it has something to do with Pop’s businesses. My family is not one to… share.” He stepped over to her and pulled her into a surprisingly protective embrace. “I’m sorry you walked into this,” he said. “You would have been far better off never knowing about the Merrittas.”

  Sam knew she was being foolish. Paul Merritta was nothing to her. David Carroll had been her father in every way.

  Yet, now she had unfinished business, too.

  “Go home,” he said. “There’s nothing here but trouble.”

  “Will you go back with me? Meet our mother?”

  “No,” he said flatly. He stepped away, his eyes going completely cold again. “I believed she was dead all these years. She still is to me.”

  She felt defeated. “I’ll go to the hotel until I leave.”

  Nick shook his head. “No hotel. Kelley told me you left the hotel for a while.” His tone was accusing. “I think you will be safer with me.”

  She looked pointedly at his arm He gave her a sheepish look. “I didn’t expect it then. And Kelley will be with us. But I know the family and I know McLean. If they don’t know about the hotel now, they soon will.”

  “All right,” she said. Another day and she would know more about him, their father, and possibly about herself. And she could convince him to see, if not forgive, their mother. She turned toward the silent partner, Cal. “Thank you for sending Kelley.”

  “You are very welcome,” he said. “Anything you need…”

  She needed a great deal, but nothing, she feared, that he could provide.

  She needed her brother. She needed McLean.

  Dammit.

  seventeen

  Nate had three notes on his desk when he and Gray returned to their offices, each demanding that Nate contact their superior.

  Nate groaned. Robert Barker was not one of Nate’s favorite people.

  Barker had only recently been promoted to Assistant Agent in Charge. Before that, he had worked in organized crime, along with Nate and Gray. Barker had been uniquely successful, bagging more arrests and convictions than others on the task force; all convictions had been in families other than the Merrittas, except for a few minor exceptions. He’d specialized in the Irish mafia, while Nate and Gray concentrated on the Merrittas.

  Barker had never worked well with other
s, withholding information from fellow agents and in one instance destroying a case Nate was developing by approving a premature raid that netted nothing. Since that investigation had involved the Merrittas, Nate held a grudge.

  Still, Barker had compiled a record that had brought him to the attention of his superiors. Nate had always tried to avoid that same attention. He’d shared his arrests. The job had been important to him, not the credit. Gray looked up at the ceiling and sighed.

  “You’re not included in the invitation,” Nate said.

  “I’m probably next on his list.”

  “I’ll keep you out of it.”

  “Hell, it’s our case.”

  “Maybe it’s nothing to do with the case.”

  “And maybe pigs fly,” Gray said morosely.

  Gray was right.

  The lecture began the moment he entered his superior’s office. “How nice of you to drop in the office for a change,” Barker said.

  “I’ve been here,” Nate said. “You haven’t.”

  “I’ve had reports,” Barker shot back.

  Nate knew the worse thing he could do was remain silent. Barker hated that. Yet he wasn’t ready to tell Barker what he wanted to do. And definitely not about Samantha Carroll. He was aware now of what damage he could do to both her and her mother.

  It had been a long time since he had considered the implications of the actions he took. He’d always thought much was justified in the name of justice. He still did, particularly in the case of a family that had repeatedly gotten away with murder. But something made him hold back this time.

  “I had a complaint from the Boston police. You apparently were reluctant to explain why you suddenly appeared at a crime scene.”

  “I was working the Merritta case. The old man was dying, and I was following the son.”

  “Why?”

  “Someone’s going to take over the family business. The obvious choice is Nicholas.”

  “What about this woman? This purported daughter?” Damn it. He’d thought he would have more time before Barker caught up with the information about Samantha. He wondered whether Barker had gotten copies of the tapes from Merritta’s home. Or whether someone from the Merritta family had reported to him. Nate had long suspected Barker had an informant in the family.

  Barker looked down on the desk. “And a tap on Nick Merritt’s phone? I don’t remember authorizing it.”

  “You weren’t here. You left the authority in Dick’s hands and he said if we could get a judge to okay it, it was fine with him. We’ve been trying to get one for months.”

  “You purposely waited until I was gone,” Barker accused.

  “No, sir,” Nate said. Damn, he hated the “sir,” but he knew just how hard he could push Barker. “We didn’t know anything about this woman until after you’d left. We certainly didn’t know she would be the target of a hit team. She needed protection, and we didn’t know whether Merritt was involved.”

  “Do you now?”

  “No,” he answered honestly.

  “I understand he was shot, too. Doesn’t sound logical he would be part of an attempt to harm her.”

  Nate shrugged. He wasn’t ready to let go yet. How better to gain absolute trust than to take a bullet for her?

  “Damn it, McLean. No reports. No updates. You’re wasting your time on the Merrittas now that Paul Merritta is dead.” He stared at Nate. “It’s gotten too personal with you. I’m assigning you and Evans to another case. We’re establishing a task force on Medicare fraud. You’re on it.” Nate stood there, stunned, though he should have known it was coming. Barker had never liked him.

  Until Barker’s promotion, Nate and Gray had had a lot of freedom. They’d been on the organized task force for several years, along with Barker, and had produced some good cases, but Barker had trumped them in number if not in quality.

  Nate knew one thing. He wasn’t going on a Medicare fraud case. Not now. Not when the Merritta family was ready to implode.

  Not as long as the newest known member could be in danger.

  He was immediately struck with the realization that the latter thought was far more important than the former.

  “If I’m switching cases, I think I’ll take the leave I’ve accumulated,” he said amiably.

  Barker frowned, his eyes reflecting surprise, then suspicion. It was obvious he’d expected protests and perhaps even wanted them so he could enjoy denying them. “Put in your request,” he replied gruffly.

  “I’ll need you to sign off on it. I’m owed nearly two months,” Nate said. “This looks like a good time; I wouldn’t be in the middle of a case.” He paused, then played his trump card. “I think Woodward would agree.” Woodward was the Agent in Charge; he hated piled-up leave time.

  Barker paused. “You want to take the entire two months?”

  “Let’s say two weeks to start.”

  “Where are you going?”

  “I’m not sure. Maybe the mountains. Away from phones.”

  Barker stared at him for a long moment, then frowned. “Send Gray Evans in.”

  Sam knew she had to call her mother again and tell her about Paul Merritta’s death.

  She dreaded it. She didn’t know what her mother’s reaction would be to the death of Paul Merritta. But Sam did know her mother would ask again about Nick and whether he would talk to her. Hope would be in her mother’s heart, just as it had been in her own when she went to meet Nick. Hope and apprehension. Fear of rejection. Fear of what they might find.

  She was moving again. Nick had invited her to stay at his house, most likely, she thought, to keep her away from the FBI. She, on the other hand, had her own motives. She could help Nick, whose arm was now in a sling, and she wanted to learn more about him. And the family. Kelley was going to pick up her luggage, then go home and get some sleep.

  Nick’s partner drove them to Nick’s home, an expensive town house near the harbor, then drove off. Nick clumsily unlocked the door with his left hand and held it open for her to enter first.

  His home was everything the Merrittas’ home wasn’t. The furniture was leather. Tasteful. Comfortable. And yet the room was devoid of photographs, of a sense of being lived in, shared.

  Nick sat down heavily in a chair. The gesture was unlike him. He usually moved decisively. She knew he hadn’t taken the narcotic that had been prescribed for him and purchased on the way to his home. His mouth was a tight grimace and his eyes looked red.

  “I should call Mom,” she said. “I have to tell her about Paul Merritta’s death. And tell her the FBI knows about her. They might try to find her.”

  A muscle moved in his cheek. “Do you have a cell phone?”

  “Not now. Mine was burned in the car. I was going to get one today.”

  “I have one you can use. It’s clean,” he said.

  She hesitated. Clean?

  “You’re suspicious. Good. Stay that way. You can erase the number when you finish, and take the phone with you if you like. I have no interest in where she is.”

  She still hesitated, then agreed. She would call her mother’s cell phone.

  “Is your home phone tapped?”

  “Probably,” he said.

  “Can they do that even when you haven’t been accused of anything?”

  He gave her a look that told her how naive he thought she was. “Anything involving organized crime gives them more powers than they usually have. Say ‘conspiracy’ and a judge signs on the dotted line. Be careful, Samantha. Don’t trust McLean, or any fed. They’ll use you, then throw you away.”

  “Did that happen to you?”

  “I didn’t let it happen to me, but it’s not for lack of trying on their part. My company is audited every year. They visit our customers and warn them about doing business with us. They follow us on occasion.”

  As McLean had, the night of the accident.

  “How do you stay in business?”

  “A lot of our sales are with foreign companies wh
o could care less about the FBI. The others… well, we have good products, good prices and great service.” She wanted to ask more questions, but he simply looked at her. “Use the study. It’s down the hall on the left.”

  “Will you talk to her?” she asked again.

  “No.”

  She wanted to argue, but he looked too tired, too drawn.

  Sam went down the hall and found the study. His desk was completely clear, the opposite of her own, which she always termed as organized chaos. She looked at the computer and thought about turning it on.

  A touch of a few keys might supply a clue.

  But just as she couldn’t invade her mother’s privacy, neither could she do it to Nick’s.

  Instead she used the cell phone he had given her and dialed.

  Her mother picked up immediately. She must have had the phone next to her.

  “Is everything all right?” her mother asked. Almost as if she knew it was not.

  “My father… Paul Merritta died this morning.” She didn’t know why she used the word father, except possibly to evoke a reaction. As much as she deplored it, a residue of resentment, of loss, of anger still lingered deep inside.

  “He wasn't your father. David was.” Her mother’s voice broke slightly.

  Sam regretted that flash of anger. “I know. David will always be my dad.”

  “Your brother… Nick. How is he?”

  “He’s all right.” Sam paused, then added, “He came home from the hospital today. I’m staying with him.” She didn’t think it was the time to tell her mother what had really happened, that someone had actually taken a shot at her. She just prayed there wouldn’t be any news coverage.

  “Are you still planning to return tomorrow?”

  Sam wavered. In the last few hours, she’d considered— briefly—staying for the funeral. If it was within the next two or three days. Maybe it would be a closure. But could you have closure, when you never had opening?

  “I want to see you,” her mother said. “There are things I can tell you, that I have to tell you.”

  “Tomorrow,” she promised.