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 others, 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 who 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.

“Don’t let them drag you into their web,” her mother warned. “Victor … the others …”

“I won’t.”

A pause. She knew her mother didn’t want to let her go, probably wanted to ask a dozen questions about Nick, but she had always been a very private, very proud woman. The fact that she had not asked to talk to him said volumes.

There was a hopelessness in the sigh that came over the line.

Then Sam said what she hated to say. “The FBI knows about you. Why don’t you stay where you are?” She was careful not to say where. It was a unique experience, weighing every question, every answer, every comment.

“I knew it was coming,” her mother said, resignation softening her voice into a mere whisper.

But Sam had not, and now she felt wracked with guilt. She had been so consumed with meeting her brother that she’d not considered the cost to her mother, the fact that a life she’d so carefully constructed might collapse.

“I’m sorry,” she said.

“Don’t be,” her mother said. “It was going to happen sooner or later. Secrets have a way of leaking out.”

“It could hurt you.”

“You’ve already been hurt. That’s what grieves me,” her mother said.

“I’m safe here,” Sam said. She wanted to assure her mother that she should be, too, now that Paul Merritta was dead. She was struck by the irony of feeling grief for a father she’d never known, while being relieved that the threat to her mother had probably died with Paul Merritta. “Why don’t you stay where you are until I come home? Then we can spend a few days together before …”

“Before all hell breaks loose?” her mother said.

It was an uncharacteristic comment from her mother. “Yes,” Sam said.

“Be careful of Nicholas. He was raised by them.”

Sam winced at the strain in her mother’s voice and wondered what it had cost her to say that about her own son. “That wasn’t his fault.”

“No, but it’s fact.”

Sam knew that. The seed of doubt that McLean had planted hadn’t entirely faded. Nor had the finger of fear. It was just that the emotional need to get to know Nick was stronger. That didn’t mean she wouldn’t be careful.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” she said.

She heard a relieved sigh.

“Will you call Terri and tell her?” Sam said. She didn’t want to go over the explanations again with her friend.

“Of course.”

“I’ll try to reach you,” Sam said. She didn’t want to give her Nick’s number. She shuddered at the idea of some stranger listening in on a conversation between them.

“I love you, Samantha,” her mother said.

“I love you, too,” Sam said, and turned the phone off. God knew it was true. She was angry, even furious at her mother for hiding the truth so many years. And yet she couldn’t deny thirty-five years of love, or caring. It was as much a part of her as her heart. Or maybe it was her heart.

And what would happen to Western Wonders when rumors started flying that the Carrolls might be connected to organized crime? How could her mother lose that, too?

Sam sat down in a comfortable chair and looked about the office. It was much neater than her own, the product of an organized mind. How organized? How compartmentalized? How much did she really know about him?

She heard the faint sound of a voice. She hadn’t heard a phone ring, but then she probably wouldn’t hear a cell phone. She stood and went over to the door, but was able to hear only a word now and then.

She did hear the word “Pop,” and she thought he would probably only use it with a member of the family. She opened the door and walked in.

“I’ll talk to you later,” Nick said into the phone, then replaced it in his pocket.

“You didn’t have to stop talking for my sake,” she said, wondering why he felt she shouldn’t hear any of the conversation. That wriggle of doubt ran down her spine again.

“I was through. By the way, Kelley brought over your luggage. He also checked the safe and retrieved what you left there. They’re in your room upstairs.”

She felt a tug of annoyance. It had probably been easy enough for Kelley to open the safe since he was an ex-officer, and then there were the adjoining rooms. Still, she felt choices being taken away from her. “How did he open the safe?”

He shrugged. “Did you use your birthday?”

Feeling somewhat simple, she nodded.

“That’s probably it, then.”

He peered at her as if aware of her disquieting feelings. “Hungry?”

“Starving.”

“Can you cook?” he asked. “I have bacon and eggs.”

She nodded. “I enjoy cooking.”

“Good. I can make the toast,” he offered.

He seemed more relaxed than at any time since she’d met him. She wondered whether it was real or a pose.

There were so many things she didn’t understand about him.

She followed him into a spacious kitchen that was as tidy—and pristine—as the rest of the house.

She got the bacon and eggs from the fridge and, at his instructions, found the frying pan in the cabinet. He took a stool and watched her as she started frying the bacon.

“Mother asked about you.”

“Thirty-four years late,” he said abruptly.

She was becoming accustomed to his broad Boston accent and short answers.

She sighed. “Her life is turned upside down, too.”

He didn’t reply.

What was she doing here? He obviously didn’t want her. Her mother probably needed her. Her mother would need her once she was assaulted by federal officers and the resulting publicity.

“Was that someone with the family?” she asked about the phone call he’d just ended.

“Yes.”

“Who?” she asked with exasperation.

“Victor.”

The one her mother warned her about. “Did he say anything about what happened last night?”

“Says he doesn’t know anything about the attempt on your life. About Pop, only that the maid discovered him this morning. He wanted me to know that’s why no one showed up at the hospital. They were all detained.”

“Could the two be a coincidence? The attempt on my life? His death?”

He gave her a sharp look. “His death was apparently natural.”

She was struck by his coolness, by his concern for food rather than going to the Merritta house and sharing grief over a lost loved one. “Are you going over there?”

“Later.”

“I want to go.”

“Glutton for punishment, aren’t you?”

She turned over the bacon and put down the long fork with more emphasis than she’d intended. “Don’t you care?”

He gave her a long, level look. “Not that it’s your business, but yes, I care,” he said through clenched teeth. “But I didn’t intend to show it in front of McLean, and I don’t care to share it with Victor or George or the others.” He waited a minute, then said softly, “Or with you. You didn’t know him. You don’t know me.”

His icy disdain chilled her from her toes to the top of her head, stunning her.

She thought him capable of anything at that moment. Had she been wrong to trust him? To come here? What did she really know about him, other than they shared the same blood?

“Can you tell me anything about him? And the business?”

“I only know that he’s been trying to steer the family toward legitimate businesses. He saw the handwriting on the wall. Every family in the northeast has been decimated by the feds. There’s damn little loyalty any longer. People turn on a dime.”

“Did everyone agree on the new direction?”

“No,” he said flatly.

“Who didn’t?”

His eyes grew hard again. “Don’t get into it, Samantha. Don’t even think about it.”

“I still don’t know why he asked me to come.”

“You probably never will. Just as I won’t. If you go home and disappear, you’ll probably be safe. You and your mother. But butt into this, and all bets are off. Whoever forced us off the road last night wasn’t playing games.”

Her blood ran cold. “You and your mother.” He’d mentioned her mother several times. Why? What had happened more than thirty years ago couldn’t possibly threaten anyone today … could it? Maybe someone thought she might take some tiny part of an inheritance. But why her mother?

Something nagged at her. It was more than apprehension. It was foreboding.

“Was his death natural?” she asked.

“I have no reason to believe otherwise. You saw him.”

“Yes, I saw him. He looked sick but not as if he would die in a few hours.”

“And you’re a doctor?”

The sarcasm hurt. “Agent McLean seems to think it wasn’t natural.” She wanted to ruffle him. She was tired of his cool demeanor, his seeming indifference to his father’s death, his lack of curiosity about his mother. Or perhaps, she thought, it was his defense. Hers had been charging forward. His might be retreating.

But at the mention of the FBI agent’s name, he became silent, building a wall too high for her to breach. She put the food on the table while he rummaged with his one good hand for silverware.

They ate in silence. He’d closed up like a clam, apparently unwillingly to let her inside whatever walls he’d built. She wished Terri were here. She would have had him talking in a moment. But Sam couldn’t do that. There were too many secrets between them, too much pain, too much time.

“When do you plan to fly home?” he asked as they finished the meal.

“Tomorrow. When is the funeral?”

His face tightened. “It’ll be at least five days away. There will be an autopsy, thanks to the police, and a lot of people will want to attend. It will take some time to arrange that.” He scowled at her. “You aren’t thinking of coming back?”

“Eager to get rid of me?”

“That’s not what I meant. I just think you will be safer in Colorado. Why in the hell do you want to go to the funeral, anyway? He meant nothing to you. You didn’t even know he existed until a few days ago. Why pretend differently?”

She felt violated. Insulted by his judgment of her. She wasn’t pretending. She really didn’t feel anything toward the man whose seed had created her. But she wanted closure on this, and somehow she felt the funeral would do that. It was obvious from his voice that he didn’t want her here. The thought hurt more than she believed possible.

“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.