thirty-three

Word of Anna Merritta’s arrest and the Chicago shoot-out leaked through local law enforcement agencies, and enterprising reporters milked all their sources for information. Sam’s and her mother’s lives were being dissected across the country. So was every detail about the Merritta family.

Nick had demanded that the funeral be postponed until he and Sam returned to Boston the day after the shooting. At least the publicity would discourage attendance, Sam thought. The feeding frenzy of the local and national media would keep the infamous away in droves.

Not many of Paul Merritta’s associates wanted to bear the scrutiny of hordes of federal agents and members of the press after newspaper headlines detailed the arrest of Anna Merritta and the attempted murder of Paul Merritta’s wife and daughter, supposedly killed in an accident three decades ago.

Sam didn’t want to consider what it would mean to her life, her mother’s life and their gallery. Nothing would ever be the same for either of them.

But they were alive. And Sam was determined that they would stay that way.

She also had something she’d thought she would never have. Even if it never came to anything more, she and Nate had experienced something grand and glorious. She didn’t like to think about the future. He was FBI inside and out, despite his protestations. And now she was the notorious daughter of a mobster. That was obviously a career breaker.

After the shooting, her mother had answered the police’s questions, then they had been released. Patsy disappeared with Simon—a matter of leverage, Simon and Nate said, with federal officials. They didn’t dare play all their cards at once—and in the open—until they knew for sure if there was a leak in the Bureau.

Sam and Nate had gone straight to the FBI offices in Boston. She stared blandly at his immediate supervisor as he tried to take over and patronize her. She had never liked men who automatically treated women like the nearest footstool.

“I’m sorry, Agent Barker,” she said evenly, surprising herself as well as Nate. “But I won’t talk to anyone but the Agent in Charge. Nate tells me his name is Richard Woodward.”

Barker looked at Nate, who shrugged, but Sam would have sworn she saw his mouth twitch as he glanced down at his shoes.

Barker gave her another condescending smile, a sure sign he was going to treat her like a piece of furniture again.

She lifted her chin a notch as she continued to stare at him. “Richard Woodward or no one,” she said quietly.

Barker spun on his heel and stiffly walked to the door, ordering his secretary to show them to Woodward’s office.

“Did you forget that he is armed?” Nate asked as they entered a larger reception office.

“I try very hard not to think of things like that when I’m being a feminist,” she replied. “And I also knew I had you at my side,” she added with a quick smile.

A secretary said they would have to wait a moment. In a moment, Agent in Charge Richard Woodward appeared in the doorway. “Nate, I understand you’ve had a few interesting days.”

Nate turned to Sam. “This is Samantha Carroll. She won’t talk to anyone but you.”

Woodward raised an eyebrow. “And you didn’t have anything to do with that?”

“He didn’t,” Sam confirmed.

He gave her a long, level stare, then grinned. “I like her. Come with me.”

Sam felt immense relief that he wasn’t holding her demand against either Nate or herself. The man definitely did not fool around.

Once inside, Nick didn’t bother with preliminaries. “Listen to this tape first,” he said.

He ran the tape of Nick’s phone conversation with McGuire and injected their suspicions at strategic points in the dialogue. He also told Woodward he suspected leaks in the Bureau and had for a long time.

“The wounded suspect in Chicago said there had been four of them,” Nate said as he punched the off button. “He also said they had expected only two women. He was angry at being lied to and ready to turn against Anna Merritta. In his world, being lied to was obviously a far worse sin than murdering women. Attempted murder will put her away for a long time.”

But the judge had remained a problem.

Woodward was skeptical but obviously interested. “Why,” he asked, “would McGuire want the gun so damned bad that he would risk going to Chicago and then not even make the meet?”

“I think he meant to make it, and had second thoughts,” Nate said. “Either that or he heard from someone in the Bureau or from the family that Anna had also sent out a team of assassins. Maybe he thought the Merrittas would take care of the problem for him. It affected them, too, of course—”

“But if there’s no body, there can be no comparison with bullets from the gun registered to or used by McGuire,” Woodward protested.

Nate shook his head. “There has to be something. My best guess is a body. We think it’s possible that’s what Merritta wanted to tell Samantha. He might have thought that knowledge would provide some protection. Now we can only hope that he wrote it down somewhere where she can find it.”

“A hell of a long shot,” Woodward said. “McGuire never admitted to anything on those tapes. They only cast suspicion toward him. That might destroy his nomination, but we sure as hell won’t get an indictment on that.”

“We have an eyewitness in Patsy Carroll,” Nate reminded him.

“It’s not enough in this case and you know it,” Woodward shot back. “The defense will paint her as the embittered wife with an ax to grind against the family. But I’m still listening. You have more?”

“No,” Nate said reluctantly. “But Merritta wanted to see Miss Carroll for some reason. Anna may know more, too. She had to get information from someone about our being in Chicago, and I suspect that someone was the judge. Maybe through Victor. Maybe through someone here at the Bureau. I’m sure McGuire wouldn’t have personally included her. He wouldn’t want anyone else to know what happened, but I wouldn’t preclude Victor as a conduit of information. If so, she might know more than she thinks she knows and be willing to make a deal.”

“If she’s not afraid to go against a federal judge,” Woodward said. “And we’re going to need one hell of a lot of evidence to try to indict a sitting judge, especially one with McGuire’s reputation.”

Nate nodded. “I’m hoping the will produces something. If either Sam or Nicholas inherits, we can gain access to all of Merritta’s records.”

Woodward raised an eyebrow. “Nicholas Merritt?”

Nate looked at Sam, then back at Woodward. “Yeah,” he said. “He’ll cooperate.”

“You’ve changed your mind about him?”

“He gave us the information about McGuire. It paralleled what we had. I believe him.”

Woodward’s gaze went from Nate to Sam and back again. “We’ll wait to see what’s in the will. In the meantime, we’ll begin a discreet probe of Judge McGuire. We’ll want to talk to your mother, of course.”

That had been Sam and Nate’s ace in the hole. Simon had taken Patsy to a small Pennsylvania town until Sam and Nate summoned them.

“She’ll be here if Mr. McLean stays on the case,” Sam said.

Woodward took a sip of coffee from a mug he lifted from his crowded desk, then directed his attention to Nate. “I don’t think so. Because of the shooting in Boston, he’s on temporary desk duty, and Agent Barker has filed a complaint against him.”

“If he doesn’t stay with the case, you will never get the gun. Or find my mother. She remained lost for thirty years. She can do it again.”

“You and your mother are material witnesses,” Woodward said. “We can hold you, if not your mother.”

“Then you’ll never find the gun. I don’t trust anyone but Nate.”

Woodward looked irritated, then shrugged. He turned back to Nate. “All right. But stay out of trouble.”

Nate grimaced. “I told you we have a leak in the office. We need to keep Sam’s location between you, me and agents I pick.”

Woodward raised his brows in a way that Sam thought might intimidate a lesser man than Nate. “You choose the detail,” he finally agreed. “I want at least two agents with her all the time.” He leaned forward in his chair. “When can I see Patsy Carroll?”

“After we know the leak in the Bureau has been eliminated,” Nate said.

Woodward gave him a hard look. “There’s a murder of a federal agent. Thirty-four years ago or not, we want that case solved.”

“I do, too,” Nate said simply. “What about Barker?”

Woodward stared down at his desk, then sighed and nodded. “I hope to hell you’re wrong about the leak, but we’ll keep him out of the loop for now.”

Satisfied for the moment, Sam and Nate left for the funeral.

The Merritta family and their retainers crowded into the law offices of Paul Merritta’s attorney after his somber funeral mass and burial.

Sam watched as each family member settled into chairs placed around the room for the reading of the will. Her mother was not present. She’d had no desire to see Victor and other members of the family who once had made her life a nightmare.

Feeling oddly detached, Sam wondered if any more of them had deadly intentions. Anna had said nothing since her arrest. Were any of the other family members involved? Either with Judge McGuire or Anna?

None of them looked at her. Among them, only Nicholas acknowledged her. He had given her an encouraging—and sympathetic—smile, and then found a seat in a corner. Nate stood just inside the door, allowed to remain at her request and, surprisingly, at Nicholas’s demand. His presence had not helped the temperature in the room. Hostility steamed from Victor Merritta and the others.

As she waited for the attorney to proceed, she thought of the last few hours and the funeral that morning.

Appropriately, it had been a grim and lifeless affair but for the suspicion that rippled through the family in waves. Thankful that she attended the funeral with Nick, she’d walked between her brother and Nate, holding her head high and ignoring reporters’ questions. They had not sat with the rest of the family but several pews back. She said her own prayer, wishing she’d had more time with a very flawed man who, nonetheless, had once loved her mother and herself enough to protect them at risk of his own life should anyone have discovered what he’d done for them.…

Sam noted the expressions of the others in the attorney’s office. Hopeful, fearful, expectant and resigned. Victor and Rich, their wives, Rosa, George, Reggie, and a few more she didn’t know—all beneficiaries, apparently, of Paul Merritta’s will.

Victor looked years older as he slumped in his chair. He was still under suspicion as an accessory in the murder of the agent three decades ago and also in the substitution of bodies in the auto accident in which Merritta’s wife and daughter were supposed to have died. He’d refused to take a lie detector test but as yet there was no evidence he’d planned, executed or even knew of either. The Boston PD and FBI were not giving up though. He’d been put on notice.

Her glance moved to George. He looked apprehensive, too.

She admitted to her own apprehension. Her name—Samantha Carroll—had been on the list of beneficiaries. She knew she didn’t want any part of Merritta’s fortune, and she certainly didn’t want the baggage it carried.

All she wanted was an explanation of why Paul Merritta had called her here, and the will was her last hope for communication between her and her biological father. Whoever inherited would have access to all of Paul Merritta’s papers, safe deposit boxes, bank records.

They would have the kind of power that would either be the ultimate protection or the ultimate death sentence.

The attorney, an older man who put on thick reading glasses, plodded through the preliminaries. Then he got down to the crux of the will. A locked box sat on the side of his desk.

Pushing his glasses up on his forehead, he fixed each person with a smile. “This is the last will and testament of Paul Merritta. He made it at ten o’clock the night before he died, somewhat secretly, I must admit. I attended him and can attest to his mental faculties. His butler, Reggie, and the cook witnessed the document.

“He leaves the bulk of his estate to a charitable trust, which is to be administered by his son Nicholas Merritta and his daughter, Nicole Merritta, also known as Samantha Carroll. This includes all his businesses, his home and his bank accounts with the exception of $100,000 a year to each of his brothers, his son George, and his niece Anna for a period of ten years. After that, he feels they should be able to support themselves.” The attorney paused, then added, “Mr. Merritta didn’t think either Miss Carroll or his son Nicholas either needed or would accept any part of the estate. He did hope they would work together on the trust.”

Gasps came from the family members.

“He can’t do that,” George blustered.

“He can,” the attorney corrected, “and he did. He wanted to end the Merritta family’s ‘notorious’ legacy. He paid for both George’s and Anna’s educations and believed they have excellent prospects in business.”

No one mentioned that Anna’s prospects had just been reduced to a federal prison.

The attorney obviously felt the sudden chill in the room, paused, then continued. “Paul Merritta said that legacy destroyed his life and almost destroyed his son’s life. He wanted it stopped now. If you try to fight it, you will lose what is provided for you in the will.”

Abruptly the attorney opened the box and took letters from inside to Samantha. He stood and walked over to Sam. “He wanted you and your mother to have these.”

He handed them to her and returned to his desk.

Sam was stunned. Nicholas, she noted, showed no surprise at all.

So he had known something about the will.

Sam looked at the others in the room, all of whom seemed to be holding their breath.

“I would like to read it in private,” she said.

After a long silence, they reluctantly filed out. Their faces were angry, bewildered, defiant, defeated. Obviously the new will was the last thing they had expected.

Nate and Nicholas remained with Samantha as she opened her letter, setting aside the one for her mother.

When she opened the envelope, a map fluttered to the floor. Nate leaned down and picked it up.

Samantha read the letter slowly.

Nicole——

I hoped to tell you this in person, but if not …

I loved your mother. I loved you. Always remember that.

I was weak and could not fight my father. I tried. But he always won. He made sure he’d win with the murder of a federal agent. My fingerprints were on that gun as well as those of an officer named Terrence McGuire.

I stood by when the murder took place. My father had ordered me to kill him, had told McGuire to give me a gun, but I couldn’t pull the trigger. McGuire took it from me and shot him. My father kept the gun as insurance to keep a hold over McGuire and me. He didn’t need that hold. I died that day. Then I discovered your mother had heard everything. My father wanted to kill her. I told him I would make sure she never talked, and he would still have Nicholas. It was the only way I could save your mother.

She took the gun, but I knew it was worthless without a body. I knew, though, where my father had the body buried, and made sure McGuire knew I knew. That kept him away from you all these years when he suspected your mother and you didn’t die in the car crash. But now he’s more powerful and he wants all the evidence that ties him to that day. I was afraid I couldn’t protect you any longer, that he would find you and come after you.

I had to know whether you were strong enough to take it to the authorities. When I met you today, I knew you were. You and Nicholas.

Hopefully you will work together with the trust and get to know each other as you should have done throughout your lives.

I don’t regret what I did all those years ago. I had no choice. I do regret that I missed those years watching you become the woman you are today. I am proud of both of you.

Your father,

Paul Merritta

Sam caught her breath at the last, touched by that final sentence more than any other. She felt a hand on her shoulder and glanced up, seeing Nick beside her, his mouth tight. Wordlessly she handed the letter to him.

A muscle moved in his cheek as he finished the final two paragraphs as if he too was moved by his father’s simple statement. He handed the letter back to her.

Suddenly feeling the oppression of the room and of the proceedings that had just taken place, Sam picked up the map that had fluttered to the floor and passed both documents to Nathan. The expression on his face didn’t change as he read the letter, then studied the map. His face told her he recognized the area. With any luck, the bullets would match the gun registered to a young patrolman named Terrence McGuire.

He held out his hand. “Let’s go,” he said as she rose, and he wrapped an arm around her.

“It’s over,” Samantha said.

“Not quite,” Nate said. “There will be an arrest and trial.”

She glanced at a stoic Nick. “The publicity isn’t going to end, is it?”

Nick shook his head. “It’s not going to be pleasant, but I’m used to it. You’re not.”

“Neither is our mother.”

Nick didn’t say anything and instead turned to Nate. “If you want to get back to your office, I’ll take her to the hotel with the shadow.”

Sam watched Nate’s expression. After a fraction of a second, he nodded, and she breathed again. It meant he finally trusted her brother.

Nate and Gray, accompanied by four other agents, appeared in the chambers of Judge McGuire. They brushed by the secretary and a protesting clerk, briefly showing their credentials.

They had worked all night. They had found the skeletal remains of the officer and the bullet that killed him. Nate had contacted Patsy, who appeared several hours later and turned over the gun she’d kept locked in a Chicago bank safe deposit box all these years. The bullets matched.

She also identified a photo of McGuire as a young man.

Federal officers probing McGuire’s finances were finding some interesting deposits.

It was more than enough, Woodward said, for an indictment.

Gray and Nathan led the small detachment of agents into McGuire’s chambers.

Barker was not among them. Checks of phone records showed that Barker and McGuire had exchanged numerous phone calls in the past five days. Barker had admitted that he had given information to McGuire without informing his superiors, information that had almost caused the death of a fellow agent and a civilian. There was no evidence that he had done it for any reason other than that of an FBI agent trying to make points with a federal judge.

He was on his way to a very unpleasant posting until an investigation was completed.

McGuire entered his chambers from the courtroom. He barely looked at Nathan and the other agents. “Can I help you?”

“Indeed you can,” Nathan said. “You can turn around and put your hands behind you.”

Bushy dark eyebrows shot up. “What is this? A joke? I can assure you it’s not funny.”

“I have an arrest warrant for Terrence McGuire for the murder of a federal agent thirty-four years ago. You have the right to remain silent …” He recited the revised Miranda warning.

“I know my rights, Agent McLean. I also know you’ll lose your job over this. Everyone knows you’re a loose cannon.”

“Do they?” Nate said. “Then you have nothing to worry about, do you? Now please turn around and put your hands behind you.”

“Handcuffs aren’t necessary,” McGuire said. “I’ll call my attorney and turn myself in.”

“Sorry, sir. Procedure.”

Gray went over to McGuire, pulled his hands back and locked the handcuffs.

“You’ll be very sorry for this,” McGuire said. “I’ve helped the Bureau …”

“I’m sure Agent Barker will testify to that,” Nate said.

McGuire’s face flushed. “I’ll be out before you get home tonight,” he said.

“Maybe,” Nathan said equably. “Let’s go.”

Sam waited impatiently for Nate’s return. Afternoon had turned into night, then into dawn.

She couldn’t go to sleep.

She knew he had risked his job and even more for her. And she had to know what was happening with McGuire.

She made a cup of coffee. An agent was in the room next door to her, another in the hall outside. Her mother was in a room down the hall, Simon still fulfilling his role as protector with the backup of a federal agent.

Nicholas had gone to his office to conduct what he called damage control.

Finally, a knock. She ran to the door, opened it with the chain on until she saw who it was, then unlatched it.

Nate’s eyes were bloodshot, the lines around them emphasizing his exhaustion. He gave her a crooked grin. “He’s behind bars. Something tells me his appointment will be withdrawn by morning.”

“Can they keep him there?”

“I think so, not only for the sake of justice but to protect him as well. A whole lot of law enforcement officers are going to be pissed off when they discover their hero was smearing egg on their faces while shaking their hands. They don’t like cops who kill fellow cops.” He touched her cheek. “I think it’s over, love.”

Love?

She cleared her throat around the lump that suddenly formed at that one word. “And you? Your job?”

“Never more secure,” he said. “Gray and I bagged a federal judge and a Merritta.” He grinned at her. “Not the one I expected, true enough, but my boss is happy.”

“I’m glad,” she said. She meant it, and yet she didn’t. His job would preclude a relationship with her. He was in Boston. She was in Colorado. He was law enforcement. She would be tainted forever.

He raised his hand and caught a curl, gently tugging on it until she looked directly at him. “They are happy enough,” he said, “to give me a choice of assignments after we complete this investigation. I’m picking Denver.”

Her heart bounced against her rib cage. Time ceased moving. So did breathing. “Are you saying …”

“I want to head in your direction if that’s okay with you.”

“My … the Merritta family.” She held her breath, afraid to hope.

“To hell with that. An accident of birth. The Bureau isn’t going to hold that against you.”

She breathed again. Her blood started racing.

“There’s something you should know first,” he said.

She waited.

“I told you my wife died. I didn’t tell you why.”

A muscle twitched in his cheek as she waited for him to continue.

He led her to the bed, sat down beside her on the edge.

“When I married her, she was a social drinker,” he said slowly. “During our marriage she started drinking more and more. Because of my job, she said. Because I was never home. Because I was obsessed with the Merrittas.

“We grew apart and I hated to go home. I never knew what I would find. I tried to get help for her, but she wouldn’t take it. I worked even longer hours, and she drank more. One day, she drove the car into a tree.”

Sam’s heart seemed to stop. There was so much pain in his voice, in his face.

“I should have done more to help her,” he said. “Instead I blamed the Merrittas for my own failure and went after them even more relentlessly. At one point, I would have sold my soul to take them down.”

“You can’t help someone who won’t be helped,” she said softly.

“If I had been home more, it might have been different. I failed her, just like I failed my mother.”

Sam stilled. For the first time, she really understood his obsession. He hadn’t just blamed the Merrittas. He had blamed himself for not protecting his mother. A boy who had lived with that guilt all his life. Then his wife’s death had compounded it. Sam swallowed hard. “You couldn’t have protected your mother, any more than you could’ve protected your wife against herself,” she said. “For God’s sake, you were a boy.”

“I wasn’t a boy when my wife died.”

“No, but you had no more control then than you did as a boy. You can’t help someone who doesn’t want to be helped.” She paused, then asked, “She knew what you did before she married you?”

“Yes, but she never realized the demands.” His gaze bored into her as if searching for an answer to his unspoken question.

She knew what he was telling her. “Well, you don’t have to worry about that with me,” she said tartly. “I received the comprehensive indoctrination of an agent’s life in the past few weeks.”

“I can quit.”

“No,” she said. “It’s who you are. And I love who you are.”

“Can you open a branch of Wonders in Denver?”

“We’ve been considering that,” she said. At least it had been mentioned once. And she could conduct the Internet business anywhere that had an electrical outlet and a phone line.

He leaned down and kissed her, his lips roaming over hers, then traveling across her face with a feather-light tenderness.

“I love you,” he said. “But I want you to be sure. It might be the adrenaline and … even gratitude.”

“I don’t think so,” she said. “I’m grateful to a man in Steamboat who once helped me change a flat, but I didn’t once think about marrying him.”

“Is that so? I thought you knew everything about flats.”

She flushed, then grinned. “I just know how to cause them.”

“Ah, shoot. I thought I had a real winner.”

“Well, I’m decisive. That’s something you should know about me. And I’m bossy. I told the guy how to change that tire. He couldn’t wait to get away from me.”

“I like bossy.”

“Then I think you should take me to bed.”

“You’re shameless, too,” he observed with obvious delight.

“I’m afraid so.”

“And something you should know about me. I’m very good at taking orders.”

“No, you’re not,” she disagreed.

“Well, maybe just your orders.” He kept his fingers busy taking off her blouse, then her bra. He leaned down and kissed her left breast, then her right. “See?” he said.

She did.

She ran her fingers through his hair, then touched the hard planes of his face. Emotion flooded her in waves. She couldn’t believe he loved her, that he was offering a heart that she now realized had been repeatedly battered. She silently promised that she would take good care of it.

She held her arms up to him. It was her way of telling him she was giving him her heart.

A slow, lazy smile spread over his face. Still, he hesitated.

“Bed,” she reminded him.

“Only if you’ll marry me,” he bargained.

She leaned back and looked at the tired face she loved, at the man who was so much better than he believed he was.

“That is an excellent—”

The rest of the sentence died in a kiss.

And the promise of forever.