Twisted Shadows (12 page)

“Then go!”

“I'm afraid the shadows would follow me,” she said. “Home is no longer safe because your father invaded it.”

“So it's
my
father now?” Nicholas said. “
You
made this journey of discovery. Now you have to live with the consequences.” Once again, his tone had hardened.

Because he'd sensed she wanted to look behind her and see if the FBI agent was still there? Had he noticed that hesitancy from her? Had he guessed that she'd wanted the assurance of the man sitting at the bar? Or was it her imagination?

“That Pandora's box you mentioned. I didn't open it. I didn't ask anyone to come to Steamboat Springs. I didn't ask for someone to burglarize my home and assault me. I came to put an end to it as well as meet you and see whether—”

“We had a connection?” he asked. He shrugged, dismissing the notion. “Even if you are my sister, it's been thirty-four years since we've seen each other. We have nothing in common. They say environment has more influence than genes, and our environments have been very different. If you're smart, you'll go back and forget all this.”

“Will they let me?”

“I don't know, but it's better than staying here and making yourself a target.”

“A target for whom?”

“The FBI. Members of the family who don't want competition. Other families who are lusting over the Merritta turf, now that Pop is—”

“If it's so bad, why do you stay here?”

“Damn good question,” he said. “I've asked that a hundred times, but I wasn't going to be run out of a city I love.”

She grinned. “Stubborn, huh?”

His lips twitched. “Sometimes. I don't have to ask about you.”

It was the first time he'd let down his guard, even a little.

“Tell me more about the … family.”

“Literally or figuratively?”

She had to smile at that. Gallows humor. “Literally, at the moment.”

“I told you about George,” Nicholas said. “He hopes to be Pop's successor.”

“Pop?”

“My compromise in what to call him,” he said.

It sounded homey. Affectionate. Yet there was a coldness in Merritt's eyes.

“What about ‘Father'?”

He raised one eyebrow. But said nothing. She sensed it was a subject he was not going to pursue further.

“The others?”

“Anna, my cousin. She lives at the house, has since her father was killed. She's vice president of the Merritta Trust. She gives away money to redeem the family's image,” he said cynically. “Then there's her mother, Rosa, and two uncles and their wives. Victor and Maria, and Rich and Caroline.”

“That's it?”

“
If
you stay, they are the ones you will probably meet. There are others who are related one way or another, but those are the ones who matter.”

“To whom?”

“To Pop. To the family.”

“Are you important to him? To the family?”

“You should have been a detective.” The observation was obviously not a compliment.

“My mother says that, too.” His face tightened, and she suddenly realized what she had said. “I'm sorry.”

“Don't be,” he said. “You didn't do anything. Yet.”

“Yet?”

“You'll be stirring up a pot. If I didn't know about you, then neither did most of the others. I don't think they will be happy.”

“I can't be a threat. I don't want anything. I wouldn't take anything.”

His gaze locked on hers. “Why do you think they will believe you?”

“Do you?”

“I don't know,” he said. “How could I? I don't know you. I don't know the woman who raised you.”

She swallowed hard at the detachment in his voice. She hesitated, wondering whether she should tell him about the threat to her mother. Would he even care? It seemed doubtful.

“And,” he added, “you came, didn't you?” Accusation dripped all over his words.

“I told you why. I wanted to meet my twin brother.”

For a moment his expression seemed to soften, then his face went blank again. He was very good at that. “We're strangers,” he said again. “I'm sorry. I don't feel anything.” But for just a fraction of a second, his eyes seemed to say something else. The emotion—or whatever it was—was gone as fast as it had come.

Or maybe she was mistaken. Maybe she just wanted to see it. A wave of loneliness washed over her. Despite all she knew about the family, she'd harbored hope that she and Nick would find something. Perhaps instinctive familiarity. She wanted the brother she had lost.

She wouldn't get it by pushing. She changed the subject. “Why do you think he wants to see me?”

“God knows. Some kind of game. Pop loves them. Playing people against people. It's his way of discovering who is worthy and who isn't.”

She stared at him silently, giving herself time to comprehend the feelings brewing inside her since meeting him. There had been few indications from him of human emotion, and yet she liked him. She felt comfortable with him.

He was the first to break the silence. “I'll take you tomorrow,” he said, “but first I want to go by a doctor's office for blood samples.”

She nodded. “All right.”

“You really believe it, don't you?”

“Yes, though I understand why you don't.”

“Not in anything my father's engineered. He's been trying to involve me in the business since I left college to join the army. He'd sent me to military schools to ‘toughen' me up. He just never expected I would carry it that far. He tried his damnedest to get me out, but I was tired of being manipulated. Now he might well be trying to use you to do it for him.”

“How?”

“Damned if I know, but I'm sure he has a plan.”

She wanted him to ask something about her mother—anything to show a hint of interest—but he did not. He avoided the subject as if one question would plunge him off a cliff. Well, she'd had her own fall.

But hers couldn't be as bad as the one he'd just had. She'd had a good childhood, parents she'd loved, a peaceful yet adventurous life. What had he had? A gangster father. No mother. Military school.

And yet he looked successful. Self-assured. Comfortable in his own skin.

“You've never married?”

“With my family? No nice girl—or woman—could tolerate my family, and I found I really didn't want the other kind.” He looked at her ring finger.

“Nope,” she said cheerfully. “Always wanted a white knight. Never found him.”

“You won't find him here,” he said.

She finished her glass of wine. She had been right. It had been a very good bottle of wine. “Is there anything else you would like to know?”

He looked steadily at her. “Not until I see the results of the blood test.”

“Fair enough. Thank you for meeting me.”

“Can I walk you to your hotel?”

She hesitated. “I don't have a hotel at the moment.”

He stared at her. “Why?”

“After last night at the airport, I didn't want anyone to find me. I used a false name last night and checked out this morning. My bag is still there in checked luggage.”

He looked at her in amazement, then smiled slowly. “Why didn't you call Pop?”

“I wanted to meet you first.”

“Why?”

“I hoped you would tell me the truth.”

“What truth did you think you would find? That Pop is an ordinary businessman? That I would welcome you into my life? That thirty-four years would disappear because you want them to? Did you ever think you might not like what you found?”

“Oh, I thought it,” she said. “I thought about it very hard.”

“And your mother? What did she think about this adventure?”

“She didn't want me to come.”

“A book better closed,” he said with a trace of bitterness. “You should have listened to her.”

Perhaps she should have.

“Back to the problem of a hotel,” he said. “I know of one where I often place customers. It's small and personal, and they'll take care of you. The reservation would be in my partner's name. You'll be Miss Connor.”

She looked at him for a long moment. Part of her wanted to refuse and make her own way as she insisted earlier, but she was beyond her depth and she knew it. And for some reason, she trusted Nicholas Merritt. “Thank you,” she said. “I accept.”

He really smiled for the first time. “That easy?”

“If you had the kind of day I had yesterday and again this morning, you would understand.”

He took a cell phone from his belt and spoke softly into it. She couldn't hear what he said. When he was finished, he turned it off and turned back to her. “You said some men approached you. Describe them.”

“Large. Sturdy. One had very light hair and pale blue eyes. The other was dark. Could your father—”

“No. He invited you. Your safety would be important. Maybe they were sent to protect you.”

“They didn't look like they wanted to protect anyone.”

He held out his hand. “Give me the claim check for your luggage. I'll have it picked up and delivered to the hotel. I'll make sure no one follows.”

“And me? How will you get me there?”

“In ten minutes, someone will drive up to the back of this restaurant. He'll take you there. He knows how to avoid a tail.”

She bit her lip at the final comment.

He paid the bill with a credit card, and they waited in silence another few moments until the waiter returned. “I hope everything was satisfactory, sir.”

“It was,” he said as he wrote down a tip, then his name. He turned back to her. “I would advise you to stay at the hotel. Boston isn't Steamboat Springs.”

She didn't want him to leave. “Have you ever been there?”

“Once. On a ski trip.”

“I like skiing, too.”

“Most people do,” he said, bursting that personal bubble. “Why don't you go powder your nose,” he said. “The back door is next to the powder room.”

She didn't ask how he knew that, or whether he was accustomed to slipping in and out of back doors.

She stood, and he rose too, with old-fashioned gallantry. But his face was shuttered.

She'd been dismissed.

The hotel was small, exclusive and comfortable. A kind of European-style establishment with a staff that was unusually attentive and a doorman who seemed more than the average doorman.

“Miss Connor. We have your reservation ready,” said a Mr. Bennett who met her inside the door. He had
MANAGER
on his name badge. He apparently didn't think it was unusual that she had no baggage.

She started to rummage in her purse for her wallet as they reached the desk. The manager shook his head. “Everything has been taken care of,” he said.

“What if I don't want everything taken care of?” she asked, even as she realized her cash was disappearing quickly.

He looked distressed.

She vowed silently to repay Nick Merritt. “It's all right,” she said gently.

He beamed a smile and rang a bell. She didn't think anyone really did that anymore. But immediately there was someone next to her, and the manager handed over the key.

“If you need anything at all, call us,” the manager said. “We have room service twenty-four hours a day, and if you forgot any personal items …”

She nodded and followed the bellman to the elevator and up to the third floor. A small lounge area was just off the elevator. He led the way down the hall, inserted the card key and opened the door.

The room was really a small suite comprised of a sitting room with desk and a large bedroom furnished with what looked like antiques and a king-size bed. The bellman showed her a minibar and a small refrigerator. She was asked about ice, and said yes. In seconds, he reappeared with a full bucket. He gave her a slight bow as he exited, a sizable tip in hand.

She went to the windows and looked at a fine view of a park. For the first time in days, she felt she could relax.

A bath. And a glass of wine. Room service. Safety.

It all sounded very inviting, but she had a phone call to make first. She hesitated about using her cell phone to call her mother's cell phone, then decided it should be safe enough.

Her mother picked up on the first ring, and Sam knew she had been sitting next to the phone. For how long?

Pleasantries were exchanged, the usual “How are you?” but now there was an intensity to the question.

Sam lied. “I'm fine. You?”

Her mother was fine, too, though Sam knew neither of them was fine at all. She heard the worry in her mother's voice.

“I met Nicholas,” Sam said. “I like him.”

“Did he … ask about me?”

Sam closed her eyes. She should have anticipated this question, but she hadn't. At least, not quite this soon.

“Samantha? Are you still there?” Stark fear came through the wire, jerking Sam from her preoccupation.

“Yes, I'm still here. He doesn't accept the fact that I might be his sister and that his mother is alive,” she said carefully. “He believed we were both killed in an accident when he was a baby. He wants a blood test.”

“What's he like?” Her mother was obviously hungry for information.

“He's smart. Cautious. Droll sense of humor. As I said, I like him. I'm not sure he feels the same about me.”

“Do you trust him?”

Sam hesitated at that. She did. To a point. She wondered though if she would ever trust anyone completely again. “Yes,” she said finally.

“You haven't seen
him
yet.” Her mother didn't have to spell out who
him
was. Her mother's former husband. Sam's biological father.

“No,” she said.

“Don't let him manipulate you,” her mother said.