Twisted Shadows by Patricia; Potter Page B

draw another glance in the rearview mirror.
    â€œNo,” she said.
    He made a turn, then another. They were in downtown Boston. She suddenly wondered whether she was wise to entrust her safety to a perfect stranger. She looked at the identification card on the back of the front seat. A name she couldn’t decipher.
    He drove up to the front of a large hotel. She recognized the chain name. She dug in her pocketbook for the fare, adding it to the fifty she had already given him. “Thank you,” she said. She jumped out of the cab and went inside.
    The lobby was nearly empty. She went directly to an elevator, rode it up to the tenth floor, then came back down in the other bank of elevators. She went out a side entrance. She’d seen the technique used in a movie. It made sense.
    Paranoid. The word was echoing in her head again. You’ve seen too many of those movies .
    She walked quickly across the parking lot and down several streets. She passed two hotels before settling on a third. It wasn’t as elegant as the first but the desk clerk was understanding when she explained that her wallet with all its credit cards had just been stolen but that she always hid cash in a separate place. She paid cash for a night and left a fifty-dollar deposit for “extras.” Her name was given as Alice Carter.
    She reached her room, secured the locks and ran water in the bath as she unpacked her clothes. One dress and several pantsuits. She searched the room for a minibar but didn’t find one.
    She wanted to call her mother, but not from here. Nor did she wish to frighten her out of hiding. Maybe she’d misconstrued everything, she told herself.
    Instead of phoning, she sank into the tub full of hot water and sighed as the tension in her body melted into exhaustion.
    Unfortunately, her mind refused to stop working. What in the hell was going on? The question played over and over again.
    If her biological—and that was the only way she could even consider the relationship—father had sent for her, why would he wish her harm? And why would anyone try to hurt the supposed daughter of one of the most feared men in Boston?
    Questions. So many questions.
    She stayed in the bathtub for a long time, continually adding hot water. She wanted to wash away that feeling of fear, of being vulnerable. Of being a victim. She’d never allowed herself to be one. She didn’t plan to start now.
    â€œWhat now, Sherlock?”
    If Nate didn’t like Gray as much as he did, he would have punched him. Mainly because he couldn’t hit himself.
    He’d lost her. It had taken him several precious seconds to show the airport police his credentials. While he’d convinced them he was who he said he was, she’d already taken off in a cab.
    But at least he knew she’d gotten away. They’d located the cabbie, and he’d told them he’d taken her to a hotel. Problem was no one of her description was registered there.
    He’d called Gray from the airport and asked him to meet him at the office.
    â€œThey weren’t Merritta’s men,” Nate said now. “I know them all. Carver is a freelancer.”
    â€œSo all we have to find out is who hired him,” Gray said. “But after assaulting a federal officer, he’s probably on a plane to Mexico or points south.”
    â€œThe first shot in a new war?” Nate said, ignoring the comment. “I can’t believe even Merritta would send goons after his daughter after inviting her here.”
    Gray sobered. “God knows what’s at play. We have to find her.”
    â€œAt least we have her brother’s phone tapped now. I’ll bet my next paycheck she tries to contact him.”
    â€œThank God for McGuire.”
    McGuire had been the third federal judge they’d approached. He’d been down on the list because he was up for an appellate appointment and Nate knew his record would be scrutinized.