Finger Prints (34 page)

“I’ll be there, Carly,” he said firmly. “Just stay put. And, please, hon, don’t worry. We’ll find out where he is. There’s got to be some explanation.”

That was what she kept telling herself for the forever it seemed to take Sam to arrive. By the time he did, she had composed herself enough to tell him everything, from the events of the day before and the startling presence of that face from Chicago, back to smaller things, things of a more personal nature that might help him help her. She spared nothing, from Ryan’s growing frustration, to his wanting her to have his children, to her fear that he had simply dumped her.

“I won’t believe that until I hear it from the horse’s mouth,” was Sam’s forceful response. “I saw the way he looked at you the other day. The man’s in love. A love like that doesn’t just go away.”

Carly crossed the room and picked up the photograph she’d turned over earlier. Looking at Ryan’s image, so manly, so strong and protective, she felt the deep pain of yearning. “I hope you’re right.”

“I am. There has to be some explanation for all this. We’ll try to get something on the guy from Chicago, but you say Ryan didn’t talk with him.”

“Not that I know of.”

“And the guy didn’t speak to you, so I doubt he made the connection.”

“I don’t care about him! It’s
Ryan
I’m worried about!”

“Okay, hon. Okay. Now. Where might he be?”

“I don’t know!”

“Think, Carly. Any lead you can give me might help.”

Clutching the photograph to her breast, she turned. “I’ve gone over and over it in my mind. I’ve been through everything. If he went on his own, he might be just wandering somewhere. If he was forcibly taken away—” she couldn’t help but shudder “—he could be anywhere.” Her voice broke and Sam stood quickly. “Where are you going?”

Downstairs. Where did you say he parked his car?”

Relieved at the thought of doing something concrete, she ran for a pair of sneakers and a coat. “I’ll show you.”

The BMW was gone.

As Sam led her back inside, he tried to bolster her spirits. “If he was abducted, his car would probably still be there, so that’s one vote against violence. Let’s check his place.”

“But I don’t have a key.”

Extracting a small case from his back pocket, Sam winked. It took him no more than a minute to pick the lock. “Why don’t you have a key? He has yours, doesn’t he?” He pushed the door open and went in, Carly following closely.

“There was never any need. There’s nothing here.”

Looking around the bare living room, Sam straightened. “So I see. I thought he ordered furniture.”

“He did, but, aside from the bed, it was all custom-made. It won’t be ready for another two or three weeks.”

With a nod, Sam proceeded to go over the entire apartment in search of a clue as to Ryan’s where-abouts. “Nothing,” he announced, then sighed. “Well, at least there’s no sign of violence here either.”

Back in Carly’s apartment, he contemplated the options. “Okay. Assuming he was upset and went somewhere just to think things out, where might that be? Would he have gone to his parents’ house?”

She shook her head. “I don’t think so.”

“Or his brother’s?”

“Maybe, but I doubt it. He’d want to be alone.”

“Were there places the two of you went together?”

She shrugged, eyes glued to the floor, hand closed tight in her pocket around the spare key she’d taken from Ryan’s kitchen cabinet. “We used to take drives—up toward Rockport and Gloucester, out along the old Boston Post Road.” She paused for an instant, then spoke her agony. “If it were me and I wanted to go somewhere, I’d go back to the place we stayed in Vermont.” She looked up, daring to hope. “That might be where he went. He said he’d been there right after his divorce when he needed time to get away and think.”

Sam was scribbling in the small notebook he’d taken from his pocket. “Okay. Give me the name and address.” As soon as she’d done so, he put in a call to Greg. From where Carly stood staring glumly out the living room window, she caught snatches of the conversation. She jumped when Sam materialized behind her.

“We’ll check out Vermont. And his parents’ and Tom’s and his office. I’ve also got someone going to the airport, train station, bus depot.” He took a breath. “I’ll head into town to coordinate everything. Where’s Sheila?”

“I think she’s with Tom.”

“Good. That’d answer one question. Can you call her? I don’t think you should be alone.” At the widening of her eyes, he spoke very gently. “Not for safety’s sake, hon. I just think you could use the company.”

“I hate to bother her. She’s been busy enough following me around all week.”

“That’s her job. This she’ll do out of friendship.” He tossed his head toward the phone. “Go call her. I’ll wait until I know she’s on her way.”

With lingering reluctance, Carly put through the call. Sheila was indeed at Tom’s house—with no sign of Ryan—and promised to be over as quickly as she could. Knowing that, Sam left.

When Sheila arrived, Tom was right on her heels. “He insisted,” she explained by way of apology when Carly’s worried gaze flew back and forth between the two.

“Damn right I insisted,” Tom announced, but kindly. At the sight of a forlorn Carly, he went to her. “He’s my brother,” he said softly, then very gently put his arms around her in offer of comfort. She was stiff at first, yielding only gradually to his warmth. “I’m worried too. There has to be some explanation for his disappearance. I can’t believe he’d knowingly put you through this pain. He loves you very much.”

Whether bidden by his heartfelt words or by the strong arms that offered a support she badly needed, tears formed in her eyes, gathered in large pools, then began a slow trickle down her cheeks. She tried to check them, and bit her lip to stifle the sobs threatening to erupt, but Tom wouldn’t allow it.

His arms tightened. “Cry, Carly. It’s all right. You can’t keep it bottled up. It’ll only hurt more.”

She wept softly, hands clinging to the light wool of his sweater. “It hurts.”

“I know. But it’ll be okay. Sam will find him, and until then, we’ll be with you.” Over her head, he cast a glance at Sheila. Tears were in her eyes too. He had no way of knowing that her thoughts were of his tenderness, his goodness, and her own awful lack of those qualities. She returned his sad smile before going to stand, deep in thought, before the window.

“I love him,” Carly whispered.

“I know.”

“What if he doesn’t come back?”

“He’ll be back.” Very gently he began to rub her back, coaxing warmth into her chilled body. “You’ll see. He’ll be back.”

Sam had the same conviction, but his reasoning ran along different lines, as he sat brooding at his desk. Ryan Cornell had flown to Chicago that morning. Chicago. Strange coincidence. Though he had a head start on them, he would be found and followed; Bill Hoffmeister had already put his best men on the case. If by some chance Ryan wasn’t on the up-and-up, they would soon know it and obtain whatever evidence they needed to pursue the case.

He had been on an early flight and would have already landed. No doubt Hoffmeister’s men were checking on car rentals and calling every hotel in the area. If things went well, they would locate him before he made his contact,
if
that was what he’d gone to Chicago to do. In any case, Sam would be there to meet his plane when he returned to Logan.

Brows furrowed, he closed his eyes and thought of Carly. How could he live with
himself
, knowing how he’d encouraged her from the start! But he was jumping to conclusions. He had no proof that Ryan had gone to Chicago with evil intent. Not yet. Hell, he’d cleared him himself. It just didn’t make sense. The man had no motive whatsoever—unless, having discovered Carly’s secret, he’d been so enraged at her deception that he’d lost his marbles. But Ryan Cornell? Cool, levelheaded, straight-as-an-arrow Ryan Cornell?

Lifting the phone, he dialed Carly’s number. When a man answered, he was taken aback. Then he put two and two together.

“Tom?”

“Yes.”

“Sam Loomis. I’m Carly’s friend.”

“Sure, Sam. Any word?”

“Yeah. We’ve got a lead on him.”

“Where is he?”

“I’d rather not say yet.” He wasn’t sure how fully Carly had filled Tom in on the scenario, and, on the chance that she’d simply told him Ryan was missing, was reluctant to spill anything else. Not to mention the fact that if Ryan was into something, there was always a chance Tom might be somehow involved. “We’re working on it.” He paused. “Is Sheila there?”

“Right here.”

That was a relief at least. “How’s Carly?”

“Pretty unhappy.”

“Can you reassure her at all?”

“I’ve been trying.”

“Well, tell her that he seems to be well.” The airline had reported that he had checked in alone, that yes, he had looked tired and rumpled, but that there was no sign of anyone coercing him to make the flight. “And that as soon as I know anything more, I’ll call.”

“I’ll tell her.”

“Thanks. Hey, and tell her that if
she
gets a call or anything, she’s to let me know immediately.”

“Where are you?”

“At my office. She knows the number.”

“Okay. And Sam, thanks. We really appreciate all you’re doing.” He sounded genuine enough to Sam, whose gut instinct was to trust him. Particularly with Sheila there.

“Carly’s pretty special,” Sam said in closing. “I only wish I could do more.”

Tom hung up the phone. Carly was at his elbow, eyes round, face ashen. “What did he say?”

“They have a lead.” Urging her to the sofa, he sat down with her. Taking both of her hands in his, and he spoke gently. “He couldn’t say anything more, except that he thinks Ryan’s fine.”

Carly’s relief was short-lived. “If he’s fine, why would he run off like that? Where is he? What’s wrong?”

“We don’t know that yet. It may be nothing but a misunderstanding.”

“There wasn’t any misunderstanding! Ryan clearly told me that he’d be back up after he made his calls.” Shoulders slumped, she looked away. “I don’t understand, Tom. I just don’t understand.”

He pushed a lock of hair back from her face. “You look exhausted. Did you sleep at all last night?” She shook her head. “Maybe you should lie down.”

“I can’t sleep.”

“Then rest. Here on the sofa.”

She looked up at him, taking solace in his concern. “I’ll be all right.” She gave his hand a feeble squeeze. “I’m glad you’re here, Tom. I felt so alone.”

He quirked a boyish grin. “Hey, what’s family for?”

“I’m not exactly family.”

“You will be. Take my word for it.”

Leaving her curled in a corner of the sofa, he returned to the kitchen where Sheila stood, head down, leaning against the counter. “What else did Sam say?” she whispered, lifting her gaze at his approach.

He shook his head, his own discouragement showing. “Nothing.” Then, in need of comfort himself, he put his arms around her and drew her to him. “Ah, Sheila. Sometimes we think we understand someone so well, and then…” He hugged her tighter. “I never would have dreamed Ryan would go off like this. Carly means more to him than anyone in the world.”

Eyes closed against his shoulder, arms firm around his back, Sheila struggled with her own warring devils. Tom was so good, as Ryan had seemed to be. But he was right; people weren’t always what they seemed. Even the smallest thing—a moment’s greed or anger or frustration—could chart an irrevocable course.

It appeared that Ryan had embarked on such a course. For her own sake, even more than for Carly’s, she had to know which one it was. For that reason among others, Sam’s assigning her to stay close to Carly was propitious indeed.

r
YAN SAT ON THE PLANE ON SUNDAY AFTERNOON,
a fist pressed to his jaw, his eyes fixed on the blanket of clouds below. It all fit. He should have put the pieces together sooner. Had it not been for Pritzak, though, it might have gone on forever. It appeared that Carly wasn’t going to tell him.

He thought back to all the signs. The fear in her eyes that first night when, frightened in the dark, she must have thought she was being followed. The slip of her husband’s name. Her reticence to speak about those years since Matthew had died. The nightmares. Her quickness on legal issues, her aversion to lawyers, her vehemence when they had discussed the case he considered taking against the
Globe
. Her sudden disappearance, then the tag on her luggage. The absence of an address book that might identify her. Even the stone wall he’d run into trying to call her in the Bahamas.

The newspapers he’d read in the library yesterday had told him as much as he needed to know. Even the pictures had been revealing. No, Pritzak hadn’t been imagining the similarity. True, Robyn Hart’s hair had been long and straight, while Carly’s curled naturally. And her eyes—Robyn Hart’s eyes had apparently been blue according to Pritzak. But then, so were Carly’s. Contact lenses could do wonders. It had never occurred to him to question why he’d never seen her without them.

He understood now why her pills had been made out to R. Hart, why that phone call had come for Robyn so long ago, why the needlepoint pillows and wall hangings all bore tiny robins in their corners. And he understood now her relationship with Sam Loomis.

Squeezing his eyes shut, he rubbed his throbbing temple. Having spent Friday night driving around Boston and Saturday night walking the streets of Chicago, he hadn’t slept more than a couple of hours in the past sixty. But all the driving and walking in the world hadn’t eased his agony. He might now know exactly what Carly had to hide, but the future of their relationship was as shaky as ever.

He had wanted her to come to him. But she hadn’t. And he wasn’t sure if he could continue to live with her, knowing she didn’t trust him enough. But could he bear to live without her? That was the crux of his worry. He cursed the fate that had sentenced him to such pain.

In the end, the anger and hurt he felt were nothing compared to his love for Carly. His time in Chicago had given him a glimpse of all she had suffered before she met him. At least now he knew what enemy he fought. And he loved her. If he could make her life easier, that was what he had to do. He could only pray that one day she would love him enough, trust him enough to confide in him and make his life complete.

The plane landed in an early evening mist. Hauling his small bag from the overhead compartment, Ryan waited with the rest of the passengers until the deplaning began. He walked slowly, head down, into the terminal. When a hand clamped onto his arm, he stiffened.

“Let’s go,” Sam commanded softly enough not to attract attention.

He tried to shake the hand loose, but it cut into his arm with a strength he would never have guessed the other man possessed. “What’s this about?” he barked.

“A few questions.”

“What for?” Again he tried to pry loose, but Sam’s grip only tightened.

“Let’s not make a scene. I just want to talk with you.”

“You should have done that a hell of a long time ago!”

Ignoring the outburst, Sam walked quickly down the corridor, then tossed his head to the side and guided Ryan into a small room where they were joined by Greg Reilly and another, more burly-looking, man. With the door closed firmly and his arm suddenly released, Ryan glared at the threesome, finally homing in on Sam.

“What’s going on?”

“You were in Chicago.”

“Obviously.”

“What for?”

“Use your imagination.”

“I am. And I don’t like what it’s saying. So I want to hear it from you. What were you doing in Chicago?”

“Walking.”

“Tell us something we don’t know. We’ve had a tail on you since last night.”

“Haven’t your men got better things to do—like protecting Carly?”

“That’s what we are trying to do. What else did you do in Chicago?”

Ryan simmered. “I learned things I should have known weeks ago.”

“Like what?”

“Hell! You know it all! You’re the one who set it up!”

“What did you learn in Chicago?”

Hands on his hips in a stance of disgust, Ryan looked around the room. There was a desk, a phone, a few chairs. Far nicer than the usual interrogation room. But the men hovering around him were every bit as hostile as the local jailer. He’d seen plenty of them in the past, though as lawyer to clients in trouble, he’d been spared the worst of the guards’ ire. Now he felt on the hot seat, and he was livid.

“What is this, Loomis?” he asked, eyes narrowing. “What do
you
think I did in Chicago?”

Sam didn’t bat an eyelash. “I think you might have made contact with someone working for Culbert.”

Of all the things Ryan had expected him to say, this wasn’t one. Stunned, he tried to understand. “Made contact…Culbert? You think
I
might try to harm her?”

“You ran out awful quick Friday night right after you saw that guy at the dinner.”

Incredulous, Ryan stared. “Goddammit, I’m in love with the woman! I wouldn’t do anything to harm her!”

“You already have,” Sam said with deadly force, heedless of the surfacing of his personal feelings. “She was crushed when you didn’t show.”

With the knifelike thrust of pain into his gut, Ryan closed his eyes. “God, I didn’t want to do that,” he whispered hoarsely.

“Why did you? You knew you couldn’t get a flight out till morning.”

“I knew,” he said. Feeling suddenly weary, he sank into the nearest chair. “But I couldn’t face her. Not with what I’d learned. Not with all those mysterious pieces finally falling into place. Not with the hurt I felt.”

Head down, he didn’t see Sam motion for the other two to leave. Only when the door closed quietly did he glance to the side and find that they were alone.

Taking a seat opposite him, Sam spoke more quietly. “Tell me everything you did, Ryan. Everything from the time you left her Friday night to the time you boarded that plane in Chicago this afternoon.” He lowered his voice even more. “I love her too, y’know. Not in the way you do, but she’s a very special person.”

Ironically, though Ryan might have been wildly jealous at such a confession a week before, it was now the thing that most effectively broke his resistance. It was a show of trust, something he needed desperately.

Marginally encouraged, he began to speak. “I went down to my place and paced the floor for a while. I felt sick. Absolutely sick. It occurred to me to hire an investigator and send
him
to Chicago, but if what I’d been thinking was right and she was in the Witness Protection Program, I didn’t want to do anything to risk her cover. Even the best investigator can be bought.”

Sam sat, silent and patient, watching intently as Ryan’s lower lip covered the upper then slid slowly down. “I knew what I had to do—what I had to find out for myself. And I didn’t want to wait. I thought about leaving Carly a note, about concocting some story about an emergency trip, but I didn’t want to lie.” His gaze sharpened. “There’d already been enough of that. I was furious at her. Maybe subconsciously I wanted to hurt her back by making her sit up there waiting. It was stupid. But I didn’t know what else to do. Anyway, I drove around for a while, stopping every so often just to think. By dawn I was at the airport. I was on the first flight out to Chicago.” He looked up. “Is she all right?”

Sam nodded. “Tom’s been with her. And Sheila.”

“Sheila.” Ryan gave a coarse laugh. “I bought that story too—about their meeting through you. I should have realized there was more to it. But I was blinded by everything I felt for Carly.”

“Not too blind to begin to question.”

Ryan’s lips thinned. “No. Not after a while, at least.” Then his tone grew urgent. “You have to understand. I want to marry her. I want to have children with her. But she held back, and I couldn’t understand it. There were so many things I didn’t understand—little things, little contradictions. Once I got to Chicago, I went to the library and pored over old newspaper articles. Pritzak—that guy at the dinner Friday night—mentioned her name and the gist of the case. It wasn’t hard to find. Everything jelled.”

“And then?”

“Then I walked around, just as your men said. I’ve been trying to decide what to do ever since.”

“Have you?”

In that instant, as Ryan’s gaze met Sam’s head-on, any hostility that might have existed between them in the past vanished. They were suddenly allies, on the same side of the fence, each wanting the best for Carly.

“I’m going back to her. I’ll just have to be patient, I guess. Maybe someday she’ll tell me on her own.”

“She was going to Friday night.”

“What?”

“She’d already decided. She was going to tell you everything.”

“She told you that?”

“Uh-huh.”

“And I ran out.”

“Uh-huh.”

Ryan wore a look of self-disgust. “What an idiot I am.”

“No. I probably would have done the same thing, given similar circumstances. Maybe we’re both idiots.”

Feeling strangely calm now and at ease with the man he’d distrusted for so long, Ryan lapsed into a moment’s thought. “That night after New Year’s, when we came back from Vermont and found you there—”

“I thought she was in trouble. Until she met you, she hadn’t dared stray from her place, let alone go somewhere for the night. I thought someone had gotten to her.”

“And that mysterious trip a few weeks ago. Her father wasn’t sick, was he?” The light dawned. “I tried to reach you, but you were out of town too. I didn’t even make the connection.”

“I took her to Chicago to meet with the state’s attorney. We only had a few hours’ notice. She wasn’t happy about going. It wasn’t pleasant for her.”

“The papers said that Culbert’s lawyer filed for a new trial. Will there be one?”

“I don’t know. The judge is considering the motion. But Carly can tell you all about that. Maybe you ought to get home. I doubt she’s had any more sleep than you have.”

A look of anguish crossed Ryan’s face. “She may not want to see me after I ran off the way I did.”

“She’ll want to see you. She was frantic that one of Culbert’s men did you harm.”

“Does she know where I was?” he asked more cautiously.

Sam shook his head. “I didn’t say anything. When I thought you might have been…well, let’s just say that I’ve been putting her off all weekend. She’ll be very glad to see you.”

Ryan stood. “I hope so.” Then he extended his hand. “Thanks, Sam. I appreciate everything you’ve done for her.”

Sam met his grasp firmly. “She’s an easy one to do things for. She asks for so little.”

“Do you think there’s any danger?”

“I don’t know. Culbert and Barber are both restless. They’ve got great hopes for this new trial. We’ll have to wait and see what the judge decides. Obviously, if something should happen to Carly in the meantime, their chances for a new trial will be that much better.” He frowned his frustration. “All we can do is to keep an ear out and investigate anything that looks fishy.”

“Like guys who fly out to Chicago for kicks?”

“Like those.”

With a weary smile, Ryan opened the door. Instantly Greg and his sidekick came to attention, but Sam was quick to hold them back with an upraised palm. Passing them, he walked Ryan to the garage.

“Want me to come?”

“Thanks. But no. Carly and I have a lot of talking to do. It’s enough that you and I understand each other. I’ll take care of her. You keep your eyes peeled.”

“Roger,” Sam said and, turning, rejoined his men.

Ryan didn’t go straight home. He needed a few extra minutes to digest his discussion with Sam and think through things one more time. When he arrived in Cambridge it was dark. After parking, he walked toward the building, his sharp eyes on the third floor windows that were Carly’s.

They were dark.

Heart pounding, he took the stairs two at a time, knocked on her door, then rang the bell. Unable to wait, he fished in his pocket for his key and let himself in, only to find the place deserted. Puzzled, he tried to think. Tom might have taken her out for something to eat. Or she might have gone to Sheila’s. Neither thought pleased him. He wanted to see her
now
. Having thought everything out, he was as ready as he’d ever be. And after two long days, he needed her.

Dejected, he retraced his steps to the second floor and let himself into his apartment, determined to unpack and clean up, then go back and wait for her.

Flipping on the lights, he saw nothing but loneliness—wall-to-wall carpet as stark without furniture as he felt without Carly. She was his color, his comfort, his joy. Without her, his life was empty.

He didn’t turn on the bedroom light, choosing not to be reminded of that void in his life, but dropped his bag on the bed and began to undress. Then he heard a tiny cry and froze. There in the darkness, lit only by the palest hint of moonlight, was a small bundle of arms and legs and long hair that curled over hunched shoulders.

“My God…Carly?” He was across the room on his knees in an instant, prying her rigid hands from her mouth.

She cried his name then and threw herself into his arms, clinging to him with a strength that belied two days with little food or sleep. “Ryan,” she sobbed. “I thought you weren’t coming back.”

“Oh, baby,” he moaned, “I’d come back. I love you. Don’t you know that?”

“There’s so much I have to tell you,” she managed in a broken rush. “I’m not who you think. I was somebody else before…in Chicago…a reporter. Robyn Hart. I testified for the state on an arson case and when someone tried to kill me they put me in the Witness Protection Program.”

“I know. I know.”

For an instant she was still, only intermittent gasps breaking the silence. Then she drew her face from his neck and stared up at him. His cheeks were wet. Bewildered, she raised a finger to touch his tears.