Duplicate Daughter Page 4

  “Tell me where you saw him,” he said, gesturing for Katie to join him on the porch.

  She stepped outside, shivering, hugging herself. “The second window on the right,” she said through chattering teeth. The covered porch stopped shy of the window a foot or so and they stood at the edge, looking down into the snow below the window, searching for some sign a man had walked to the window, had stood below it and looked inside.

  There was nothing to be seen, however. The area was littered with rocks and the branches of dormant plants that formed natural pockets and rifts. If someone had created footprints that evening, it was already too late to tell.

  Nick peered through the snow. From what he could see, everything looked about the same as usual.

  “Are you sure you saw someone?” he said.

  She looked up at him, preoccupied. “I thought I did. Maybe the storm spooked me.”

  “Let’s go back inside.”

  He closed the door behind them, securing it once again with the chain. Katie immediately moved toward the fire, standing as close to the blaze as she could.

  Nick didn’t know what to make of Katie’s story. The nearest neighbor was over a mile away and they were off in Florida for the winter. It was another mile to the Booths’ place and then another half mile to the Stewart cabin.

  Katie struck him as a woman with a very active imagination. He could see no covert reason for her to make up such a story, so undoubtedly she’d seen something, just not a man. Snow, a branch blowing by, a shadow. Trying to get things back on an even keel, he said, “Tell me a little more about you and your sister and why you’re so sure there’s a problem with your mother and my father.”

  She moved back to her chair, settling herself on the edge of the cushion, hands folded in her lap. “As you know, my mother married your father after knowing him only three weeks. My sister assures me this was very out of character for her. Was it out of character for him, too?”

  “How would I know?”

  “Nick, please, try.”

  “Let me give you a little background,” he said warily. “My very young mother married an alcoholic. She stuck with him for several years until she developed breast cancer. He took off like a shot never to be seen again, well at least not for umpteen years. Mom got better, married the shoe salesman, raised me. Let’s see. I went into the Army. Fought in the Gulf War. Came home, stepdad died. I married Patricia, moved to Alaska, had Lily. Dad came for a heartwarming reunion, I turned him away, Patricia welcomed him with open arms. She died, he took off again—noticing a pattern?”

  “So if something has happened to my mother—”

  “He probably ran out and left her high-and-dry. Like I said, it wouldn’t be the first time.”

  He was immediately sorry he said it. Katie’s pretty face literally collapsed as tears rolled down her cheeks. He stared into her huge blurry eyes for a second, not sure what to do, hoping she’d pull herself together, but if anything, the tears got worse. He got up from his chair and handed her the tissue box. Within a few moments, Katie dabbed at her eyes and took a few deep breaths. He poured them both a stiff brandy, handed her a snifter and sat back down, twirling the amber liquid in his glass, wishing he could float away on its fumes.

  “Listen, Katie, I’m sorry,” he said at last. “I haven’t been very tactful. I’m rusty, I guess. Until tonight, Helen pretty much took care of herself, and Lily is still in the kiss-it-and-make-it-better stage. Everything just seems to be suddenly falling apart.”

  “And you blame me,” she said.

  True, but this time he stayed quiet.

  Katie took a sip of the liquor and set the glass on the hearth. “You have to know something about him that will help,” she persisted. “Something. If you don’t, I have no place to start. I have nothing to take back to Tess. We’ll never know why our parents separated us, why they lied to us. My sister was shot a couple of weeks ago trying to help me clear our father’s name. It’s my fault she’s lying in a hospital. Her mother—our mother—is missing, last seen with your father. I just need to know if there’s anything in his past that would put my mother in jeopardy. For instance, when did he change his name to Swope? Why?”

  “I don’t know, Katie. He was using his real name when he was here,” Nick said. “He said he was on an extended vacation. He seemed a little nervous. I told him to get lost, but Patricia fell for his story. He was reformed, he claimed. No more drinking. No more shenanigans. All he wanted was to get to know his long-lost son. Me. And Patricia and Lily, of course. Patricia’s mother had died the year before and she was anxious for more family. She invited him to stay in one of the guest cottages. He moved right in and made himself at home.”

  “How did you handle it?”

  “I ignored him most of the time. It was summer and we had a bunch of people here. I was in and out. Busy.”

  “Your wife taught art during the summers?”

  “Patricia? No. Patricia didn’t teach art. We bought the place because I’m a pilot. The people who come here during the summer come because of me. I fly them over wilderness areas and they shoot wildlife. Photo shoot, I mean. Patricia’s art was personal, not commercial. She wouldn’t sell any of her work.”

  “They’re all over your walls, aren’t they?”

  He looked around him. “Yes.”

  “They’re beautiful.”

  “She was good. Now the paintings belong to Lily. Anyway, that summer after Lily was born, Patricia discovered gardening. She grew cabbages big as a barbeque, broccoli, carrots—this area of Alaska has long, cool summer days, up to twenty hours long, perfect for certain vegetables. Patricia was dedicated to gardening. She could dig in the dirt forever, Lily napping nearby on a blanket. She hummed when she gardened. Off-key.”

  He sighed deeply before adding, “I was away much of the time my father was here. He started helping Patricia with Lily—Helen only worked a few hours a day helping out with the daily cabin cleanings and things like that back then. Patricia got to depending on my father. I even started to think he might have changed.”

  He chanced a look at Katie. She regarded him closely, her blue eyes sparkling with reflections of the lanterns around her. She said, “What happened, Nick?”

  He shrugged. His throat closed for a second and he stared into the fire. Could he see this through?

  He said, “Patricia was walking down Frostbite’s main street with my father one afternoon. A car went out of control right in front of the grocery store. Patricia was seriously injured. Dad walked away without a scratch. The driver of the car recovered and took off like a shot. Thank goodness Lily was here with Helen and not in her mother’s arms. Patricia died twelve hours later without ever regaining consciousness.”

  “So you blame your father for living through the accident?” she murmured.

  He cut her a quick look. “Of course not. I blame my father for leaving town while my wife was still lying on the pavement. I blame him for leaving her alone to die.”

  She nodded, tears glistening in her eyes and he used the act of tending the fire to regain his composure.

  “So, next thing I know I get a wedding invitation from your mother,” he said, turning back to face her. “Helen tried to hide it from me, but I found it anyway. A few weeks after that, your sister sent me a picture of the happy couple.”

  She sat forward eagerly. “Do you still have it? I haven’t seen her—”

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “I tore it in half the minute I realized what it was.”

  “And now he’s changed his name and gotten another woman to believe in him,” Katie said, coming to stand beside Nick as he replaced the poker.

  The firelight shimmering in her red hair made it glow like rubies. Her skin was white and soft looking, her eyes big and blue. A tingling sensation ran through Nick’s hands. It had been over two years since he’d touched a woman’s face, since he’d come close to even thinking about touching a woman’s face. The urge to do so now was almost
unbearable.

  But why this woman?

  He said, “Why do you limp?”

  “I was in a hit-and-run accident. It had to do with my trying to figure out what happened to my father.”

  “And did you figure it out?”

  She rolled her head a little as though her neck hurt. “No, my sister figured it out for me. She came from out of the blue and probably saved my life.”

  “Does your neck hurt?”

  “Yes. Another leftover from the accident.”

  He gently turned her around until her back was to him and began rubbing her shoulders with strong hands.

  “That feels wonderful,” she whispered.

  He realized at once he’d attempted to satisfy his desire to touch her by approaching her in this no-nonsense, impersonal manner. Lots of layers of clothes under his fingers, no eye contact. He said, “What do you mean when you say your sister came from out of the blue?” But, dear God, her hair was soft as it brushed against the back of his hands. And the supple warmth of her neck.

  “I’m warning you, it’s a soap opera,” she said softly, leaning into his hands.

  “Try me.”

  “Okay, but like I said, it’s a soap opera. My parents divorced when Tess and I were barely six months old. Mom took Tess. Dad took me. Neither told us we even had an identical twin sister only a day or two days’ drive away. We didn’t even know we had another parent. Dad told me my mother died giving birth and Mom told Tess she’d never even known Tess’s father’s last name. Then my father, a cop, died in a fire he was blamed for starting. I had to vindicate him. I found a letter from my dad telling me about my sister’s existence. When I was hurt, she was contacted. She found me in a coma and took up my investigation. Now she’s been shot and she’s in the hospital and we’ve only really known each other for a few days.”

  “She helped you with your father and now you’re determined to help her with her mother.”

  “Our father, our mother. My sister, myself. Yes.”

  He stopped massaging her neck and turned her back around to face him. Again, the urges, but this time it went beyond touching. This time he wanted to kiss her.

  This is why he’d been annoyed with her from the moment he set eyes on her at the airport. He was afraid of her and not just because she threatened to bring the past crashing down on his home, but also because she’d so effortlessly cracked open doors long ago slammed shut.

  “I have a feeling,” she said softly, and it was all he could do to take his gaze from her lips.

  He said, “Yes?”

  “I have a feeling that your father’s past is catching up with him and that my mother is in the way.”

  He caught his hands sliding down her arms and let go of her. She didn’t seem to notice. He said, “You may be right.”

  “I’m sorry I came here. I should have kept nagging the Washington police. I’ll go home as soon as I figure out how to get back to Anchorage.”

  “I’ll fly you back,” he said, still under her spell, wishing things were different, wishing he could ask her to stay, to forget about her mother and his father, just stay for a while and…

  And what?

  He said, “I’m sorry I can’t help you, Katie Fields.”

  For a moment they stared into each other’s eyes. Nick had no idea what Katie was thinking. He just knew his own thoughts were jumping from pillar to post. Hopefully a good night’s sleep would get him back to normal. It sounded as though the storm was abating a bit; his salvation would lie in the weather clearing so he could fly Katie away from Frostbite.

  “I—” she started to say, but a sound outside caught both their attention and they turned as one to face the door.

  “Was that—”

  “Gunfire,” he finished for her, quickly drawing her away from the fireplace into the deeper recesses of the house. “Yes.”

  “Nearby?”

  “Yes.” He tore open a closet and shone a flashlight inside. The gun safe was back there and he twirled the combination.

  “You any good with a firearm?” he asked over his shoulder.

  In a shaking voice, she said, “I’ve shot off a few rounds with my dad.”

  He emerged with a Winchester 30-30 and a 20-gauge automatic shotgun. He inserted ammunition into each weapon before pushing the shotgun toward Katie.

  She took the shotgun with trembling hands. She looked scared to death but reassuringly resolute. “What’s the plan?” she asked.

  “The plan? I go outside and see what’s going on. You stay here and lock the door behind me. That’s the plan.”

  “I know how to shoot—”

  “Katie? Someone has to stay inside and protect Lily.” He said this while retrieving his jacket and shrugging it on, zipping the front, pulling on his knit cap.

  “You’re not going out there by yourself!”

  She wanted to go with him? Startled by this realization, he half smiled. He said, “Someone has to go out in that storm and find out who’s shooting at who. I believe I may be the more qualified. Please, Katie, keep Lily safe.”

  Before he could consider the wisdom of his action, he brushed her forehead with his lips. “Lock the door behind me,” he whispered, turning off the lantern and sliding the dead bolt back. “Don’t let anyone but me back inside the house.”

  And then he was gone.

  Chapter Five

  As Nick blended into the shadows, Katie heard a new volley of shots, muffled by the snow. She stepped over the threshold into the night. She had a shotgun, she could probably hit something—or someone—and it seemed wrong for Nick to be out there alone with heaven knows what. Or whom.

  But his parting words, his overriding need to protect Lily, stopped her mid-step. Another shot, a voice, someone crashing through the brush…

  She stepped back inside, stumbling as haste made her clumsy. Pain shot up her leg as she pushed the dead bolt home.

  What in the world had she gotten herself into by coming to this house? There had been a man at the window—it was too much of a coincidence to believe that a stranger had peered inside the house just an hour before shots were fired outside. What did she know of Nick’s personal life? Maybe there was a jealous husband out there or someone connected to Helen.

  She tried to find comfort in the totally effortless way Nick handled weapons, but comfort was elusive when it came to Nick.

  How about the way he looked at you, the way he kissed your forehead, the way your heart battered against your ribs when his lips touched your skin, when his hands clenched your arms, brushed your neck?

  No comfort. This place was a nuthouse. And she was turning out to be the biggest nut of all.

  Katie limped down the hall to check on Lily and found the child asleep, her pink lips pursed in some dream, her breathing slow and regular. Katie sat down on the foot of Lily’s bed, the shotgun across her knees, straining to hear gunshots over the raucous sounds of the storm.

  To her horror, her movement awoke the child, who sat up whimpering, eyes closed.

  Katie immediately laid the gun aside and scooted closer to Lily, who held out her arms. Katie wrapped Lily in a warm embrace and smoothed her hair, whispering nonsensical murmurs to comfort her, rocking her in her arms. Within minutes, Lily’s heavy head signified she’d fallen back asleep without actually waking up, and Katie gently laid her head back on her pillow, covering her shoulders, not even trying to resist the urge to kiss her forehead and smooth her hair away from her face.

  What a darling, sweet child. Nothing must happen to her.

  Or to her father.

  Standing, Katie retrieved the shotgun and moved out of the bedroom, closing the door. She went back through the house, turning off many of the flickering lanterns, bathing the house in darkness except for the fireplace, which filled the living room with leaping shadows. She stood by the front door and listened. When had she heard the last shot? How long should she wait before going outside and looking for Nick? What if he’d been wounded
or…or worse.

  Her hand rested on the doorknob as she pressed her head against the wood. What should she do? Indecision was a new sensation for her. Usually, she reacted first and celebrated—or regretted—later. But never before had she been even marginally responsible for someone else. Someone innocent. Someone like Lily. And so far on this endless day, she’d done the impulsive—and wrong—thing almost one-hundred percent of the time.

  Except she hadn’t thrown herself into Nick’s arms when he’d looked at her that way; she hadn’t even let him know she wanted to. She’d been mature and reasonable when he massaged her shoulder, when he turned her to face him, when he said her name and it sounded like the beginning of a song. She hadn’t allowed a single emotion to bubble to the surface.

  And maybe that was the biggest mistake of the night.

  Her headache was back with a vengeance.

  NICK STAYED CLOSE to buildings and snow-covered vegetation as he crept toward the sound of gunfire. There were two weapons at play; one sounded like a single-fire revolver, the other an automatic of some kind.

  So, who in the world would be conducting a gunfight outside his house in the middle of the night during a snowstorm? And what were the chances this nocturnal shoot-out wasn’t connected directly or indirectly to Katie Fields’s arrival in Frostbite?

  Was she in danger? Had she put Lily in danger?

  He shoved thoughts of Katie and Lily aside. It was imperative he put a stop to whatever was going on out here before it erupted into his house. Keeping his head down, he waited until more shots rang out before moving across a patch of exposed snow, zigzagging as he’d been taught so many years before, catching his breath as he found a tree to hide behind. He heard one man yell, another swear. The labored sound of heavy breathing seemed very close by and he chanced another look.

  Two men stood a hundred feet to his right, facing each other. They fired at the same time. One bullet hit its mark and the man closest to Nick fell to the snow. The other gunman turned and, slogging through the snow, ran back into the shadows.

  Nick’s fingers were so cold they were stiff as they clutched the rifle. He should have put on gloves. He was stunned that he’d forgotten such a basic necessity. These thoughts zipped through his mind as he stared at the fallen man.