Page 35 of If She Only Knew (The Cahills 1)

“Cherise called me before I left home,” Nick finally admitted.

Alex’s expression changed from congenial to guarded. “Don’t tell me. She whined about me not letting her see Marla.”

“That was the gist of it, yeah.”

“Shit.” Alex snorted, wiped his nose with the back of his hand. “She and Monty. They won’t give up. Like hyenas at a lion’s kill.” He frowned at the analogy. “Or better yet, wasps that won’t go away. They bug the hell out of you, make a lot of noise, and threaten to sting.” He tossed his brother a dark look. “I’ll deal with Cherise. And Montgomery.”

The subject seemed closed and Nick had done his duty, so he slid lower on his spine and observed his brother. “I drove out to the scene of the accident,” Nick admitted.

Alex didn’t show much reaction. “And what did you find out?”

“Not much. But I can’t figure out why both vehicles broke through guardrails in opposing directions. The truck, well, that’s nearly understandable, just from the sheer weight and speed of the rig. It was, after all, going downhill, but the Mercedes . . . how did it manage to tear through that kind of steel?”

“Good question.”

“I saw the car,” Nick admitted. “Found a policeman who was more than happy to let me take a look in the yard where it’s being held.” His lips rolled in on themselves as he remembered the crushed metal, blood-stained seats and shattered glass. “It’s a wonder anyone survived.”

“Marla’s always been tough. You know that.”

The muscles in the back of Nick’s neck tensed. “Tough is one thing.” He stared straight at his brother. “Seeing the car made me almost believe that she had a guardian angel watching over her.”

“Almost?”

“I have a problem with organized religion.”

“I remember.”

“But no one should have survived that wreck.”

One side of Alex’s mouth lifted. “Well, Marla’s always been lucky, hasn’t she?”

Nick didn’t answer, didn’t want to go there. “Why do you think Marla panicked and lost control of the car?”

“Hell if I know. She was always a decent driver. Never even a traffic ticket. I guess only she can answer that one . . . if she gets her memory back.”

“You mean when,” Nick corrected.

“Do I?” Alex smiled to a pretty waitress with a knockout figure and big brown eyes.

She hardly looked old enough to be serving drinks. Dressed in a short skirt, white blouse and red bow tie, she picked up his empty glass, deposited another full one and left Nick a beer that he wasn’t quite ready for. But he didn’t complain. Figured he’d find a way to down it.

“I’m not sure if she’ll ever remember anything,” Alex said. He met the questions in Nick’s eyes and sighed. “Sure, I play the game and tell her she will. Of course I do and Phil Robertson, her doc, he seems convinced that her memory will return, but right now, it doesn’t seem like it.” He took a long sip from his new drink and settled back against the tufted seat. “It’s just hard to predict.”

Grudgingly, Nick had to agree.

“And maybe I’m just sick of all this shit.”

“Maybe.” Nick sipped from the long-necked bottle and wondered about the accident. Pam Delacroix had died instantly, Biggs had never regained consciousness. Marla remembered nothing, surviving in her own personal netherworld. “You never met Pam?”

“Nope.” Alex reached into his jacket pocket, withdrew a pack of cigarettes and said, “I need a smoke. Wanna join me outside?”

“Sure.” They finished their drinks, and Alex insisted on paying by offering the waitress his credit card. After signing the receipt, and shrugging into his overcoat, he and Nick walked outside to an alley where several men were gathered, smoking, laughing, laying down odds on the 49ers’ chances for a playoff berth, barely glancing in Alex and Nick’s direction. Alex lit up and blew smoke from the corner of his mouth and Nick zipped his jacket against the chill that was San Francisco in mid-November. “All I know about Pam is what Marla told me, that she and Marla met at the club a few years back, though I never heard about it at the time.” He shrugged. “But that could be expected.” He looked up to the sky. “There have been times in our marriage that we didn’t talk a lot. We’ve separated a couple of times . . . oh, nothing official, but the marriage, well, it’s had a few bumps in the road.” He turned thoughtful, inhaled deeply on his smoke and Nick didn’t comment, didn’t want to tackle the dangerous subject of his brother’s marriage. “As for Pam, I’m not really sure. I assume that they played tennis together, and maybe bridge . . . but, come to think of it, I never heard her say she was going out to meet her. Other names I heard—Joanna and Nancy, I think. But not Pam.”

“But you must’ve heard something since.”

“From the insurance company and a lawyer for Pam’s estate. I sent flowers to the funeral, of course, donated to some charity in Pam’s name, but haven’t had much contact. She was divorced, and had gotten her real estate license I think, but she just dabbled at that. I think she lived off her ex. He’s some hotshot computer engineer who made it big in Silicon Valley. They had one kid, a daughter, and she was down at UC Santa Cruz.” He drew hard on his cigarette as the men clustered near the doorway laughed nearly in unison, as if someone had cracked a particularly hilarious joke. Traffic whizzed by. High in the heavens the moon was partially hidden by wispy, slow-moving clouds.

“So what was Marla doing that night?”

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