Page 36 of If She Only Knew (The Cahills 1)

“That’s the sixty-four thousand dollar question. Shit, I wish I had an answer to it. But the truth is I have no idea why Marla and Pam took a notion to go down there. For Christ’s sake, James was only a few days old and Marla just gets a wild hare and takes off down Highway 17 in the middle of the night? It was nuts.”

“Maybe she’ll tell us when she gets her memory back.”

“Maybe.” Flicking ashes onto the pock-marked street, Alex gazed up the hill, past the Victorian buildings of Haight Street toward the Cahill house, the place they had once, as children, thought of as home. As far as Nick was concerned, Alex could have the mansion and all the problems that came with it.

Alex tossed his cigarette into the gutter, where it died quickly. A bicyclist darted in and out of the traffic and cars rushed through the narrow streets. “I wish I had met Pam,” Alex said. “Then maybe I could have made some sense of this. It looks like her family is suing us—their lawyer’s already called?

?but I contend that everything should be handled through the insurance company. Christ, what a mess.” He stuffed his hands into his pockets and nodded toward the street where he’d parked his car. “Just one of many, I’m afraid.” He flashed a mirthless smile at his brother. “And speaking of which, I have a few files in my briefcase—kind of an overview of the company,” he said, obviously anxious to change the subject. “I thought you might like to review them before you came down to the office.”

“Probably a good idea,” Nick allowed as Alex used his keyless lock that opened the driver’s door of the Jag. He snapped open his briefcase and withdrew a small, slim case which he handed to Nick.

“If you have any questions you can call me at the office, but I’d rather we didn’t discuss details in front of Mother or Marla or anyone at the house.” In the lamplight, Alex looked older than he had, his features more drawn. “I won’t kid you, Nick. The company’s got problems. Big ones. Mother knows there are some difficulties of course, but it would be best if we left it at that.”

“What about Marla?”

“Let’s keep her out of it. She’s got enough to deal with.”

No shit, he thought, but said nothing and gave a curt nod of agreement.

“Good. I appreciate it.” Alex’s face was grim. For the first time Nick realized that Cahill International might be in serious trouble, that Alex, as CEO was taking the heat. There was even a chance that he’d somehow screwed up, that the company was struggling because of his decisions. Alex clapped him on the back, his hand smacking against the damp leather of Nick’s jacket. “Thanks,” he said, and for the first time in his life, he sounded as if he meant it.

Nick felt the Cahill noose tighten another notch. As he watched his brother slide into the Jaguar, punch it and roar up the hill, he only hoped that he hadn’t just agreed to become the fall guy.

Chapter Six

“Charles Biggs died.”

The announcement heralded Janet Quinn’s arrival at Paterno’s office. She flopped into a chair wedged between a file cabinet and the window.

“Shit.”

“My sentiments exactly.” She slapped a file down on the edge of Paterno’s already jammed desk. A detective with the department for years, Janet was a tall, no-nonsense woman who endured a constant ribbing for her mannish looks—short cropped brown hair now shot with gray, square jaw, thick eyebrows and pensive blue eyes that she didn’t adorn with anything but a functional pair of glasses. She didn’t gussy herself up and she didn’t give a shit. No doubt she’d heard herself referred to as a bull dyke or the sneered suggestions that she took steroids by those who were jealous. And there were quite a few. She’d climbed the ranks swiftly because she was a helluva detective and she didn’t give up.

“When?”

“Late last night—or early this morning. His heart monitor went off at three forty-seven. Couldn’t be revived. Considering his condition, maybe it’s a blessing.”

“Considering our case, maybe it’s not.”

She lifted a shoulder and leaned against the file cabinet. She wore Dockers, a shirt and Rockport shoes.

“Don’t suppose he said anything before he died.”

“Nope.”

“Death certificate?”

“Not yet.” She shook her head and Paterno tented his hands, looking over the tips of his fingers, thinking. The accident bothered him; it bothered him a lot. Now two people were dead and, he supposed, he could chalk the whole thing up to bad timing, but he didn’t like the feel of it. It didn’t fit.

He saw a gleam in Janet’s eye.

“Something else?”

“Yep. There was a disturbance right after Biggs’ heart monitors went off. Some guy in a stolen lab coat plowed into a nurse on the first floor and took off. She saw his name tag and realized he wasn’t Carlos Santiago, an intern who’d been working swing shift. On the way out, the guy nearly knocked over a woman in a wheelchair being pushed by an aide.”

“Jesus.”

“I already spoke with Santiago,” Janet said. “Sure enough his ID tag is missing.”

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