Page 6 of If She Only Knew (The Cahills 1)

“Go on,” Nick said to his brother.

“Unfortunately Pam didn’t make it.”

A coldness swept over Nick. “Jesus.”

“Killed instantly. There was another vehicle involved, a semi going the opposite direction. Long-haul truck driver. Charles Biggs. He’d been at the wheel sixteen hours and there’s talk that he might have been on speed, meth or something. Who knows? The police aren’t talking. The trucker might’ve fallen asleep at the wheel. No one knows for certain. Except Biggs and he’s in the burn ward. Burns over sixty percent of his body, internal damage as well. It’s a miracle he’s holding on, but no one expects him to make it.”

Nick wiped the rain from his face and looked out to sea. “But Marla survived.”

“If you can call it that.”

“Son of a bitch.” Now Nick wanted a smoke. He shoved his hands deep into his jacket pockets and warned himself not to believe his brother. Being older and smarter, Alex had taken delight when they were children to play him for a naive fool. There had always been a price to pay. Today, he suspected, was no different. “So the guy fell asleep and the truck wandered into Marla’s lane?”

“That’s just one theory.” Alex took a drag on his Marlboro. “The police and insurance companies are looking into it. Had the highway shut down. The vehicles never hit each other, at least that’s what they think. The Mercedes ended up off one side of the road, the semi further down the hill on the opposite side. Both vehicles broke through the guardrails, both ended up smashed into trees, but the truck exploded before the driver could bail out of the cab.”

“Damn,” Nick muttered under his breath. “Poor bastard.”

Alex snorted his agreement. “There’ve been detectives all over the place, asking questions of everybody, waiting for Marla to wake up and tell her side of the story.” He scowled darkly at the waters lapping in the bay. “She could be charged with negligent homicide, I suppose, if she was the one who crossed the center line. I . . . I haven’t gotten into the legalities of it all. Not yet. This . . . it’s . . . well, it’s been a nightmare. Hard on everyone.”

That, Nick believed. If the situation hadn’t been grim, Alex would never have made the trip. Hell. Rainwater ran down his face as he opened the cab door and reached inside, found the remains of a six pack of Henry’s, ripped one from its plastic collar and tossed it to Alex, then popped the tab of a second for himself.

“If Marla does pull through—”

“If, Alex? If? She’s the strongest, most determined woman I know. She’ll make it. For Chrissakes, don’t put her in the grave yet. She’s your damned wife!”

A beat. Unspoken accusations. Memories that had no right to be recalled—seductive, erotic and searing with hot intensity. Nick’s throat turned to dust. The wind slapped his face. He drank a long gulp while Tough Guy whined at his feet. But his thoughts had already turned the dark corner he’d avoided for years, the narrow path that led straight to his brother’s wife. Forbidden images came into play, taboo pictures of a gorgeous woman with a lilting laugh and mischief in her eyes. He heard the gentle lap of the water against the dock below and the traffic on the highway, the dull roar of the sea pounding the coast on the other side of the jetty, the call of the seagulls, yet nothing was as loud as the thudding of his own heart.

Nick nodded to his brother, encouraging Alex to continue. Taking another pull from his can as he tried and failed to push Marla from his head. Rain dripped off his nose. He thought about suggesting they sit in the pickup’s cab but didn’t.

“If she makes it, there’s a chance she won’t remember anything or that portions of memory will be lost. I don’t really understand the whole amnesia thing, but it’s weird. Eerie.” Alex smoked in the rain and seemed unaware that he was getting drenched. His brown hair was plastered to his head, his Italian leather shoes soaking up Oregon rainwater from the puddle collecting at his feet. “God, Nick, you should see her. Or maybe not.” Alex’s voice actually quavered and he hesitated for a second, sucking so hard on his Marlboro that the tip glowed red in the gloom. “You wouldn’t recognize her. I didn’t and I’ve lived with her for nearly fi

fteen years. Jesus.” He shot a plume of smoke from one side of his mouth, popped the can of his beer and took a long swallow. “She was so beautiful . . . well, you remember . . .” Alex’s voice cracked as if in deep pain.

Nick didn’t believe him and, sipping his beer, tried to push aside the image of a woman who had nearly destroyed his life. He stared toward the suspension bridge that spanned the narrow neck of the bay and allowed traffic to rush along the rugged Oregon coastline, compliments of Highway 101, but in his mind’s eye, he saw Marla . . . gorgeous, full of fun and laughter Marla. “Aside from the memory loss, will she be okay?”

“You mean other than the fact that she won’t look the same?”

“Doesn’t matter.”

“It will to her.”

Nick snorted. “You can afford plastic surgery. I’m talking about damage that would make it so that she couldn’t function.”

“We don’t know.”

“And she will regain her memory eventually?”

Alex lifted a shoulder and glanced toward the sea. “I hope so.”

For a split second, a mere heartbeat, Nick felt a tiny prick of pity for his brother’s wife.

“Time will tell.”

“So they say.”

“But she’ll be changed.”

“Too bad,” he said sarcastically as he studied the watersaturated gravel and the muddy pools beginning to run in rivulets toward the cliff.

---