Authors: Lisa Jackson
If She Only Knew (3 page)
“About time,” Alex said as if he'd been waiting for hours. “I thought maybe you'd died out there.” He hitched his jaw west toward the sea.
“Not so lucky this time.”
“Maybe next.”
“Maybe.”
Alex's intense eyes, more gray than blue, flashed. “So you're still an irreverent bastard.”
“I keep workin' at it.” Nick didn't bother to smile. “I wouldn't want to disappoint.”
“Shit, Nick, that's all you've ever done.”
“Probably.”
In a heartbeat Nick decided his mother must've died. For no other reason would Alex be inconvenienced enough to wear out some of the tread on his three-hundred-dollar tires. But the thought was hard to believe. Eugenia Haversmith Cahill was the toughest woman who'd ever trod across this planet on four-inch heels. Nope. He changed his mind. His mother couldn't be dead. Eugenia would outlive both her sons.
He kept walking to his truck and slung his bucket into the bed with his toolbox and spare tire. Around the parking lot, a once-painted fence and fir trees contorted by years of battering wind and rain formed a frail barricade that separated the marina from a boarded-up antiques shop that hadn't been in business in the five years Nick had lived in Devil's Cove.
Alex jammed his hands deep into the pockets of a coat that probably sported a fancy designer label, not that Nick would know. Or care. But something was up.
“Look, Nick, I came here because I need your help.”
“You need
my
help?” he repeated with a skeptical grin. “Maybe I should be flattered.”
my
help?” he repeated with a skeptical grin. “Maybe I should be flattered.”
“This is serious.”
“I suspect.”
“It's Marla.”
Son of a bitch.
Beneath the rawhide of his jacket, Nick's shoulders hunched. No matter what, he wasn't going to be sucked in.
Beneath the rawhide of his jacket, Nick's shoulders hunched. No matter what, he wasn't going to be sucked in.
Not by Marla.
Not ever again.
“She's been in an accident.”
His gut clenched. “What kind of accident?” Nick's jaw was so tight it ached. He'd never trusted his older brother. And for good reason. For as long as Nick could remember, Alex Cahill had bowed at the altar of the dollar, genuflected whenever he heard a NASDAQ quote and paid fervent homage to the patron saints of San Francisco, the elite who were so often referred to as “old money.” That went double for his beautiful, socialclimbing wife, Marla.
His brother was nothing but a bitter reminder of Nick's own dalliance with the Almighty Buck. And with Marla.
“It's bad, Nickâ” Alex said, kicking at a pebble with the toe of his polished wingtip.
“But she's alive.” He needed to know that much.
“Barely. In a coma. She . . . well, she might not make it.”
Nick's stomach clenched even harder. “Then why are you here? Shouldn't you be with her?”
“Yes. I have been. But . . . I didn't know how else to reach you. You don't return my calls and . . . well . . .”
“I'm not all that into e-mail.”
“That's one of the problems.”
“Just one.” Nick leaned against the Dodge's muddy fender, telling himself not to be taken in. His brother was nothing if not a smooth-talking bastard, a man who could with a seemingly sincere and even smile, firm handshake and just the right amount of eye contact, talk a life jacket off a drowning man. Older than Nick by three years, Alex was polished, refined and Stanford educated. His graduate work, where he'd learned the ins and outs of the law, had been accomplished at Harvard.
Nick hadn't bothered. “What happened?” he asked, trying to remain calm.
“Car accident.” To Alex's credit he paled beneath his tan. Reaching into his jacket, he found a pack of cigarettes and offered one to Nick, who shook his head, though he'd love to feel smoke curl through his lungs, could use the buzz of nicotine.
Alex flicked his lighter and drew deep. “Marla was driving another woman's car. Over six weeks ago now. In the mountains near Santa Cruz, a miserable stretch of road. The woman who owned the Mercedes, Pamela Delacroix, was with her.” There was a long pause. A heavy, smoky sigh. Just the right amount of hesitation to indicate more bad news. Nick steeled himself as a Jeep with a dirty ragtop sped into the parking lot, bouncing through the puddles before sliding to a stop near the railing. Two loud men in their twenties climbed out and opened the back to haul out rods, reels and a cooler. They clomped noisily down the stairs.
“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 throughâ”
“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!”
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 recalledâseductive, 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 fifteen 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.
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 fifteen 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.
“It is.”
Nick took one last swallow from his beer, crushed the can in his fist and tossed the crumpled empty into the back of his truck. Marla's image slipped on illicit wings into his mind again. Alex wasn't exaggerating. Marla Amhurst Cahill was a gorgeous woman. Seductive. Naughty. Sexy as hell. With silky skin that was hot beneath a man's fingers and a come-hither smile that put Marilyn Monroe to shame. She had a way of getting into a man's blood and lingering. For years. Maybe forever.
Nick turned sharply. “Cut to the chase, Alex. Why are you telling me all of this?”
“Because you're family. My only brotherâ”
“Bullshit.”
“I thought you'd want to know.”
“There's more to it.” Nick was certain of it. “Otherwise you wouldn't have driven all this way and taken six damned weeks to do it.”
Alex nodded slowly, the corners of his mouth pulled into a thoughtful frown. “She's . . . she can't talk, her jaw's wired shut and she hasn't woken, but she has moaned and tried to say a few words.” He took in a deep, bracing breath. “The only one we understood was âNicholas.' ”
“Give me a break.” The breeze slapped Nick's face and he was angry.
“She needs you.”
“She's never needed anyone.”
“We thoughtâ”
“We?”
“Mother and I and well, we ran it past the doctors, too. We thought you might break through to her.”
“You and Mother,” Nick growled. “Hell.”
“It's worth a try.”
Nick glanced to the waterfront where vessels clustered near the docks looked dismal, small sailboats with skeletal masts stretching upward like dozens of bony fingers in stiff supplication to an unheeding heaven. The thought of seeing Marla again stuck in his craw.
And burrowed deep in his mind.
Alex tossed his cigarette onto the gravel, where it sizzled and smoldered near an ancient Buick's balding tire. “There's something else.”
“More?”
Here it comes,
Nick thought uneasily, and felt as if he'd been duped into allowing the family noose to slip over his head.
Here it comes,
Nick thought uneasily, and felt as if he'd been duped into allowing the family noose to slip over his head.
“I need a favor.”
“Another one? Besides visiting Marla?”
“That's not a favor. That's obligation.”
Nick shrugged. Wasn't about to argue. “Shoot.”
“It's the business . . . what with the accident, I'm having trouble concentrating, spending all of my time at the hospital with Marla. When I'm not there, I have to deal with the kids.”
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