“You really weren't expecting anyone to be here, were you?” she asked, shoving her hands deep into the pockets of her coat.
“No, but I thought seeing this might trigger something for you, ignite some memory.”
“I wish.” She studied the two-storied house, the pilings, the decking and the empty terra cotta pots positioned near the door. No flowers bloomed now, the pots empty aside from a few dried stems. Just like the house. A chill swept through Marla as she stepped across the deck where Pam had walked hundreds of times before, watering her plants, or painting the trim, or sunbathing in the patio chairs that had been stacked beneath the overhang of an upper deck. Climbing the staircase, she felt a deep sadness for the woman she couldn't remember.
On the second floor, too, the blinds were shut. “I feel like I'm treading on her grave,” Marla said, wrapping her arms around herself and hearing the water lap at the pilings and shore. She stared across the bay toward Angel Island and thought of the woman who had been with her in the car, the woman whose face she'd seen in the photographs Nick had shown her. But there was nothing. Nothing but the questions that had tormented her since first waking from her coma.
Shaking her head, Marla squinted up at Nick. “I'm sorry. This isn't doing it for me. If you say it's Pam's house, I'll believe you, but you couldn't prove it by me.”
“It was just an idea. A shot in the dark.”
“Guess it was a blank,” Marla teased. She was starting to trust Nick. Rely upon him. Confide in him. Which was just plain nuts.
Think about last night, Marla. You can't trust him and you damned sure can't trust yourself with him. At least not emotionally.
He was leaning against the railing, staring across the water, his back to her, one hip thrust out. The wind caught in his black hair, his jacket had risen above his jeans, allowing her a glimpse of his leather belt and the faded denim of his low slung Levis stretched over firm, taut buttocks.
He glanced over his shoulder and she looked sharply away. “I think we should go,” she said, and from the corner of her eye caught his sexy smile. Damn him. He'd known she was staring. Probably even posed on purpose. Sometimes he could be so cocky. So arrogant. Such a bastard. She started for the pickup and called herself a dozen kinds of fool. What the hell was there about him that caused her to forever wonder about making love to himâeven while they were trying to unravel the mystery that was her life?
Damn. Damn. Damn.
She sat as far from him as she could when he got into the truck. “I need to see Paterno,” she said as he threw the rig into gear. “I promised to make a statement.”
He looked at his watch. “How about one more stop first?”
“Where?”
Slicing her a bad-boy smile, he said, “I think it's time you and I found a little religion.” His eyes twinkled with wicked pleasure as he drove a few blocks toward the center of town then took a side street. Five blocks later, he shifted down, slowing to a crawl. “This is where Cherise and Donald hang out,” he said, pointing to a modern-looking church. Painted slate gray, with a swooping roof that pinnacled in a copper spire, the church was the most imposing building on the block. A fluorescent sign near the street announced the times of the next week's services. The Reverend Donald Favier was going to speak on the wages of sin. Beneath the announcement a verse from Psalms was quoted. The asphalt parking lot looked new and was sparsely occupied with a couple of sedans, a shiny Volvo wagon and a dark Jeep.
As Nick slowed, Marla studied the wide front porch and carved double doors. “I think I've been here,” she said, the hint of a memory teasing her brain. She bit her lip and tried to pierce the fog in her mind.
“Let's go inside. See what's up.” He turned into the parking lot and Marla's feet were on the asphalt before he'd shut the door and pocketed his key. The closer they got to the church, the more certain she was that she'd been on these grounds, but not in the light of day singing hymns with a large congregation, or listening to the reverend spread the good word. No. The images that toyed with her mind were watery but dark and she had the feeling that she'd met someone here.
With Nick at her heels, she hurried up the few wide steps to the porch. He reached around her, intent on yanking open the door.
It remained firmly in place. Bolted shut.
“Shit,” Nick growled.
“The story of my life,” she said, and when he looked at her she waved off his questions. “I've been dealing with a lot of locked doors lately.”
“I guess God doesn't work nine to five,” he observed.
Marla rewarded him with a pained expression. “Or maybe He's just out to lunch.”
“Very funny.”
“I thought so.”
She sent him a scathing look. “This isn't the place for your irreverence.” But she couldn't maintain her stern expression and chuckled as they clambered down the stairs.
“Just trying to lighten the mood.”
“Okay so you
are
funny.”
They took a flagstone path to the rear of the building where an etched sign on the door indicated they'd found the office. Nick knocked, then twisted the knob. No luck. The door didn't so much as budge.
“So far we're batting a thousand,” Nick observed as they heard the sound of an engine roaring to life. Tires screeched loudly from the other side of the church. “You don't suppose we scared someone off?” Nick asked taking off at a dead run.
Marla raced after him, struggling to keep up with his longer strides as he circled the church, then stopped short in the parking lot.
Nick's truck was where they'd left it and the two sedans and wagon were still parked in their spots. “There was a Jeep here a few minutes ago. Right?”
“I think so. Yes.” She nodded, trying to catch her breath as the short sprint had winded her. “It was parked over there, by that bush.” She flung a hand toward a scraggly forsythia, and took in deep breaths. Lord, she was out of shape.
“That's what I thought.” Nick's eyes narrowed on the empty spot.
“It could just be coincidence that the driver decided to leaveâ”
“My ass.” His lips compressed and he looked up and down the street, searching the slow-moving traffic. “Damn!” He kicked at a pebble and sent it careening into the tire of a Pontiac. “I saw a rig like that before. The night Cherise came to visit me at the hotel. Someone picked her up in a dark Jeep.” Nick squinted down the road, as if willing the escaping vehicle into his field of vision.
“There are thousands of SUVs in the Bay area,” Marla said, shading her eyes as she looked west, into the lowering sun. “It wouldn't be that much of a stretch for the same one to have picked up Cherise and then been parked here. Maybe it belongs to her husband, or the church or a friend.”
“It could be. Even so, do you think it was a coincidence that whoever was driving it, took off after we showed up?”
“Perhaps.”
“And perhaps not,” Nick said, all trace of his earlier humor evaporating as the first clouds began to roll in from the Pacific. “I don't believe in coincidence.”
“Neither do I,” she admitted. “But why would anyone take off? Why not stay hidden?”
“Maybe he thought we'd come looking for him. Or had a key or would break the damned door down. Who knows?” Nick strode to the truck and flung open the passenger door. “Come on, let's go.”
She didn't argue. Didn't like the cold feeling that crept up her spine.
Once inside the truck, Nick headed south. He didn't say much, his eyes narrowing on the traffic ahead, his brow furrowed, his fingers clamped around the steering wheel.
“You have an appointment with Paterno, right?”
“Yeah. I've got the address of the station in here.” She opened her purse, withdrew the detective's business card from the empty bag. “You know, no one has found the purse I had with me on the night of the accident and so I don't have anything to prove I'm who I say I am. No ID, no money, nothing. I assume I had a driver's license, a social security card, credit cards and probably a set of keys and a garage door opener.”
“Your purse wasn't with you?” He guided the truck into the narrow lanes of the Golden Gate Bridge and Marla stared west to the calming waters of the Pacific where fishing trawlers and tankers were visible on the horizon. The sky, once brilliant, had turned a darker hue as heavy clouds rolled steadily inland.
“That's what the police say, but I haven't found it in the house, either.” She shoved her fingers through the short strands of her hair in frustration. “But the ring my father gave me, I found. In a jewelry box I'm sure I searched a dozen times before. It's almost as if someone planted it there.”
“Who knew it was missing?”
“Just about everyone.”
“Alex?”
“Yes. Why? Do you think
he
would take it?” Marla asked, though she'd considered the possibility herself. Her husband was so secretive, so overly protective, acted as if he were afraid of God-only-knew-what.
“I don't know,” Nick admitted shifting down, “but he did leave in the middle of the night last night and he might have gone to see Conrad without telling anyone.”
“Not that it's a sin to visit your ailing father-in-law,” she reminded him.
“But it's secretive. He's always been that way, even as a kid. Right now, he's worse than ever.” Nick stood on the brakes to avoid rear-ending a minivan that had stopped suddenly. “I wonder what the hell he's mixed up in.” The traffic cleared and he stepped on the throttle. They drove through the Presidio and Nick turned south. “Before we meet the police, let's see your brother.”
“Yes. I would like that,” Marla said, though she steeled herself for another rejection. She didn't expect Rory to take to her any more kindly than her father had.
It was worse than she imagined. The building was old but had been renovated, the gold brick face clean and neat, the interior bright. “I'm sorry,” she was told by the nurse at the reception desk after explaining her plight. “No one but family is allowed in. If you don't have any proof that you're Marla Cahill, then I can't allow you to pass.”
“What about me? I'm Marla's brother-in-law.” Nick whipped out his wallet and flashed his Oregon driver's license.
“Sorry.” She shook her head, then she smiled benignly at Marla. “When you have some identification, you can visit your brother.”
“Butâ”
“Hospital rules.”
They got no further with an administrator and Marla left the brick building feeling discouraged. “So far we've been on a wild goose chase,” she grumbled, pulling the collar of her coat closer to her neck as they walked along the sidewalk.
“Maybe things will improve.” But Nick's voice didn't hold a lot of conviction.
They piled into the truck and Nick drove toward the police station. Skyscrapers cast shadows over the city streets and pedestrians clogged the sidewalks. Rickshaws and bicyclists vied with cars, trucks and vans. Somewhere a few streets over a siren screamed.
“Did Alex tell you where he went last night?” Nick asked.
“I haven't seen him today. I'm not even sure that he came back to the house,” she admitted. “Carmen told me he had early meetings this morning.”
“It's not the first time he left.” Nick eyed the street signs, then turned left. “The other night, after he brought you back from your appointment with Dr. Robertson, he took off again. He didn't tell you about it?”
“No,” she admitted, her fingers trailing on the armrest of the truck and a bad feeling settling in the pit of her stomach. “What my husband does is a mystery to me.” She tried to find an excuse for Alex's actions and failed. “I know he's been in some big negotiations with some Japanese businessmen, investors, I think, but other than that I don't have a clue as to what it is he does.”
“Don't you think that's odd?”
She chuckled humorlessly as he braked for a taxi that nosed into his lane. “I think my whole life is odd, Nick,” she admitted. “A husband who doesn't confide in me, a daughter who rejects me, a mother-in-law who acts like I need a keeper, a baby whom I just remembered, a father who despises me and thinks I'm an imposter, and a brother-in-law who . . . who . . .”
“Who what?”
She couldn't admit it. Couldn't say the damning wordsâthat she was attracted to him, that at his touch her knees went weak and her blood ran hot. “Who . . . bothers me,” she said and his lips twisted at her understatement. “Anyway you cut it, it's not exactly
Ozzie and Harriet
or the all-American family and yeah, Nick, I do think it's all strange. Real strange. I just hope that I can figure it out soon before I go out of my mind.”