But now everything he’d struggled for wasn’t enough.
Because of Rebecca.
That had been a mistake.
Even if it couldn’t have been avoided.
Which really got under his skin.
So now here he was, sitting in his idling Explorer, coffee getting cold in the cup holder, while he drummed his fingers on the steering wheel.
And contemplated what he did or did not want.
“Hell,” he muttered, and beside him, on the passenger seat, Ralph snorted as if agreeing.
James had been leaving the doctor’s office, driving home, when his mother had called. Again. Figuring he’d put her off long enough, he pulled over in the loading zone of a furniture store, took the call, and talked to her for ten minutes, answering her questions about how he was doing and asking the right ones about his sisters. He hadn’t realized until he’d disconnected and let the phone slide into the cup holder that the furniture store was across the street from the back of the hotel, where Rebecca’s white Subaru was parked in the lot.
Had that been a subconscious decision?
Picking up his cell again, he was about to punch in her number when the phone rang in his hand, and he saw the number affiliated with a Seattle TV station.
He didn’t answer and let voice mail do the honors. Then, before he could talk himself out of it, he punched in Rebecca’s number.
She didn’t pick up.
He didn’t leave a message—make that another message. He’d already recorded a voice-mail request that she call him. She hadn’t. Nor had she responded to either of his two texts.
It didn’t take a rocket scientist to realize she didn’t want to see him.
Which stung.
And which, he realized, his lips twisting bitterly, was pretty damned ironic, all things considered. But, damn, the more she rebuffed him, the more interested he became.
Then there was the problem with Megan. Where the hell was she? He was getting more worried about her with each passing day. What he remembered of their last fight was horrid. How angry she’d been. How vicious. How upset.
And it was his own damned fault.
He should never have taken up with her in the first place, never believed her lies.
“You’re going to regret this.”
Her words haunted him.
And he wondered, if she did happen to show up again, which he hoped for, how he would explain about his rekindled interest in Rebecca. Not that it was a problem currently, considering Rebecca’s attitude toward him. Nonetheless, when Megan found out, she’d hit the roof.
If Megan found out, he reminded himself.
There was a chance she would never return.
And as time went on, the thought that she might be dead burned through his brain.
He closed his eyes.
What the hell had happened to her? Less and less he believed her disappearance was an act. More and more he feared something awful had happened to her.
What about Sophia? She still thinks you’re a couple. You’re not doing much to dissuade her. And Jennifer? Don’t forget her. Didn’t she call you the week before Megan went missing? Despite your amnesia, you didn’t forget that, did you?
“Shit.”
Beside him, Ralph pressed his nose to the passenger window and whined.
It was time to go. James slugged back the remainder of the coffee that he’d bought at the drive-thru kiosk a block from the clinic. He hadn’t exactly been given a clean bill of health, but Dr. Monroe had told him he could ditch the sling, for the most part, and suggested he might want to get a haircut to even things up; his wound was healing as expected.
James cast a glance at himself in the mirror and decided he looked like crap. A military buzz cut was the only thing that would “even things up.” Well, so be it.
He crushed the paper cup, tossed it on the floor, and hazarded another glance at the hotel.
So close, but so far away.
Light-years.
He should just let it go.
Let her go.
Like he had before.
All for Megan. Jesus, he’d been an ass. He scraped a hand over his head and wondered what the hell had happened to Rebecca’s sister. And he felt bad. Because he hadn’t realized how serious her leaving had been. Even after he’d regained his memory, he’d believed she had just thrown a tantrum, made a scene, hidden out to lick her wounds and make him realize how much he needed her—wanted her.
But he’d been wrong.
And now he was scared, worried about her.
Where could she be?
Dead, Cahill, she could be dead.
Ever since he’d become convinced that her disappearance wasn’t an act, she’d been like a ghost, teasing his subconscious, playing tricks on him, coming to mind at the most unlikely of times.
A sharp rap on the side window brought him back to the here and now. A beefy guy in a trucker’s cap and jeans jacket had his face to the glass. James rolled down his window as the guy pointed a gloved hand at the loading-zone sign.
“Hey, buddy,” he said. “Can’t you read?”
Then James noticed the delivery truck double-parked on the street behind him, another burly guy behind the wheel glaring at him.
“Sorry.”
“Hey, aren’t you—?”
James didn’t wait, just rolled the window up, shoved his Explorer into gear, and slipped into the lane in front of the truck. This was getting worse. The publicity behind Megan’s going missing was intensifying. And then there was his suspicion that the police thought he was lying, that he’d what? Hurt, maimed, or killed Megan, then faked his own injury, even when witnesses had seen her drive away from his house?
No, they think you staged the whole thing, that you had an accomplice who did the dirty deed while you had a ready-made
