Kiss Me, Kill Me

Bryan rolled his eyes. “I don’t seriously think we’re looking at a stranger abduction here, Carrie. Do you?”

“Of course not. Kyle’s sixteen. Same as Sam. God, it’s hard to believe they’re only two years from legal, isn’t it?” She sighed. “Anyway, it was a bonehead move on Kyle’s part to leave without a word, though…Sammy insists Kyle would never run off without telling him.”

“You think he’s right about that?” Bryan asked.

She looked across the soccer field at her son. “You know how kids are at this age—it’s all about the drama. And my son’s second favorite activity is drama club.”

“I don’t blame him. He kicked ass in ‘The Wizard of Oz.’”

She smiled, remembering. “He’s a natural. I think he could be a professional actor if he wanted to.”

“I agree. I also think he watches too much CSI.”

“I hope that’s it,” Carrie said. “I just don’t want to believe child abduction is something that can happen here in Shadow Falls.” She watched Bryan’s face as she spoke, hoping for some confirmation of her theories.

He looked away as he said, “I just wish we’d get a lead on Kyle so we would know one way or the other.”

Her heart skipped a little. “Bryan, are you saying…are you saying there’s a chance Sam’s right? That Kyle didn’t run away?”

He shrugged. “There’s no evidence that anything happened to him. Every indication is that he just took it into his head to run off. I just wish he’d call his family and fess up already. It’s cruel, putting them through this. They’re good people.”

“I never thought of Kyle as a cruel kid,” she said.

Bryan averted his eyes. “Yeah, I know. It does seem out of character, and that’s what’s bothering me about all this.”

It sounded to Carrie as if Bryan might be re-thinking the current popular theory about Kyle’s disappearance, and that realization sent a chill up her spine. But before she could question him further, she saw his eyes widen and followed his gaze to the field just in time to witness a teeth-jarring impact between a player and the ground. There was no one near the kid, so obviously no one had hit him. He was clutching his chest, and his mouth was open wide.

“Gotta go, Bry!” Carrie grabbed her medical bag, always nearby at sporting events, and bounded between spectators to get to the field.

The crowd was on its feet but parted to let her through. She wasn’t in a panic—this happened on a fairly regular basis, and it was usually nothing. As she cleared the knot of players and parents being held at bay by the coaches and refs, she saw the boy.

The kid on his back was Marty Sheffield, and he had a full-blown asthma attack going on. She could tell that his pulse was skyrocketing; his eyes were rolling back already, and his lips were blue.

“Okay, Marty, easy now. Easy.” She yanked an inhaler from her bag. She also kept one in her glove compartment and two at her house. The number of asthmatic teens was ridiculous and seemed to be growing all the time. Not just in Shadow Falls, but nationwide, and she blamed air pollution, though she couldn’t prove it.

“You’re gonna be fine,” she said automatically as she knelt beside the fallen boy, held the inhaler to his lips and gave him two short bursts. He tried to suck the medicine into his lungs, but she didn’t think he’d gotten very much.

“Are you sure?”

That was a new voice. Male, and not local, because she knew all the locals.

“I know CPR if—”

“He’s breathing,” Carrie lifted her eyes and damn near gasped aloud when she saw the hippie from the bleachers kneeling on the opposite side of the prone player. His eyes were an interesting mingling of green and brown, and they were filled with concern as they bored into hers. He was far better looking than he’d seemed at first glance. Not that she had time to think about that right now.

“What are you doing down here? Do you know this kid?”

“No, but I—”

“Then you should get back to your seat with the rest of the spectators.”

He lifted his brows as if mildly offended. “Happy to. I just thought you might need an extra pair of hands, with every firefighter and EMT in town out searching for that missing boy.”

He was paying attention to local news, wasn’t he? she thought, as she fished a premeasured dose of epinephrine from her bag, tore off the cellophane wrap and jabbed the needle into Marty’s arm.

The man with the perfect jawline and cheekbones started to rise, but she said, “Hey, hold up a sec. You’re right. I might need you.” And then she looked past him, her entire focus on her son, who was hurrying toward her. Sweat had smeared the black smudges underneath his eyes, making him look even more menacing to the opposing team, she supposed. If a kid like Sammy could ever look menacing, anyway. She saw his massive red SUV sitting nearby and realized he must have run to the parking lot to get it, then driven it out onto the field to transport his teammate if a trip to the E.R. turned out to be necessary. Now he held up the keys.

“Can you drive, so I can tend to Marty?” she asked the stranger.

“Sure.”

She ran a hand over Marty’s forehead, lifting the sweat-damp hair away. He was semiconscious, and breathing a little easier, though his airway sounds were still terrible. He was whistling louder than the referees had been. She waved the coach over. “Get him into the back of Sammy’s Beast,” she said, using their nickname for the Ford Expedition Funkmaster Flex Edition that was Sammy’s pride and joy. The coach and the stranger worked together to lift Marty and then ease him into the cargo area.

“I can’t believe this,” Sam said, standing at the rear of the vehicle, looking in at his friend. “First Kyle goes missing, and now Marty—”

“Marty’s had asthma attacks before, and he’ll have them again, hon, but I guarantee you, he’s going to be fine.”

“I’ve never seen him this bad.”

She peered under Marty’s eyelids as she spoke, “He’ll be fine—really—but I’ll be at least an hour. Finish the game, okay?”

“Yeah. Yeah, okay,” Sam promised. By that time, Sadie, his blue-eyed blonde cheerleader girlfriend, was at his side, looking worriedly into the back of the car.

“Mom says he’ll be okay,” Sam told her.

“Thank God.” She sent Carrie a hopeful look. “Take good care of him, Doc-O.”

“You bet I will. His parents are over there,” she said, pointing. They’d been on their way to the refreshment stand when they got the word that something had happened to their son, and they were still making their way to the field. Carrie gave the worried pair an encouraging wave. “Tell them to follow us to the hospital, and that I’m just taking precautions, okay?”

“Sure, Carrie,” Sadie replied.

Carrie spotted the hippie, still standing nearby. “Give that guy the keys, Sam. He’s driving.”

Sam nodded, then tossed the stranger the keys. He caught them easily.

“Go easy on my wheels, bro,” Sam said, and then made a fist and gave the stranger a knuckle bump.

The man looked a little puzzled, not by the knuckle bump, but by Sam’s words. Still, he closed the back hatch after Carrie climbed inside, then moved around to get behind the wheel.

Gabe felt as if he’d stepped into some kind of alternate dimension. He was driving a forty-thousand-dollar vehicle that apparently belonged to a teenage kid. There was a beautiful woman in the back who was, by all appearances, exactly the opposite of his type in every imaginable way, and yet he was attracted to her. How could he not be? She was confident, capable—if a bit bossy—and completely comfortable with herself.

He had come to this small New England town in search of a sixteen-year-old who might be his own child—only to immediately learn that just such a kid was missing and a presumed runaway, and now another one was having a serious medical crisis right before his eyes.

Not that the posters of Kyle Becker bore any resemblance to anyone in his family. If you could call it a family. Nor did the kid in the back. Hell, the gorgeous lady doctor’s apparently spoiled son looked more like him than any teenager he’d glimpsed so far.

Yeah, right, and was he going to get all worked up over every sixteen-year-old kid in Shadow Falls, male or female, who bore a slight resemblance to himself? That would be useless. He’d come to this town to talk to the professor who’d been living as Livvy—scratch that, as Olivia Dupree—all this time. His Livvy had almost never used her full first name. He was here to see what the professor knew, not to stalk teenagers. Since the good professor was out of town, he would just have to wait and bide his time.

Gabe lived his life by a certain code, and while it wasn’t one that most people would agree with or even understand, it worked for him. He believed thinking positively would bring positive experiences. He believed being kind to others would bring kindness into his own life. He believed that what was meant to happen tended to happen—if you didn’t go around trying to force it. Trying to force things to happen usually only managed to get in their way instead. Pushing too hard would prevent the very thing you were pushing for. He’d seen it happen time and time again.

If he was meant to find Livvy’s baby—her teenager now, and maybe his own son or daughter—then all he needed to do was relax about it, and keep his eyes and ears open.

And yet he couldn’t help but feel an inordinate amount of worry for the injured kid, and even more for the missing one. More than he would have a few weeks ago, before he’d read the news that had convinced him he might have a child around here somewhere.

He could imagine how those parents must feel about now. He knew how he had felt, after learning that the girl he’d lived with for eight months more than sixteen years ago had been killed only six months after she’d left him. And that she’d given birth not long before her own life had ended. And that no one knew what had become of the baby.

It was like grieving for the loss of something he’d never had.

Or crying, he thought. Yeah, crying over something he never knew he had. Damn, that was a good line. He needed to write that down.

“When you hit Main Street, take a left,” the lady doctor called.

Gabe looked back at her. She had a cell phone to her ear and was muttering stuff about “the patient” to whoever was on the other end. Someone at the hospital, he presumed. Looking at her, he got that tight feeling in his belly that always made him nervous as hell. He didn’t like being nervous. It wasn’t his natural state. “Got it,” he said. He took the left, then said, “How far to the hospital?”

“Ten minutes if the traffic’s bad. Five if it’s good. And by traffic, I mean kids on bikes, tourists on foot and the occasional misbehaving bovine. It’s actually only 3.1 miles, but that’s as the crow flies. Still, it would have taken longer to wait for one of the volunteer firefighters to get back to town and drive the ambulance out there than to drive him ourselves, so—”

“Do you always answer a four-word question with a forty-word reply?”

She frowned, lifting her head to meet his eyes in the rearview mirror. “It was a five-word question.”

“I stand corrected. Still—” He broke off when he heard motion, and glanced back to see the boy twisting and thrashing.

“Should I pull over? You need a hand?”

“I’ll let you know.” She leaned over the boy, and her hair, which was pulled back in a long, red and curly ponytail, leaned over with her. “Take it easy, Marty,” she said. “You’re okay. You just had a particularly stubborn asthma attack, but you’re just fine. You have to try to relax, though. Relax and breathe slowly.”

Her voice was like silk, Gabe thought. Soft and comforting, while still managing to be firm and strong. A patient wouldn’t be likely to argue with a voice like that.

“Right at the next light,” she said.

“What?” He was totally off track. “Oh. Got it. I see the signs now, anyway.”

“Good. When you see the hospital on the right, go to the second driveway. That takes you right to the E.R.”

“Okay.”

“Easy, Marty. We’re almost there.”

“Doc?” The kid’s voice was slurred. “Doc-O?”

“Yeah, it’s me.”

“Am I real bad, then? I am, ain’t I?”

“Your grammar is in critical condition, but your body is fine.”

“It is? I think I hit my head.”

“I’ll take a look, but your head is the hardest part of you, kid.”

The young man laughed softly, and Gabe found himself smiling behind the wheel even as he turned and drove around to the E.R., stopping right in front of the double doors.

The doors opened, and two men with a gurney between them came straight to the back of the SUV. They didn’t do a double take when they saw the huge limited edition Ford, so Gabe assumed they were used to seeing it.

He didn’t like flashy cars. He didn’t usually like the people who drove them, either. And yet he found himself enjoying both this car and the woman inside it.

She got out, and started to follow the gurney and her patient inside, but at the last minute she glanced over her shoulder at him. “You can park it and wait, or take it back to the soccer match. Thanks for the help.”

“You’re welcome.” She was gone before he could add, “I’m Gabe, by the way.”

Not that she probably gave two hoots what his name was.

However, it occurred to him that if anyone knew about the population of Shadow Falls, teenagers included, it would be the local doctor. And depending on how long she’d been there, she might know even more than that.

Carrie emerged from the treatment room and was met in the doorway by Marty’s parents. “He’s fine. I promise,” she said.

Janine Sheffield sagged in visible relief. Gary, her husband, closed his eyes briefly. “Can we see him?”

“Absolutely. And you can take him home, too. He has a mild concussion, from hitting his head when he went down. Keep an eye on him overnight. Give him another nebulizer treatment tonight, and one in the morning. I don’t expect any problems, though.” She took a step back and held the door open for them.

They headed in, and Carrie let the door fall closed behind them, then spotted the handsome stranger sitting in the waiting room, caught his eyes and lifted her brows. “You waited.”

“I didn’t want to leave you stranded. The kid’s okay, I take it?”

“Yeah, he’ll be fine.”

“I’m really glad to hear that.”

He meant it, she thought. Okay, so he was a hippie, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t like kids. Carrie frowned. And he was a stranger in town and there was a kid missing. Was that anything to worry about? She had to wonder. But no, she was not going to start buying into the kids’ dramatic theories. Kyle had run away, end of story. The searchers wouldn’t find anything in the woods. Kyle would turn up sooner or later, and Carrie would be near the front of the line to give him a good lecture about the needless scare he’d given the entire town, to say nothing of his poor parents. She hoped he would be grounded for a year, frankly.

Meanwhile, the good-looking stranger was still waiting there, and looking better by the minute, in fact. The more she looked at him, the handsomer he got. What was up with that?

“If you’re all set here, come on,” he said, “we should get back to the game.”

“Match.”

“Sorry?”

“In soccer it’s a match, not a game.”

He lifted his brows.

She closed her eyes and shook her head. “Sorry. I’m irritating that way. Come on.” She turned and started for the exit doors. “Where did you park The Beast?”

“I took a chance and put it in a reserved spot,” he said. “I figured with wheels like that, everyone would know they were yours.”

“Not mine.” She held the door open until he joined her outside, then fell into step beside him. “My son’s. It’s his pride and joy.”

“I’ll bet. Not too many kids can afford to drive around in something like that.” He extracted the keys from his pocket, aimed the key ring at the shiny red SUV and hit the unlock button, then held them out to her.

“Oh, he can’t afford it, either, believe me. It was a gift.”

He held out the keys, but she shook her head. “Do you mind driving? I’m not real comfortable maneuvering something that size just yet. We—he hasn’t had it all that long.”

He shrugged. “So it was a recent gift, then.”

She nodded, then got in the passenger side and fastened her seat belt. The stranger got behind the wheel, stuck the keys in the ignition, and then paused and turned to face her. “I’m Gabriel Cain, by the way.”

She smiled, because it was so ludicrous that they hadn’t even exchanged names until now. “Carrie Overton.” She clasped his hand, and it was warm as it closed around hers. Big, too. And strong, his grip firm and sort of lingering. “Thanks again for the help today.”

“You’re more than welcome.” He looked at their clasped hands for a moment, a frown creasing his brow, and she felt uncomfortable enough to break the contact. There had been a little hint of attraction just then, she thought. And this guy was not even close to her type.

He started the engine and backed out of the parking spot.

“Gabriel Cain,” she said as he drove. “Why does that name sound familiar?”

He shrugged. “So how does a kid your son’s age—what is he, seventeen?”

“Sixteen,” she said.

“Sixteen.” He nodded. “So how does a kid of sixteen rate a gift like this? You’re quite a generous mom.”

“No way did I buy this for him. It’s worth three of what I drive.”

He looked surprised. “His father, then? Let me guess. He’s trying to earn brownie points to make up for the divorce.”

She frowned at him.

He shot her a sheepish look. “Sorry. Too personal, huh? I just noticed you aren’t wearing a ring, so I figured—”

“You figured wrong. And if you’re thinking my son is a spoiled rich kid, then you’ve got that wrong, too. He’s a great kid. Exceptional. And believe me, he earned this baby, or I wouldn’t have let him accept it.”

He swallowed hard. Then he said, “Sorry if I hit a nerve. You’re right, that was what I was assuming. I, of all people, should know better than to judge anyone by appearances. You have my apologies.”

She blinked, realizing she’d been judging him by his appearance from her first glimpse of him. “I didn’t mean to snap. It’s been a long week. The truth is, he saved a woman’s life. She gave him the SUV to thank him.”

“That sounds like a fascinating story.”

“It is. Olivia—God, I’ll never get used to not calling her that. Sarah was probably a little too generous. But she really wanted him to have it, and I couldn’t say no.”

He paused for a long moment, then cleared his throat and said, “You’re talking about Sarah Quinlan, aren’t you? The professor who’s been living as Olivia Dupree for the past sixteen years.”

She shot him a quick sideways glance.

“Sorry. It was all over the news. Pretty hard to miss.”

“Probably.”

“So you know her, then? The professor?”

“I know her pretty well, yes.”

He compressed his lips as if in thought, and then said, “I don’t suppose you could introduce me? I’d really like to talk to her.”

She lifted her brows. “God, don’t tell me you’re another reporter!”

“No, I—”

“Do you actually write for that rag I saw you reading at the soccer match?”

“No! No. That’s not it at all.”

“No? Then why do you want to meet her?”

He shrugged. “It’s personal.”

She narrowed her eyes at him. “Well, it’s impossible, anyway. She’s on her honeymoon. Sam and I are keeping an eye on her place while she’s away. She took her horse-sized dog with her, thank goodness.”

He blinked twice, then looked at her. “Sam?”

“My son.”

“Oh.” He cleared his throat. “Is that a…family name?”

“It’s just a name.” She lowered her eyes. “You know, the tabloids have it all wrong. Oliv—Sarah is a terrific person. She had a good reason for using a dead woman’s identity all that time. Her own life was in danger.”

“Yeah, but the dead woman whose identity she stole had left a baby behind, somewhere. Didn’t she even consider she might be robbing some family of all they had left of a loved one?”

“She didn’t know about the baby until a few weeks ago. All she knew was that the real Olivia was alone in the world.”

“I see.”

She drew a breath and tried to calm her racing nerves. God, if anyone ever found out that her Sam was the long-dead woman’s missing child, she would lose him. She would lose the most precious thing in her world, and no doubt her job and probably her medical license along with him. Not that those things mattered. Without Sam, she wouldn’t have anything, anyway. He was everything to her.

And this man seemed far too curious about local gossip for her peace of mind. He pulled into the school parking lot, which was abandoned by then, with the exception of a VW Bus with an insane paint job. The soccer match had long since ended, and she didn’t even know which team had won.

She looked at the bus, with its wild swirls and crazy colors, and said, “I take it that’s yours?”

“Mmm-hmm. You like it?”

“Is Scooby-Doo waiting inside?”

He smiled at her, a genuine smile that made her catch her breath as the dimples in his cheeks deepened. “I haven’t found a dog yet that likes to travel as much as I do.”

“So you’re a drifter.”

“If you want to call it that.”

She looked at him curiously. “Just what do you do, Gabriel Cain?”

“I’m a songwriter,” he told her. And then he got out of the SUV and walked toward his bus. When he opened the driver’s door she glimpsed a guitar resting on the passenger seat and a GPS on the dashboard. He lifted a hand to her just before getting in. “I’ll see you around, Carrie Overton.”

She paused, then got out and went over to his van. He’d closed the door, but the window was down. “Folks have been gathering at the old firehouse three times a day to go out searching for Kyle Becker, the missing boy. Next shift gathers at four. I’m sure they’d welcome another volunteer.”

He nodded. “I’ll be there.”

“Good.”

He started his motor and put the bus into gear as music spilled from its speakers. James Taylor. Good stuff. Then he drove away and left her wondering why she’d delivered the spontaneous invitation.

A kind, intelligent, kid-loving hippie drifter who listened to James Taylor and drove the Mystery Machine.

He might not be her type, but she had to admit, the man was interesting. And damn good-looking. If you were into that long-haired, unshaven, bad boy look, anyway. Which she, she reminded herself sternly, definitely was not.

2

Carrie drove her son’s ridiculously ostentatious car away from the high school, and thought about Gabriel Cain and why his name sounded so familiar. He obviously wasn’t well-off, driving an old VW Bus around the way he did. A drifter, by his own admission. She’d always wondered what drove men like that. Her own father had suffered from what her mother had called itchy feet. She’d grown up hating it. Hating it. Just when she would get used to one school district and begin to make a few friends, her father would yank up stakes and make them move again. It had been traumatic to her as a child and even more so as a teen. But her mother had always put her father first, ahead of her own child. And she’d hated that, too.

She’d never understood the wanderlust.

And she was irritated that she was thinking about painful elements of her childhood just because some stranger had wandered into her E.R. To hell with that. She reached for the MP3 player’s controls, found the playlist titled Just for Mom and, smiling a little at her son’s thoughtfulness, hit the Play button.

Then, as the smooth, soothing guitar and deep, rugged vocals of country music legend Sammy Gold filled the car, she relaxed and enjoyed the rest of her drive.

Her modified A-frame was waiting, as peaceful as always. Sam and the ever-present Sadie sat on the broad front porch. As Carrie pulled the SUV up to the oversize garage, she saw that Sam had his legs extended, feet on a wicker footstool and an ice pack on his knee.