Kiss Me, Kill Me Page 11
Then Sam and Sadie, hand in hand, walked down the steps to the grassy slope and the lake beyond.
Carrie watched them go, then turned to Gabe. “Ronny Dean? A toast at the bottom of the Grand Canyon? Really?”
“You doubt me?” he asked, feigning hurt.
“Well, unless you wrote the Sammy Gold song, ‘Ode to Jimmy Bean,’ you’re a big fat liar.”
“I am not fat.”
She smiled slightly. “No. You’re not.”
He started clearing up the dishes, stacking plates and heading inside with them. She gathered things, too, and followed. “So why the fabrication?” she asked.
“I wanted to make him feel better, and it was the first thing that popped into my head that fit.” He shrugged. “And I’ll tell him the truth later on, when he’s past the roughest parts of all this.”
After setting the dishes in the sink, she turned, leaned back against the counter and gazed at him. “I think it was just what he needed to hear, Gabe. It was a good idea, even if it was a fib.”
“It’s one of Sammy Gold’s most obscure songs. I really didn’t think you’d pick up on it.”
She tipped her head to one side. “I have everything he’s ever recorded. Even the obscure stuff. The question is, why would you know it? I thought you hated him.”
His face changed then. It went from open and warm to almost blank. “I’m in the business, remember?”
Frowning, she said, “You really don’t like him, do you?”
“No. I really don’t.”
“Then you must have a good reason.”
His brows went up. “How can you be so sure? Maybe I’m just a music snob.”
She laughed very softly. “You’re not any kind of a snob. You’re a warm, caring, intelligent man. Shoot, you even defended Ambrose Peck. You don’t seem to dislike anybody.”
“I mostly don’t.”
“So then there must be a reason why you hate Sammy Gold.” Turning to face the sink again, she cranked on the faucets and added a squirt of detergent, then watched the sudsy water rise. “I confess, I’m burning with curiosity.”
“At least you’re burning with something.”
She shot him a narrow-eyed look over her shoulder. “You said you might tell me sometime.”
“Yes, I did.”
“So are you going to tell me now?”
He stared at her, saying nothing.
She tilted her head to one side. “It would distract me from the dark cloud stuck over my head right now, maybe.”
He nodded slowly. “I suppose it might.”
“So?” She held his eyes and waited, and she knew the minute he decided to give in. There was some sort of shield over his eyes, invisible, but there, and she could have sworn she saw it dissolve.
“I can’t believe I’m saying this, but yeah. I’m going to tell you.” He moved up beside her as she began washing dishes and took on the drying portion of the task. “But you probably aren’t going to believe me. The truth of the matter is that Sammy Gold is my father.”
7
She looked at him as if she thought he was joking, a small smile on her face. But when Gabe didn’t return it, her eyes slowly went wider, and her smile vanished like morning dew from a sunbathed blade of grass.
God, she was beautiful.
“Your…father?”
He nodded. “My mother was—is—a gold-digging groupie.”
“Gabe!”
“What?”
“That’s a terrible thing to say about your mother.”
“It’s a terrible thing to know about my mother. But it’s the truth, nonetheless. She managed to lure Sammy Gold into the sack just as he was starting his meteoric rise, and she ended up pregnant. She’s never admitted it, but I’m convinced she planned it that way. When I was born, she hired a lawyer, had a blood test done, and notified Gold’s handlers that there was about to be a very expensive and very public paternity suit filed.”
“She didn’t…go to him? Talk to him face-to-face?”
“Not the way she tells it, no. Obviously I only have her story to go on. Though if she were going to lie to me, it seems like she would have made herself a little bit more sympathetic.”
“So what happened?” she asked him as she pulled the sink stopper to let the water drain.
Gabe dried his hands on the towel, then handed it to her. “Mom was offered a hell of a settlement in exchange for signing a confidentiality agreement. As long as she keeps her mouth shut about who fathered me, she gets a big fat check in the mail every month. And every year of my life, the amount has gone up a bit, just to keep her motivated.”
He was watching Carrie’s face as he told her the story he’d never told anyone else, ever. She seemed fascinated by it, but she was watching his face, too, as if trying to hear what he wasn’t saying out loud.
“I suppose it’s understandable that he would pay to keep it quiet,” she said slowly, thoughtfully. “I mean, his trademark is home and family. All his songs are about loyalty and fidelity and trust. Being a good man, finding a good woman, staying true.”
Gabe wandered to the door, glanced out at the kids down on the shore. “That was probably true then. Now, though, it wouldn’t hurt him a bit. He’s practically a deity to country music fans. Besides, it happened a long time ago, in his youth.”
“I imagine it would still shake up his marriage, though,” she said.
“Are you…defending him?”
“No.” She put a hand on his arm. “It probably sounded that way, but no, Gabe, I’m not. I’m really not. I’m just trying to understand what would possess someone to do what he’s done, what could drive a man to disavow his own son. That’s all. It’s…it’s unimaginable to me.”
The hackles that had risen in response to her comments settled down again. “I can imagine it would seem unimaginable to you, as much as you love Sam. Your Sam, I mean.”
“I would die for my son,” she said simply.
He nodded. “I don’t doubt that for a minute.”
“So tell me more.”
He sighed, but he talked. As he did, he poured the coffee he’d brewed into two cups, handed one to her, then nodded at the cream and sugar on the counter. “Part of the agreement was that neither my mother nor I would ever try to approach or contact Sammy Gold by any means whatsoever.”
Carrie frowned then, studying his face as she sipped her coffee, black. “That’s even more abhorrent.”
“Ah, now you’re getting it.”
“But why would he do that? Why wouldn’t he even want to know his own son?”
The question was so poignant, coming from her, that Gabe was rendered momentarily speechless. It didn’t help that he was growing more suspicious that Carrie’s Sam might be his own son every time he saw him. So much about him, from his expressions to his moods, not to mention his hair and his eyes, reminded Gabe of himself. And every now and then, in an instant that was there and then gone quicker than the twinkle of a firefly, Gabe was sure he saw his father’s face in Sam’s.
“Gabe?”
He brought his attention back to Carrie and realized he was beginning to like her. No, that was wrong. He already liked her. He was beginning to feel…more. And to regret not telling her who he was from the very start. Then again, at the very start, he hadn’t even suspected that Sam could be his own offspring. And now he’d painted himself into a corner. If he told Carrie, she would hate him. If he didn’t, then he was compounding his crime by continuing to commit it.
He had to make sure. He had to make sure first, because if he told her now and it turned out not to be true, then he would have alienated her for nothing.
Carrie snapped her fingers under his chin, and he met her eyes.
“Gosh, this really does eat away at you, doesn’t it?”
“What does?”
“Your father. Him never acknowledging you, never wanting to meet you. Paying your mother to keep you a secret. It hurts. I can see that.”
“That’s bull. How do you ever get over something like that?”
“By not thinking about it. Whenever it hits me, I sort of acknowledge it, then let it go. I spend my time on things that make me feel good, not on things that make me feel bad.”
She frowned at him. “What kind of a philosophy is that? You just ignore bad things and figure they’ll go away?”
“It’s not about making anything go away. It’s about getting onto the same wavelength as the good stuff in life. It comes to you easier that way. But if you stay on the wavelength with the bad stuff, you get more of that, instead.”
“Fascinating,” she whispered. “And you actually believe this.”
“I know this.”
“And how’s it working out for you so far?”
He shrugged. “Up to now, only so-so. Couple of gold records, a few platinum ones. Living exactly the way I decide to live, doing what I want, when I want. Making more money than I could ever need. But now I think it’s really kicking in.”
“Really.” She didn’t hide the sarcasm in her voice.
“Mmm-hmm. I met you.”
She sucked in a soft little gasp, barely noticeable, but he noticed it. And it was followed by three rapid blinks and a quick averting of her eyes. Score, he thought silently. It had touched her, what he’d said just then. It had gotten to her, and that had to mean she was feeling something, too.
She lifted her eyes, met his again and smiled softly. “I’m really glad I met you, too. But maybe this is a good time to point out the obvious.”
“Which is?”
“You’re here on vacation. You’ll be gone when it’s over. So let’s not let ourselves start thinking this…this attraction between us is anything more than—well, than what it is.”
He blinked. “Oh.”
“Doesn’t that make sense to you?”
“No.”
She frowned. “Why not?”
Shrugging he said, “Because I believe in living in the moment. Doing what makes me happy in the moment. Always.”
“And I believe in doing what’s best for my son, what’s best for my patients and what’s best for my friends.”
“So when do you do what’s best for you?” he asked. “Just where does your happiness fit in?”
“Taking care of others is what makes me happy. It’s what I do. What I don’t do is wander, or drift from place to place, or pack up and move whenever the mood strikes me. I have roots here. I’ve planted them here, and I intend to stay here.”
He frowned slightly. He’d been planning to kiss her, but he was having second thoughts. “You almost sound angry at me,” he said. “Have I done something to make you angry, Carrie?”
She blinked and looked away. “You’re making me wish there was a crumb of a chance for this to be…something.”
“Then wish it. And stop being so sure it’s impossible.”
He put a hand on her shoulder and turned her to face him. “Please? Just try it my way for a few days. Start thinking only things that make you smile.” He pushed her hair behind one ear. “You’re so damn beautiful when you smile.”
“Gabe,” she whispered, but he was already moving in for that kiss. And she melted into him, opened her mouth when he nudged her to, pressed her body closer when he tightened his arms around her waist. He cupped the back of her head and bent over her, and he traced the edges of her lips with his tongue. Just that, and he knew she wanted more.
The sound of the door opening, then quickly closing again, broke them apart, and he looked over her head to see the kids on the deck, their backs pointedly to them.
“They’re pretending they didn’t see us,” Gabe said. “And they’re not very convincing—especially given Sam’s drama club experience.”
“Oh, hell.”
“Stop it.” He looked down into Carrie’s eyes, stroked her hair. “Just stop being negative, will you? There’s no harm in them knowing we kissed.”
“Of course there is. Sam worships you already. He’ll get his hopes up, think this is going to be something, and then get his heart broken when it ends.”
He bent his brows together and clasped her shoulders. “You really need to get a dictionary, because your idea of being positive really needs some work.”
She rolled her eyes.
“Just try. For me?”
“How, Gabe? How, when I have to go to the hospital tomorrow and try to get them to let me observe Kyle’s autopsy?”
“Don’t do that,” he said. “Don’t subject yourself to it. It will be painful and sad, and it’ll make you a magnet for more of the same. The job will be done. It doesn’t have to be you.”
“You heard Sam, though. He’s counting on me. I have to be there for him.”
He lowered his head. “It’s a bad idea, Carrie. I wish you’d trust me on this.”
“I’m a doctor. This is the sort of thing I do.”
“You don’t have to.”
“I choose to. I’ll be in that room in the morning, no matter what I have to do to make that happen.” Averting her eyes, she added, “I’m just not as good as you are at taking life lightly, I guess.”
“Okay. Okay. I get it.” He heaved a sigh, then said, “I’m not taking you lightly, Carrie. Don’t think that’s what’s happening here.”
She studied his face for a minute. “You’re not easy to figure out, you know that?”
“There’s nothing to figure out, Carrie. I’m just what I seem. For the most part.”
“For the most part?”
He nodded. She looked at him for another long moment, then turned away and went to open the patio doors. “Time to go,” she called. “And I don’t want to hear any snickering, whispering or comments on the way. Got it?”
“What are you even talking about?” Sam asked. “C’mon, Sadie.” He took her by the hand, and the two came in. As they crossed the kitchen past Gabe, Sam held up a hand. Gabe reciprocated the high five, grinning.
“Brat,” Carrie muttered. But the two teens just kept walking, straight through the log cabin and out the front door. She glanced at Gabe and sighed. “I’m sorry if things got…tense. I don’t mean to be that way. I just…. I’m cautious, I guess.”
“If you can kick that up just one notch to ‘cautiously optimistic,’ you’ll feel better. That’s a term you doctors use a lot, right?”
She nodded. “I’ll think about it,” she said.
“Really?” He was surprised.
“Yeah. Not because it makes any sort of sense whatsoever, but just because…” She lowered her eyes and even her voice. “Just because…I really like kissing you.”
Oh, hell, she’d nailed him right between the eyes with that one. He reached for her, but she dodged gracefully.
“Oh, no. I’m not giving those two any more ammunition. They’re going to torture me no end as it is.”
“It’ll do them a world of good,” he said. “And you know it.”
“Yeah, I do. I’ll…see you tomorrow, Gabe.”
“I can’t wait.”
He watched her walk the same path her son had, through the living room and out the front door, and he had a self-satisfied smile on his face the whole time. She liked him. And he liked her.
And then his smile died, as he realized how angry she was going to be when she found out that he’d been keeping a huge secret from her from the very first day they’d met. A secret that could affect her son, who meant more to her than anything in the world.
“Yeah, and I’d better take a dose of my own advice here, huh?” he said aloud, then heaved a heavy sigh and tried to think positively. He was going to find just the right time to tell her in just the right way, and she was going to understand.
Right. She was probably going to punch him squarely in the nose.
<
br /> The next morning Carrie Overton stood beside a table in the hospital’s morgue. She hadn’t slept the previous night. She might have, with the help of a tranquilizer, but she’d wanted to be sharp for this morning. She’d given Sam a mild sedative before bed and convinced him to take it. Sadie had gone home earlier, insisting she would be fine. And somehow, Carrie didn’t doubt it. The girl was as tough as they came.
The morgue was equipped to hold up to eight cadavers at a time in cold storage drawers, but she’d never seen more than three in there at once, and that had been a rare occasion. Most of the time the morgue was empty.
This morning, it was not. The disrobed body of Kyle Becker lay on a table, beneath a sheet, awaiting autopsy. His clothes had been removed with extreme care in the presence of police. They’d been brushed, and every particle that fell from them had been collected and would be examined.
A camera sat near to hand, in case it was needed, and a digital recorder hung suspended from the ceiling. It was running now, as the unfortunately named Dr. Carson Butcher, an overweight forensic pathologist with shaggy blond hair and a pockmarked face, began to sweat his way through the external exam, saying aloud, “No remarkable bruises or signs of trauma. However, there are clear needle tracks in the left arm, crook of the elbow.”
Leaning over, Carrie pointed to the additional needle mark in the upper left forearm, this one bruised.
Dr. Butcher nodded. “In addition, there’s another puncture and bruise in the upper left forearm. This one appears to have been made by a larger needle.”
“It looks almost as if he’s had blood drawn, doesn’t it?” Carrie asked.
“I was thinking the same thing. Get a good clear photo of that, will you, Dr. Overton?”
She nodded, lifted the camera and took a series of shots. “The police took some, as well.”
“Good. All right, let’s get to the internal. Though I strongly suspect the cause of death is going to have to wait for the toxicology results. Two weeks minimum from the state lab.”
Carrie reached up and shut off the recorder.
Carson lifted his head. “What?”