Kiss Me, Kill Me Read online

  “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.

  Frowning, she parked the SUV, hit the button to close the garage door, then hurried outside, across the drive and up the steps to the first level of her two-story wraparound deck.

  “What happened?” Carrie dropped her medical bag and purse on the glass-topped wicker table, and crouched in front of her son to remove the cold pack.

  “Nothing, Mom. It’s just a little swollen and sore from overuse. Coach said to ice it.”

  “Coach didn’t go to medical school.” She poked and prodded at his swollen knee, then flexed it a few times, one hand over the kneecap to feel for any problems.

  “So what’s the diagnosis, Doc?” Sam asked.

  She tried not to smile and said, “It’s strained from overuse. Ice it.”

  “Thank God for med school, huh?”

  “Watch it, pal.” She smiled at his teasing, though, and finally turned to Sadie. “Hi, hon. How’s your day going?”

  “Better now that you’re here. You wouldn’t believe how he’s been whining about the game.”

  “Lost, huh?” Carrie asked her son.

  “By one. One. On a penalty shot based on a bad call. You wouldn’t even believe—”

  She held up a hand. “Yes, I would.”

  Sam gave them both the stink-eye and tried to change the subject. “How’s Marty?”

  “He’s fine, hon. No side effects. Just a nasty bout of asthma and a bump on the head to boot.”

  “Good thing Marty’s got a thick skull,” Sadie put in.

  “That’s what I told him.” Carrie sighed as she looked at her watch. “It’s almost time for the afternoon round of searching for Kyle. But maybe you ought to take tonight off, Sam. Rest your knee.”

  “No way. I’m not going to stop looking until we find him.”

  She thinned her lips but didn’t argue. “It’s your call, hon. But I really don’t think we’re going to find Kyle by trekking through the woods.”

  “I know what you think,” he said. “And you know I think you’re wrong. Dead wrong. Kyle didn’t run away. He wouldn’t run away. Something happened to him—something bad.”

  “I know you believe that—”

  “And no one’s taking it seriously. Everyone’s assuming he just ran off, that he isn’t out there somewhere, needing help.”

  “Regardless of what anyone believes, Sam, everyone is out looking.
Bryan Kendall swears that he and everyone else in the police department are treating this like a missing person case, not like a runaway, just in case. So all the bases are covered.”

  “Right,” Sadie said. “And we appreciate how much time you’ve been putting into the search, Carrie. Even though you don’t think it’s going to get us any results.”

  “Thanks for saying so,” Carrie said. And she gave the girl a smile, thinking again how much she liked Sadie. She was tough and smart and not afraid to say her piece. Girls were growing up strong these days. She liked that, too.

  Sam was still frowning, no doubt frustrated. Carrie wished she could make this better for him, but only bringing his friend back home would do that. Damn Kyle for worrying everyone like this.

  “It’s three,” Sadie said. “If we’re going to be at the firehouse by four, we’d better grab a bite and get ready.”

  “I’m not hungry,” Sam muttered.

  Sadie met Carrie’s eyes, rolled her own. “The average halfback runs eight miles per match,” the girl said, “burning off a few thousand calories in the process. There’s no possibility that you are not hungry. So it’s obvious you’re saying that just to make sure we know how miserable you are. But honestly, Sammy, it doesn’t help Kyle one bit to play stubborn and refuse to eat. It only hurts you. So do what you want. Your mom and I are going to get some food.”

  And with that she got to her feet and sauntered through the wide entry door into the house.

  Carrie smiled. “I swear, son, you’ve got yourself a keeper there.”

  He smiled back. “I know I do.” Then he tossed the blue cold pack to her and leaped off the chair to his feet, forcing Carrie to bite back a squeak of protest.

  In a moment her son was through the door, catching up to Sadie and sliding his arms around her waist from behind.

  Carrie sighed, glad Sadie was around to help pull Sam through this tough time, and started forward herself, then stopped when she heard a vehicle in the driveway.