Kiss Me, Kill Me Read online

She said, “We want you to know you’re in our prayers, every last one of you. God bless you.”

  Her voice was weak. The group applauded as the couple stepped off their makeshift podium, people touching them, patting them on the arm or shoulder, as they made their way inside the old firehouse, which seemed to have become a command post of sorts.

  It was a photographer’s dream of a building, that little old-fashioned firehouse, Gabe noted again, even as his heart went out to the couple who had just entered. He had an eye for beautiful things. Usually it was natural beauty that appealed to him, but not exclusively. He loved beautiful places, and Shadow Falls certainly qualified. But the old-fashioned charm of its buildings and the respect with which they’d been preserved made the place even more attractive to him.

  His admiration of the idyllic scenery came to a halt as his group began moving and he heard air brakes hissing from the road behind him. He looked around to see a line of school buses pulling up along the road side. Gabe stuck close to Sam and Sadie as a grim feeling settled over him. The realization hit him that this search might end with something none of them wanted to find.

  Once their bus was fully loaded and its door closed, a firefighter stood up in the front.

  “Here we go,” Sam muttered.

  Gabe glanced over to where Sam sat with Sadie in the seat beside the one he and Ambrose were sharing, and saw him fitting a set of earbuds into place and fiddling with his iPod.

  “You should probably pay attention,” Ambrose said.

  “He’s heard it a dozen times already,” Sadie told him. “Really. Trust me, it’s okay.”

  Ambrose lifted his brows but returned his attention to the man up front, as did Gabe.

  “Now that we’re in private, I need to give you the part of the speech I wish I didn’t have to. Kyle’s been gone five days. Now, the weather’s been good, so if he’s out here somewhere and hurt, he might very well still be alive. But we can’t ignore the possibility that we’re looking for a body out there. So you need to make sure you keep that in mind and poke around in the underbrush. Use a branch to prod small bodies of water. Keep an eye out for drop-offs and cliff faces, and check out the bottoms of those. And while it’s unlikely, I also have to advise you to note the location of and report any earth that looks freshly turned. Much as I hate to even think along those lines.” He lowered his head. “Hope for the best but prepare for the worst, as they say. Now let’s go find Kyle and bring him home.”

  The bus rumbled into motion, and Gabe understood why Sam hadn’t wanted to listen to that particular speech. It must be hard to be reminded of the worst-case scenario when the subject of the speculation was a friend. Maybe a best friend.

  No kid should have to go through this. Not ever.

  Gabe settled back in his seat and thought about how the importance of his own search paled in comparison to this one. He pulled out the flyer he’d been given, taking a good long look at Kyle’s smiling face, reading the stats printed below it, including his birthday.

  And that reminded him, painfully, that the boy had been born at the right time to be the kid he’d come here to find. Had Kyle actually been missing for a whole lot longer than the last five days?

  3

  Rose argued over who would carry her luggage up the outside staircase to the garage apartment but conceded when Carrie jokingly said it was a deal-breaker.

  She only had three bags anyway. A large suitcase, a smaller overnight bag that matched it, and her giant quilted handbag. Carrie took the suitcase and the overnight bag, noted the Prada tags dangling from the handles and thought the woman must be loaded. And yet her car was a relic. Sam would know the make, model and what kind of engine powered the thing, but Carrie’s knowledge extended only to recognizing an old car when she saw one. Maybe it was a classic or something.

  Not that she cared how much the woman was worth.

  Carrie set the luggage on the floor just inside the door and, turning, handed the key to Rose. “It’s all yours. You should have a good cell signal up here, and if you brought a laptop with wireless, it should pick up the signal from the house. Use it all you want.”

  “My goodness, free Internet? This room is a real bargain.” Rose smiled, then extracted a notepad and pen from her oversize handbag, quickly scribbled on the top sheet, tore it off and handed it to Carrie. “Here’s my cell number…oh, and I’ll pay in advance for the first week, too—that is, if cash is okay. I can’t believe I remembered everything but my checkbook when I changed handbags for the trip.” She rolled her eyes. “Age does odd things to one’s memory, dear. You’ll see someday.”

  “It’s not a problem. I don’t know anyone who would object to cash.”

  Smiling, Rose handed her a stack of twenties.

  She seemed as delighted with the garage apartment as if it were a room in a five-star hotel. Then again, Carrie had taken pains to make it as homey and comfortable as possible. The cabinets were old-fashioned, slate-blue-painted wood with antique white china knobs. The walls were eggshell, with slate-blue trim to match the cupboards, and the table was fashionably retro red Formica, with vinyl-padded chairs on metal frames. There was a small living area, complete with satellite TV and a floral print love seat, chair and antique-looking coffee table. The bedroom was tiny but had everything it needed, and the adjoining bathroom had been recently modernized.

  Carrie scribbled down her cell number for Rose, then looked around, trying to think of anything she might have forgotten, but she was pretty sure she’d covered everything. “If you think you’re all set, then, I’ll head out,” she said.

  “I’ll be fine here. I’m a little tired, anyway, so by the time I unpack and get settled in, I’m sure I’ll be ready for a nap. Go on, enjoy your evening.”

  “It’s not that kind of an evening,” Carrie said softly.

  Rose frowned, her face sincere. “Oh?”

  “I’m joining with other volunteers to search the woods for the miss—the runaway boy.”

  “You knew the boy, then?”

  “Know him. I know him,” Carrie said. “He’s one of my son’s best friends. They met in day care.”

  “You’ve lived here that long?”

  Carrie nodded. “More than sixteen years now.”

  “I’m so sorry, dear. I hope you find him safe and sound. Is there any way I can help?”

  “Not tonight, Rose. You’re tired, and I don’t think traipsing through the mountains is what you need tonight.”

  The older woman nodded. “Or any night, for that matter.” She rubbed her back. “Arthritis, you know. Still, there must be some way I can help. You’ve been so kind about letting me stay here when you didn’t intend to.” She tilted her head. “I’ll think on it. Maybe by tomorrow I’ll have come up with an idea.”

  “That’s sweet of you,” Carrie told her. “I hope to God that by tomorrow it won’t be needed.”

  “I hope so, too. With all my heart.” Then, to Carrie’s surprise, Rose hugged her. “Stay strong, dear. Keep on hoping.”

  “Thanks, Rose. Call me if you need anything. If I’m out of cell phone range, just leave a voice mail. I’ll call you back as soon as I get a signal again.”

  “Oh, I’m sure I’ll be fine. Good luck, dear.”

  “Good night, Rose.”

  Carrie Overton left at last, and Rose parted the curtain and watched her as she walked down the exterior stairs. A moment later she heard the garage door opening below her, and seconds after that Carrie’s minivan backed out, then rolled smoothly down the paved driveway and out of sight.

  Sighing, Rose dug in her quilted bag and pulled out a copy of the most recent edition of the Shadow Falls high school yearbook, opened it to the sophomores’ page and gazed at the faces she had circled after her perusal of the birth records from the summer of sixteen years ago—the year the good Dr. Overton had arrived here, interestingly enough.

  Running her fingers over the three young people whose faces were encircled in red ink, she whisp
ered, “Don’t worry, baby. I’ll find you soon. I promise.” And then, digging further, she pulled out a red pen and drew an X across the already-circled face of Kyle Becker.

  By the time Carrie had turned on the propane for the garage apartment’s kitchen range, thrown the switch to engage the electricity, shown Rose around and explained how everything worked, testing everything as she went just to make sure it did, then headed out to the firehouse, three hours had passed. The searchers would have begun at four and would search until dusk. And it was nearly dusk now. With such a long head start, though, her odds of catching up to them in the woods before they were well on their way back to the road were slim.

  The best she could do would be to wait at the firehouse for them to return. It was hard on Sam, going through this nightly ritual. And being Sam, he joined in the searches during the day, too, when he didn’t have soccer practice or a game. The first two days, he’d even skipped practice to search for Kyle, but Carrie had finally insisted he try to keep to a routine, to achieve some kind of normalcy in the midst of all the chaos and worry and fear.

  She wished with everything in her that she could take his pain away, make this all better for him. He was suffering, and she hated seeing her son suffer. God, she would give just about anything to see Kyle walking up to her front door, a towel over his shoulder, asking to use the pool out back.

  Her stomach knotted. She told it to stop. Kyle was fine. He was going to show up any time now.

  She pulled into the firehouse’s sprawling, black-topped, vehicle-filled lot, spotting Gabriel Cain’s VW Bus and automatically steering into the serendipitously empty spot right beside it. By then the sun was setting. Another twenty minutes, she thought, and the buses would be lining up, opening their doors so the streams of volunteers could come pouring out.

  But maybe this time there would be good news. Maybe this time…

  She knew better, though. If they’d found Kyle, she would have received a phone call by now. Sighing, she got out of her car and walked over to the Volkswagen, peering curiously through its windows.

  A guitar case lay on the floor between the front seats. An air freshener in the shape of an eighth note dangled from the mirror. The GPS system was a new one, high-end, and was mounted to the dash. She tried the door and wasn’t surprised to find it unlocked. Then she slid it open and stuck her head inside. She was curious, just dying to climb in and do a little snooping. That would be completely inappropriate, she told herself. Totally out of line. And besides, she had no business being so curious about the man. He was just another tourist, not to mention a drifter and a starving artist and a dozen other things that made him all wrong for her.

  And yet she couldn’t seem to stop thinking about him, being curious about him. Why? What was it about Gabriel Cain that so fascinated her?

  There was a rolled-up sleeping bag in the back, she noted. Or at least it looked like a sleeping bag. And a green canvas duffel, like the kind they gave to military personnel. The duffel was stuffed full, but she wasn’t about to look inside.

  There were stacks of magazines and books, and she couldn’t resist flipping through those, wondering what a man like him might read.

  Nature magazines, travel magazines, magazines about hiking and kayaking. But there were also things like Newsweek, Time, Mother Jones and the Onion.

  She wasn’t surprised he was a lefty. Or a nature nut. She wished some of the publications gave insight into his character that she hadn’t already guessed. Okay, she turned to the books. There were several in a netted basket he’d rigged up on one side of the van. Without climbing in, she couldn’t see all the titles, but she saw a few. One caught her eye. Turning to Gold: The Life and Times of a Country Music Legend.

  She recognized the title. It was about her favorite singer, Sammy Gold. The aging star had recently made a huge comeback, after recording his own version of a famous heavy metal ballad. Gold’s take on the song had outsold the original, and earned him the respect and dollars of a whole new generation of fans.

  She, of course, had loved him long before that.

  Carrie backed out of the VW and slid the door closed, feeling a little guilty for snooping, but not overly so. She hadn’t done more than peek. But her timing turned out to be impeccable, because she heard the distinctive sounds of bus engines in the distance even as she stepped an innocent-looking distance away from the VW and tried to act as if she hadn’t been snooping. The buses, three of them, pulled up along the side of the road in front of the firehouse, air brakes hissing. Their doors folded open, and the volunteers began streaming out, heading to their cars. It was clear there’d been no sign of Kyle today. The searchers had the usual hanging heads and disappointed faces that were somehow relieved at the same time. At least they hadn’t found a body.

  She spotted Gabe the minute he stepped off the bus, and his eyes were on her almost as fast. The smile that appeared on his face the minute he saw her told her he was absurdly glad to see her, and then he turned to speak to someone behind him, pointing in her direction as he did.

  The person behind him turned out to be her son, followed closely by Sadie, and the two met her eyes and waved. She frowned. What were they doing, hanging out with the stranger?

  Even more oddly, Sadie turned to speak to the man right behind her, another total stranger. And he, too, glanced her way and lifted a hand in greeting.

  Wait, wasn’t that the suit-wearing tourist she’d spotted at the soccer match? It was. Good Lord, had Sam and Sadie appointed themselves the unofficial Shadow Falls welcoming committee?

  Before she had time to think more on that, all four came toward her, arriving in mid conversation as Sam was telling Gabe about how the falls here were nearly always in the shadow of the surrounding mountains, giving them—and the town—their names.

  “Hey, Mom. You know Gabe. And this is Ambrose.”

  “Ambrose Arthur Peck,” the man put in. “Of Manlin, Taylor & Strauss.”

  “Oh. Of course, sure, I’ve heard of your firm.” Albeit, only because the financial advisors’ TV commercials ran on her favorite twenty-four-hour news station every hour, on the hour. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.” She extended a hand, her brain telling her that Ambrose was the one she ought to have her eyes on, not Gabe. But his handshake was wimpy, his skin damp, and his eyes never bored into hers in the way that Gabe’s did. Instead they met, then dodged, then met and dodged again. Jerky eyes, in constant staccato motion.

  “The pleasure is all mine, Dr. Overton. I’ve heard wonderful things about you.”

  “I’m afraid my son’s opinion of me might be slightly biased,” she said.

  He smiled. “Oh, but it wasn’t just your son. The lovely Sadie and Mr. Cain joined him in singing your praises, as has anyone else I’ve asked about you.”

  Her smile died. “You’ve asked about me?”

  “Um….” He lowered his eyes. “I—I suppose a more suave sort of man wouldn’t have let on.”

  She lifted her brows.

  “I saw you at the game. Noticed the lack of a ring and thought I might ask you to dinner while I was in town.”

  “Oh.” Carrie was a little embarrassed on his behalf, but flattered, too. Her gut reaction was to say no way, but her practical brain told her that he was far more likely to be a suitable date than a starving artist would. “Well, I haven’t eaten yet tonight,” she said.

  “Oh, tonight. Yes, well, tonight. I um—”

  “We’re having Gabe over tonight, Mom,” Sam said.

  “Whoa, hold up now,” Gabe said, raising both hands, traffic-cop style. “You and I made those plans, Sam. Your mom didn’t.” Then he nodded at Carrie. “You do what you like. We can get together without you. Or, just pick another night to jam if you’d feel better not having a stranger in your house when you’re not home.”

  The guy was considerate. And polite. And gorgeous, in that free bird, drifter sort of way.

  Sam moved forward, gently closing a hand on Carrie’s forearm
and tugging her off to one side, out of earshot of the two men. Leaning close, he whispered, “Please, Mom? That Ambrose guy is a dork, anyway.”

  “Sammy!”

  “I know, I know. You prefer dorks. I get that. But you get lots of chances to have dinner with guys like him. How many times am I gonna have a chance to play guitar with Gabriel Cain?”

  She blinked and tipped her head to one side. “You say that as if he’s somebody important.”

  Her son blinked at her in a way that only a son could. His expression was one she might use if she were standing in front of the Mona Lisa and someone suggested it would make nice refrigerator art.

  “What?”

  “Mom, he’s famous. Way more famous than Manlin, Taylor and Mozart.”

  “Strauss,” she corrected. Then realized he’d been making a joke and acknowledged it with, “But that was good.”

  “Gabe’s songs have been recorded by some of the biggest stars in the biz. Six of them have gone platinum.”

  She lifted her brows, unable to stop herself from looking over her shoulder at the apparently unemployed hippie in the distance. Watching her, he smiled with one side of his mouth and lifted a hand just slightly.

  She looked back at her son. “You’re kidding, right?”

  “I bet everyone in town has at least one of his songs on their favorites list.”

  “Everyone but me,” she said. “But then again, I prefer country music. So it’s safe to say he’s not a starving artist, then?”

  Her son’s eyes had moved away from her and widened, and then he smacked his forehead and said, “Jeez, Mom.”

  “What?”

  She turned at the sound of a male voice behind her saying, “Not starving, anyway.”

  She spun and had to tip her head back to meet Gabe’s eyes because he was significantly taller than she was. “That was probably rude.”

  “Not at all. I was a starving artist for a long time. I don’t consider it an insult. And I like to think success hasn’t changed me much. Your assumption assures me that I haven’t. Frankly, I appreciate it.”