Praise for the novels of
MAGGIE SHAYNE

“A tasty, tension-packed read.”

—Publishers Weekly on Thicker Than Water

“Tense…frightening…a page-turner in the best sense.”

—RT Book Reviews on Colder Than Ice

“Mystery and danger abound in Darker Than Midnight, a fast-paced, chilling thrill read that will keep readers turning the pages long after bedtime…. Suspense, mystery, danger and passion—no one does them better than Maggie Shayne.”

—Romance Reviews Today on Darker Than Midnight

[winner of a Perfect 10 award]

“Maggie Shayne is better than chocolate. She satisfies every wicked craving.”

—New York Times bestselling author Suzanne Forster

“Shayne’s haunting tale is intricately woven…. A moving mix of high suspense and romance, this haunting Halloween thriller will propel readers to bolt their doors at night.”

—Publishers Weekly on The Gingerbread Man

“A gripping story of small-town secrets. The suspense will keep you guessing. The characters will steal your heart.”

—New York Times bestselling author Lisa Gardner on The Gingerbread Man

Kiss of the Shadow Man is a “crackerjack novel of romantic suspense.”

—RT Book Reviews

Maggie Shayne
Kiss Me, Kill Me

This book is lovingly dedicated to the readers who’ve been with me from the beginning, always breathlessly waiting for the next installment, and to the new ones we’ve picked up together along the way. Every word I write, I write with you in mind, wondering what you’ll think, if you’ll like it, if something I toss in for you will make you smile, if you’ll get our inside jokes, if I’ll scare you, if you’ll cry at the end like I did. Every word. Thank you isn’t nearly enough, but I thank you all the same.

Contents

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Prologue

Sixteen Years Ago

Carrie Overton had known her life was about to change forever. She just hadn’t known how drastically. But when her headlights picked out the shape of a lone woman standing beside her car on the roadside, she knew something was wrong. It was the dead of night in the middle of nowhere. The woman was leaning on her rusty, lopsided car, one arm braced on the hood, the other, cradling her swollen belly. Her face bore a grimace of pain and no small amount of fear. And, in fact, when Carrie flipped on her signal light—though there was no one other than an army of raccoons to see it, she thought—some of that fear changed to visible, almost palpable, relief. The woman—no, she was really little more than a girl, Carrie saw as she drove closer—held up a hand, as if to signal her to stop, though Carrie had already decided there was little else she could do.

She pulled over behind the girl’s car, a primer-colored breakdown-waiting-to-happen, shut her own engine off and got out. The silence of the night struck her as she walked quickly over to the girl. Her shoes crunched on gravel, crickets chirped as if nothing was wrong, and night birds called out noisily every fourth step or so.

“Car broken down?” she asked, almost hoping it was as simple as that, even though every instinct in her body was telling her otherwise. And her instincts were probably better than most, seeing as how she was a doctor. A new one, yes, but a doctor all the same.

The girl met her eyes, and Carrie saw that they were wet. “No. I think I might be in labor.”

Carrie felt her own quick gasp, but just as quickly she grabbed hold of her nerves and replaced them with the quiet calm she had learned patients needed from their MDs. “Lucky for you I came along, then. I’m a doctor.”

“Are you kidding me?”

“Nope. I’m on my way to start a new job at Shadow Falls General Hospital.”

“That’s where I’m going, too!” the girl said, but then she whimpered, and closed her eyes and hugged her middle. “God, that hurts.”

“Okay, breathe through it,” Carrie told her. “Like this.” And then she demonstrated, puffing short bursts of air from pursed lips.

The girl obeyed, and in a moment, as the pain eased, Carrie opened the rear door of the girl’s car and helped her in. “Come on, lie down on the backseat, where you can be more comfortable until I get us some help.”

“I think comfortable is impossible at this point.” But the girl moved anyway. Not far, though. She took two steps, then bent double once more, almost falling to her knees this time. She began puffing those short breaths again, and for the first time Carrie felt a real sense of alarm.

Hunkering down to be at eye level with the now-crouching mother-to-be, Carrie asked, “How far apart are the pains?”

“Almost constant,” the girl whispered between puffs.

“Okay. Okay,” Carrie said soothingly. She waited for the pain to pass, and then quickly moved the girl into the backseat. Clearly she was about to deliver a baby. Another birth pang came and went before she got the girl even half-undressed. Then Carrie had to leave just long enough to race to her own car and grab her bag. In seconds she was back, kneeling on the pavement beside the open car door.

“The pains only started an hour ago. I thought I’d have time to get to Shadow Falls.”

“Most women would have,” Carrie told her. “You’re being an exception to the rule today. But don’t worry. I can deliver your baby right here just fine. There’s nothing to be afraid of.”

“Then why am I scared shitless?” the girl asked. “Unhh! Oh, God.”

Carrie tried to project confidence and hide her own nervousness—she’d delivered babies before, after all. Not on deserted country roads in the backseats of barely roadworthy cars, but she didn’t imagine many doctors had. She laid a calming hand on the girl’s bulging belly and felt the baby move inside. It instigated a wave of sadness, but she tamped it down. “It’s a miracle, you know. It’s a miracle you’re experiencing right now.”

“Miracles hurt!” Pant, pant, pant. “Have you ever—oh, hell!—delivered a baby before?”

“Dozens of them,” Carrie lied. She’d delivered three—exactly three—during her residency, but she’d never had to fly solo, without a nurse or sterile tools or gloves, not to mention a backup neonatal team standing by.

“I’d give anything not to have to do this,” the girl moaned.

“I’d give anything to trade places with you right now,” Carrie told her.

“You must be nuts, then—oh, hell, oh, hell, oh, hell!”

“Not nuts, just broken. I…I’ll never be a mom.” Maybe telling her that would make her realize what a blessing this event was. How important. How special.

The contraction passed, and the girl’s expression eased. She studied Carrie’s face. “You can’t have kids?” she asked.

Carrie met her eyes. “Nope. I was born with defective fallopian tubes and—”

“Oh, shit! Something’s happening. I have to push. I have to—”

“Go ahead, push.” Carrie got low and flattened her hands against the bottoms of the girl’s feet so she would have something to brace against. The contraction eased, and the girl fell back, heaving a sigh.

“Relax until the next contraction,” Carrie told her. “Then we’ll push again.”

“It’s odd, me meeting you out here like this,” the girl said.

“We haven’t officially met, though, have we?” Carrie pointed out. “I’m Carrie Overton. Doctor Carrie Overton. And you are…?”

The girl didn’t answer. She was gripped by another contraction, and then another, and the opportunity for conversation was gone, aside from the necessary bits. Breathe through it. Push harder.

It wasn’t long before the baby’s head came into sight. And with the next push, the shoulders began to emerge. “You’re so strong,” Carrie said. “This is going to be over in no time, hon. Two more pushes, maybe three.”

“I want it to be over with now!” the girl cried.

“I don’t blame you. Come on, push with me now.”

The girl pushed, and Carrie talked and comforted, and in short order she was holding a tiny, wriggling baby boy in her arms. He released a series of congested bleats, making her laugh softly. “A boy,” Carrie said. “And he’s got a great set of lungs on him, too.”

“Is he okay?” the girl asked. “I want him to be okay.”

“He’s fine. He’s absolutely…beautiful. God, look at him. He’s perfect.” Carrie sniffled, then tied off the cord, cut it and wiped the baby down as best she could with gauze and sterile water. She suctioned his nose and mouth with a small blue aspirator, wrapped him in her own jacket, and for just a moment held him in her arms, smiling down at his tiny face. When tears burned in her eyes, she blinked them away and gently placed the baby in his mother’s arms.

“You should try to nurse him,” Carrie whispered. She couldn’t speak any louder than that for the tightness in her throat. The idea of never being able to have a baby of her own…it was a constant twisting blade in her heart. She knew she would be a far better mother than her own volatile, passionate, hot-tempered mother had been. “I can hardly wait to see what he weighs,” she added, mentally trying to change the subject.

She helped the new mother clean herself up, got her sitting upright, watched her trying to nurse and then nodded. “Okay, listen. I passed a house a few miles back. I’m going to drive back there, see if I can use their phone to get an ambulance out here for you, and we’ll get you and your little guy to a nice clean hospital where you can recover properly. Okay?”

The girl lifted her face, her expression oddly detached. “I thought doctors all had those car phones nowadays.”

“Not this one. Not yet. Anyway, I doubt it would work out here even if I did. But I’ll be quick.”

“And you’ll come right back here?” the girl asked.

“Right back. I won’t be more than ten or fifteen minutes. And you’ll be fine, I promise.”

“And the baby, too? He’ll be fine, too, alone for that long?”

Carrie tilted her head. “He won’t be alone, honey. He has you.”

“I could fall asleep, or—”

“He’ll be fine. I promise.” Carrie started to back away, but the girl reached out and gripped her hand.

“This was supposed to happen. You finding me here. It was meant to be. I know it was.”

“Maybe so.”

“For sure. I knew a man once. He always said everything happens for a reason. And that if you want something bad enough, it can happen.”

“Well, I’ll bet you wanted help pretty badly. Maybe he was right.”

The girl nodded slowly, her gaze turned inward. “Please hurry back.”

“I promise. I’ll be just as fast as I can.”

“Thank you,” the girl whispered, and she squeezed Carrie’s hand before she let her go.

Back in her own car, Carrie held her tears in check until she got the vehicle turned around and was headed in the direction she’d come from. But then the dam broke, and the insistent tears spilled over. She knew it was stupid, because there were other ways to have children besides giving birth to them. There were lots more babies in the world than there were suitable homes or deserving families.

She drove through the darkness, her eyes peeled for the house she’d passed, squinting to see better through the stupid tears. She was starting a new life, a new job—no, a fabulous career—in an idyllic New England town. She was buying the cutest little house she’d ever seen, and she had every intention of raising kids there someday. The adoption process was slow, slower yet for a single parent with a demanding job—so it would take a long time. But someday…Someday she would have a child, and she would give it the kind of solid, stable home she’d never had. No way was her child going to be uprooted and moved from place to place every time its father got itchy feet. The Overton home would be a permanent one, a solid one, and it would always be calm and quiet. No loud screaming matches. No physical altercations with the neighbors. No temper tantrums from people old enough to know better. None of the drama she’d grown up with.

No. Her child would have a quiet, loving, peaceful existence, and a hometown. She’d always wanted a hometown.

And she was on her way to the one she’d chosen, she reminded herself. Part One of her dream, all but complete. And even though the waiting lists were long, and even though adoption agencies tended to give preference to married couples over single women, she would get her baby someday. She would.

There! There was the house she’d passed.

She flipped on her signal and prayed the place was entirely dark only because it was 2:00 a.m. But there was no car in the driveway, and after at least five minutes’ worth of pounding on the door and jabbing the doorbell repeatedly, she realized no one was home.

Well, all right. She would just bundle the mother and baby into her car, and take them with her until she found a phone. Or maybe she would just drive them the rest of the way to Shadow Falls herself. It couldn’t be more than two hours away.

Returning to her car, she reversed out of the empty driveway and headed back to where she’d left the young woman and her son.

When she got to the spot, however, the primer-colored sedan was gone.

A jolt of alarm shot through her as she drove nearer, wondering if she had the right spot, but she was sure she did. There was her jacket, the one she’d wrapped the baby in, lying in the grass along the roadside, right near where she was sure the other car had been parked. Her headlights picked out the pale green fabric. Carrie pulled over and stopped. Surely that young woman couldn’t intend to drive the rest of the way on her own, could she? She’d just given birth, for heaven’s sake. She needed rest, and the baby needed—

The jacket was moving.

“No,” Carrie whispered. “No. Tell me she didn’t—” She wrenched open her door and hurried out, hopping the slight ditch to where her jacket lay, still wriggling.

Almost afraid to look, she bent and unwrapped the fabric. The tiny newborn lay inside, pink and healthy and squirming.

“Oh, God, she left you. How could she—how could anyone?”

Carrie gathered the baby, jacket and all, into her arms, then felt the rustle of paper as she rose.

A note, written on the back of an old envelope with the address torn off, was stuffed in a pocket of the jacket.

Carrie,

His name is Sam. I hope you’ll let him keep it.

We were supposed to meet so I could give him to you. That’s what I meant by what I said before. You’ve been wanting a baby—and you got one. I’ve been wanting a solution, and you were it for me. This was meant to be. That man I knew was right. I always knew he was special. My Sam is all yours now. And don’t worry. I won’t change my mind about this.

Ever.

The note was unsigned. Carrie folded it and tucked it into her jeans pocket.

Then, snuggling the baby close to her chest, she walked back to her car. She looked up and down the deserted stretch of pavement, but she didn’t see any sign of the girl or her car. No headlights approached, announcing that the new mother had come to her senses.

And then she looked up at the sky, silently asking the stars overhead what she was supposed to do next. As she stood there in the night, a star shot in an arcing path right over her head.

Like an answer. Like a wish.

He cried softly, and Carrie stared down into the open, unfocused blue, blue eyes of a newborn baby boy. She smiled.

“Hi, Sam,” she said softly. “I think maybe…I think maybe I’m going to be your mommy. What do you think about that?” She was almost trying out the notion, testing the words as she said them. But they felt so good, she could barely believe it.

She didn’t know how she would pull this off—find the mother and make it legal, she supposed. Somehow she would find a way. Somehow she could make this work. Somehow…

Somehow, in one night on her way to her new life, her dream had come true. Whoever that man was who’d told the girl that if you wanted something badly enough, it could happen, he must have been wise. A guru or a holy man or something. Because this felt like a gift. Like it really was meant to be.

Bending, she pressed her lips to Sam’s forehead as tears, happy ones this time, rolled down her cheeks. “I’ll find a way to make this work, Sam. I promise. And I will be the best mother you could ever wish for.”

1

Present Day

“Go, Sam! Woohoo!” Carrie pumped her fist in the air when her lanky teenage son nailed the soccer ball with the inside of his size-ten foot, sending it like a bullet past the goalie and into the net. He glanced her way, gave her a half smile that didn’t reach his eyes, then tapped the yellow band on his arm to remind everyone watching who that goal was for.

As she sat down again, Carrie was embarrassed by her outburst. It was inappropriate, given the circumstances.

The game continued, and she looked around at the other spectators. Parents and other locals, mostly, lining the bleachers at the edge of an extensive and well-groomed field behind Shadow Falls Central High. School hadn’t yet started—even though pre-season games and practices had begun for soccer, track and cheerleading.

September in Shadow Falls had a definite scent to it, and a distinct feeling to it, as well. You’d know autumn was coming even if you couldn’t see or hear a thing. The leaves were beginning to turn, though they were nowhere near their peak just yet. The sun was just as bright as it had been all summer long, but not as hot anymore, and the breeze had a brisk snap that was missing in the summer months. Fall was rolling in. You could feel it, taste it in the air.

But there was something besides autumn hanging in the air around Shadow Falls. There was a pall that was hard to miss. A lingering darkness that hadn’t let up for five days. It only grew, in fact. Every day that Kyle Becker didn’t come home, Shadow Falls got a little grimmer, a little grayer.

Even the tourists must know the reason for the town’s unusual melancholy mood by now. It was hard to miss, with the Teen Runaway posters stapled to every telephone pole, fence post and unsuspecting maple tree, and the thrice-daily gathering and dispatching of volunteer search parties in front of the old firehouse, just in case something had happened to him, a possibility no one wanted to contemplate too intently.

Every player on both soccer teams, the Blackberry Chiefs as well as the Shadow Falls Vikings, wore a yellow armband to show unity in hoping the missing sixteen-year-old would come home soon. Five days. Carrie didn’t know what the kid was thinking.

“Nice boot,” someone said nearby.

Carrie looked up to see local cop Bryan Kendall, in uniform, sitting four feet to her right. “It was, wasn’t it?” she said. “How are you, Bryan?”

He shrugged. “Been better.”

“I imagine you’re over your head in wedding plans about now, aren’t you? What have you got, six weeks to go?”

“Just under. But it’s not the wedding plans weighing me down. Though I gotta tell you, I’d just as soon elope and get straight to the honeymoon.”

“I’ll bet.”

“It’s this Kyle Becker thing,” he said.

She nodded, sighing. “The timing couldn’t be much worse, could it?”

“Not much. Tough checking out every stranger in town at the kickoff of leaf-peeper season.”

She nodded in sympathy as she scanned the bleachers, spotting a few unfamiliar faces among the locals, even here. Not many. The tourists preferred winery tours and foliage photo-ops to high school sporting events. But a few of them had discovered the soccer match and settled in to watch. One in particular caught her eye. He sat a few rows down and off to the left, and he was immersed in a supermarket tabloid with Shadow Falls’ latest scandal splashed on its front page.

Dead Woman Misidentified for More Than Sixteen Years.

Anonymous Source Puts Up Half-Million-Dollar Reward for Her Missing Baby.

Carrie closed her eyes, shook her head, wishing the story of her son’s birth mother would just go away already. But it was everywhere. And the idiot offering the reward wasn’t helping.

All those years ago, the dead woman had been identified as one Sarah Quinlan. It was only in the past few weeks that her true identity, Olivia Dupree, had been revealed. That had renewed interest in the case, and the additional information that the dead woman had given birth only weeks prior to her murder had given the story legs.

No one in Shadow Falls had known Olivia was pregnant or heard anything about a baby, but now everyone in the U.S. of A. suddenly seemed to be interested in speculating on what had become of it. Especially with the huge reward thrown into the mix.

Carrie hadn’t known the dead woman’s name when her body had been trundled into her hospital’s morgue for autopsy. But she’d recognized her face. It had been only six weeks since she’d last seen it, after all. She’d been searching Shadow Falls for the young woman, hoping to get her to sign the adoption papers that would officially make Sam Carrie’s own. On that horrible day, she’d realized it would never happen.

She alone knew what had become of the murder victim’s missing baby. He’d just scored a goal on the soccer field, and he didn’t even know he was adopted.

“You know that guy?” Bryan asked.

Carrie blinked and realized that her eyes were still glued to the tourist with the tabloid. He had long, honey and caramel hair, pulled back and held with a black rubber band. He had whiskers, too. Not a beard, exactly. Just a neatly trimmed layer of bristles that was probably supposed to be sexy.

Okay, it was sexy. Just not to her.

He wore jeans, and a T-shirt with several guitars on the front of it and some words underneath, but she was too far away to read them clearly.

“Carrie?” Bryan nudged.

“No, no, I don’t know him. I was just thinking he looks like a hippie.”

“Nah, they usually travel in groups.” He was being funny.

She wasn’t laughing. “So maybe he’s a lone hippie. Can’t say I approve of his choice of reading material.”

“He probably doesn’t care.” Bryan nodded in a direction slightly farther left. “That one’s reading the same thing, but since he’s wearing a buttoned-up suit, you probably don’t find it as offensive.”

She looked beyond the long-haired man to where Bryan had indicated. Another man sat there, light brown hair in a neat cut that seemed a little too short and too severe for his face. It was a nice face, though. He had a deep tan that stood in sharp contrast to his pale brows and even paler blue eyes, giving him a striking appearance. And his suit was impeccable, not to mention expensive.

“It’s just as offensive. Though I’m more surprised to see an intelligent-looking guy like that reading it.”

“I think he looks like an Oompa-Loompa.”

She elbowed Bryan in the rib cage but had to laugh, and it broke a little of the tension. “You’re just not used to seeing sun-worshippers at the peak of their color.”

“The man is orange.”

“He’s not orange. He’s deeply tanned. And he looks harmless. The hippie, on the other hand…”

“Doesn’t look the least bit suspicious to me,” Bryan said.

“Never trust a guy in a ponytail,” she told him. “If you’re still checking out tourists, I’d suggest you move that guy to the top of the list.”

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.

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.

Turning, she saw an unfamiliar old-school station wagon with wood-grain sides. She hadn’t seen one like it since she was a kid, she thought. It pulled to a stop, and a smiling woman got out, her head of snow-white hair like a soft, fluffy cloud. Twinkling eyes, crinkled at the corners, gazed her way as the woman waved a hand.

“Hello,” she called. “Dr. Overton?”

Carrie nodded and, since the woman was hurrying toward her, trotted down the steps and met her in the driveway.

“I’m Rose. Rose McQueen. I know it’s terribly presumptuous of me to come by in person like this, but I just had to try.”

Rose McQueen. Carrie’s rapid-fire brain ran the name through its files and found a match. If only she could be so efficient in figuring out where she’d heard the name Gabriel Cain before.

Now what was he still doing on her mind?

“Yes, I remember,” she said, tugging herself back into the moment. “You phoned me last week about the room over the garage.”

The woman nodded. “Yes, and you said you weren’t going to be renting it out this year.”

Carrie nodded, catching a whiff of the woman’s perfume, which reminded her of her grandmother’s flowery favorite scent. “It’s just with the circumstances—”

“The missing boy. I know. I’ve seen the flyers. And you have a son of your own, so I completely understand why you wouldn’t want a stranger around right now.”

“Exactly,” Carrie said. She didn’t add that she wasn’t all that worried about strangers, since she didn’t think Kyle had met with any sort of foul play. No, she was more concerned about the gossip-seeking tabloid junkies and money-seeking amateur sleuths, all sniffing around for information on the missing baby from sixteen years ago.

“But still, I wanted to come by. Partly because most people just love me once they meet me,” Rose said, exaggeratedly batting her eyelashes and offering a coy smile that had Carrie smiling right back. “And partly because I figured you could tell at a glance that I’m no menacing kidnapper type.”

“I can see that you’re not at all menacing.” The older woman wore a long floral print jacket that floated when she moved, over a plain white button-down top and dressy brown trousers. The jacket gave the outfit flash, color, style and motion, and it looked expensive.

“Oh, wait, I almost forgot.” The woman opened the very large quilted shoulder bag she carried and tugged out a plastic container with a tight-fitting lid. “These are for you and your family. A blatant attempt at bribery, I admit. But you get to keep them even if you don’t change your mind.”

Carrie took the container, which was semitransparent. “Brownies?”

“The best brownies in the universe. Even if you say no now, you’ll be saying yes after you eat your first bite just in hopes you might get another batch.”

Carrie laughed out loud that time. She liked this lady.

“Now, I promise I won’t make a pest of myself by asking again after today. This is my last-ditch effort. But I haven’t been able to find a vacancy anywhere else in town, and the woman at the store said you usually rent out that garage apartment to tourists in the fall, and I really want to be here as the leaves begin to change this year. I’ve missed it so much.”

Carrie lifted her brows. “You’ve been here before, then?”

“I grew up here,” Rose said. “Well, until I was ten and my family moved west. I told myself I’d have one more autumn in Shadow Falls before I died. And I’m not one to complain, but it looks like I might not have too many more autumns in me.”

Carrie blinked and knew the woman had her. How could she say no to a plea like that? And it was true; she usually did rent out that room, more as a favor to the town than out of any real need for the extra cash. Shadow Falls encouraged its year-round residents to make use of extra space that way, because it was good for tourism. The regular rooms booked up a year in advance, but the town hated to turn away anyone who wanted to visit. Especially lately, when times had been tough. The ski resort owners were having more trouble than anyone. Poor Nate Kelly was talking about selling his Sugar Tree Lodge. The winters just hadn’t been producing the snow they used to, and making it was expensive. But while the ski business was the one in crisis, things were tightening up for everyone in the tourist industry, so providing a room for overflow visitors was Carrie’s little bit of public service for her adopted hometown. But she hadn’t intended to do it this year.

Until now. “Well, I don’t know,” she said, teasing the woman back a little. “Maybe I’d better taste one of these brownies first.”

Rose smiled, knowing she’d won her case. “I think I like you, Dr. Overton.”

“Call me Carrie.” She pointed to a spot beside the garage. “You can pull the car up right there. I’ll run in and get the key, and then I’ll show you the room.”

Rose beamed. “Oh, thank you, Carrie. Thank you so, so much. You can’t possibly know what this means to me.”

“Sam Overton, right?” Gabe had seen the familiar giant red SUV pull up in front of the old firehouse, watched the boy get out, and felt a surprising letdown when he noted that the female with him was the cute little blonde girlfriend and not his redheaded mother. He’d been looking for her amid the crowd of volunteers since he’d arrived fifteen minutes ago.

The firehouse was like something out of a forty- or fifty-year-old snapshot, a small wooden structure with a giant bell on top that would have to be rung by hand. Handpainted lettering spelled out Shadow Falls Fire Station. Gabe figured there was probably an old-fashioned pole inside, too.

Behind and to the right, there was a big modern fire station with three bays, overhead doors and speakers mounted on the roof. But the town had the good sense, in Gabe’s opinion, to keep the old one. And not only to keep it, but use it. It fit here, nestled amid the maple- and pine-covered hills that were just beginning to come alive with color.

Sam glanced at Gabe then looked again. “Right, you’re the guy who helped out with Marty at the game earlier.” He extended a hand as he added, “Thanks for that.”

“No problem. How’s he doing?”

“Fine. Great. So you’re joining in the search, then?”

“Yeah, your mom told me about it. I, uh—I thought she was going to be here.”

“She’s gonna be late. We got a boarder at the last minute, and she had to get her settled in.”

“A boarder?”

“We rent the little apartment over the garage when there’s overflow at the local inns and stuff.” Sam winced, partly due to the elbow in his rib cage. “Sorry,” he said to the girl who’d thrown it. “This is my girlfriend, Sadie.”

Gabe extended a hand to the pretty cheerleader, remembering her from the soccer game—match. “Gabriel Cain,” he said. “Good to meet you.”

She opened her mouth to reply, but was cut off by Sam, who gaped and said, “Not the Gabriel Cain? The songwriter?”

Gabe lowered his eyes. “Yeah, but I’m kinda keeping that to myself for the moment.”

“Why? I’d be wearing a T-shirt with my platinum records all over it!” Sam looked at Sadie, who was wearing a puzzled frown. “It’s Gabriel Cain. You know. ‘Birds in the Wind,’ ‘Silent Song,’ ‘Sunbeam’…”

Her brows went up as Sam said, his voice growing louder with every word, “He wrote them. And tons more. He’s freakin’ famous.”

“Again,” Gabe said, “keeping a low profile here.”

“Sure, sure, I got that. But damn, Gabriel Cain, right here in Shadow Falls. Hey, I play a little, you know. We should jam or something. How long are you going to be in town?”

Gabe smiled, loving the kid’s enthusiasm. “I don’t know yet. I tend to go where the wind takes me.”

“Dude, that must be amazing.”

“It’s an honor to meet you, Mr. Cain,” Sadie said. “A real honor. I’m sorry I didn’t recognize your name, but ‘Silent Song’ is one of my favorites. It’s on my iPod.”

“Thanks.” He shifted his focus to the boy again. “I’d love to jam with you, Sam. I’ve got my guitar in the bus, so we can get together whenever you have time.”

“The bus? You brought a bus? How are you gonna keep a low profile with a—”

Gabe cut him off with a nod toward his vehicle. “Not a tour bus. A VW Bus,” he said.

Sam looked at it and grinned. “You call that low-profile? What is it, a sixty-four?”

“Sixty-five. I call her Livvy.”

“Livvy? Old girlfriend?”

He nodded. “Yeah. She was as much of a wreck when I found her as the bus was. I managed to do for the bus what I couldn’t do for the girl.”

“What’s that?” Sadie asked.

Gabe shrugged. “Save her, I guess.”

Sadie looked sad and lowered her head, but the sentimental moment was completely lost on Sam, who was moving closer to the bus with the other two left to follow in his wake. He ran a hand over the paint, the giant flowers and psychedelic swirls of yellow and green, and shook his head. “You restored her yourself?”

“I had help from friends here and there, but mostly, yeah, she was my project.”

“What’s under the hood?”

Gabe smiled. “Nothing like what’s under yours, kid. I heard you earned that Ford the hard way.”

It was Sam’s turn to look embarrassed. “It wasn’t as big a deal as the professor made it out to be.”

“I kinda doubt that.”

The kid looked up into Gabe’s eyes, and Gabe had a moment of stark revelation. There was something about the boy’s eyes—something painfully familiar. Or maybe he was just getting way too into wishful thinking.

“Looks like something’s happening,” Gabe said, nodding at the uniformed men now moving through the crowd, urging people to break into groups of ten or so.

“Yeah, time to go. I’d love to see the inside of the bus sometime, though.”

“I’ll let you drive her later, if you want.”

“Really?” Sam beamed, but then his smile faded as he heard a cop on a megaphone begin the routine speech about how the search would unfold this evening, what areas would be covered, and what someone should do if they found anything.

Anything, Gabe knew, meant Kyle Becker, Sam’s missing friend. And, more than likely, it meant his body. Because finding him in the woods alive didn’t seem a very likely scenario. He could only hope the kid wasn’t in the woods at all but had run away, as the curly-maned doctor theorized. He clapped a hand to the boy’s shoulder. “Hang in there. I know this is a rough time for you.”

Sam met Gabe’s eyes and shook his head. “I don’t think we’re gonna find him, Gabe. Not…not alive, anyway.”

Sadie gasped. “Don’t say that, Sammy!”

“Sorry, I just—I know Kyle. He wouldn’t run away without saying something, you know? He’d have told me if he was thinking about something like that. And it’s not like he’s got any reason, you know? Not like you do, Sadie. If anyone was going to run away, it would be you. But not Kyle. He had it good. Great family, no issues. He had no reason in the world to take off.”

Gabe looked at Sadie, wondering just what her home life must be like if her boyfriend felt she had reason to run away. But she misread the look and seemed to think he was looking for her to confirm Sam’s words.

“He’s right, Gabe. Kyle wouldn’t just leave. Hell, even I wouldn’t do that. Not without telling someone.”

“Not without telling me,” Sam said, sliding an arm around her shoulders and pulling her closer to his side.

“You know it, Sammy.” She leaned her head on his shoulder. “Come on, Gabe. We’ll all get in the same group.”

“Thanks. I was kinda hoping you’d ask. I don’t know anybody else in town.”

“Other than Carrie, right?” Sadie said. And she had a little twinkle of speculation in her eyes as she said it.

“Other than Carrie. Right.”

They walked together, the teens arm in arm, melding into a group that looked a few searchers short. Another man came hurrying along with them, apparently looking for fellow stragglers to join up with.

Gabe recognized him. He had brown hair, closely cut, styled with the help of too much gel. His skin was startlingly tanned in contrast to his light brown hair and brows, and his dress shoes were totally unsuited to hiking through the mountains. Gabe had seen him at the soccer game—er, match, he thought with a little smile. He’d only noticed the guy because they’d been reading the same issue of the same tabloid. And because he’d been the only guy at the game wearing a suit and tie. This afternoon he’d chosen dress pants that were probably thin enough to let stray briars stick through, and a sporty black and yellow jacket he’d probably picked up in town. It looked brand-new.

“Mind if I join up with your group?” the man asked, addressing the kids, not Gabe, which Gabe found a little off-putting.

“It’s not our group,” Sam said. “But sure, come on.”

“I didn’t think I was going to make it on time,” the stranger added with an exaggeratedly heavy breath. “Just heard about this.”

“Are you from out of town, too?” Gabe asked.

The man looked at him as if he’d only just noticed his presence but sent him what seemed to be a genuine smile. “Yes, I am. Ambrose Arthur Peck,” he said, extending a hand.

“I’m Gabe.” Gabe shook hands with the newcomer. “Where are you from, Ambrose?”

“Milwaukee. I’m CEO of an investment firm there. Manlin, Taylor & Strauss. Have you heard of it?”

“No,” Gabe said. “But don’t think of that as a bad thing. I only tend to hear about the ones under investigation by the FCC.”

Sadie pretended to cough, but only to disguise a snort of laughter. Gabe felt a little bad for sort of dissing the guy. Just because he himself didn’t like trying to impress people by sharing his résumé upon meeting them, that didn’t mean he ought to judge those who did. To each his own.

“I’ll have to get one of your cards,” Gabe said, to try to make up for it. “An honest firm that manages to be successful in this economy is a real find.”

The man looked at him as if doubting he had any money to invest, but he smiled and said, “I don’t have them on me, but I’ll make sure I do the next time we meet.”

“Great.” Gabe turned his attention to the people in the group they had joined. The rest were all locals, he thought. He caught a few names, tried to commit them to memory. Marie was the plump lady with the bad haircut who looked forty but was more than likely in her twenties, and she was a baker. Made pies and cakes for the local eateries, she said. The tall skinny guy who looked like an undertaker was Nate Kelly, and he owned one of the local ski lodges. There were others, but the names and faces blurred together. They chatted comfortably until a white-haired man with a face like a road map and wearing a police uniform stepped onto some sort of platform in front of the old fire station. Gabe couldn’t see what the platform was, due to all the legs around it, but he could see the cop clearly now that he stood a foot above everyone else, especially since the man was tall to begin with.

“Okay, pipe down,” the man said, and his voice was like gravel. “For those who are new, I’m Chief MacNamara, Shadow Falls P.D. Thanks for helping us out on this. We wish to hell we didn’t need it. You’re each going to get a copy of a map with your area marked in red. There’s a grid pattern on your maps, to make it easier for you to make sure you cover all the ground. You’ll each be given a whistle. If you find anything suspicious, blow the whistle. Don’t go near what you find, don’t touch anything. Just blow the whistle. The only exception to that is if you find a person who is alive but injured, and in need of your immediate assistance. Other than that, just blow the whistle. Is that understood?”

The crowd nodded and murmured.

“I mean it. Now, this is the boy we’re looking for.” He held up a poster with Kyle’s face on it. “Don’t worry. You’ll each get a copy. He was last seen five days ago, so if he’s lost in those woods, he’s going to be hungry. You’re all getting a protein bar and a bottle of water to give to him if you find him and he’s able to eat it.” He looked to the side, where firefighters and cops were already beginning to hand out supplies to the searchers. The items were all packed into plastic drawstring bags made to be worn backpack-style, and one was being handed out to each searcher.

“We quit at dark,” the chief went on. “You’ll each have a team leader from the police or fire department, and I expect you to do what they tell you. If you don’t like that, go home. When the search ends and you return here, please put the supplies you’ve been given into one of these boxes up front, so we can use them again when we resume in the morning. Any questions?”

He paused for about a second and a half, then said, “Good. Now, Paul and Diana Becker have a word or two for you.”

Sam leaned close to Gabe. “Kyle’s parents,” he whispered. “They start off this way every shift, every day.”

“She looks exhausted,” Sadie said softly. “God, I think she’s aged ten years this past week.”

“No wonder,” Gabe said.

“Those poor people,” Ambrose muttered. “What they must be going through.”

Gabe nodded in agreement, then they fell silent as Paul Becker, a lumberjack-sized torso on a five-foot-six frame, took the chief’s place on the platform. Despite his bulk, Kyle’s father looked as if a stiff wind would blow him over.

“Diana and I want to thank you all for coming out. Our friends and neighbors—you’ve been here every step and we’re grateful. You out-of-towners—I don’t even know what to say. Takin’ time out of your vacations to help us, well, it’s pretty amazing. Thank you.”

He looked at his wife, who stood in the circle of his powerful arm. She had a raccoon look to her, but not from running makeup. The dark circles beneath her eyes were purely stress induced. She was a little stooped, too, but not, Gabe suspected, from osteoporosis.

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 whispered, “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.”

She lifted her brows. “I just assumed…” She shook her head. “I was making judgments based on your appearance. Something I’ve tried hard to teach Sam to never do. And I’m frankly ashamed of myself for it.”

“Don’t be. I promise, it’s my deliberate intent to look the way I do, to convey the image that look conveys. It’s who I am.”

“Yeah. He doesn’t start every sentence by saying, ‘Hi, I’m famous. Have you heard of me?’ the way that other guy does.”

“There’s nothing wrong with being proud of your success, pal,” Gabe said, even as Carrie was opening her mouth to correct her son.

“Then why don’t you act like you are?” Sam asked.

“My values, my choice,” Gabe replied easily. “Doesn’t mean I get to force them on anyone else, much less judge them for their own. Shoot, I don’t believe in big, flashy vehicles, either. For me, they just don’t fit. But I wouldn’t even think about telling you to sell yours and buy an old VW. Because for you, that wouldn’t fit.”

Sam nodded. “I got you.”

“Good.” Gabe turned to Carrie. “Have your dinner with Ambrose if you want. My feelings won’t be hurt in the least.”

She met his eyes. “Really?”

“Really.”

She blinked, and felt right down to her toes that she would far rather spend the evening getting to know Gabe. And yet that practical part of her mind whispered that Ambrose was a whole lot closer to what she wanted. And that Gabe was the epitome of everything she didn’t want.

“I think,” she said slowly, “that his feelings would be hurt.”

“I think I agree with you.”

She held his gaze, and something tingled along the back of her neck. “You do?”

“Yeah. He seems to put a lot of stock in ego. And being turned down would be a blow to his.”

She nodded, glancing at Ambrose, who was in an apparently fascinating conversation with Sadie. The girl was clearly wise enough to know that he was the topic of discussion and that she should keep him distracted until they had finished.

God, she loved that girl.

“You’re welcome to go back to the house with the kids, Gabe,” she said. “If I let Sam miss the opportunity to, uh, jam with his hero, I’ll lose out on that mother-of-the-year nomination yet again.”

Sam rolled his eyes at her corny joke, but there was love and appreciation in them, too.

“I’ll try to get home early,” she said. “Maybe if you guys can hold off on dessert, we could all have it together when I get back.”

Gabe lifted his brows. “Really?”

She shrugged. “It’s not every day a girl has a rock star in her house.”

“Just a songwriter,” he said. “I only play for pleasure.”

“Even better.”

“Yeah?”

She nodded. “Even though you should know I prefer country music myself.”

“Sammy Gold. I know.”

“Oh, my son has been talking, hasn’t he?”

Gabe nodded. “Ambrose is getting antsy,” he said. “Come on, Sam, let’s collect that girl of yours, and you can guide me back to the hacienda.”

“Sam, check on Rose for me when you get home, will you?” Carrie interjected, even as Gabe and Sam began to walk away.

“Sure.”

And then Gabe said, “Rose?” and Sam leaned closer, and began to tell him who she was as they moved on. Sam waved a hand at Sadie, never breaking his stream of words, and she smiled, said goodbye to Ambrose and headed to join them. Gabe got into his bus, Sadie and Sam got into the Sam’s treasured Expedition, and Carrie moved up to stand beside Ambrose.

“Sorry about the delay,” she said. “But yes, I’d love to have dinner with you. I just had to work out some logistics first.”

“That’s wonderful. I’m so glad,” Ambrose said. “I saw a lovely restaurant with a view of the falls the other day. God, what was the name?”

“Fallsview,” she said with a smile.

“Oh. Now how did I forget that?”

She shrugged. “Doesn’t matter. I’ll just let you know in advance that it’ll have to be an early night for me.”

“Those logistics, hmm?” he asked.

“I’m afraid they can only be shuffled so far.”

“That’s fine. Honestly. I’ll be grateful for the company. But, um, since you have to leave early, why don’t we take separate vehicles to the restaurant and just meet there?”

“That is an eminently practical suggestion,” Carrie said. “I like the way you think.”

“Thank you,” he said, and then he stood there, silent for a moment, shifting from one foot to the other, until he finally said, “Well, I guess I’ll see you there, then?”

“Perfect. I’ll see you there.”

He took out his keys, looked at them, looked at her, looked at his car, then turned and walked away.

Being awkward with women, she told herself, was not a character flaw. It was actually endearing in a way.

And yet it wasn’t the upcoming dinner on her mind as Carrie drove through the tiny, quiet town toward the falls and the restaurant. It was Gabriel Cain. The quiet, unpretentious, apparently famous songwriter was not at all what he had first seemed. Not at all.

And she wondered what other facets of his personality remained as yet unrevealed. She was dying to talk to him, to listen to him talk back.

Not to mention use Google to see what came up.

She wished to the gods that Ambrose Peck was as appealing to her as the songwriter. But sex appeal wasn’t everything. She knew that. And in every other way, Ambrose was exactly her type.

Just like the last respectable, solid, intellectual she’d dated had seemed to be, she told herself, though she tried not to listen. She’d wasted a couple of months on that jackass.

Oh, well. Live and learn.

4

Ambrose didn’t wait for her in the parking lot. She found that a little odd but shrugged it off as she got out of her car and looked around. The building was made of darkly stained, rough-hewn barn beams and glass, and not much else. It made for the best view in town. Not seeing Ambrose anywhere, she went on inside.

She spotted him at a table near the back, perusing the menu. She noticed his hands and the ring he wore, a figure eight lying on its side—the sign for infinity, she thought. Interesting choice. Nodding her intention to the hostess, Carrie wound her way between tables to join him.

He must have heard her footsteps, because he lowered the menu and rose to his feet. “Ah, there you are.”

“I was only a minute or two behind you,” she said.

“Oh, I know. I just thought I’d go ahead and get us a table. You did say you were short on time tonight.”

Carrie pasted a smile over her momentary irritation and nodded. “That was…thoughtful. Thanks.” She pulled out her chair and sat down. Ambrose sat, as well, and picked up his menu again.

“Do you have any idea what’s good here?” he asked.

“Oh, everything’s pretty good. I like the broiled haddock a lot. Their tartar sauce is—”

“That would be an option if I were in the mood for mercury poisoning.”

“—homemade.” She blinked twice. Had he just criticized her for saying she liked haddock?

“As a doctor, I would think you would be aware of the damage heavy metal contamination can do.”

“Oh, I am. I think fish is fine in moderation.”

“I prefer not to take that chance.” He never took his eyes off the menu. “How is the pasta?”

“Good. Better if you let them grate some fresh lead over it.”

“Excuse me?” He lowered the menu, looking over the top of it at her.

“Lead. Heavy metal.” She shrugged. “It was a joke.”

“Oh?” His brows rose. Then he smiled. “Oh! I see now. I’m afraid I don’t have a very highly developed sense of humor,” he confessed, shaking his head.

“No!” She pressed a hand to her chest. “I never would have guessed.”

He blinked at her. “Now you’re being sarcastic.”

“See? You do so have a sense of humor,” she said with a smile.

He shrugged. “Pasta, then,” he announced, and, setting the menu on the edge of the table, he looked around in search of the waitress. When he spotted one, wobbling toward another table bearing a huge tray full of food, he held his hand up in the air as if hailing a taxi.

“She’s busy, Ambrose. Besides, I haven’t decided what I’m having yet.”

“I took it you were having the haddock,” he said.

“I said I liked it, not that I was having it tonight.”

He frowned at her. “You sound upset. Have I done something to irritate you, Carrie?”

She met his eyes, saw that they were concerned and softened her tone. “Impatience irritates me. I see a lot of it at the hospital.”

“I see. I was only trying to speed things along. You said you were short on time, so—”

“Why don’t you let me worry about managing my time, Ambrose? You can relax and enjoy the meal. Okay?”

He tipped his head to one side, seemingly puzzled, but said, “Okay.”

“Good.”

By then a different waitress had come over to their table, and Carrie could tell by the look on her face that she’d seen Ambrose’s insistent signal.

“Are you ready to order?”

“No, as it turns out,” Ambrose said.

The waitress lifted her brows, and Carrie said, “Yes, we are. I’ll have the haddock.” She closed her menu and handed it to the girl, certain she knew her from somewhere. She’d probably treated her at the hospital or seen her at a soccer game or some other school function.

“How is the pasta sauce made?” Ambrose asked, reopening his menu.

“From scratch,” the girl—Wendi, according to her name tag—said. “Tomatoes, peppers, onions, garlic, rosemary, basil—the usual stuff.”

“MSG?” he asked.

The girl sent Carrie a look. Carrie shrugged helplessly, and then Ambrose looked her way, and she went still and tried to look innocent.

“I’ll have to go ask the chef,” Wendi said finally, and then she hurried away. Moments later she was back. “No MSG,” she reported.

“Hmm. That’s good to know.” Ambrose held the menu open a bit longer, then closed it and said, “And what about the pork loin? How is that prepared?”

The girl pointed at the paragraph beside the entrée on the menu and read aloud. “Made with an apple-mint sauce, and served piping hot and brimming with flavor.”

“That much I already knew. But how is it cooked? Baked, broiled, sautéed?”

“Nuclear fusion, I believe.”

Carrie choked on a laugh, then quickly pressed the cloth napkin to her mouth as if she really had been choking.

Ambrose blinked up at the waitress, not so much as cracking a smile. “Pardon?”

“I’ll go ask.” She hurried away again.

Ambrose shook his head and muttered about the quality of service these days. Carrie was beginning to wish she’d done what she wanted to do and stayed home tonight.

Wendi returned. “The pork is broiled, sir. No MSG, either. I asked. There’s no MSG in anything we serve.”

“Fine.” Ambrose perused the menu some more. For a guy who’d been set on the pasta and waving impatiently a few minutes earlier, he certainly was taking his time now.

Finally, as the girl stood there noticing that her other tables were in need of attention, Ambrose snapped the menu closed and said, “I’ll have the veal.”

The girl scribbled. “Is that it?”

“I think you’d better bring me a diet cola,” Carrie said. “And put a shot of rum in it, will you?”

Wendi smiled for the first time and nodded. “Got it.”

And then she was gone.

“My goodness, you would never know the girl is paid by the hour, the way she rushed us,” Ambrose said. Then he placed both palms on the table and looked at her. “But that’s neither here nor there, is it? Now that the unpleasant part of the evening is out of the way, Carrie, tell me about yourself.”

She lifted her brows, because he was smiling and, she thought, trying to be friendly now. “Oh, there’s not much to tell.”

“Of course there is. You’re a doctor. That’s fascinating in and of itself. And a single mother, too. Tell me, how did that come about?”

Mentally, she raised a steel wall between them. “By choice,” she said, her tone chilly.

“I’m sorry. Did I ask too personal a question?”

“Yes, you did.”

“I’ll try not to do that again.”

“No worries. I won’t answer anything that’s out of bounds.”

He met her eyes, and she looked away. “What about you,” she asked after a moment of strained silence. “What are you doing in Shadow Falls, Ambrose?”

“Just a much-needed vacation. We’ve been working particularly hard at the firm for the past year, trying to keep a handle on our clients’ finances in this volatile economy. It’s not for the meek, that much is for sure.”

“I see.”

“I doubt it.”

She wondered why she’d thought this guy might be interesting. Smart, she decided, did not equal interesting. “So you decided to get away to relieve some stress, then?” she asked.

“Just a brief respite to refresh my mind,” he said. “And I’ve heard the foliage here is something to be seen, so…”

“It really is,” she said. “But it won’t peak for another three or four weeks yet.”

“I might very well still be here.”

“Oh, your stay is open-ended, then?”

He nodded.

“Must be a very liberal investment firm you work for.”

“Financial planning firm,” he corrected. “I’m a partner. I pretty much do what I want.”

“I see.”

Wendi returned with Carrie’s drink, set it down in front of her and placed a basket of warm rolls in the center of the table.

“Excuse me, but I have to make a quick call.” Ambrose got up and moved away from the table into a quiet corner, bringing his cell phone to his ear.

Carrie took the opportunity to say, “I’m really sorry he’s so rude.”

“Oh, don’t be silly. It’s not your fault.”

“Believe me, I had no idea.”

“Blind date?” Wendi asked.

“All but. Listen, I want two more drinks—rum and Coke—but he doesn’t need to know what they are. I’m only telling you so you can tally up the check in advance. We won’t be ordering dessert. Bring the check the minute we finish eating.”

Wendi smiled hugely. “I’m more than happy to help you out, Dr. Overton.”

“I knew I knew you,” Carrie said.

The girl smiled. “You put three stitches in my head last year.” The girl lifted her hair off her forehead. “Softball bat.”

“Yeeouch. Listen, if I promise to slip you a really good tip, will you do me one more favor?”

“No tip necessary,” the girl said. “Name it.”

“I’d better not be driving, so would you call my house and tell my son I’m going to need a ride home, and to be here in one hour and just wait for me in the parking lot?”

“Sure, I’ll tell Sam. I don’t have your number, though.”

“Twenty-four, sixty-one,” Carrie said. She didn’t need to give the girl the exchange or the area code. They were the same for everyone in town.

“You’ve got it.” Then Wendi looked over at Ambrose again. “It really wasn’t a blind date?”

“No.”

“Hmm.” Wendi shrugged and turned to go back to her other duties.

Twenty minutes later the food was served and Carrie was draining her second rum and Coke, feigning interest in Ambrose’s diatribe on 401ks versus IRAs, and recent income tax code changes.

Fascinating stuff.

Not.

She dug into her haddock with relish, mentally willing molecules of mercury to ride the airsteam across the table and rain down onto his veal. It was difficult not to shovel the food into her mouth as fast as humanly possible, but she didn’t want to be obvious.

“Refill on that Coke for you,” Wendi said, placing the third and final drink in front of Carrie. “How’s the fish?”

“Perfect,” Carrie said.

“And your veal, sir?”

“It’s a bit dry, but I didn’t expect five-star cuisine, after all.”

Carrie gulped the last bit of liquid from drink number two and handed the empty to the long-suffering Wendi, who took it with her back to the kitchen. She must have been sharing the date from hell tale with the rest of the staff, though, because even though the alcohol was washing over her brain at this point, Carrie was aware of the sympathetic looks she was getting from the other employees.

Ambrose, thankfully, was oblivious.

Nearly an hour later, finally, the meal was over, and Wendi was right on the spot, asking if they would like to order dessert. Carrie spoke before Ambrose, saying, “No, thank you.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Ambrose said. “Maybe we should see what they have to offer before making a hasty decision. Can you bring the cart around for us, miss?”

Wendy looked at Carrie helplessly.

“There’s no cart, sir. Just a dessert menu.”

Carrie sighed and turned her attention back to Wendi. “Bring us the menu.” While she held the girl’s eye, she tapped her glass. “And another Coke.”

“Sure. I’ll be back in two shakes.”

She was true to her word.

Carrie sipped her drink while Ambrose worked his way through a slice of apple pie, after complaining about the selection and quality of desserts the establishment offered. And finally, finally, finally, the check was delivered to the table. It included four “Diet Cokes” at five bucks a pop.

“That’s outrageous! Twenty dollars for a few sodas?”

Before he could say more, Carrie yanked the bill from his hand, slapped her credit card on top of it and handed both to Wendi.

He looked at her as if she’d grown a set of antlers.

“I insist,” she said. “Consider it a welcome to Shadow Falls and a thank-you for helping out with the search today.”

“It’s completely unnecessary,” he said.

“I won’t take no for an answer.”

Wendi took the card away, returning in short order with the final receipt. Carrie added a twenty-dollar tip, signed the bottom and handed it back to her. Then she pocketed her card and got to her feet. She swayed just a little and had to grab hold of the edge of the table. She shot Ambrose a quick look and hoped he hadn’t noticed.

He hadn’t. He came around the table and, taking her elbow, walked with her to the front door, opened it for her and looked genuinely sorry the evening was over. “I hope you had a pleasant time,” he said.

“It was very nice,” she lied.

“Next time perhaps you’ll allow me to treat you.”

“If you’re still here the next time I have a hole in my schedule, it’s a deal,” she said. Had schedule sounded like shedule just then? Good God, the rum was hitting harder than she’d thought. She was glad she’d taken the precaution of having Wendi phone Sam to take her home.

“I see.” He said it as if perhaps he did.

“Good night, Ambrose.” She tried to make it sound friendly and kind, but she thought she had probably already hurt the man’s feelings. And while he’d been irritating all evening, she thought her dislike of him and eagerness to get the meal over with might have some other cause.

Another cause with long hair, an unshaven face and a guitar over his shoulder.

“Good night,” Ambrose said, and then walked toward his car.

Just for show, Carrie walked toward her own, but as she did, she scanned the parking lot in search of her son’s Funkmaster, which ought to stick out like the proverbial sore thumb. And she didn’t see it.

Upon reaching her own understated, ordinary mini van, she noticed someone leaning on it. The very guy she’d just been thinking about. Just? No, she’d been thinking about him all evening.

Glancing behind her, she saw Ambrose’s car pulling away in the distance. Good, he probably hadn’t seen. No point in hurting his feelings even more. And then she looked at Gabe again. He was coming around the car now, moving toward her.

“Surprised to see me?” he asked.

She nodded, mute, trying to think of something to say. “I thought Sam was coming.”

“Sam dropped me off. I asked him to.”

“Why?”

He shrugged. “It sounded to me like you were having a miserable time with our pal Ambrose. I figured the timing was perfect. I’ll look great by comparison, and you’ll be impressed in spite of your dislike of, uh, hippie drifters.”

She smiled a little crookedly. “Drifter hippies,” she corrected, then looked away. “Sam told you I said that, huh?”

He nodded, held out a hand. “Keys?”

She fished them from her purse and placed them into his open hand. As she did, her own hand skimmed his palm, and she felt it right to her toes.

Their eyes met, then slid away. He walked around to the passenger side, opened her door for her and stood back to wave a gallant arm toward the car.

She got in, and he closed the door. A moment later he was behind the wheel, adjusting the seat to accommodate his long legs. He started the engine, turned on the headlights, fastened his seat belt.

She turned his way, her head resting on the seat, and found herself just staring at his profile for a long moment.

He glanced at her. “Feeling good, are you?”

“Mmm-hmm. Totally relaxed. And relieved. Thanks for rescuing me.”

“Anytime,” he said.

“And for being so good to Sam.”

He smiled. “You don’t need to thank me for that, Carrie. He’s a great kid.”

“He really is,” she agreed.

Gabe nodded. “Yeah. And that Sadie…she’s quite the firecracker.”

“You’ve got that right.” She inhaled slowly, then let out her breath. “So I guess I just have one question.”

“Shoot,” he said.

“Why is it you care whether or not I’m impressed with you?”

He met her eyes, but only briefly. “Well, because you’re smart and gorgeous and fascinating, and because I’m male.”

She smiled slowly. “Are you always this direct and honest?”

“I really do strive to be.”

“That’s…refreshing.”

“Glad you think so.”

“I do. And I think I owe you an apology for misjudging you. My son says you’re rich and famous.” She made a face. “Not that that makes any difference. There are plenty of rich and famous people who are total jerks, I’m sure.”

“Rich is a relative term. And open to a wide variety of interpretations.”

“Yes, it is,” she said. “So do you consider yourself rich?”

“Beyond my wildest dreams,” he admitted. “But not because I have a mansion or a fancy car or gold-plated faucets in my bathrooms.”

“Do you?” she asked, a bit wide-eyed.

“I don’t even own a house. And you’ve seen what I drive. No. I’m rich because I get to do what I love most for a living. I’m rich because I get to live anywhere I want in this beautiful country of ours. I’m rich because I’m free. I go where I want, stay as long as I want, do what I want, work when I feel like it, and I’m happy most of the time. That’s my definition of being rich.”

She nodded slowly. “I think that’s a damn good definition.”

Gabe could tell she was tipsy. Not drunk. He doubted the respectable doctor would ever allow herself to get beyond control. But he was glad to see that she was relaxed enough for an honest conversation. As he drove her back to her house, he said, “Sam tells me you took in a boarder.”

She nodded, her head resting on the seat back. “I end up with a couple every fall. Didn’t want any this year, but—”

“Why not?”

She slid him a sideways look. “Between Kyle being missing and all the reporters who’ve been in town until recently, digging for any secrets they could find, I thought it best not to talk to strangers.”

He nodded as if he understood. “You have secrets you’re worried about them digging up?”

She swung her head toward him so fast he thought she must have wrenched her neck. “No! Why would you think that?”

He looked at her. “I didn’t think that.” Until now, he thought in silence. “I was just responding to what you said—the press in town digging for secrets, yada, yada.”

She blinked as if her mind were having trouble processing his words. He decided to cut her a little slack, though he wouldn’t forget the clue she’d dropped here tonight. She had a secret. She didn’t like the press digging around town. And he knew what the press had been digging for. Information about Livvy, dead all these years. Information about her baby, the one that might be his. Now why would the local medico be nervous about questions like those?

“So what made you rent out the room when you’d already decided not to?” he asked.

She shrugged. “This lady was a lot easier to turn down on the phone than she was in person.”

“She came to your house?”

Carrie nodded. A red curl dropped onto her nose, and she brushed it away with the back of one hand. “Yeah, just as we were getting ready to meet you at the firehouse. That’s why I didn’t make it.” She shook her head. “She’s really sweet, and all alone, and it just would have been mean to say no.”

“Besides, she doesn’t look like a reporter, right?”

“Right.”

“Then again, who does, huh?”

She shrugged.

“I mean, you accused me of being a reporter when we first met. Do I look like one?”

“No. I mean, not an airbrushed, suit-wearing, hair-styled, talking head sort of reporter, anyway. You look more like an embedded, in the line of fire, risk-taking, rogue type.”

“I do?”

She nodded. “It’s the hair.”

“The hair?” He ran a hand over his head, from the front to the ponytail in the back.

“This hair, too,” she said, and then he felt her palm on his whiskered cheek and experienced an electrical storm in his pants. Holy shit.

He cleared his throat, sought ways to change the subject, to distract himself, if not her. “Your son is great. You’ve done an incredible job raising him.”

She lifted her brows. “Thank you. I agree completely. Sam’s amazing.”

“Have you done it all on your own?”

“Mmm-hmm.”

“So then, you were never married…? To his father, I mean.”

She slanted him a look. “I’ve never been married to anyone.”

He studied her face briefly. “So Sam’s father isn’t in your life. Is he in Sam’s?”

“No.”

“Do you even know who he is?”

She widened her eyes. “Are you suggesting I sleep with so many men I can’t keep track?”

“I didn’t mean it like that at all. I just—I mean, do you think you have the right to keep Sam from getting to know his father?”

“You don’t know that I’m keeping Sam from doing anything.”

“That’s true, I don’t know. Are you?”

She looked at him. “I would never do anything to hurt my son. If he wants to know about his father, all he has to do is ask. And he will, when he’s ready. And then I’ll tell him everything I know. But I don’t have to tell you any of it.”

“Everything you know?” he repeated. “That’s an odd way to put it.”

“Why are you asking so many questions about my son?”

He felt a rush of guilt for taking advantage of her slightly inebriated state. Sam looked a little like him, maybe a lot like him, and he had the right birthday, and damn, he sure did have a gorgeous mother, to boot. But that didn’t prove anything. And he thought again that maybe this thing he’d been calling a gut feeling was nothing more than a serious case of wishful thinking gone awry.

Still, her evasiveness made him more suspicious than before. He would definitely be looking into Sam Overton’s records—the public ones, anyway. Sadie’s and Kyle’s, too. The problem was, adoption records weren’t public, so he wasn’t sure his search would tell him much.

He wasn’t worried, though. Nor was he in any big hurry. He was here to find the truth, and he had no doubt he would. He’d waited sixteen years—admittedly without knowing he was waiting—so a few more days or even weeks wouldn’t hurt anything. Impatience wasn’t a trait he much liked. He was relaxed, laid-back, easy. He trusted that things would work out the way they were supposed to. That he’d been led here, that he’d learned about Livvy’s baby at all, seemed to him to be proof of that. He had time. Time to find his child. And time to do so without alienating the most fascinating woman he’d met in years.

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