Kiss Me, Kill Me

by Maggie Shayne

  Whatever. She had to follow through on her hunch. Better safe than sorry and all that. She dialed the cell phone.

  “You calling Kendall?” Gabe asked.

  She nodded as she waited for the connection to take hold. “I don’t want to wait any longer.”

  “It’s indecent to wake anyone at this hour,” Gabe said, but he didn’t say it was unnecessary. “Still, I suppose that’s what he took on when he chose the job.”

  “I think he chose the job back when Shadow Falls was a nowhere town where nothing ever happened. He didn’t sign on for this. Hell, it probably didn’t even seem like a possibility.”

  “Probably not.”

  She listened to the phone ring, heard Bryan’s voice answer, felt a little guilty, but knew she was only doing what she had to.

  “Sorry to wake you. It’s Carrie.”

  “I was up. Dawn and I just got back from our morning run, actually.”

  “You’re sickeningly healthy.”

  “It was more to vent the frustration of all of this than anything else. What’s up, Carrie?”

  She drew a breath. “I can’t tell you how I know. But your state crime lab’s report will say that Kyle Becker died from an overdose of Benterol.”

  “Uh-huh. And would this have anything to do with the break-in at Bloodworks, Inc, in Burlington?”

  “There was a break-in at Bloodworks?” she asked, sending Gabe a guilty look.

  “Right. And you know nothing about it.”

  “Why would I?”

  Bryan sighed. “Marcus Kenyon called the chief. He wasn’t already awake, by the way. He says Marcus thinks there’s a connection to the missing kid and wants me to follow up. You want to tell me what that connection is, or are you going to make me wait?”

  “I don’t have any way of knowing, Bryan.”

  “Right. I’m heading out there now to talk to Marcus, assuming I can get to him past the Burlington cops.”

  “You love the Burlington cops.”

  “Off duty, yeah. On duty, they’re bulldogs.”

  She sighed. “But you won’t stop trying.”

  “You know I won’t.”

  Nodding, she said, “Thanks for letting me know.”

  “Thanks for the…anonymous tip.”

  “Yeah. Anytime.” She rang off, and that was when she noticed they were nearly home. Soon Gabe was steering The Beast into the driveway, ignoring the garage entirely and stopping near the house. She looked out at the sun rising slowly over the forested mountains. She loved the view from her home—it had been the major selling point, all those years ago.

  Now, though, the view seemed more ominous than beautiful. Somewhere out there, Sadie was in the hands of a maniac. A maniac capable of murder and who knew what else? Not that she could think of anything worse than what the bastard had already done.

  And worse even than her fear for Sadie was her growing worry that her own son would be this madman’s next target.

  11

  Sadie had pulled the bed away from the wall and found the bolt that held the chain in place. It was sunk into the concrete, but the cellar was old, the concrete crumbling in places. Weak, maybe. She knelt behind the cot and, gripping the eyebolt with both hands, began alternately pushing and pulling. At first she felt no give whatsoever, but after an hour or so the bolt seemed to wiggle a bit, so slightly that she wasn’t sure whether she was imagining it.

  But she kept working, and she kept feeling movement, and she thought it might be increasing by the end of the second hour.

  Her hands ached. Her knees hurt, and she was tired. She needed a break, but she didn’t dare take one. Kyle was dead. She might be, too, pretty soon, if she didn’t find a way to get out of here.

  She ignored the pain in her hands, though they were blistering and raw from the constant friction of the rusty bolt. Her arms and shoulders and neck ached, too, from her hunched position on the floor. She ignored that, as well. But she didn’t—couldn’t—ignore the sounds of the lock turning in her prison door. He was back!

  Scrambling up onto her feet, she quickly pushed the cot back up against the wall, got onto the mattress and hugged her knees to her chest. She was shaking, and she hated it. She hated being so afraid, feeling so powerless. Knowing she might die at any moment. Was her captor going to kill her now?

  The room stayed black as pitch when the door opened, and the form, all swathed in black from head to feet, seemed no more than a darker shadow in its midst. The shadow bent, and Sadie heard rattling as it lowered something to the floor and slid it forward. Then she smelled food—wonderful aromas that made her stomach growl. God, she was hungry!

  The shadow straightened up again and began backing out, pulling the door closed.

  “No!” Sadie cried. “No, wait! At least tell me what you want with me!

  “Please, I need to know! If I’m going to die here, I deserve to know why!”

  The form hesitated only momentarily, then quickly backed out and closed the door, even as Sadie leaped off the cot and lunged forward, forgetting the chain, which yanked her left leg right out from under her. She hit the floor facedown and lay there sobbing.

  But eventually she sat up and wiped her eyes, wincing as the back of her hand crossed her forehead and brought fresh pain. She moved her fingers gingerly, feeling a bump already rising, but no gash and no blood. She supposed that was a good thing.

  Sitting on the floor, she looked toward where she thought the food tray was, wondering if the shadowy form had pushed it far enough for her to reach. Or was it just a cruel form of torture, leaving food she couldn’t touch?

  She moved, pulling her chain until it was tight, and then, lying facedown on the floor, she stretched her arms as far as she could and managed to grip the edges of what felt like a tray. She pulled it closer, and it scraped over the concrete floor. And then she sat up again and brought the tray onto her lap.

  Her eyes had slowly begun adjusting to the darkness, but even so, she could barely see. She could smell, though, and she could taste. There was beef, she thought, and it felt tender and juicy when she touched it with her seeking fingers. There was a cup of water. There were mashed potatoes and gravy. There were vegetables, and she thought she smelled butter melting over them. Sadie didn’t use butter, as a rule, but she was hungry enough to make an exception. This person, whoever he was, wasn’t going to beat her easily. She would stay strong. Somehow, she would. And that meant she had to eat, even though she would rather throw his food into his face.

  Not that she’d ever seen his face. Or her face, she thought grimly. She didn’t even know if her abductor was a man or a woman. But she did know they were going to be sorry, either way.

  Sadie shoveled the food into her mouth, and it was good, though she hated to admit it. Then she wondered if it was safe to return to the task of working on that eyebolt, or if her captor was still nearby, waiting to collect the empty tray. She hung on to the water, then shoved the tray across the floor, and it hit the wall beside the door, rattling and clanking. And then she waited.

  Sure enough, the damned door opened within seconds. That sneaky bastard had been outside it, listening. Lurking like a freaking demon.

  Sadie tried hard to see what lay beyond the door, but it was still black out there. She supposed that told her something. She saw no night sky, no stars, no moon. No fresh air wafted in. So the outside was not on the other side of her door. It must lead to someplace inside, then.

  “Did you kill my friend? Kyle? Are you the one?” she demanded.

  But the form only hunched to gather the tray and backed out again.

  “Bastard!” she cried. She drained the cup of water, then hurled it at the door as it closed. But it only hit the door and clattered uselessly to the floor.

  Setting her jaw, Sadie turned back to the cot, unsure whether she should move it and go back to work on the bolt, or whether the jerk was watching her somehow and would find out. She kept deciding to risk it and then deciding to wait
a little while, just in case, unable to make a decision. Her brain didn’t seem to be working right. No wonder, given the situation. Stress and fear must do that to the human mind, right? Rob it of its ability to function?

  God, she was tired.

  She sat on the edge of the cot and within two seconds was lying down instead. She hadn’t really decided to, but her body didn’t wait for her mind’s permission. She lay on her back, letting one hand drop down between the cot and the wall, where she felt the eyebolt. Hell, she thought, she could lie down and work that bolt. He would never know she was doing it, even if he was still lurking beyond that door, watching her.

  That, however, was the last clear thought to cross her mind before she found her eyes falling heavily, irresistibly closed.

  Why am I so tired?

  She slept. She only knew she slept because of those times when she would somehow become aware that she was sleeping, then jerk herself awake with a start and a feeling of panic. And then she would drift right off again.

  At some point during her fitful rest she was aware of that dark form standing over her. She felt her shirt-sleeve being pushed up, and her inner arm being swabbed with something cold and damp. And then there was a tiny stab of pain.

  Opening her eyes, she tried to see what was happening. But she could only make out shadows in the darkness. That person, bending over her. A rubber band around her biceps being removed. A needle being slowly withdrawn from her flesh. A sterile adhesive strip being applied.

  “Is that…my blood?” she murmured, seeing what looked like a small vial in the kidnapper’s hand. “Why? Why are you…?”

  The dark form straightened. Sadie’s vision was blurry, and it was so dark anyway. She wished she could see. It was frustrating. And she could barely keep her eyes open.

  “You drugged the food?” she murmured. “God, you drugged the food, didn’t you? Is that how you killed Kyle?”

  There was no answer. The murderer pocketed the vial and turned toward the door.

  “Please don’t kill me,” Sadie whispered.

  But the kidnapper’s only response to that was to leave the room. To leave her all alone in the darkness again. And she wondered if maybe he had already killed her. Maybe if she fell asleep right now, she would never wake up again.

  And then she would never have the chance to see where things were going with Sam. She would never have the chance to go to college, or to become a veterinarian, like she planned. And her mother—God, her mother would be dead in six months with no one to take care of her.

  She didn’t want to die. She really didn’t want to die. She managed to tell the empty room so several times before she sank back into her drug-induced sleep, still wondering if she would ever awaken again.

  “They’ll be organizing volunteers to search in a couple of hours,” Gabe said.

  It was early morning, and they’d just arrived back at Carrie’s place from their jaunt into Burlington and the independent lab there. She had yet to tell him what her secret theory was, but he had a notion that it had something to do with Sam. Of course, he changed his mind about that pretty much every ten minutes. First it seemed obvious and logical that Sam was his son, and then it seemed ludicrous. And maybe that had nothing to do with any of this. Or maybe it did. Hell, he didn’t know.

  He handed Carrie a cup of coffee and noticed how tired she looked, how overwrought. “You sure you want this? You probably ought to catch a little sleep, if you think you can.”

  “No, I couldn’t sleep even if I wanted to.”

  “I doubt I could, either.” He sat on the sofa beside her, took a sip from his own steaming mug. “At least Sam’s getting a little rest.”

  “Yeah, he barely made it up the stairs. Thanks for helping him, by the way.”

  “Anytime.”

  She tilted her head a little as she studied his face. “You really like him, don’t you?”

  “Does that surprise you?”

  “No. He’s a great kid. I don’t see why anyone wouldn’t like him. Love him. It’s just that…”

  “Just that what?”

  She sipped again and shifted position a little. “A lot of the men I date, not that I date many—hardly any, really—but a few of them have sort of pretended to like Sam. You know, made these halfhearted, obvious attempts to befriend him, while being entirely transparent that they were only doing it to kind of…solidify their position with me.”

  “Was it as apparent to Sam as it was to you?”

  “Oh, he caught on way before I did. The first time he pointed it out, I thought he was just being over-sensitive, but he was right.”

  “He’s too smart to fall for that kind of bull. And too honest not to resent it, I’ll bet.”

  She nodded rapidly. “Yes, you’ve pegged him exactly.” She sipped again. “But it’s different with you. It’s almost as if he can sense that you don’t have any ulterior motive. You’re not trying to hide your real reasons, you know? You just…like hanging out with him.”

  “I really do,” he said, but inside, his guts resumed their guilty churning. He did have an ulterior motive. A big one.

  “It means a lot to me.” She held his gaze for a moment. “I think maybe you’re starting to mean a lot to me, too.”

  He didn’t know what to say. It was mutual. He could say that. That wouldn’t be compounding his lie, because it was the truth. But it would be wrong to let this—this thing between them go any further without telling her the truth. All of it.

  “That was stupid, wasn’t it? We’ve only known each other a few days.” She shook her head. “I’m really not one of those women who fall in love at the drop of a—not that I’m calling this love! I mean, it’s something, it’s definitely something, but not—I mean… God, I’m just making it worse, aren’t I?” She lowered her head, embarrassed.

  He reached out to hook a finger under her chin and tipped her head up a little. And when she met his eyes, he kissed her. He couldn’t help it. He didn’t intend it. It just happened.

  He kissed her, and she kissed him back; then she twisted her arms around his waist and snuggled closer, nestling into the crook of his arm, curling her legs to one side, leaning her head on his shoulder. Everything in him went sort of warm and gooey.

  “I’m glad you’re here,” she said.

  “I am, too.” And he was. Not because she was desperately in need of rescue. Not because she was a train wreck in need of repair. She was completely capable of getting by without his help. She’d done just fine, in spades, and raised a phenomenal son, to boot. She was amazing. He was in awe, and a little bit unsure of his footing.

  He didn’t really know how to relate to a woman who didn’t need him. It was a new experience. And it was unsettling, because it seemed most likely to him that she would tell him to take a hike when she learned about his deception.

  She hadn’t been exactly honest with him, either. If Sam wasn’t her biological offspring, that was. But then again, as far as she knew, that was none of his business.

  “I have to tell you something, Carrie,” he said softly.

  “I have to tell you something first. I promised I would. It’s about…it’s about that missing baby from sixteen years ago.”

  Gabe sat up straighter, staring down at her. Was she about to confirm his suspicions? He realized he hoped she was. He really wanted Sam to be his son. He loved the kid.

  So he watched her with hope in his eyes and his heart, and he waited.

  “Kyle and Sadie were born within a few weeks of each other,” she said.

  He frowned. “So?”

  “So I’ve been trying to figure out why someone would kidnap a child, take a blood sample and have it typed at a lab. And the only answer I can come up with is that missing baby. I think the killer is looking for it.”

  He blinked, and it felt as if the proverbial lightbulb had flashed on over his head. “For the reward,” he said, nodding.

  “A half million dollars is a lot of money. But to clai
m it, they would need to find the right child. So they’re taking kids who were born during the right period of time—May or June, sixteen years ago.”

  “And then drawing their blood? But how would they know the baby’s blood type?”

  “They wouldn’t have any trouble finding out the mother’s. It’s in the autopsy report, and for all I know it was in the papers, at the time, as well.” She sighed, shook her head. “I don’t know, maybe it’s someone who also knows the father’s type. Maybe it is the father.” She rubbed her arms when she said that, and Gabe thought he knew why, though he wasn’t supposed to. “When they found out Kyle wasn’t the right child, they killed him. And now they’ve taken Sadie. And when they find out she’s not the one, either…”

  “Are you sure she’s not?” Gabe asked.

  Carrie looked at him sharply. “Of course I am.”

  “How?” He was hoping she would admit something. Tell him that she knew who the missing baby wasn’t, because she knew who it was: her own Sam. She didn’t, though.

  “She looks just like her mother, for one thing. But that’s not the point, Gabe. The point is that Sam could be the next one the killer targets. His birthday is in June.”

  “I see.”

  “No,” she said. “No, you don’t.”

  He looked down at her to see tears streaming down her face, and he tightened his arms around her. “You need to rest. You’re barely keeping your eyes open.”

  “I have to call Bryan, tell him my theory.”

  “I imagine he’s put it together himself by now, given that he was on his way to the lab to talk to Marcus.”

  “Still…”

  “Rest,” he said. “I’ll call him. Just rest.”

  She didn’t say another word. Gabe held her for a long time, stroking her arm and her hair. After a while he glanced down at her and realized that she had fallen asleep in his arms. It made him feel protective, even though she didn’t need his protection.