Kiss Me, Kill Me. Maggie Shayne

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.