Her mouth was cold, tasting of the winter air. Her body was trembling, and he knew now it had nothing to do with the temperature and everything to do with him. Too late, the words danced in the back of his mind, and he shut them out, scooping her up in his arms.
He made his way through the pitch darkness with unerring instinct. Kissing her slowed him down, and he had to kiss her. They stopped halfway up the flight of stairs, and he let her body slide down against his. She reached up and ripped his flannel shirt open, her greedy hands running up his torso.
"Where are the Swensens?" she whispered, putting her mouth against his chest, tasting him, licking him.
"Gone," he said, his voice strangled as her mouth moved lower, to his stomach, her arms wrapped tight around his waist. She was on her knees on the step beside him, and she put her cheek against the fierce swelling beneath his jeans, and he wondered whether they'd make it to the tiny bedroom beneath the eaves, or whether he was going to take her on the stairs.
They made it as far as the upstairs hallway. He tripped on the frayed carpet, and the two of them fell. She landed on top of him, soft, warm, fragrant, and she found his mouth in the darkness, kissing him, pushing the shirt from his shoulders, sliding her hands down to unfasten his belt buckle.
This time her hands were sure, determined. This time his hands were nervous, clumsy, as he stripped the clothes from her, tossing them away in the darkness, pushing her down onto the worn strip of carpeting, desperate to touch her, to kiss her, to have her.
He wanted to take his time, but she was as fevered as he was. She pulled him up between her legs, and he sank into her sleek, welcoming warmth with a muffled groan.
She arched up to meet him, wrapping her long dancer's legs around him, pulling him in deeper still, and her hands clutched his shoulders, her mouth met his with unerring instincts, and each thrust brought him closer and closer to heaven.
It was darkness, velvet darkness all around them. He cupped her face, kissing her eyelids, her cheekbones, her soft, wonderful mouth. He wanted to be gentle with her, to make it last, but he was hurtling along a dark path toward completion, and she was with him every step of the way, her breathing labored, her body slippery with sweat, her hands clutching him.
He felt her body tighten around him, heard her strangled cry, and then he was lost, thrusting into her, pushing them both over the edge into a star-tossed darkness unlike any he'd ever known.
He could still feel her body rippling, shimmering around him. He kissed her tear-streaked face, her nose, her mouth, and her lips reached up to kiss him back as she clung to him, shaky and breathless.
"You cry too much," he said in a low, tender voice.
"I haven't cried in two years. Not until you walked into my life." He started to pull away, and she clutched at him, suddenly desperate. "Don't," she said. "Don't feel guilty. People need to cry."
He'd never cried in his life. Doubtless another reason why his heart had exploded. "We need a bed," he said, lifting her into his arms, kicking the scattered clothes out of his way as he carried her the absurdly short distance to his bedroom.
The tiny room was very dark—only a fitful light came through the ice-coated window. He put her down onto the narrow iron bed with great care, lying beside her and pulling her into his arms. It was cold up there, and he flipped the heavy quilt over them, wrapping his body around hers.
"What do you think Lars and Maggie will say when they come back and find me here?" she whispered against his chest. "Do you think you'll be horsewhipped?"
"Congratulated is more likely," he said, threading his hands through her silky hair. "He and Maggie have been hardly subtle in their matchmaking efforts."
He could feel her smile in the darkness. "Neither has Gertrude."
Their bodies were entwined too closely for her to miss his start of shock, but luckily she jumped to her own conclusions. "That surprises you, doesn't it? It surprised me. I mean, she was my social studies teacher, for heaven's sake."
"How was she matchmaking?"
"She told me to go to bed with you."
Gabriel closed his eyes. Augusta's motives were beyond his comprehension. Perhaps she'd been stacking the deck against him. More likely giving him the hardest test of all, one he'd failed. One he was damned glad he failed.
"She did, did she?" he murmured. "She's smarter than she looks. Carrie, I…" His words were cut off as the sound of the telephone echoed through the house.
Both of them were very still, absurdly guilty. "Don't answer it," she whispered, clutching at his shoulders. "It's going to be trouble."
"I thought you liked trouble."
"Right now I don't like anything but you." The phone stopped ringing, and he began kissing her again, ready for her, knowing she was ready for him.
She was getting very bold, her hand reaching down to capture him, learn him, and he could barely control his groan of pleasure, wanting the world to center down on this narrow bed under the eaves and the woman beside him, the storms of life outside, the warmth of love inside. He kissed her mouth slowly, lingeringly, trailing his lips down her neck to the delineated collarbone, until he captured one nipple, suckling it deeply into his mouth, feeling her instant, fierce response that matched his own, and…
The phone began to ring again. The world, intruding. Carrie was motionless, waiting. It was up to him, he knew it. She would shut out the world, and everyone in it, for him.
And he knew he couldn't do it. He'd spent thirty-two years thinking of nothing but his own needs and desires. Thirty-two selfish, dissatisfied years. He didn't want to bring Carrie to that same lonely spot.
"I have to answer it," he said, slowly disentangling himself, half-hoping she'd cling to him.
She let him go. "I know you do," she said, and even in the darkness he could see the love shining on her face.
He knocked over the telephone table in the hall as he tried to find it in the dark, and the panicked voice on the other end was that of a strange man.
"Lars, it's Martin Baker. I need your help," he said in the anguished voice of a frightened parent. "Something's happened to Jeffie."
And with a sudden, sinking feeling, Gabriel knew who the third person was. Somehow he'd ruined a seventeen-year-old kid's life. And it was up to him to save him.
Chapter Fifteen
« ^
"What's wrong?" Carrie sat up in bed, the quilt pulled around her, and with the fitful light from the frosted window she could see that he was in the midst of pulling on his clothes.
"I have to go out."
She scrambled from the bed, looking in the darkness for her own clothes. "What's happened?"
He didn't even pause. He seemed like a stranger, distant, determined. More like a saint than she had ever been.
"I have to find Jeffie."
"Who was that on the phone?"
"His father. He was looking for Lars. Apparently Jeffie's parents came home unexpectedly and found he'd been drinking. They had a huge row, and Jeffie took off in the car."
"Oh, God," Carrie said quietly. "I took him practice-driving once. He can barely manage to keep a car on the road in daylight, when the roads are clear and he's sober. He's going to be killed."
"No, he's not," Gabriel said flatly. "I'm going to find him."
"Why you?" She didn't know why she asked the question. Gabriel had seemed like the kind of man who shunned involvement. Risking his own life on icy roads for the sake of a drunken teenager should have seemed unexpected. Oddly enough, it wasn't at all.
"Why not me?" he countered. "His father can't do anything—Jeffie took their only car. Lars has a family depending on him. He shouldn't be risking his life out on a night like this."
"And you should?"
"I don't have that much to lose," he said. "I'll need to take your car."
"Fine," she said. "Where are my clothes?"
"What do you need your clothes for?"
"I'm coming with you, and I think it might be a bit chilly
if I went outside naked."
"You're staying here."
"The hell I am. You don't know this area, I do. How do you expect to find a teenage boy on a night like this without a little help?"
"Carrie…"
"I'm coming with you. Now where the hell are my clothes?"
They were strewn from one end of the Swensens' house to the other. She found her jeans at the top of the stairs, her sweater halfway down the hall, her panties hung over the railing. She never did find her bra, and she could only hope they'd make it back there, in daylight, before the Swensens did. While Maggie and Lars might heartily approve of her being with Gabriel, they might draw the line at her underclothing decorating their house.
By the time she'd pulled her boots on and headed out into the ice storm, Gabriel was already at the car, and if she hadn't had the keys she knew he would have driven off without her. If she hadn't already discovered he was a better driver than she was she would have refused to give them to him, but as it was she simply buckled herself into the passenger seat and waited for him to pull out onto the ice-covered road.
He drove with maddening slowness, managing far more control than she'd been able to achieve. "Have you ever driven on ice before?" she asked, tucking her hands into her pockets to keep them from clenching.
"I don't remember."
"You have the strangest memory."
"Yes," he said, concentrating on the roads. The headlights speared through the icy darkness, and she could see his reflection from the dashboard lights. "Where should we start looking?"
"Your guess is as good as mine. I didn't see him on the road when I drove here, but I don't know how long he's been gone. For that matter, I don't know how long I've been with you tonight."
"Not long enough," he said, carefully navigating a turn.
"No," she said, "not long enough."
"I've got an idea," he murmured, and she had to admire his skill. Each time the car started drifting sideways he corrected it, keeping his speed careful, even. The sight of the salt truck was a blessed relief, the sight of the police car trailing it was less reassuring, particularly when the blue lights began to flash at the sight of Carrie's car.
"You'd better pull over," she said. "Jimmy likes to think he's Rambo."
The fresh salt on the road gave the cars slightly more purchase, and Gabriel slowed to a halt, grinding down the window of the car as the policeman shone a blinding light at them.
"Seen any sign of Jeffie?"
"How'd you know?" Carrie leaned across Gabriel, breathing in his scent, wishing to God they could have stayed curled up in his narrow little bed.
"His dad called me. We've got a couple of state police looking for him, but we didn't want to get too many people out on a night like this. Make things even worse than they already are. If I were you I'd go back and wait it out."
"All right," Gabriel said dutifully.
"Don't worry, we'll let you know when we find him."
Gabriel nodded, rolling up the window and edging the car forward. Carrie sat back and looked at him, trying to control the surge of disappointment. Disappointment that turned to a measured relief when he turned up toward the school, instead of back to the Swensens.
"I thought you said we were going home to wait it out," she said.
"It doesn't pay to argue with people like Jimmy. If you want I'll drop you off there, but I'm not going in till I find him."
"I'm staying with you. Jeffie needs all the friends he can get. I'd just as soon the police aren't the ones to catch up with him. His father won't have told them he was drinking, and Jeffie's going to have enough to handle without having to deal with the legal ramifications of drunk driving."
"It might be the best thing for him," Gabriel said. "Sooner or later you have to deal with the consequences of your actions."
"Are you talking about Jeffie? Or yourself?"
"I'm talking about everyone. What goes round, comes round," he said.
"Jeffie's already spent most of his life dealing with the consequences of other people's mistakes. His brother's and his parents' included."
There was a sudden, arrested look in his eyes. "Baker," he murmured. "What was his brother's name?"
"Lord, I don't know. Do you mean the name he was born with? Up until the time he dropped out of college and joined a commune, he was Clive Baker."
"Clive," Gabriel said in an odd voice. "Of course."
"What do you mean, of course? Did you know him?"
"No."
"Stupid question. Of course you didn't. Clive spent his life here, until he got accepted at Harvard. If it weren't for a bunch of sadistic preppies…"
"What do you mean?"
She shook with remembered fury. "A group of rich bullies decided to haze Clive, led by some cruel jerk. They teased him so badly he dropped out of school, went off to become one with the universe, and no one's seen him since. The Bakers gave up on both their sons then, I think. And Jeffie's been paying for it."
"And it was all the fault of some college buddies of Clive's?"
"No. But their leader was the catalyst for the disasters that followed."
"Do you think someone should be punished for being a catalyst?" he murmured, moving with a slow, steady speed up the long hill toward the union school. "Do you think they should be judged and found guilty, sentenced… ?"
"I don't know," she said. "It's not my place to judge people."
"No," he said in a hollow voice. "Nor mine."
The parking lot outside the sprawling school was dark and deserted, not even the streetlights glowing. The power outage seemed to have hit everywhere, and only in the distance could Carrie see the faint glow of lights. "He's not here," she said, unable to keep the panic and disappointment out of her voice.
"Yes, he is."
"Gabriel, there's no sign of him…"
"He's here," Gabriel said, letting the car slide to a halt. There was no sign of anyone in the vast ice-covered parking lot, but Gabriel unfastened his seat belt and climbed out anyway, leaving the car in neutral.
Without hesitation Carrie followed suit, barely able to stand upright on the glare ice. "Gabriel, he isn't…"
But he was already moving away from her, walking carefully with steady determination across the ice-covered surface. She followed his gaze in the glare of the headlights and saw what she'd missed before. The chain-link fence that surrounded the school property was down.
"Oh, God," she murmured, starting after him, but her feet went out from under her and she went sprawling, hard, on the ice. By the time she scrambled upright again, Gabriel had disappeared beyond the fence, heading down the steep hill.
She fell three times before she reached the fence, and she was half-afraid to look over the side, certain she'd see the Bakers' car a twisted mass of metal and broken flesh. Relief swamped her as she made out the shape of the sedan, still in one piece, resting against a grove of trees. The lights were off, but she could hear the radio playing, Christmas rap music, for God's sake, and she could see Gabriel leaning inside the driver's door.
"Is he all right?" she called, her voice shaking in the night air.
"He's fine," Gabriel called back, his voice rich with relief. "He's got a few cuts and bruises and he feels like hell, but he's fine."
"I'll bring the car closer."
By the time she'd edged the car along the icy surface Gabriel and Jeffie had appeared at the top of the hill. In the glare of the headlights Jeffie's face was pale, and there was a streak of blood across his cheekbone. He didn't look drunk or belligerent, he looked like a scared, lost little boy.
Gabriel bundled him into the back seat, then followed in beside him. "Drive to the hospital, Carrie."
"I thought you said he was all right?" She swallowed her sudden panic at the thought of having to navigate these roads again.
"He's taken some pills. He needs to have his stomach pumped, he needs to be checked out, and he needs to talk with someone. A professional. Can you manage i
t?"
"Yes," she said, because she had to.
"And turn on the radio, would you? Jeffie and I need to talk?"
It was maddening, it was terrifying, it was one of the hardest things she had ever had to do. She turned on the radio, finding something middle-of-the-road and innocuous, and began the endless slide to the hospital.
She wondered what they were saying back there in such low, serious voices. Was Gabriel giving him hell? Was Jeffie whining, or coming up with excuses?
Damn it, she wanted to be the one to lecture him, to take care of him, to make everything better. Letting someone else handle it was impossible, and good for her. She needed Gabriel around for more than the pleasure of his company. She needed him to prove that she wasn't indispensable. Someone else could be responsible for the state of the world. Responsible for one lost little boy she hadn't been able to help.
He took Jeffie into the emergency room while Carrie called his parents. When Gabriel finally emerged, he was alone, looking weary, sorrowful, like a man who'd looked into the face of hell and seen his own reflection.
"Is he all right?" she asked, rushing up to him, wanting to put her arms around him, afraid he wouldn't let her.
He pulled her tight against him, burying his face in her neck, and she clung to him, love flowing through her. "He'll be fine," he murmured. And then he lifted his head, looking past her.
The Bakers were coming toward them. Martin Baker looked more disturbed than she'd ever seen him, and Carolyn, usually the best-dressed woman in Angel Falls, wore one earring, ripped stockings, and her coat was buttoned awry. Her eyes were puffy with tears, and Martin's were suspiciously bright.
"Where is he?" Martin demanded. "Where's my boy?"
It's about time, Carrie wanted to snap at him, but she bit back the words. "He's in with a counselor," Gabriel answered for her. "He'll be released in a short while."
"I can't thank you enough," Carolyn began, her usually arch voice shaky with emotion. "When I think what might have happened…"