Gone Too Deep (26 page)

“You guys have to leave the theater now,” she said in a bored voice. “The movie's over.”

“Fine.” Her jaw clenched in frustration, Ellie grabbed George's hand and headed for the exit. They needed to get to her condo so she could get kissed before she exploded. When they passed a trash bin outside the theater, George reached across her to toss in their empty snack containers.

“Thanks for cleaning up after us,” she said, feeling a little calmer now that her heartbeat wasn't racing with anticipation. Ellie gave him a teasing smile. “Even at the movies, you follow the leave-no-trace camping rules.”

He smiled back, although she didn't think it was at her lame joke. Tender and painfully sweet, it was aimed directly at her.

“Ready to go home?” she asked, squeezing his hand without looking away from his face.

He nodded.

* * *

The ride home had given her time to get nervous again, and she started chattering when they entered her condo.

“Did you like the movie?” At his nod, she almost asked if he'd been to a theater before, but she stopped, not wanting to bring up his inexperience with
anything
, even something as innocuous as movies. “Is there a theater in Simpson?”

He shook his head. “During the summer festival, they'll set up a screen outside and show family movies. That's about it.”

It was a relief to pull off her torturous shoes. If they hadn't been so darn cute, she would've pitched them right into the trash. Instead, she headed for her bedroom to stow them in her closet, asking over her shoulder, “So everyone has to make do with their televisions, huh?”

George's response was quiet, and she had to strain to hear it from the other room. “Not everyone.”

Since she was in her bedroom anyway, Ellie figured she should change out of her dress. It was strange undressing with George in the next room. Even though he couldn't see her unless he had X-ray vision that he hadn't mentioned, she was still blushing as she stripped.

“Do you not have a TV?” she called, trying to make her voice as casual as possible. Except for a slight wobble, she managed pretty well.

“No.” He sounded closer, as if he were right outside her bedroom, and she paused in the middle of stepping into a pair of fuzzy pajama bottoms.

Swallowing hard, she forced her body to move again. “So what do you do when you're snowed in and bored out of your mind?”

“Read.” There was a pause. “Fix things. Play music. Sing.”

“You sing?” She yanked on a camisole and covered that with an oversized Avalanche hoodie. As she zipped it, she made a face at the hockey team name scrawled across her chest. “Avalanche” had a whole new meaning to her now. “Why didn't you join me in my musical stylings on the trail?”

She could almost hear his shrug. “Never really sang in front of anyone before.”

The residue of her popcorn, candy, and pop combination didn't taste as good in her mouth as it had several hours before, so she headed for the connecting bathroom to brush her teeth. Ellie left the door open so she could keep talking to George. It was nice getting words rather than silent gestures from him, even if she was getting pretty good at interpreting his shrugs.

“Why not?” she called, continuing the conversation through a mouthful of toothpaste. The words were garbled, so she spit and tried again. “Why not?”

There was a pause. “Never been anyone around to hear.”

That struck her as so sad. Since she couldn't say anything around the lump in her throat, she concentrated on rinsing her toothbrush. After crossing her bedroom and opening the door, she found George leaning against the wall right next to the doorjamb.

“I'm sorry.”

Her sympathy appeared to have confused him.

“That you were alone so much.” She tried to make her voice matter-of-fact to hide that she was one sad thought away from dissolving into a weepy mess. She'd never been much of a crier, but her tears had been on a hair trigger since she'd returned from the mountains. “Especially in Simpson. Here in Chicago, there's always somewhere you can go if you don't want to be alone.”

He didn't meet her gaze. Apparently, he didn't want to discuss his aloneness. That was fine with Ellie. She didn't want to turn into a soggy heap of ugly crying and make him run back to his solitary but tear-free cabin as fast as his truck could take him.

“Come on.” She led the way to the living room. Instead of settling in her favorite chair, as was her habit, she sat on the couch. After all, George was here. There'd be plenty of opportunities for chair sitting when she was alone again. After a pause, he sank down next to her, leaving a person-sized gap between them. She turned to face him, drawing up her knees in front of her.

The movement brought his attention to her bare feet. “Better?” he asked.

It took Ellie a second to understand his meaning. “Oh, the blisters, do you mean? They're fine.” She held up her feet and wiggled her toes. “These feet are used to abuse, though. You've seen the torture devices I call shoes.”

Clasping her feet in his hands, he pulled them onto his lap. Both hands focused on her left foot, and his fingers immediately found exactly the right place to apply the perfect amount of pressure. Leaning against the sofa arm, she closed her eyes and stifled a moan of pleasure. She wondered idly how he could be so good at giving a foot massage when he'd never dated. Deciding he must be a massage savant, Ellie made a mental vow to experience a back massage from him as soon as possible. The idea of it made her warm all over.

The ball of his thumb dug into her arch. This time, she couldn't hold back a pleased groan. When his hands went still, she opened one eye and glared at him.

“Why'd you stop?” There was a slight whine to her words, but she couldn't help it. She'd been wallowing in paradise before being abruptly jerked back to achy-feet reality.

“Thought I might have hurt you.” His hands resumed their work, and she closed her eye again with a happy hum.

“If it hurts, I'll say, ‘Ow. Stop. That hurts.' This is heaven.”

He switched feet.

“How'd you learn that a good foot massage is the key to a heel-wearing woman's heart?” she asked, settling her back more comfortably against the arm of the couch.

“I overheard Cora saying something to Janelle about her husband giving them to her when she was pregnant.”

Ellie opened her eyes so she could look at him. “Who are Cora and Janelle?” she asked lazily, and then moaned. “Oh, that's nice. Right there.”

“They're on the team.”

“Search and rescue?” When he nodded, she let her eyes drift closed again. “Next time I visit Simpson, I'll have to meet those two ladies and thank them.”

He made a soft, amused sound, but the important thing was that his hands kept moving. In fact, they'd traveled around the back of her heel and over her ankle. His fingers were working at the base of her calf, which was starting to make her squirm in a whole different way.

“Seriously, though,” she said, mostly to distract herself from his wandering hands and the sensations they were creating, “I'd like to meet your team members. The only one I've been around is Joseph, and he's probably not the best ambassador.”

His hands slowed, making her open her eyes. George was scowling.

“Hey,” she said softly, and he met her eyes. “You okay?”

“Just thinking about him taking you to the cabin instead of me,” he said. His hands wrapped around both of her feet like they had at the cabin, surrounding them in glorious warmth. Even after she'd returned to her climate-controlled life in Chicago, her feet were almost always cold.

Leaning forward, she covered his hands with hers. “He didn't. You took me, and you kept me safe and my feet unfrozen.”

George looked up, and their eyes met. Suddenly, he was over her, and they were kissing. Her mouth opened a little at the shock of it, and his tongue was there, exploring her with tentative touches that were more arousing than any experience she'd had before. Recovering from her surprise, Ellie wrapped her arms around his neck and held on to him.

Everywhere his mouth touched lit up, as if he were supplying electricity to her nerve endings. His teeth tugged gently on her lower lip, and she audibly sucked in a breath at the spark of pleasure. At the sound, George pulled back a few inches, checking her expression as if to see whether it had been a good gasp or a bad gasp. Burying the fingers of both hands into his hair, Ellie yanked him back down for more kissing. She felt him smile against her mouth.

They kissed for what felt like hours, sometimes serious and sometimes playing, both of them learning what the other one liked. Ellie discovered that touching a spot under his jaw gave him goose bumps, and George's kisses developed an edge of sexy bossiness as he gained confidence, making Ellie forget everything except for him. She kept expecting his hands to wander, for him to ramp up to the next level, but he seemed content to stick with kissing for now. When Ellie realized this, her how-far-will-we-go tension eased, and she just settled in to enjoy the experience. George's kisses were even better than his foot massage, which she didn't think was possible.

The bang of her door closing interrupted them, making them jerk apart. Both she and George were on their feet within half a second.

“Oops.” Chelsea dumped her purse and coat on the small table by the door. “Am I interrupting?”

“Yeah.” Ellie's voice was sharper than she'd intended, but her heart was still thundering. Everything scared her lately. The fact that she was multiple states away from the last known location of Anderson King didn't stop her from jumping out of her skin at every loud noise or sudden movement.

Chelsea looked unaffected by Ellie's snappy tone. “The sooner you find me a George of my own, the sooner I'll be too busy to bother the two of you. So you might want to get on that.” She sauntered over to where they stood by the couch, elbowed her way between them, and plopped down on the center cushion. “Should we watch a movie?”

As she thought about murdering her smirking roommate, Ellie glanced at an impassive George. Now that Chelsea was there, things felt a little awkward.

“Actually, I'm kind of tired.” Checking the clock, she was shocked to see it was after midnight. They really had been kissing for hours. “And you were driving all night, so you've been up for”—she tried and failed to do the mental math—“days! You must be exhausted.”

George moved to grab his duffel bag from where he'd dropped it near the entry when they'd first arrived.

“You two are no fun at all,” Chelsea said with a pout as she thumped the cushions on either side of her. Bouncing to her feet, she headed for her bedroom. “Good thing I was just stopping by to change before going out again. Later, kids. Be safe.”

After the tornado that was Chelsea disappeared, George turned toward the guest room. Although she'd already shown him where it was, Ellie still followed him the short distance. Despite her tiredness and her sudden onset of shyness, she didn't want to say good night and leave him just yet.

He dropped the duffel at the foot of the bed and looked over to where she was hovering in the doorway.

“The bathroom's through there.” She pointed toward the closed door. “It's connected to my room, but I'll try to remember to knock instead of just barging in like I usually do. Thank goodness Chelsea has her own.”

Instead of smiling at her joke, his stare increased in intensity, and she wondered if he was thinking about Ellie walking in while he was in the shower. That made
her
think about walking in while he was in the shower, which made her flush bright enough to spontaneously combust. What was it about George that reduced her to a stammering, blushing teenager?

“Um…okay.” Ellie looked anywhere except at those hot eyes. “Good night, then. Feel free to wander around if you need anything from the…uh, kitchen or anything.” Now she was thinking about him wandering into her room, and she needed to stop it.

“Good night,” he said quietly. While she'd been carefully not looking at him, he'd moved close…very close. Her eyes widened as he bent and place a light kiss on her startled mouth. His lips were gone before she could kiss him back.

The backs of his fingers brushed her cheek, and she turned her head to kiss them. The heat in his expression ratcheted up another notch, and he took her by the shoulders. To her disappointment, he turned her around. “Better go while I can still let you.” His voice was low, his lips almost touching her ear. With a final squeeze of his hands, he gave her a gentle push and released her shoulders.

“Okay,” she said without turning around. “Good night. Uh…I already said that. Sorry.”

There was a chuckle behind her as she scampered to her door before anything else embarrassing could leave her mouth. Once in the safety of her bedroom, she closed her door and leaned against it, smiling. George was there, in her apartment, and they'd kissed…a lot.

Resisting the urge to squeal like an overexcited kid, she bit her lip and squeezed her hands together at her heart. It was too much to hold inside, though, and her feet did a mini Snoopy dance of happiness.

He was over her, holding her down, his filmy eyes staring at nothing and orange blood crusted on his coat.

“El!”

George!
That was George's voice. Wilson had gotten to George, ambushed him in the pine trees, shot him in the head like his brother had, but this time Wilson had managed to move over the few inches required to send the bullet into his brain. Now George was the one with the milky eyes and faraway, empty gaze. Grief rose in her chest but couldn't escape, building and building until her misery erupted in a scream.

“El. El, wake up.”

Reality returned like the snap of a rubber band, and George's face—complete with no bullet hole or dead eyes—came into focus. The lamp next to her bed was on, casting a warm, golden light over his features and highlighting the worried creases between his brows. He was leaning over her, his hands gripping her upper arms.

“George?” Her voice sounded rusty, and her throat hurt.

He released her slowly, as if he wasn't sure if she was really awake yet. As soon as her arms were free, she launched herself at him, wrapping her arms around his neck. She pressed her face under his chin, reveling in each sign of life—the warmth of his skin, the rise and fall of his chest as he breathed, the strength in his arms as he hugged her back. Ellie wasn't sure how much time passed before her terror faded and self-consciousness began to creep in.

“Sorry,” she muttered, trying to put some space between them, but George seemed reluctant to loosen his grip. After a few halfhearted attempts at pulling away from him, she allowed herself to sink back against his chest. Once she relaxed, his hands started stroking her back.

“You were screaming.” His voice was so deep that the words vibrated through her. It was oddly comforting to feel him talk.

“Sorry I woke you.”

“I wasn't sleeping yet.”

Turning her head to see the clock on the nightstand, Ellie was surprised to see it was just after one.

“Do you get nightmares a lot?” he asked, shifting so he could sit on her bed and pull her into his lap.

Despite her embarrassment at acting like a scared little kid, she couldn't bring herself to turn down the comfort he was offering. “Not really.” She could almost feel the disbelieving glare he gave the top of her head. “Most of the time, I can't fall asleep, so…no bad dreams.”

“That's not better,” he grumbled.

The last terrifying seconds of her nightmare replayed in her head, and she shivered. “It kind of is.”

“What was your dream about?”

“Wilson.”

His hand stilled on her back. “Wilson King?” he asked, and she realized that she'd never told him the whole story of what had happened after George had left to get help.

“Yeah.” It was a sigh more than a word. “They threw in the bomb they'd made out of the stove fuel, and we had to get out before it exploded. I came out shooting and killed Wilson.”

“You saved yourself and your dad.”

She knew that when she was awake. Her sleeping self didn't quite understand it, though. “His blood was orange the next morning.”

“You did what needed to be done, El. I'm proud of you.”

“Thanks.” His praise didn't give her the usual inner glow. Instead, she just felt tired.

“Ready to go back to sleep?”

“Can you stay?” The words escaped without her permission, and a blush immediately followed. “Sorry. Forget I asked.”

Instead of answering, he just pulled back the covers and maneuvered both of them until they were tucked into her bed. It was their usual cold-weather position, facing each other so she could hide her face in the crook between his jaw and collarbone. Although her apartment was heated to seventy toasty degrees, she still sighed with appreciation as she pressed her chilled body against his warm one.

“Good night again, George.” Her words were slurred a little bit from exhaustion, and her lips were close enough that they brushed his skin as she spoke. Ellie felt him shiver and tuck her a little tighter against him. Her face found that perfect spot against his neck, and she relaxed for the first time in weeks. In just the short time she'd known him, George had become her safe place. With a contented sigh, she allowed herself to sleep, knowing that he'd keep the monsters at bay.

* * *

She didn't know who looked worse the next morning during their video chat—Ellie or her dad. She'd slept dreamlessly, but she'd woken late and had to rush to get ready. There'd been no time to put concealer over the dark circles under her eyes, and she'd roughly dragged her hair into a messy ponytail. Baxter's gaze was dull, and the skin on his face was loose, like putty.

“Hi, Dad.” She blew him a kiss and then settled back in her chair at her kitchen table. George offered Baxter a nod of greeting from his spot beside her. “New meds?”

Her dad met her eyes slowly before nodding. Everything he did appeared to be in slow motion. “Don't like them. They make everything…wrong.”

“I'll talk to your doctor, if you like,” she offered. “See if she can adjust the dosage or try something else.”

His shrug was slow and halfhearted, making Ellie decide to definitely talk to her dad's doctor about changing his meds. He was barely recognizable as himself.

“Is everything else okay?” she asked. “Do you need anything?”

He shook his head after a pause, his expression heartbreakingly flat. “I'm okay. You're a good girl, Eleanor.”

“Thanks, Dad.”

“You still have that compass I gave you?”

“Yes.” She touched it where it rested low on her sternum. When she'd found it in her coat pocket a few days after her return to Chicago, she'd hung it on a chain and wore it around her neck. It was too big and plain to be a decorative piece of jewelry, but she liked to feel the solid weight of it against her chest.

“Good. Keep it close. Don't want you getting lost in the mountains.”

“I will.” Annoyingly, her eyes started to burn with approaching tears. She forced them back, blinking until the threat of uncontrollable bawling was reduced to manageable levels. Although he couldn't see her face from where he was standing, George must have heard something in her voice, because he squeezed her shoulder. That gesture of comfort made her eyes well up again.

“I'm not sure…” The words trailed away as Baxter stared in front of him, his focus not quite on the laptop screen. She wondered what horrific images were replaying in his brain. When he started talking again, she jumped, startled. He'd been quiet for so long, she'd thought he was done speaking. “I don't know what part of it was real and what I just imagined.”

“Want me to tell you what I know is true?” Ellie offered, but he shook his head.

“I want…” His words came out so slowly that it was almost painful to listen. Ellie caught herself leaning toward the computer with her throat and jaw tight, as if she could help her dad shove the words out of his head. “I want to tell you, in case it's real.”

“Sure, Dad.” She wished she could reach through the screen and grab his hand, somehow help him through this fog that had him trapped. “What is it?”

“You need to know, but it might put you in danger.” His head slowly turned until his cloudy gaze met hers from the screen. “If he thinks you know but you don't…that might be worse.”

“Whatever it is, I want to hear it.” Even if it involved dragons and flying werewolves, Ellie wanted to know. It might make Baxter feel better to warn her about whatever danger it was, whether his brain had conjured it or if it were a true risk to her safety. The half-heard conversation between her dad and Anderson King flashed in her mind, and her heart rate picked up. Maybe he was finally going to tell her who killed Willard Gray.

“It was the fires, Eleanor.”

She frowned, confused. “The explosion at the cabin?”

“No.” His head wagged from side to side. “No. Not that fire. The others.”

“Dad, I don't understand.”

Before he could explain, he jerked his head to the side, his attention caught by something Ellie couldn't see. “You're having a busy day already, Mr. Price,” an off-screen voice chirped. “There's a visitor to see you. It's Sheriff Coughlin.”

Ellie slumped in her chair. Even though Rob couldn't have known he was interrupting, she wanted to kick him for his bad timing. What her dad had shared so far wasn't sounding like a real threat, but she still wanted to clarify what he was talking about—if clarification was even possible.

“Hi, Sheriff,” she said, trying to keep the disappointment out of her voice. Rob leaned over next to Baxter so his face could be seen on Ellie's computer screen.

“Ellie. George.”

George silently returned his nod of greeting.

“I was hoping to talk to you about what happened at the cabin,” he said to Baxter, who didn't respond. He just stared into space again. The sheriff, looking puzzled, turned toward the screen, lifting his eyebrows in question.

Making a rueful face, Ellie shrugged. “His meds have him talking and moving at half speed, but you can give it a shot, if it's okay with you, Dad?” When her father didn't respond, she sighed and blew him another kiss. Baxter must have used all his words for the day on her. “I have to go now so I'm not late for work, but I'll call again tomorrow. You can tell me the rest then.”

“Was he talking about that night at the cabin?” the sheriff asked.

“Not about that.” She didn't want to tell anyone else what her dad had been saying. It seemed like a betrayal. If Baxter wanted to share that with the sheriff, then he could tell Rob himself. “See you tomorrow, Dad. Bye, Sheriff.”

She hurried to disconnect before he could press her for more details. With a sigh, she leaned back in her seat before catching a glimpse of the clock on the microwave display.

“Shoot,” she yelped, jumping out of her chair and rushing for the door. “I was hoping to clean up a little”—she gestured at the sad mess that was her hair and makeupless face—“but I'll be lucky to make it to the shop on time. I'll have to take the car instead of the L. Did you want to drive?” At his nod, she grabbed her keys out of her purse and tossed them to him. “I'll call Dr. Choudhry on the way. I didn't like seeing Dad like that.”

His face grim, George nodded in agreement.

* * *

“Nice driving,” Ellie said a little breathlessly. He was pulling the Prius into the parking lot with ten minutes to spare before the shop opened.

George grinned. “This car is fun. I can fit it into really small spaces.”

“I noticed.” Especially when he'd squeezed her car into the tiny spot between two semitrucks on the interstate. Her heart had almost stopped.

As she slipped around to the shop's side door, she saw there were a few people milling around the front, waiting for her to open.

“Want to stay for a little while?” she asked, unlocking the door and holding it so George could follow her into the shop. She quickly pressed the alarm code into the keypad next to the doorway, and the warning beep stopped with a satisfied chirp.

Although she'd expected it, her stomach went hollow when he shook his head. “You need to work.”

“Okay.” Aware that the few minutes she had before she had to let the waiting customers in were ticking away quickly, she grabbed his hand, turned it palm up, and dropped her apartment keys into it. “Have fun. After you pick up your truck, explore the city until all the people drive you crazy, and then go to the condo and make yourself at home. If Chelsea's still there, don't let her annoy you too much.”

He smiled. “Okay.” Leaning closer, he kissed her. It started light, his lips exploring hers tentatively, and then things got intense very fast. Apparently, he was a quick learner, judging by the way he took over the kiss. His hand cupped the back of her head, holding her close as his lips and tongue and teeth did magical, mind-stealing things to her. A lack of oxygen finally made her pull away so she could breathe. Ellie went in for another kiss, but he held her off, flicking his gaze toward the front of the store.

“Right,” she groaned, not able to look away from his mouth. “Work.”

His smile reappeared, broader this time, and he gave her a final, short kiss. He squeezed her hand and then slipped out of the side door, leaving her leaning against the wall.

“Bye,” she said to the closed door. With a sigh, she pushed herself upright and headed to the front of the shop, flicking on lights as she went. Bracing herself for another busy sale day, she turned the lock on the front door.