Gone Too Deep (27 page)

Ellie stared at the door to her condo building, clutching her cell phone to her ear with numb fingers. She knew her mouth was hanging open, but she couldn't seem to activate the correct muscles she needed to close it. She'd been so excited, so happy to be done with work and about to see George again. When she finally was able to speak, all she could manage to get out was a faint, “He left?”

“Yes.” The doctor's voice oozed sympathy.

“How could he leave?”

“Mr. Price was here voluntarily,” Choudhry explained. “It was within his rights to leave at any time, since he isn't a danger to himself or others. I did encourage him to stay, since we were still working to find the right combination of medication and therapy.”

“When did he leave?”
Why
did he leave? And how? On his current medication, Baxter hadn't seemed able to work up the motivation to leave his chair, much less the facility.

“Today around noon.”

“Why didn't you call me?”

The doctor dialed up the sympathy in her tone another notch. “Your father authorized us to share the details of his care with you. You are not, however, his guardian. He is capable of making decisions on his own.”

Not very good decisions, if choosing to check out of Armstrong and wander the streets in his current zombielike state was one. “Do you have his new contact information? Where's he planning on staying? Did he have any money when he left? His pack burned. Everything he owned was in there. How's he going to live?” Her voice was getting higher and higher, and a person passing her on the sidewalk gave her a wary look and increased his pace.

“Deep breaths,” Dr. Choudhry urged. “Long breath in, hold it, and long breath out.”

Until the doctor talked her through it, Ellie hadn't realized how close she was to hyperventilating. “Sorry,” she said once she'd gotten her breathing under control again. “I'm just really worried about him.”

“I know.” The doctor's sigh was audible. “I know.”

Long after the doctor ended the call, Ellie continued to stare blindly at her building, useless phone in her hand. It wasn't until the door swung open, revealing a worried-looking George, that her paralysis broke.

“What's wro—?” Before he could even finish the question, she hurled herself at him, wrapping her arms around his reassuring bulk and pressing her forehead to his chest as she burst into tears.

“He left!” She wasn't sure how coherent she was, since she was crying so hard, but she kept babbling anyway. “He checked himself out of Armstrong today. I don't know where he went, or where he's staying, or if he has any money, or if he's okay, and he was on that awful medication, and how am I supposed to keep my promise to always have his back if I don't know where he is?” She ended on a wail that should've made her cringe in embarrassment, but she was too consumed by her worry to care.

“El.” Just that one word in his calm, even tone brought her semi-hysterics down to sniffles and the occasional hiccupping inhale. “How long has your dad been like this?”

It took a moment for his question to penetrate, but George waited patiently for her to answer, his big hands stroking her back. “Mentally ill, you mean?” Her words were punctuated by a hiccup. “All my life. I th-think Mom said he first started showing symptoms in his midtwenties.”

“How old is he?”

“Sixty-three.” Even though she wasn't sure where George was going with it, the exchange was calming her. Having him hold her, the bass rumble of his voice vibrating against her cheek, was even more soothing.

“So he's lived almost forty years with this.”

“Yes.” Another hiccup turned the word into two syllables.

“And he survived all that time.”

Now she knew where George was headed. “Yes.”

“Why do you think he won't be able to manage now?”

“Someone really is after him,” she argued. “Anderson King is still out there.”

“Even if he managed to get out of Blue Hook alive, how would he be able to locate Baxter? You're his daughter, and you don't know where he's headed. A small-town drug dealer running from the cops isn't going to be able to track him.”

The sense of what he was saying allowed relief to flow through her in a warm rush. “You're right.” Taking in a deep breath, she released it in a shuddering exhale. “Thank you.”

“He'll be okay, El.”

“Yeah.” She was starting to believe it.

“Want to go up to your condo?”

Pulling back, she glanced at the entry of her building, blinking. The news about Baxter, and then George's embrace, had made her forget where she was. She wondered how many of her neighbors witnessed her breakdown. “Good idea.”

George kept an arm around her shoulders as they started to climb the first flight of stairs. It was hard not to sink against him, to let him carry her weight. They'd passed the door to the second level when she realized something.

“We could've taken the elevator,” she said, continuing to climb stairs.

His expression was close to the one he wore when he talked about hating to fly, but he only grunted.

Her small smile disappeared quickly. “Do you think he went back to Simpson?”

“Maybe.”

She sighed, her breath uneven. “I don't know where else to start looking for him.”

His hand squeezed her shoulder. A thought occurred to her, and she fumbled for her purse as she stopped abruptly. Digging through the contents, she pulled out the card she needed. Her fingers were shaking, making it hard to tap the right numbers, but she finally managed to send the call.

“Coughlin.”

“Sheriff.” Her voice still sounded quivery from exertion and emotion. “This is Ellie Price.”

“Ellie. How are you?”

“Not good.” The tears were back, lurking just behind her eyes, and she squeezed the bridge of her nose tightly to stave them off. “Dad checked himself out of Armstrong.”

There was a short silence. “I'm sorry to hear that.”

“Thanks. Did he say anything about leaving when you talked with him this morning? Maybe mention where he planned to stay or where he was going to go?”

“No.” The single word crushed the tiny hope that had blossomed. “He didn't say anything to me.”

“Did he tell you why he planned to leave?”

“You misunderstood me,” Coughlin gently explained. “When I said he didn't say anything, I meant that he didn't talk to me at all. He wouldn't even make eye contact.”

“But why…?” Ellie let her words trail away. She could ask
why
all she wanted, but the only person who could tell her the answer was Baxter, and she didn't know where to find him. “Could you let me know if he contacts you? Or if he returns to Simpson?”

“Of course. I'll call if I hear anything.”

“Thank you, Sheriff.” She needed to get off the phone before she cried again.

“Call me Rob. I hope you find him soon.”

“Me too.”

George looked at her as she dropped the card and her phone back in her purse. She gave a tight shake of her head. With a silent sigh, he gave her a squeeze and a kiss on the head before they started climbing stairs again.

“George?” she asked in a small voice. “I know you just drove a really long time to get here, but would you mind if we went back to Simpson? I need to look for my dad.”

“Okay. Tonight?”

Relief surged through her at his easy acceptance, and she gave him a sideways hug, so glad that she wasn't alone in this. “Would that be okay?” It probably made more sense to wait until the following morning to leave, but she knew she wouldn't sleep anyway.

“Yes.”

Gratitude warmed her from her toes to her ears, and she gave him another squeeze. Although anxiety still churned inside her, it would've been a thousand times worse without George. His steady, strong presence made her feel like anything was possible. They'd drive to Simpson, find Baxter, and everything would be okay. George would make sure of it.

As Ellie climbed out of George's pickup, careful to keep hold of the door as her feet contacted the ice covering The Coffee Spot's parking lot, a rush of déjà vu hit her. It had been just weeks since she'd first arrived in Colorado, but it felt like years had passed. Instead of being a strange and foreign place, Simpson felt almost like home. The only shadows hanging over her return were her anxiety over Baxter and the creeping knowledge that Anderson King could be lurking close by, watching her, wanting revenge for what she'd done to his brother.

Once she knew her feet were stable, she glanced over at George, who was circling the front of the truck. The closer they'd gotten to the mountains, the more he'd relaxed. It made her realize how tensely he'd held himself in Chicago, how out of place he'd seemed in the urban setting. He'd done that—put aside his dislike of the city—in order to be close to her. Her smile warmed another few degrees as she watched him stride closer.

Ellie was so wrapped up in her thoughts that she didn't realize what he intended until she was several feet off the ground.

“George!” she cried, laughing and clutching his shoulders. “What are you doing?”

“Don't want you falling,” he rumbled, but the corners of his mouth were twitching. Ellie was pretty sure he was just using the excuse to carry her.

“I have on my very practical boots.” She tried to sound firm, although she was pretty sure she failed.

In front of the coffee shop door, he slowly lowered her until she was standing, his warm brown eyes fixed on her face the entire time.

“Thank you, sweetie,” she said, unable to hold back a smile. “But you don't need to carry me everywhere.”

He stroked her cheek with the backs of his fingers, his gaze heating from warm to blazing. Ellie was pretty sure he'd only heard the first part of her sentence, but she couldn't bring herself to care—not when George was staring at her like that.

“Coffee?” she finally said, her voice rough from both emotion and a lack of sleep. She'd dozed a little in the truck when she hadn't been driving, but her limited sleep had been interrupted by nightmarish images of Anderson, Wilson, and her father.

Leaning down, George pressed a kiss to her forehead before pulling open the shop door. As Ellie ducked into The Coffee Spot, a loud
bang
echoed through the small building. She froze as her brain flipped through a vivid set of flashcard images—George lying unmoving in the snow, Wilson's staring eyes, the gun jumping in her hands as she fired at Anderson.

Warmth at her back and whispered words in her ear returned her to reality with a snap. George, his forearm wrapped around her upper chest, was responsible for both the warmth and the whispers.

“You're okay, El,” he was saying, tightening his arm around her to bring her more firmly against him. “I've got you. You're safe.”

“Sorry.” Her voice was froggy, so she cleared her throat and tried again. “Sorry.” Glancing around, she saw Lou latching the window behind the counter—the source of the loud noise, Ellie guessed. The other patrons in the shop, though, were all looking at her. “Did I do anything embarrassing?”

“No.” Keeping his voice low, George continued to murmur directly into her ear. “You just…froze for a minute.”

At second glance, the other customers' faces were filled with interest and friendly curiosity, rather than the horrified, prurient, train-wreck staring she'd expected. Ellie relaxed against George. “Thanks.”

Kissing her temple, he retreated, drawing away from her carefully. He stayed close, apparently intending to catch her if necessary.

“Hey, Lou,” she called, forcing relaxed confidence into her voice. She wasn't sure how well she succeeded. “How's it going?”

Rushing around the counter, Lou barreled across the shop to throw her arms around Ellie. “Absolutely fabulous now that you're here!” Lou squeezed her hard and then backed up so she could look at Ellie. “Do you
know
what kind of crazy rumors are circulating? You will be telling me every single detail, including how you got the love child of Grizzly Adams and Pa Ingalls to get a cell phone. Impressive, El. Very impressive.”

Even without looking behind her, Ellie knew George would be blushing under his beard, so she steered Lou back to the counter. George followed, staying close but silent. “You've heard about Baxter, then?”

“No.” Lou took the redirection without offense, returning to her post and reaching for a cup. “Obviously, the fire guys are getting lax with the gossip. Is something wrong with your dad? Latte?”

“Please on the latte. And I'm not sure about Dad. He checked himself out of Armstrong, and I haven't heard anything since.”

“I'm sorry, El. I thought he was doing better.” Lou kept talking, even as she steamed milk. “Do you think he's come back to Simpson?”

“Maybe.” In her exhausted state, Ellie couldn't hold back the rush of frustration and anxiety that flooded through her. “I'm not sure. This was the only place I could think to start looking.”

Sometime during the last exchange, George had moved even closer to Ellie until he was pressed against the back of her stool with his palms resting on her shoulders. She reached up to grab one of his hands.

Lou paused in the middle of putting a lid on Ellie's coffee. “At the risk of being condescending, I have to say that you two are the cutest thing ever.”

With a soundless sigh and a squeeze of Ellie's shoulders, George pulled away and headed toward the bathroom.

“So, tell me how it happened?” Lou leaned closer to Ellie as she handed over the latte, her eyes lighting with gossipy glee. “When I last saw you two together, he'd barely agreed to guide you. Next thing I know, he's sitting in The Coffee Spot for
hours
, scowling at me like I killed his kitten. He didn't order coffee or anything. I kept asking what he needed, and he kept grunting at me with that angry frown. I was about to call Callum to see if he could do some man grunt translating for me when George Holloway actually spoke to me. In words.”

Ellie was fascinated. “What'd he say?”

“‘What's her number?' That's what he said. I just stared at him—partly because I was in shock that George Holloway actually spoke to me and partly because I had no idea what he was talking about. He glowered at me like I was an idiot until I finally asked whose number he wanted. Then he turned all sorts of red…”

With a sigh, Ellie asked, “Isn't he cute when he blushes?”

Lou snorted, quickly turning the sound into a cough. “Right. Sure. Adorable. Anyway, he mumbles, ‘El.' And I repeat, ‘
L
'? I was trying to think of people whose names started with the letter
L
when it finally struck me—Ellie! He wants Ellie's number. And then I thought, ‘Holy moly, he wants a woman's number, and that woman is Ellie! The guys at Station One are going to flip when I tell them.'”

Ellie blinked.

Without giving her a chance to respond, Lou jumped back into her story. “So I pull up your number on my phone and give it to him. He's getting up to leave when I tell him to sit his taciturn rump down, because a phone number is pretty much useless when he doesn't have a phone, and he pulls out this prepaid one that's still in its packaging. I start imagining how the conversation will go, where he calls you, and you answer, and he's silent except for breathing and a few grunts, and you think you have some creeper on the line, hang up on him, and he crushes the phone in his huge, heartbroken hand and never leaves his cabin again.”

Ellie blinked again.

“I know,” Lou said, as if Ellie had uttered something. “So that's when I called you and very sneakily got you to tell me where you worked and when your next shift was. I looked up the shop's website to get an address, printed out some maps and directions for the big guy, and sent him to claim his true wuv.”

“True
what
?”

Lou frowned at her. “Haven't you seen
The Princess Bride
?” When Ellie looked blank, Lou shook her head. “For shame. You need to watch it.” Her scowl flipped over to a grin. “With George.”

“Um…okay?”

“So what does he talk about?”

Ellie shrugged. “Um…normal stuff, I guess?”

“Oh.” Lou made a disappointed face. “I figured that once George started talking, it'd be about something momentous, like the secrets of the universe or something.”

Ellie laughed. “Nope. Not yet, anyway.”

“Huh.” Lou glanced over Ellie's shoulder. “Bearded one incoming. Tell me what's going on with your dad.”

Ellie's anxiety, which had been dulled by exhaustion and too many hours of driving, returned with a vengeance. By the time she'd given Lou the basic facts about Baxter's disappearance, she was fidgeting on her stool. Even George's steadying hand on her shoulder couldn't keep her still.

“Can we go check Willard's old cabin?” she asked George, who grimaced slightly.

Lou's expression echoed his. “Do you think he'd have gone back there? It's the first place everyone will look for him, so not the stealthiest move on Baxter's part.”

“I know.” Not able to sit any longer, Ellie slid off her stool. “I just need to do
something
. And it's possible he could've returned. Who knows how Dad's mind works?” Even as she said the words, she could hear the doubt in her own voice. Her shoulders folded forward as helplessness overwhelmed her.

George gently squeezed the back of her neck. “We'll go now.”

“To Willard's cabin?” Surprised, she looked over her shoulder at him. At the affirmative dip of his chin, Ellie turned and gave him a grateful hug. After freezing for a moment, he awkwardly patted her back. “Thank you, George. I know it's a wild-goose chase, but I need to see for myself that he's not there.”

“Hey,” Lou protested in a mock offended tone. “He's not the only one chasing geese with you.”

Without leaving George's embrace, Ellie turned her head so she could smile at the other woman. “I know. Thank you, too.”

Lou's pretend scowl dropped away. “Everyone—the divers, the fire department, search and rescue—will do their best to find your dad, El. I'm going to get the firemen to spread the word to keep an eye out for any sign of Baxter. It'll be good for them to use their gossip powers productively, for once.”

Ellie turned, keeping her back resting against George's chest. It made her feel stronger to have him so close. “Just tell them not to approach him. Deputy Jennings tried to talk to him, and Dad took off. Have them keep their distance and call me if they see him.”

“Right—I forgot about that.” Lou's forehead wrinkled in a frown. “If Baxter ran from Chris, he'll run from anyone. Chris is a sweetheart. I'll pass it on.”

“Thanks, Lou.” With a final, grateful smile, Ellie headed for the door.

As they drove through the Esko Hills neighborhood, George shot a frowning glance at her.

“What?” she asked. Although she was getting pretty good at interpreting George's expressions, the meaning of this one was eluding her.

“Are you…” His voice came out even deeper and scratchier than usual. He cleared his throat. “Are you staying at my house tonight?” The last five words came out in a rushed jumble, so it took Ellie a few moments to figure out what he'd said. His frown deepened.

“Oh!” she exclaimed as she finally figured out the question. “Yes. I mean, if that's okay? I could get a room at the Black Bear Inn again, if you'd rather I do that?” The tentative cast to her words made her scrunch her nose. Where was all her confidence?

“No!” It was George's turn to wince when the word came out loudly enough to make her jump. “Staying with me is…good.” Red flushed his skin above his beard.

Her uncertainty faded as she laid her cheek against the seat and eyed his profile. He really was so cute when he blushed.

The sideways look he gave her as he stopped the truck was adorable, too. She smiled, making his cheekbones redden even more. George tipped his head toward the windshield. With a jolt, Ellie realized they were parked outside the cabin. Shaking herself out of her giddy haze, she reached for her door handle. Before she could fully open her door, George was there to help her out of the truck.

“Thank you,” she said absently, her eyes on the cabin. Even without going inside, she knew in her gut that it was still empty. It appeared even more forlorn than it had the first time she'd visited it with Callum. “He's not there.” Her voice was flat. Although she'd known it was a long shot, the empty cabin hit her hard. It was her only possible lead in her search for Baxter.

George just gave a “maybe” shrug and started toward the derelict building. He checked out the unmarred drifts of snow in front of the structure before indicating she should stand to the side of the door. With his body between hers and the entrance, he reached for the knob. The door opened easily. Ellie peeked around his large form and saw the same empty interior as before. Despite her earlier certainty, disappointment flooded through her at the confirmation.

“Stay,” George rumbled before disappearing into the cabin.

“I'm not a dog,” she called after him, although she didn't move from her spot. She glanced around the surrounding trees, struck by the eerie silence. They were so close to the upscale neighborhood, but Ellie suddenly felt isolated and exposed. The cabin would be the first place Anderson King would look for Baxter…or for her. She shivered, shoving her gloved hands into her coat pockets as her gaze darted from tree to tree. The evergreens provided so many possible hiding spots, and the branches moved constantly, potentially hiding anything—or anyone—lurking in the forest. Goose bumps prickled along her spine as she stared harder at an especially ominous shadow. She knew it was her imagination, but Ellie suddenly felt the burn of malicious, watching eyes.