A Kiss to Die for. Gail Barrett

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      “I’ll go up with you.”

      “You’d be too exposed.” And even though he had his sidearm, he couldn’t risk opening fire in a crowd this size. The collateral damage would be too high.

      But she didn’t budge. “Nobody’s going to shoot us in the ballroom. And it will only take a minute. We’ll accept whatever the prize is and leave right after that.”

      He glanced around. People were pointing and looking his way. His heart sank. She was right. They’d look like cowards if they slipped out now.

      “Fine.” Not seeing an alternative, he trailed her to the small corner stage where two other people waited with the emcee. Taking his position beside Haley, Sully scowled at the audience, watching for signs of animosity.

      Haley leaned toward him. “Try to look happy. You’re about to win something.”

      “Right.” He bared his teeth.

      The emcee introduced Senator Riggs, who thanked an endless stream of sponsors for their help. He finally wound down, and the emcee took the microphone again. While a drum rolled, he reached into a clear, plastic ball and pulled out a ticket stub. “In third place, a two-week cruise to the Black Sea, Camille Henson.”

      Sully clapped. But he caught sight of Haley’s parents in the crowd and it was all he could do not to glare.

      The drum roll sounded again. “In second place, for ten thousand dollars, Kenneth Jones. That means Sullivan Turner is our grand-prize winner, the proud owner of a new Chevrolet Corvette.”

      Cameras flashed. Haley turned toward him and gave him a squeeze. But his heart began to race, the light from the cameras flickering through his memory, yanking him into the past. And suddenly, he was back in that desert valley, the world exploding in a roar of flames, surrounded by bodies and blood and screams.

      His limbs began to shake. A clammy sweat broke out on his brow. And that god-awful panic consumed him, the frantic need to fight back. He grabbed Haley’s arm, struggling to anchor himself to the present, knowing if he lingered another minute he was going to lose it and come undone. He had to get away from the flashing lights now.

      But the senator stepped into his path. “If I could have your attention for another moment,” he boomed into the microphone. “I’ve just discovered that our winner is none other than Sergeant Sullivan Turner from the United States Army, who not only earned a Purple Heart, but a Silver Star, one of the highest commendations there is. He’s a real-live hero! I’m sure you’ll all join me in thanking him for his service to our country.”

      Applause broke out. Sully’s gut tightened to steel. Hell. This was all he needed, for the senator to broadcast that. Desperate to hold it together, he gripped Haley’s arm even harder and turned to go.

      But a man carting a camera blocked his way. “Sir, we need you to come outside and stand by the car for a couple of photos.”

      “We’ll be right there,” Haley promised before Sully could refuse. Then she towed him through the crowd. “A Silver Star?”

      Ignoring the people surging toward him, he mopped his brow with his sleeve. “It’s no big deal.”

      “No big deal?” She shot him a look of disbelief. “How can you say that? That’s a huge award.”

      An award he didn’t deserve. “It’s nothing.”

      “But—”

      “Forget the damned medal. Let’s just get out of here.” He knew he sounded surly. But there were too many people, too much noise. And they all seemed to be pressing toward him, offering congratulations, making it impossible to breathe.

      Haley pulled him out the doors to the patio. His pulse still chaotic, he inhaled deeply, filling his lungs with the fresh night air. Light spilled from the mansion, illuminating the garden beyond the wall. But past the perfectly trimmed hedges lay acres of unlit fields and woodland—where a shooter could easily hide out.

      “Come on.” Hurrying, he limped toward the side of the mansion where the Corvette was parked. The photographer was waiting by the car, along with the senator and another man Sully didn’t recognize. Several teenage valets hovered nearby.

      “Man, this thing’s loaded,” a tall, dark-haired boy was saying to his friends. “Seven-speed manual transmission...” He ducked his head under the hood and rattled off a list of stats.

      The photographer motioned Sully over, then turned to the valets. “Sorry, boys. I need you to step aside for a minute.”

      Haley waved him on. “I’ll wait over here.” She joined the valets near a stand of trees.

      Anxious to get this over with, Sully strode to the Corvette. The photographer got to work, taking photos of him shaking hands with the senator and accepting the keys from the dealer who’d donated the car.

      Sully’s jaw started to ache. The pounding in his temples increased. And with every passing second, the uneasy feeling inside him grew. He didn’t like this. The guests were beginning to leave. Several lights near the tent had gone out. And Haley was too far away.

      He pushed away from the car. “That’s enough.”

      “We just need one more shot,” the photographer said. “In front of the mansion this time. If you could drive the Corvette around to the portico, we’ll take it from there.” Without waiting for an answer, he jogged off.

      Haley caught his eye. “Go ahead. I forgot my shawl inside. I’ll go get it while you drive the car around.”

      He hesitated. He still didn’t like this. The feeling of danger kept getting stronger, despite the thinning crowd. And no matter how damaged his instincts, he wasn’t going to let Haley out of his sight.

      He glanced back at the car. The valets still lingered nearby, salivating over the Corvette.

      “Hey,” he called to the tall kid who’d recited the stats. “You want to drive the car to the front for me?”

      The kid’s eyes widened. “Sure.”

      Sully tossed him the keys. Then he pulled Haley toward the entrance, away from the unlit grounds.

      Male laughter erupted behind him. Sully glanced back as the kid swaggered to the Corvette, putting on a show for his friends. Another valet pulled out his cell phone and took a picture of him leaning against the car.

      Sully shook his head. He’d once been that young, that cocky. That idealistic and naive. Back when he’d still felt immortal, when his life had been blessedly simple, when all that mattered were girls and cars.

      The kid opened the door. More raucous laughter broke out. He got in and cranked the engine. Still smiling, he punched down on the gas pedal and took off.

      The car exploded in a ball of fire.

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