A Kiss Before I Die by T. K. Madrid Page A

thinking he was funny and trying to relax her, charm her. She watched him as a cobra watches a mongoose. Now he was dangerous. She didn’t know his athletic abilities. She focused the gun on his knees, which he was sure to interpret as his crotch.
    “Tell me, why do you think your mother said someone might come looking for you?”
    “I meant us. Both of us.”
    The left corner of her mouth lifted. She thought the same way: say as little as possible and lie when you need to. Sometimes you had to lie to live another day.
    “Why us ?”
    “I know dad knows things. That’s why he doesn’t share a lot…”
    Sam nodded.
    “I don’t have time to be coy or discuss what your father was or is or could be. Our time is limited.”
    “My name is Tyler.”
    “Talk to me. Why are they getting divorced?”
    “She says Mr. Wilcox is rich.”
    “Is your dad?”
    “ Dad ? Not that I know.”
    Sam knew women like her, on the hunt, available if the price was right. Middlebury, at times, had seemed less a place of learning and more like a dating service for the rich.
    “Where’s your father?”
    “I don’t know.”
    “When did you last see him?”
    “Two nights ago.”
    The boy understood the woman with the gun was in control. The woman with the gun understood he was wasting time.
    “Why is his car here?”
    “Huh?”
    “He was following me and then he disappeared. Why was he following me?”
    “I don’t understand…”
    “Why is his car here and why was he following me?”
    “I woke up and his car was here. I don’t why he’s not here…why are you here?”
    “Does he have another car?”
    “No – yes, a Corvette. But he doesn’t drive it in winter. It’s in the barn.”
    He crossed his ankles; folded his hands on his chest.
    “What does your mother drive?”
    “An Excursion. I have an old Bronco. We’ve got dirt bikes and a couple ATV’s. We’ve got some bicycles, too, if you’re taking count.”
    “Are any of them missing? Other than the Excursion.”
    “No. They’re all here. Even the bicycles.”
    She understood more, understood how some things were being planned and had been laid out for her.
    The detective named Debozy was probably sober enough to tell Henderson and Wilcox what she had done and that was being recorded. The man who owned the State Trooper car would be recovering, but not talking. He wouldn’t need to say anything as the Camaro talk for him. 
    “I want you to understand something,” she said, not using his name, not wanting to use his name. “This isn’t personal. So understand that if you ask me to choose between dying for you or anyone in your family or Mr. Wilcox – do you think I would choose any of you or myself?”
    He said nothing.
    “Exactly. Now, do as I say and neither of us will have to make that choice…”
    He followed her instructions, showing her to his father’s office that overlooked the driveway and road.
    An Apple laptop was open and ready. There were filing cabinets, a desk with stacks of papers, all of them neat and organized. A gun safe stood in one corner. There was another cabinet with listening devices: parabola cones, headphones, and the like. There were other tools of the trade like microphones and what she assumed were tracking devices. Frederick Burleson was a professional.
    “Let’s try the laptop. Do you know the password?”
    “Don’t need one. Dad doesn’t believe in them, at least for this. I’m sure he’s got codes on the normal shit like bank accounts and porn.”
    She stood behind him, in the frame of the door, looking over his shoulder.
    “Now what?”
    “Search for Wilcox.”
    “C-drive?”
    “All of it.”
    He typed, the computer responded, and rows of folders and files filled the screen.
    The boy blinked, his head moving fractionally, and he looked to her.
    “Your name Samantha More?”
    Close enough.
    “There’s a good size file here, most recently opened. That the one we’re looking for?”
    “Open it. Read it to