Gail Barrett - A Kiss to Die for

“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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