Kiss of Death

ADAM HUNTER, YOU'RE DEAD. Adam knew he was at death's door and his gut cramped. In less than a split second he realized his life was over. Finished. The other guys hadn't sensed the danger, didn't know death was a heartbeat away. Adam watched--his breath suspended in his lungs--unable to utter a word. His body didn't seem to belong to him. It was almost as if he were seeing a film, as if this must be happening to someone else--not him. He wasn't meant to die--not now, not here. Some distant part of his mind still functioned, warning him. Blood coursed through his veins and reality arced through him like a jolt of electricity, spurring him to action. Move! Run! But there wasn't any time to run--nowhere to run--no place to hide. A garbled sound clawed its way out of his throat. Duck! In an instant his world exploded in all-consuming pain and the bleak darkness of hell. SHREDS OF BLOODY IMAGES dissolved into the present. His uncle's chauffeur was driving Adam to Calvin Hunter's Greek villa. Adam was still too engulfed in a tide of memories to notice much as the limousine sped along the narrow road. The panicky, trapped feeling returned and surged through his body with vivid reality, then subsided as he realized the danger had passed. By some strange miracle, Adam had survived. He'd cheated death. The others had not been so lucky. A half ton of steel surrounding them and seven pounds of reinforced Kevlar per man hadn't protected them. Adam hadn't managed a good night's sleep since escaping death. He thought if he could go home, he would be able to finally get some rest. Adam longed to put his head down on his own pillow and stretch out on his own bed--safe at last. Home. What a concept. He didn't have a home. All his so-called worldly possessions were in a storage unit, gathering dust. He was still alive and traipsing around in paradise. He was a long way from the hellhole in Iraq where he'd come within inches of dying. Thanks to an inexplicable twist of fate, Adam had now arrived at his uncle's villa in the Greek Isles. His uncle had sent his private jet to Turkey, where Adam was supposed to be recuperating at the U.S. Air Force base. Calvin Hunter greeted him with a smile some might have mistaken for the real deal. "Adam, how was the flight?" Adam shrugged dismissively. He realized it was a rhetorical question. Hell, Calvin knew the flight to Siros Island on his jet had been spectacular. His uncle would expect Adam to be impressed, but once you've looked death in the eye, it's hard to be impressed. Damn near impossible. "How are you feeling? Are you okay now?" his uncle asked, touching his arm in a way that was meant to show concern. Adam doubted his uncle was worried about him. If anything, Calvin seemed a bit nervous. He kept looking around as if he was expecting someone. "Never better." This was a bald-faced lie, but Adam didn't know his uncle well enough to discuss how he was feeling. Maybe if Tyler were here, Adam could tell his best friend how he really felt, but Tyler was halfway around the world in California. "Nice place," Adam said because he felt it was expected. Nice was an understatement--like saying Versailles was "nice." The villa must contain as much loot as Versailles, too. Security guards manned the front gate and ringed the perimeter of the walled estate. The limo that had brought him here had been armor-plated and had bulletproof glass. The man riding up front with the driver had been armed. His uncle gazed at him for a moment with shrewd eyes. Adam tried to gauge what the older man was thinking, but didn't really give a rat's ass. "Let me show you--" Calvin gestured with a strong hand that sported a pinkie ring with a large canary-yellow diamond "--your suite." Adam looked down a hallway he could have driven a Hummer through withSawyer, Meryl is the author of 'Kiss of Death ', published 2007 under ISBN 9780373771752 and ISBN 0373771754.