Free Die Again Tomorrow by Kira Peikoff

ways.”
    â€œIt would be bad for Adam’s character.”
    She laughed out loud. “You’re joking.”
    He withdrew his hand from hers and folded his arms, walking faster. “I’m serious. He’s grown up with everything, and now he needs to learn what it means to be a man. A man has to sink or swim by the choices he makes, not come crawling to his father when it’s time to face the consequences.”
    She pulled herself up straight, almost jogging to keep up with him. “Don’t make this about you. Just because you grew up poor doesn’t mean you should punish him.”
    It was acid on his sore spot.
    He stopped dead his tracks, glaring at her. “This conversation is over.”
    There was nothing more she could say.
    For the rest of the walk, they silently stewed. Why was Greg suddenly worried about their son’s integrity, when Adam was as hardworking and independent as they had raised him to be? All she could think was something wasn’t adding up. There were given reasons, and then there were real reasons.
    Once she had a lead, nothing could stop her from tracking down the truth.

CHAPTER 9
    Isabel
    13 days before, Key West
    Â 
    I t had taken four months, but Isabel was finally feeling good again. Going to Richard Barnett and selling her life insurance policy had proved to be the best decision she’d ever made. The stress of her mother’s illness and her own dire genetic forecast—all that was behind her now.
    The balmy October sun caressed her bare skin as she walked toward the beach, her surfboard under her arm. Half naked in a red string bikini, she dared the world to look. She didn’t care. She was proud. She was a survivor.
    It was her first day in a bathing suit since her double mastectomy.
    Her mother—who was in remission thanks to the miracle drug Braxa—insisted that Isabel take the money left over from the settlement to invest in her own health. Her ensuing preventive surgery and months-long recovery was an agony she wouldn’t wish on anyone, but in losing her breasts, she’d restored her future.
    Her cancer risk had shrunk from 87 percent to just 4 percent. And the fake breasts the doctors reconstructed weren’t half bad. They were a tad bigger than her natural B cup, so she could fill out her bikini without puffing up her chest.
    As for the permanent gash across it? Her father used to say that a battle scar was a story with a happy ending. A scar was courage made visible. His most prominent one, from combat in Vietnam, had been right smack on his face—a raised white mark that stretched from his left ear to his lip. Far from considering himself disfigured, he wore it as proudly as his Purple Heart.
    Isabel traced her finger along her own fresh scar under her breasts. Its smooth contour was a welcome reminder of him, despite the guilt that still bubbled to the surface every time she thought of his final day on earth. During his heroic life, he’d shown her that staying alive was not a given, but a prize that required a fight to win. And winning demanded celebration.
    So today she was taking her first surfing trip in months. There was much to be grateful for: her mother was healthy, she was safe, her brother was happy, and Wild Woman , her reality TV show, was a hit. The eight episodes had aired over the summer to much enthusiasm. As soon as she was ready, the show runners wanted her back for season two. Her doctors wanted her to wait another few months, but she was feeling better than ever: in fact, she’d written to the executive producer and told him she wanted to return next month—plus a raise. Despite the horrible economy and the financial stress of pretty much everyone she knew, her family was going to make it through okay.
    Palm trees fanned out overhead and cast lazy diagonal shadows across the street. On the main drag, Duval, patrons were sitting at sidewalk cafés drinking coffee and