Free Die Again Tomorrow by Kira Peikoff Page A

reading. She smiled at them on her way to the beach. When they smiled back, she wondered if anyone recognized her.
    The glittering blue expanse of the ocean lay five blocks ahead. She walked fast, eager to let the waves wash away the disturbing thought intruding on her good mood: A man named Robbie Merriman was counting on her cancer diagnosis.
    Every quarter, he requested an update of her medical records, just like he did for every other “life” he owned. According to Richard Barnett, that was standard practice. Merriman kept tabs so he could update his death forecasts. Business as usual.
    But how would he react when he learned about her surgery? The report with the news had gone out to him a week ago—and she hadn’t slept well since.
    By circumventing her genetic fate, was she ripping him off?
    It wasn’t like she had signed a contract promising not to seek medical treatment. No one could blame her. Yet he was no longer going to get what he paid handsomely for—and she wasn’t about to offer a refund.
    Maybe it was all in her mind, but in the last few days, she’d gotten the creepy sense that someone was watching her. A strange tingling crept over her at random moments, when she was sitting in her mother’s backyard hammock, or ringing up a customer at the bookstore, or picking out apples at the grocery store. But when she looked over her shoulder, no one was there.
    She hadn’t told anyone because there was nothing to tell. She just needed to shake it off, hit the waves. She quickened her step and turned off Duval Street, down a narrow alley that was a popular shortcut to the sea. The walls of adjacent buildings towered on either side of her, leaving a footpath about eighteen inches wide. Her sandals slapped the dusty asphalt as her arms began to wilt from the heavy board. She paused to let it drop for a second—and that was when the light dimmed.
    A shadow behind her blocked the entrance to the alley.
    Her heart lurched. She turned around to see an imposing man in his forties standing four feet away, smiling at her. He was wearing khaki shorts and a wifebeater that did little to conceal his hairy chest. His gaze lowered from her face to her ample cleavage. He kept one hand in his pocket.
    She lifted her surfboard to block her chest. “Can I help you?”
    His smile widened. He stepped toward her. “You’re the girl.”
    She backed away, her sandals scraping the ground. “No, I don’t think so.”
    A hit man wouldn’t come right up in broad daylight.
    â€œYes, you are,” he said, rummaging in his pocket. “I’d recognize you anywhere.”
    Would he?
    When he pulled his hand out, something silver glinted, and in a split second she found herself running, sprinting as fast as possible with her surfboard toward the other end of the alley. The bright sunshine and open road beckoned.
    â€œHey!” he called, approaching fast behind her. “Wait! Isabel!”
    Her name coming out of his mouth sent a shock through her, but she kept running. When she reached the public street near the ocean’s crowded boardwalk, she was surprised to hear his footsteps still closing in on her.
    â€œWhat do you want?” she screamed, whirling around to face him. Several people nearby turned to stare. She raised her surfboard like a shield.
    He can’t stab me in front of witnesses.
    A flustered look crossed his face as he stopped short. He held up his palms as though he didn’t mean any harm, and she got a better look at the threatening silver thing in his hand. It was a pen. He held it out like a peace offering.
    â€œSorry, I just wanted an autograph.”
    â€œOh.” She slowly lowered her board, feeling her cheeks flush. The realization solidified into a relief that left her shaky and drained. Around them, the gawkers lost interest and resumed their conversations.
    â€œIs that cool?” he said, after a pause.
    â€œUh,