Kiss Her Goodbye (A Thriller)

Books by

Robert Gregory Browne

Suspense/Mystery Thrillers

Trial Junkies
 

Down Among the Dead Men

Supernatural Thrillers

Kiss Her Goodbye

Whisper in the Dark

Kill Her Again

The Paradise Prophecy

Short Stories

Speechless (Thriller 3: Love is Murder)

Bottom Deal (Killer Year)

KISS HER GOODBYE

Robert Gregory Browne

This is a work of fiction.

All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

KISS HER GOODBYE

Copyright © 2007, 2012 by Robert Gregory Browne

INTRODUCTION

Copyright © 2012 by CJ Lyons

LIVING THE DREAM

(Afterword)

Copyright © 2012 by Robert Gregory Browne
 

All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

Originally published by

St. Martin's Press

This updated digital edition is

published by

Penname Press

A division of

Braun Haus Media

INTRODUCTION

by

New York Times Bestselling Author

CJ Lyons

Being a thriller writer is the best job in the world. We get to create new worlds, research just about any topic imaginable (including some that might raise eyebrows if the
FBI
ever looked at our browsing history), and send our characters to hell and back…figuratively, and sometimes, as in the case of
Kiss Her Goodbye
, literally.

(Another great perk of being a thriller writer? Someone does me wrong? They end up dead in a book! Best psychotherapy imaginable!)

Believe it or not, there are downsides to being a thriller writer. Perhaps the worst one is that it's really, really hard to read other thrillers when you do have the time to read for fun.

We can't help it. That automatic editor in our head turns on at the first hint of plot foreshadowing. It's like playing high stakes poker and seeing the other players' tells.

We read and think, "I'd do this instead of that," or, "No, don't tell me you're going there! That's the oldest cliché in the world!"

But…when we do find a thriller that draws us into its world, that surprises us with fresh twists and turns, and bonds us with its characters so intimately that we read holding our fist clutched to our heart…talk about a book lover's Nirvana!

It's always a pleasure to recommend those kinds of books to others—so much so that I find I often have to resist the temptation to call them up a few days later and ask, "Did you read it? What did you think? Wasn't it cool how they did…."

Yes, we thriller writers are really just bookaholics at heart. Probably why so many of us turned to writing in the first place—our own favorite writers couldn't keep up with our voracious reading habits.

So, from one bookaholic to another, take it from me,
Kiss Her Goodbye
is one of those kinds of books.

KISS

HER

GOODBYE

For my father, mother and sister

who always supported the dream

And for Leila, Lani and Matthew,

who long ago fulfilled it
 

Part One
CAUSE

1

I
T ALL STARTED
when the pregnant girl went crazy.

 Walt spotted her right away, standing amid the knot of customers who waited out front as he unlocked the doors: nineteen, twenty years old. Belly about to burst. Sweet smile.

 When Walt saw that smile, the first thing that came to mind was Emily. He remembered the fresh-scrubbed look she’d had when she was pregnant with their first child; an effervescence she had carried through to old age; the ability to smile even as Death reached up and put a hammerlock on her heart.

 Walt looked at the girl and felt a choke of emotion bubble up as he swung the doors open. He had loved his wife, but he didn’t really like thinking about her. He’d never been one to dwell on the past, and as sweet as this little lady seemed to be, he felt uncomfortable looking her in the eye.

 She, on the other hand, didn’t seem to have a problem with it. As customers filed past him into the bank, she waited her turn, then let her smile widen as she approached, looking directly at him.

 “Beautiful morning, isn’t it?”

 Her voice had a carefree, I’ve-conquered-the-world lilt to it. The kind only kids her age are able to muster. Walt himself had never been much of a conqueror—as thirty-seven years working security for the same bank easily demonstrated—but he envied those who seemed to feel they were invincible.

 Avoiding the girl’s gaze, he stared out at the sky, which was as blue as Emily’s eyes.

 “Yes, ma’am,” he said. “A morning like this makes me wish I had wings.”

 It didn’t really, but he believed in being polite and the words sounded good. Almost poetic.

 Walt didn’t think it possible, but the girl’s smile grew even wider as she slipped past him, her shoulder brushing against the gray of his uniform.

 He watched her waddle to the counter at the center of the room, where she grabbed a withdrawal slip and began filling it out with deliberate strokes, as if the final result would somehow be worthy of framing.

 Walt realized it wasn’t just her smile that reminded him of Emily. It was everything about her. Her build, the little yellow sundress, the short-cropped hair, the way she kept her purse cocked on her hip as she stood there, all of her concentration centered on the task at hand.

 For just a moment he wished he were young again. Wished he could wipe away all these years without his woman and go back to a time when the only thing that mattered was how much they loved each other. When laughter was a way of life, and a leaky pipe or a pet on the loose or a wrong turn was an adventure rather than a chore. An adventure they shared as comrades-in-arms.

 Try as he might, Walt couldn’t stop thinking about these things. This girl had somehow opened the floodgates and he knew now that her beautiful morning was just the beginning of his bad day.

 Then, it happened.

 As Walt watched, the girl turned slightly. He could see she was still smiling. Then something flickered in her eyes and the smile abruptly disappeared. Clutching her swollen belly, she stumbled back and released a small cry of pain, her withdrawal slip fluttering to the floor.

 Walt went to her and caught her by the shoulders as she started to fall. “You all right, ma’am?”

 “Peachy,” she said.

 This wasn’t even close to the response Walt had expected, but before he could give it too much thought, the girl twisted away from him and brought her hand out of her purse.

 She was holding a Smith & Wesson nine-millimeter.

 Pointed at his sixty-three-year-old paunch.

 All at once the sweetness evaporated, the lilt in her voice replaced by a cold, hard edge.

 “On the floor. Now.”

 At first Walt couldn’t believe it. A pregnant girl was pointing a weapon at him. A
crazy
pregnant girl who no longer reminded him of Emily at all.

 He hesitated, thinking about his own weapon that hung heavy at his side.

 “Now,” the girl said. “Or you
will
have wings.”

 Walt started to move, feeling his old bones creak as he did what he was told. Halfway down, he heard a shout from across the room and immediately recognized Sam’s voice.

 Sam was his partner. A ten-year man with a wife and two cute kids who giggled a lot and called him Uncle Wally.

 “Drop your weapon!” Sam shouted.

 Without even the slightest hesitation, the pregnant girl spun around and leveled the Smith, letting loose two quick shots.

 Walt jerked his head up just in time to see Sam—hand resting on a weapon that hadn’t even cleared its holster—take two bullets to the face and fly backward, landing in a heap on the linoleum.

 It was then that Walt decided to act.

 No thinking, no planning, just action.

 His hand dropped to the butt of his pistol and with a quick jerk he pulled it free.

 But the pregnant girl was too fast.

 As if sensing what he was up to, she spun back around, and this time Walt looked her right in the eye. What he saw there sent a chill through him:

 The gaze of a predator.

 A fierceness that froze him to the spot.

 His weapon was only halfway out of its holster when she pointed the muzzle of the Smith & Wesson at him and squeezed the trigger.

 And the last thing Walter O’Brien thought before the lights went out was
I’m coming, sweetheart.
 

 
See you soon.
 

2

E
VERYONE WAS SCREAMING
. Tellers. Customers. The haughty little banker bitches who sat behind their desks with their oh-so-superior smiles.

 They weren’t smiling now.

 Sara raised the Smith over her head and fired a round into the ceiling, just like Alex had taught her. Gotta let them know right away who’s boss.

 “Everybody down!” she shouted. “Noses to the floor!”

 What a rush.

 She almost let out a giggle, but held back. No time for levity now. This was serious business.

 All around her, people dropped to the floor, keeping their heads down, afraid to look at her for fear she’d put a bullet in somebody’s brain.

 And she would, too.

 No mercy, Alex always said. Show them no mercy. Mercy is a sign of weakness. And weakness will never be respected.

 He was a genius, Alex was. Poet. Philosopher. Mystic. Activist. All the clichés rolled into one.

 Only Alex wasn’t a cliché.

 Alex was the real deal.

 Sara had known that the moment she’d met him back at Knox College. Her roommate, a giggly bitch named Tiffany, had picked him up at The Passion Pit and brought him to their dorm room for a quick tuck and tumble—a guy with a ponytail, no less. But once he laid eyes on Sara, Tiffany ceased to exist. He gave Tiff the quick brush-off, then caught up to Sara in the hallway and invited her outside to smoke a joint.

 Tiffany was miffed, to say the least, standing in their doorway with her famous fuck-you scowl, but Sara didn’t care. This guy had magnetic green eyes that bored into you as he spoke. Like he knew you were really there. Like you weren’t just some hole he was sniffing around, hoping to get lucky.