First to Kill by Andrew Peterson Page A

“I’ve seen this before. It’s pretty bad. It fuses the denim to your skin.”
    “They’ll kill me!”
    “Your concern should be more immediate,” Harv said.
    After a minute or so, the odor of burned cooking oil drifted into the room.
    Knife jerked against the chair. “Son of a bitch. You motherfuckers.”
    “Warming up nicely,” Nathan said.
    “Son of a bitch, son of a bitch!”
    “I’m going to tape your mouth. I just can’t stand the sound of a grown man screaming.” Harvey jammed the tape over Knife’s mouth and pulled his Predator from its ankle sheath.
    Knife’s eyes grew.
    “Hold still,” Harv said, and cut a slit in the tape.
    The tape hissed with each breath Knife took.
    Nathan returned into the kitchen. With the frying pan’s handle protected with a dish towel in one hand and a small cup of water in the other, he approached the bound men. Blue-gray smoke belched from the pan’s black surface.
    Knife began whipping back and forth, nearly toppling his chair.
    Nathan stood in front of Knife and held the pan six inches above his lap. He poured an ounce of water onto its flat surface. The liquid burst to life in a macabre dance of boiling rivulets that hissed and sizzled like tortured snakes.
    * * *
    Out in the van, Holly Simpson held her breath.
     

Chapter  7
    “Last chance,” Nathan said. “Are your cousins really worth it? Do you think they’d take this kind of pain for you?”
    Knife shook his head.
    “Are you ready to talk about the cabin?”
    He closed his eyes and nodded.
    Nathan tossed the pan aside. It simmered on the wet carpet, belching steam. He tore the tape from Knife’s mouth. “Well?”
    “It’s three hours from here. Up Highway Seventy near Quincy.”
    “What’s the address?”
    “It don’t have an address.”
    “You’re going to show us where it is. Is there anything else we should know about?”
    “That’s it man, I swear. I don’t know nothing else.”
    Nathan knew when someone was lying to him. It was hard to describe. Maybe it was in the eyes, or micro changes in body language, but whatever it was, it didn’t matter. This guy was holding something back, something he was willing to risk a great deal of pain over.
    “Okay,” Nathan said. “This isn’t personal, you understand that, right? I’m just doing my job.” He walked behind Knife’s chair and began cutting the duct tape. He sensed the man relax a little. Good. Now take it away. He stopped cutting the tape and grunted as though something wasn’t quite right. “What about the cash?” he whispered in Knife’s ear.
    Knife stiffened a little.
    “The cash,” Nathan said, watching Knife’s reaction. A bull’s-eye. A direct hit. Knife gave it away as clearly as a kid who looks down after peeing his pants. Cash. Emergency money. Probably lots of it, and without a doubt, it was hands-off as far as these two mutts were concerned. It made perfect sense. The Bridgestones probably had stashes all over the place. The Bridgestones were many things, but stupid wasn’t one of them. They hadn’t been able to come here because the FBI stakeout had started before the raid on the compound.
    “There’s no cash,” Knife said, but it sounded weak, unconvincing.
    Nathan shook his head and looked at Fork, who was nodding furiously. “I think your brother has something to tell us.”
    Nathan yanked the tape from Fork’s mouth.
    “It’s buried near the garage. Leonard told us if we ever touched it, he’d kill us.”
    Knife glared at his brother with pure hatred in his eyes.
    “Your bro here sounds upset,” Nathan said. “I’m a little disappointed you didn’t mention it earlier, Billy.”
    “Look man, I’m sorry, I wanted to, I really did. You don’t understand, they said they’d kill us. Our cousins are crazy.”
    Nathan faced Knife. “It’s simple, really. If anything happens to your beloved cousins, like life imprisonment or death, the cash would be yours, right? They’d be out of the