The Gender Experiment: (A Thriller)
listed, but her condo number was not.
    Footsteps made her look up. The man who’d pulled in ahead of her had parked and was walking back. An older guy with a permanent golfer’s tan. He probably wanted to know why she’d snuck in behind him and what she was doing. Taylor scrambled for something plausible to say and rolled down her window. “I’m looking for Bonnie Yost. She knew my mother when she was pregnant. Now that my mother’s gone, I’m trying to figure out some things.” True, but Taylor had a flash of guilt for using the dead-mother card.
    The man hesitated for a full five seconds. Finally, he pointed at the third cluster of condos on the left. “On the end, farthest from the gate. That’s her Volkswagen in the driveway.”
    “Thank you.”
    Taylor rolled up the window, waited for him to get into his car, and drove toward Bonnie’s home.
    Loud knocking didn’t bring anyone to the door. Taylor called out Bonnie’s name and waited. Maybe she was out for a walk or playing golf. The mint-colored VW bug in the driveway suggested she was home though. Taylor hurried around the side of the condo and peered over the short white fence. Bonnie wasn’t in her small backyard either.
    Taylor decided to get something to eat, then try again. Back in her car, she took a few deep breaths and called Zion. Warning him that he could be in danger suddenly seemed more urgent. His phone rang six times and went to voicemail.
Please let him be okay.
Taylor introduced herself, then left a message, stammering her way through an explanation and trying not to sound paranoid: “I need to talk to you about your birth, and it’s best if we meet in person. This is a little complicated…” She trailed off, then plunged in again. “I’m worried because you’re one of the marked names, and I think you’ll be targeted. I’m sorry to sound dramatic, but I think your life could be in danger. Please call me.”
    Relieved that she’d finally done the right thing, she drove to a KFC she’d spotted earlier. Taylor took her time and ate a chicken breast and coleslaw, one of her only fast food weaknesses, then headed back to the Greens. After twenty minutes of waiting, another car came through and opened the security gate. Taylor followed it in and drove straight to Bonnie’s place, as if she belonged.
    While she walked to the door, she pulled off her sweater and tied it around her waist. The day was warming up. Bonnie didn’t respond to her knock. On impulse, Taylor stepped off the porch and peeked through the window, in case Bonnie was napping on the couch or had headphones on.
    Oh god.
The old woman was sprawled on the floor looking lifeless, and a lot of blood had spilled from her head into the pale carpet. Heart pounding, Taylor ran to her car, climbed in, and locked the doors.
Damn!
This was bad. What now? Her chest hurt, and she couldn’t get enough oxygen into her body.
Just get away!
It was all she could think. She backed out of the driveway and turned toward the entrance.
Be calm. Don’t speed. Don’t draw attention
. Hands slick with sweat, she gripped the wheel and drove through the gate after it opened automatically.
    Someone had killed Bonnie to keep her from talking. Someone who might kill Taylor too. She knew she should call the police, but the idea terrified her. The cops might think she murdered the receptionist, because they always suspected the person who found the body. They would take her into a little room for intense questioning. She couldn’t handle that. If she told the truth and mentioned the list, they might send her to a psych ward. Her mother had been institutionalized against her will for a few months and had come home a different person. She’d killed herself a year later.
    Taylor wasn’t taking that kind of chance. She would stop and make an anonymous 911 call in case Bonnie was still alive, then find another way to figure this out.

Chapter 4
    Wednesday, Oct. 12, 8:15 p.m., Denver
    Jake Wilson
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