When Death Draws Near Read Online Free Page A

her throat.
    Still holding the pencil, I moved to the middle of the room, slowly sank to my knees, and bowed my head. “God, I know You have a reason and a purpose for what You do. I also know that doesn’t always make life easy. I just pray . . .” What? God knew everything, even that I would pray right now. So if He already knew the cancer would return, what good was prayer? God knew the outcome. How could anything I prayed for make a difference?
    A cloak of lead settled over my shoulders.
    If your cancer returned so soon after treatment, it’s bound to be a very aggressive cancer. As in metastasized. Stage IV. Eventually—and inevitably—fatal.
    Let’s face it, Gwen. Time isn’t on your side.
    I stayed on my knees until the room was dark. I had to crawl to the sofa to stand again. Slowly rolling the pencil I held between my fingers, I wandered to the window, leaned against the side, and gazed at the street outside. A woman hurried up the sidewalk, occasionally peering over her shoulder. Across the street, two women clutched each other as they scurried past a dark alley. A car parked and a man got out, walked around the vehicle, then helped a woman out. He kept his arm around her shoulders until they reached the well-lit store.
    Pulling the curtains closed, I returned to the table and put the pencil next to the drawing of the John Doe. I needed to get out of this room. Go for a walk. I snatched up my purse and a jacket.
    Ina Jo was still at the front desk.
    “I thought you were about to get off work,” I said.
    “I was,” she whispered, then pointed behind the counter. I leaned over to see her baby sleeping in a car seat on the floor. “My replacement didn’t show. And the sitter isn’t answering her phone. I left word, but it’s just my luck.” She noticed my jacket. “Going out for dinner?”
    “Going out for a walk.”
    “Um, I’m not so sure that’s safe. What with all the . . . you know.”
    I knew all too well. “I need the exercise. Don’t worry. I’m armed.” Even though it wasn’t a pistol, but pepper spray and deadly accuracy at kicking men where it counted. And I just might enjoy using that pepper spray, and kick, on someone right now. Give that rapist a whupping.
    I shoved down the thought.
    “Oh, that’s right, you’re that expert art lady with Sheriff Reed.”
    The entire town seemed to know the sheriff had brought me here. Again the prickle of unease tapped me on the neck. Why did the sheriff bring me all the way from Montana to Kentucky, then want to send me right back?
    “Well, if you decide to eat,” Ina Jo said, “up yonder you’ll find a good place. Go out the front door, turn right, another right at the corner, two blocks up, and turn left. Can’t miss it.”
    I thanked her and left.
    The late-October evening breeze had an apple-crisp snap. Amber and rust leaves rustled underfoot, with streetlights spotlighting the sidewalk. I focused on the sights and smells, pushing down thoughts of the earlier phone calls. I walked over to the suggested eatery, but the smell of fried food made me gag. Turning to the empty street heading back to the hotel, I tucked my hands into the pockets of my jacket.
    A car engine revved and tires squealed on the pavement behind me. I glanced back.
    A pair of blinding headlights barreled straight toward me.
    I hurdled my body left, rolled, and smashed against the brick storefront.
    The black truck roared past, missing me by inches, and raced around the corner.
    I lay on the sidewalk, heart pounding, unable to move for a moment. The smell of the spinning tires burned my nose. The street was empty. No witnesses.
    Shaking, I shoved off the ground and leaned against the building. I’d scraped my hands and knees and ripped my pants. The contents of my purse had spilled across the sidewalk. I slowly gathered everything up.
    Limping, I made my way back to the hotel. I could phone Clay and tell him someone had attempted to run me down. Or was it a drunk