The Killer of Cancer Rising by Torena O’Rorke

Author:Torena O’Rorke
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Strategic Book Publishing and Rights Co.

CHAPTER 13

The rosy dawn streamed through the cracks of the blinds, creating a soft pattern of pink rectangles on the hotel’s otherwise dingy carpet. When the clock radio began to bleep its irritating reminder, Christian stirred, immediately noticing the beginning pangs of a headache. She’d left Daniel’s room around eleven. He had fallen asleep in his clothes, after making a feeble pass at her. She had sat there, watching him sleep for a few more minutes, running the next day’s scenario over and over in her mind. Eventually she’d traipsed back to her hotel room with Bear, thankful for the single shot of tequila, for sleep was finally her friend.

She took a leisurely shower and washed her hair, careful not to scrub too hard. She’d colored her hair an ebony hue. The semi-permanent product was guaranteed to last through six washings, but she didn’t want to take any chances. Drying briskly, she gazed at her reflection, deciding against bronzer and mascara. She wanted to appear freshly scrubbed and innocent. Twisting her wet hair into a smooth knot at the nap of her neck, she pulled on the calf-length frumpy denim skirt and high-collared white blouse over the thick cotton undergarments. The legs of the Mormon symbol of purity rolled up on the ends. At least the Saint’s short-sleeved top clung to her skin, supporting her breasts. The brassiere with cups the size of small melons was made lopsided when she slipped her cell phone into the lining of the monstrosity.

Pulling on her cowboy boots, the nervous probation officer slipped on her neoprene jacket, making sure to discard any indication of her proper name or profession. She had borrowed an old driver’s license from a friend with the Richland Police Department, who’d found it while cleaning out some files. Her false name was Joslyn Allred, and, according to the I.D., she was thirty-five years old.

Christian opened the door to an astonishing magenta sky. Smudges of gold and mandarin were slightly visible as the sun, shy to its own flamboyance, crawled slowly up the voluminous wall of pink. The air was chilly and bit at her exposed skin. She’d turned on the weather channel as the coffeemaker dripped its caffeine fix. Snow was expected in the mountains and chains were advised.

After whispering a prayer, she stuffed a handful of dried rattlesnake strips into her coat pocket at the last minute. The probation officer closed her suitcase and, with dog and case in tow, left the hotel room.

By the time she’d reached his door, her skin already felt clammy under her thick woolen cardigan sweater. Against her left breast, the cell phone left a square shape, which she attempted to readjust from time to time. Her snakeskin boots skimmed the top of her skirt, so that only her hands and face were visible. She felt prim and righteous, especially after she’d added the garish gold cross that she’d received one Christmas from her cousin, Father Pete.

She knocked on Daniel’s door. After a few minutes, he opened it, looking both sheepish and exhausted.

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