Amber Morn Read Online Free PDF Page B

man’s eyes held John’s for a split second. Then he twisted back to the duffel bag.
    Air gushed from John’s throat. He cleared the last window and jumped out of view.
    Keep moving,
shouted a voice in his brain. He couldn’t stand the sight of Frank’s unprotected head dragging along the cement, but what could he do?
    He checked back over his shoulder, gauging the distance to his car, his cell phone. The Subaru looked a million miles away.
    John’s head swam. Dizziness brushed his limbs. He wasn’t going to make it. If he collapsed on the sidewalk and one of those gunmen stepped out Java Joint’s door…
    Somehow he kept on his feet.
    Halfway down the long block he passed the bait and tackle shop — with a deeply recessed entry. John swiveled into its safety and yanked Frank all the way in.
    Gulping air, John collapsed beside the still form. He leaned back against the hard brick, hardly daring to believe he’d made it this far.
    His vision dimmed.
    He’d just stay here a minute until the dizziness passed. He had to get Frank to his car. Call 911. Drive off this street…
    All energy drained away.
    No, no. Bailey… I have to help Bailey
…
    John’s world faded to black.

FIFTEEN
     
    Bev Trexel saw John disappear past the windows.
    She closed her eyes in fleeting relief. When she’d caught sight of John trying to drag away Frank’s body — the epitome of heroism — Bev’s terror had risen to the point of nausea. She could not imagine Bailey without John. That moment of eye contact between John and the despicable man named Brad still hovered in Bev’s head. She’d been so sure Brad was going to shoot.
    Bev stood toward the front end of the counter next to Angie, who gasped each breath in a sob. Bev’s eyes remained dry — she couldn’t muster the ability to cry. But her legs shook. Her whole
body
shook as she tried to hold up both hands. She felt the blood rushing down her arms, into her shoulders, until both limbs wobbled as if made of straw. Her rational mind knew this nightmare was real, screamed that she’d witnessed Frank West being shot to death. But her heart couldn’t yet comprehend it.
    Bev wanted to look over her shoulder and check on Bailey, standing by herself behind the counter. Had she seen John? But no. It might only draw attention to her, and the mere act of turning her head might upset the little balance to which she clung.
    Her eyes fixed on Brad.
    From the duffel bag he yanked out a long black sheet. Masking tape ran along its top, half of the tape’s width on the fabric. Sections of the tape above the sheet had stuck together, and Brad ripped them apart. He threw a dark glance at their huddled group. “That one?” He jerked his head toward S-Man.
    The thug who had shot Frank turned to S-Man. “Help him hang the sheets. And move fast.” His words came clipped and hard. “You.” He sneered at Pastor Hank. “Get chairs for them to stand on.”
    S-Man glared at him, then strode to the duffel bag and took one end of the sheet. Hank hustled toward the nearest table and chairs. Picked up a chair in each hand. Brad pointed to the window closest to the counter. “Put ’em on either side.”
    Hank obeyed.
    “Hurry up!” Frank’s killer spat. Tension pulsed from him, beating into Bev’s chest.
    Alexander. Abigail. Angela.
Her three grandchildren, ages fourteen to eight. From nowhere, their faces burned into her mind.
Harlon.
Her husband of over forty years.
    Harlon, don’t despair. I’ll get through this
.
    She had to — what would the man do without her? He couldn’t even wash his own laundry.
    “Everybody else line up with her.” Frank’s shooter pointed toward Bailey. His animal-like gaze swung to Bev and hung there. She cringed. “Move it, move it!”
    Line up.
So they all could be shot?
    Bev’s legs moved. Her raised arms collapsed, and she grabbed on to Angie’s shoulders. They clung to each other as everyone scuffled around the counter like a flock of frightened