Her Dying Breath Read Free

at the local TV station as an investigative reporter. No more covering the annual dog pageant or the cornbread festival. Or the Labor Day festivities with the deep-fried Oreos and Twinkies.
    The front doors of the prison suddenly whooshed open, and Nick Blackwood, stepped outside. Her heart stuttered.
    Nick had grown even more handsome and masculine with age. He looked three inches taller, and had developed muscles that hadn’t been there when he was a teen, massive broad shoulders, and a chiseled jaw that made her want to run her finger along it, make him smile.
    The intensity in his dark eyes implied that he was untouchable, though. That cold, angry look screamed that he’d seen the dark side of the world.
    And he hated everyone in it.
    She remembered when he’d joined the military and left town. Had heard he’d joined Special Forces. Even now he exuded that military aura—the steely eyes and focus, the harsh mouth, the cropped haircut, the posture that indicated he was always in control.
    He paused on the steps, adjusted his sunglasses, then scanned the parking lot as if he were searching for someone. She had the uncanny sense that he was always on guard. Always suspicious.
    Always braced for a bullet to come flying at him.
    She took a deep breath and strode toward him, steeling herself for another brush-off.
    “Nick,” she said as she stopped in front of him a second later.
    He heaved an exasperated sigh before she could say anything. “I have no comment for the press, Brenda.”
    She felt a sliver of unease as his gaze swept over her, condemning her to the ranks of lowly civilian.
    Even worse, lowly
female
civilian.
    “I know you and your brother think I’m the bad guy,” she said. “But really, Nick, I just want the story. People in town deserve to know how your father got away with what he did for so long.”
    “Jake gave you the exclusive when we made the arrest,” he answered in a gruff voice.
    “Yes, but I also know you’re looking for other victims, subjects of that experiment. I’d like to interview them, run a personal story on each of their lives and the effects the experiment had on them and their families. The series would garner sympathy for the families and victims.”
    His only reaction was a fine tightening of his mouth. “I’m sorry, but I can’t help you.”
    “But I can help you,” she said, determined to find some common ground.
    He brushed past her, dismissing her, but she grabbed his arm.
    A mistake.
    He stiffened, removed his sunglasses with careful precision, then leveled his cold eyes at her.
    A tingle of awareness she hadn’t expected shot up her spine.
    Brenda instantly dropped her hand, disturbed by the feeling. She could not be attracted to Nick Blackwood.
    “If you won’t talk to me, maybe your father will,” she said, desperate to remain professional. “Maybe he wants to tell his side of the story.”
    Nick wrapped his big, long fingers around her wrist. “I don’t give a damn about his side of the story, Brenda. Lives may be at stake, so take your pretty little ass and go interview the women down at the country club.”
    Rage volleyed through her. His snide comment sounded exactly like something her father would say. “That’s not fair, Nick. I’ve earned my position as an investigative reporter.”
    His gaze darkened. “This is serious business, Brenda.” His voice dropped a decibel. “You have no idea what you’re doing. Leave the police work to the cops.”
    “People have a right to know the truth,” she snapped. “Otherwise, how will the citizens know that you aren’t covering up what your father did, just like he covered it up for years?”
    Anger blazed in Nick’s eyes, betraying him—this cold, harsh man did feel something, after all. In that brief moment, she sensed a well of pain beneath his steely veneer.
    He had been hurt by his father’s actions, shamed by the horrible accusations against Arthur Blackwood.
    Had Nick known or suspected