Free The Dying Game by Beverly Barton Page A

you back off and leave protecting a witness to the FBI.”
    The corners of Griff’s lips twitched, a hint of amusement in the expression. “Special Agent Baxter explained to Ms. Hughes the benefits of allowing the FBI to safeguard her. But when I offered her not only the security of my home and my protection, but a job, too, Barbara Jean agreed that my offer was more acceptable to her.”
    Lindsay wondered just what sort of job Griff had offered the woman. Apparently, providing her a position with the Powell Agency had tipped the scales in his favor. Knowing Griff as she did, she had no doubt that he would create a position for Ms. Hughes if that’s what it took to secure her safety within the Powell compound. And an added bonus would be one-upping Special Agent Baxter. Even though Curtis Jackson hadn’t been happy to encounter Griff and his agents at every turn during the past three years, he and Griff had managed to remain cordial to each other. But with Nic Baxter and Griff, cordiality didn’t come into play. Lindsay wondered how Griff would react if she suggested he allow her to deal with Nic during this case and for him to steer clear of the lady.
    “Just answer one question for me—did the sister see the killer?” Judd asked.
    Griff grimaced. “She’s not sure.”
    “What do you mean she’s not sure?”
    “Look, this is not the time or the place to have this discussion.”
    Judd shrugged off Griff’s grasp. The two men stood almost eye to eye. Judd did have to glance up a bit to make direct eye contact since Griff was a couple of inches taller.
    “If you didn’t want me here, why send your Girl Friday to fetch me?” Judd’s upper lip curled in a snarl.
    “Damn it!” Griff cursed under his breath. “If you want to take an active part in this investigation, then shape up, stay sober, and treat the people who are trying to help you as if they have feelings.”
    Lindsay’s cheeks warmed. Griff was talking about her and they all knew it.
    “And if I really just don’t give a damn anymore?” Judd’s tense stance eased slightly.
    “You give a damn,” Griff told him. “If you didn’t, you wouldn’t be here. So listen up—stop wallowing in self-pity and start acting like a civilized human being.”
    Judd bristled. Lindsay could all but hear the thundering roar of anger rushing through his body. She braced herself for the worst.
    Without warning, the sound of soft weeping caught their attention, and for a split second Lindsay was grateful that something—anything—had diffused the mounting tension between the two men. The last thing she wanted was to have to put herself between Griff and Judd.
    Nic Baxter escorted an auburn-haired, wheelchair-bound woman out of the ICU waiting room. Barbara Jean Hughes held her head high as she patted her damp cheeks with a handkerchief that Lindsay instantly recognized as one of Griffin Powell’s. The large embroidered black “P” on the edge of the expensive linen was a dead giveaway.
    As the FBI agent and the victim’s sister approached, Lindsay studied Barbara Jean. Attractive, but not classically pretty. Neat. Slender. Delicate. Probably in her early forties.
    In contrast, Nic was tall—very tall—with an Amazonian, hourglass-shaped body, and was a decade younger than the other woman. One thing for sure, no one would ever use the word delicate to describe Special Agent Nicole Baxter.
    “That’s the sister, right?” Judd said, and before anyone realized his intentions, he stepped directly in front of Barbara Jean’s wheelchair and confronted her. “Did you see him? Can you can give us a description of the man who killed your sister, the same man who killed my Jenny?” Judd leaned down, grasped the arms of her wheelchair and demanded, “If you don’t help us now, he’ll kill another woman before we can stop him. Is that what you want?”
    Reacting immediately, Nic Baxter came around the side of the wheelchair, straight toward Judd. But before she