Free Blake, Her Bad Bear: A Paranormal Bad Boy Romance by Amy Star Page A

I remind him of himself years ago , she realized. That said, he’d been a correspondent in some of the craziest parts of the country. If Samson was agitated, then he had his own hunches he was keeping close to his chest.
    “All right,” Lily agreed quickly, “I can go and check it out. But you have to give me more than that, Samson. What am I supposed to expect? Some sort of investigation?”
    On the other line Samson was quiet for a moment. “We’re reporters, Lily. We seek out facts,” he said, disclaiming something, “so I don’t like to speculate before I know for sure. However, in this case, the sheriff’s department and the local PD have put such a tight rein on any information getting out, a total press shut-down, that it’s difficult—at this point, irresponsible—not to give into a little speculation, for our own well-being. Word is, anyway, there was a murder. High profile, but that’s all I can tell you.”
    Lily gulped again and reflexively slowed the car even further. Her hand had become a claw on the wheel. “Wha-what kind of murder?” she asked stupidly. “I mean, who was it?”
    “Well, you know about the gangs up there,” he said, as if it were self-evident, “word is one of them got picked off. There are conflicting reports. Some say it was an animal. Some say it’s not so clear-cut. That’s why I need you to get up there pronto . You gotta be my eyes and ears on this one, Lil.”
    Lily didn’t realize she had been breathing frantically through her nose and quickly checked herself as she straightened her neck again and trolled past the Beaver Creek sign. “I’m on it,” she said simply. “I’ll keep you informed.”
    “Oh, and Lily,” Samson said before the line went dead, “be careful on this one.”
    Reluctantly, she dropped the phone back onto the seat and plowed forward again. A heavy dose of déjà vu assaulted her when she saw Jack’s, the notorious pub, and the hotel next to it. There were no bikes parked in the front this time, but there was a police cruiser. So Samson’s news had been right about that, at least.
    Pulling into the parking lot of the pub, she reached into the backseat and grabbed her lucky backpack that was always at hand. She hadn’t brought a camera, but at least she had a certified press pass, a tape recorder, and a notepad and pen. But as she grabbed it all, she simply sat in the driver’s seat, unable to get out. Her arms and legs felt paralyzed by something. I came here to deliver news to a biker, she realized, and now I’m on assignment in the same place to figure out why a clandestine police exodus has come here?
    That was too coincidental.
    For all she knew, the police were here because of a murder that had to do with, if not Blake directly, perhaps his gang of Ursa Majors. The term “conflict of interest” crossed her mind, and she buried it again as quickly as she could as she stepped out and headed toward the cruiser. Just then, an officer came out of the pub, a portly sergeant with a clean shaven face that looked like it still had the remnants of baby-fat, and his eyes were bleary. He had his own notepad and was looking it over again as he headed toward his car, and almost didn’t see the young reporter.
    Lily had already sized him up and instinctively reached down, flipping the top button on her cargo pants and pushed her chest out just enough to flash the rim of flesh under her tank-top. The sergeant startled as she appeared in front of him, blocking him in a subtle way from getting to his car.
    “Ah, sorry miss, didn’t see you there,” he said, and made to tip his hat before realizing he had left it in the cruiser.
    “No worries,” she said, putting on a flirtatious voice, one she knew from experience that had a certain spell over men, regardless of whether they were gangland fugitives or upstanding police officers. “I certainly don’t want to get in your way—we don’t often get a lot of cops up here,” she said,