Free The Dying Game by Beverly Barton Page A

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 could reach him, Griff clamped his hands down on Judd’s shoulders and yanked him away from Barbara Jean. She stared wide-eyed and mouth agape at the man who had accosted her.
    Judd jerked free, barreled around, and lifted his fists to attack Griff. Acting purely on instinct, Lindsay stepped in between the two big men. From out of nowhere, Rick Carson appeared behind Griff. Apparently, he had been only a few steps behind Nic and Barbara Jean.
    Griff bristled. The skin tightened over his sharp cheekbones and his ice blue eyes squinched with anger.
    Judd froze to the spot and glared at Lindsay, her intervention acting as the deterrent she had hoped it would. Apparently, Judd wasn’t so far gone that he would actually resort to hitting her.
    “Get Mr. Walker under control or I will,” Nic told Griff.
    Griff motioned for Lindsay to move, then when she did, he locked his fierce gaze to Judd’s. “Is that what you want? You want to be taken into custody by the FBI?”
    Judd didn’t respond verbally, simply loosened his tightly fisted hands and