Free Dying for Her: A Companion Novel (Dying for a Living Book 3) by Kory M. Shrum Page A

massive camera on her shoulder, was already positioning herself behind the man for filming.
    “Agent Brinkley,” the reporter said. “I’m Hal Hemsworth with Channel 6 News. What can you tell us about what happened here tonight?”
    “We are not sure about the details yet, Mr. Hemsworth, but it appears that a young woman was shot. It will very likely be ruled homicide.”
    “Gun violence has been nonexistent in the prominent Lafayette Square district. Is this a new trend?”
    Gun violence is a problem all over St. Louis , I thought. Rich neighborhoods were no exception.
    I flashed a restrained grin. “I’m no real estate expert, Mr. Hemsworth. Though this looks like a hate crime. Those usually target people, not locations.”
    The black man’s back stiffened. “A hate crime?”
    “Yes,” I said. “The young woman may have been targeted for her medical condition.”
    “Was she NRD-positive, sir?”
    “That is what we have heard.”
    The man turned to the camera then as if I wasn’t there. “Once a public safety concern, now a medical marvel, NRD-positive refers to a neurological disorder that allows certain individuals to resurrect from death, assuming their brain was not damaged in the death itself.”
    I disliked the word resurrect , which definitely had a horror film ring to it, but I didn’t correct him. After all, I wasn’t part of the 2% who has this disorder, so who was I to speak for the Necronites? I sure as hell wasn’t much of a champion for their cause. Sure, I was trying to find the ones falling through the cracks, but I was no legislator. I was trying to keep them alive and accounted for. That had nothing to do with improving their quality of life.
    “So she was shot in the head?” The camera girl asked. The newsman froze.
    “It’s fine, we can voice over the clip,” he said, his showman face dropping away. “So the young woman was shot in the head?” the newsman asked in the same rehearsed voice as if the girl had not even spoken.
    “That is correct,” I said. I was looking at the girl and wondering what her interest was. The pained look on her face, what was it saying? This petite, pretty little blonde. Did she have NRD? Was she grateful she could pass? Or was she just pissed to be upstaged by a man and talked over.
    I gritted my teeth and stepped back from the crew. “Unfortunately, that is all the information I have at this time.”
    “What a tragedy,” the newsman said, but he spoke to the large insectile eye of the camera. Not to me.
    Yes , I thought. But more than a tragedy. It tightened my guts. My girls—and I had come to think of Maisie and Rachel as my girls—were not safe. Their conditions were known and public. They could not hide. And the longer they were out there, missing, the slimmer the chance I could bring them back in one piece.

Chapter 17
    36 Weeks
    I ’m sitting on the back porch with Jackson, finishing off a case of Rogue and watching the sun go down.
    “You need to tell her,” she says.
    “You need to cut your yard,” I say. “Do you even have a lawnmower?”
    “If you don’t tell Jesse, she’ll never forgive you.”
    I snort. “You act like I deserve forgiveness. We both know that’s not true.”
    “She’s going to find out about Maisie and it will go over better if it comes from you,” she says and lifts the brown neck of the bottle to her lips again.
    “If I’m going to tell her about Maisie,” I say and scuff the bottom of my boots against the little stoop. “Then I should tell her about Aziz too. Hell, I should throw in Gideon. And let’s not forget her father.”
    I take another swig of my beer and feel the last of the foam slide down my throat.
    “He said I’m making her ready for him,” I confess. “That it’s my fault she is what she is.”
    “Jesse is a good kid,” Jackson says. “You can take credit for that if you want.”
    “No, I can’t,” I say and look up at the sky. “But you can’t deny that he’s right.