Her Dying Breath Read Online Free PDF Page B

building.
    Room 7 sat at the end of the row, shrouded in shadows and wedged up against bushes that bordered the woods beyond.
    For the briefest of moments, she considered asking the motel owner to accompany her to the room, but decided to check the room first. If the person who’d texted her had left something inside, the door was probably unlocked.
    Nerves on edge, she scanned the parking lot again, then raked her gaze across the woods and vehicles in the parking lot, looking for someone lurking around to jump her.
    She could already envision the headlines: “Reporter Mutilated at the Slaughter Creek Motel. Body Parts Sent to Arthur Blackwood.”
    What if the person who’d texted her was working for Blackwood and planned to eliminate anyone investigating him? He’d already killed half a dozen people to cover up the project.
    She might be next.
    She slid her hand over the gun in her purse, stiffened her spine, and forged ahead.
    She didn’t intend to die today.
    The gravel in the parking lot crunched beneath her shoes as she crossed to the room, and she looked through the window, but it was too dark to see inside.
    She slowly reached out and touched the doorknob. Just as she’d expected, the knob turned, and the door swung open.
    The room was pitch-black, and an acrid smell assaulted her. She flipped on the light by the door, but it didn’t work, makingher more uneasy, and forcing her to take another step inside the room.
    Vile odors swirled around her, and her stomach churned, her ears honed for the sound of someone inside. She covered her mouth with one hand to keep from gagging and bumped into the lamp on the end table nearest the door.
    Heart racing, she flipped on the lamp, then gasped in horror.
    A naked man lay on the bed, his arms and legs tied to the post. His face and neck were discolored, and a piece of wire was wound around his throat. But it was the wide-eyed terror in his unblinking eyes that would haunt her forever.
    He hadn’t died in his sleep or by his own hand.
    He had been murdered.

    Nick parked at Jake’s, noting the feminine touches Sadie had added to the Victorian house—a wreath of dried grass with spring flowers woven into it, the birdbath, the white bench where Ayla had left a doll, propped up with a toy teacup beside it.
    He couldn’t believe his macho brother, the sheriff of Slaughter Creek, had a little girl. Judging from the few times he’d been around them, Ayla had him wrapped around her little finger, too.
    Just like Sadie had, ever since the summer before their senior year in high school. Their father’s efforts to stop Jake from dating Sadie hadn’t worked.
    Now they both knew Arthur Blackwood’s reasons for trying to keep them apart—he’d been afraid Jake would discover the truth about his project and what he’d done to Amelia.
    Nick knocked on the door, determined to stay on an even keel with Jake. For too many years there’d been a chasm between them. Too bad it had taken the arrest of their father to bring them back together.
    Jake opened the door, a worried look on his face. “Come on in.”
    Nick glanced around for Ayla and Sadie. “Where’s the family?”
    “Ayla’s in bed,” Jake said. “Sadie just left to drive over to Amelia’s studio.”
    “What’s wrong?”
    “Amelia left the facility where she was staying.”
    “Can she do that? Check herself out, I mean?”
    “Yes. No.” Jake raked a hand through his hair. “Patients can leave, but they’re supposed to receive clearance from their therapist first.”
    “Amelia hasn’t been cleared?”
    “Not to leave without supervision.” Jake sighed and led him to the den. “Anyway, Amelia has made progress, and Sadie thought she might show up at the studio.”
    “I hope you find her,” Nick said, hating his father again for the pain he’d caused Sadie and her sister.
    The comfortable leather sofas were Jake’s, but a corner held Ayla’s dollhouse, and he was sure the throw pillows and painting of