The Dying Game Read Online Free PDF Page B

and apprehending serial killers is the bureau’s job, not a game for some know-it-all private dick?”
    Griff cocked one eyebrow and gave her a blistering glare. “Where’s Special Agent Jackson?”
    When the corners of Nic’s mouth lifted ever so slightly in a hint of a smile, he knew he wasn’t going to like her answer. “Curtis retired last month. Didn’t your mole in D.C. tell you?”
    Shit!
    Special Agent Curtis Jackson had been in charge of the Beauty Queen Killer case from the very beginning, heading up the FBI task force. He had liked and respected Jackson. A guy in his late fifties, with years of experience and a macho attitude that matched Griff’s, Jackson and he had gotten along just fine, even though the guy never shared any info with him and had warned him repeatedly to keep his nose out of federal business. Griff kept a professional profiler on the Powell Agency payroll. But despite having a likely description of their culprit, they were no closer to apprehending this monster than they had been three years ago. He suspected it was the same for the FBI.
    Nicole Baxter had come in on the case as a five-year veteran of the bureau, and although she’d graduated at the top of her class at Quantico, she’d had little field experience. From the moment they first met, she and Griff had mixed like oil and water. He didn’t like women who tried to prove that they were better at everything than men were. Maybe Special Agent Baxter wasn’t a die-hard feminist, but she came close enough to filling the bill.
    “If Jackson retired, does that mean you’ve taken over the Beauty Queen Killer case?” Griff knew, but he had to ask.
    She nodded. “That’s right. I’m heading up the task force now.”
    “Is there any way we can bury the hatchet and work together?”
    “Only if I can bury it in your back.”
    Griff let out a quiet yet dramatic groan. “You’re not going to give an inch, are you, honey?” He tacked on the generic endearment because he knew it would piss her off.
    She glowered at him. “I can be reasonable, honey.”
    “You can’t prove it by me.” He shouldn’t have mouthed off, but couldn’t help himself. She brought out the worst in him and apparently he did the same for her.
    “Keep insulting me and see where that gets you.”
    “I guess I should apologize.”
    “That would be nice.”
    Damn, she actually expected him to grovel. “All right. I apologize.”
    She flopped her hand across her heart. “How sincere.”
    “It’s all you’re going to get. Take it or leave it.” Griffin Powell didn’t grovel. Not for anyone. Not ever again. He’d rather die first.
    “Look, if you’re willing to acknowledge that this is my case, that I’m the one who calls the shots and makes the decisions, I won’t cut your balls off and hand them to you on a silver platter.”
    Go to hell, bitch had been on the tip of his tongue. “In order to safeguard my balls, what do I have to do, sign an oath in blood that I’ll stay out of your way?”
    “Don’t tempt me.”
    “Believe me, Special Agent Baxter, I would never intentionally tempt you.”
    Nic groaned. “ Believe me , you have nothing to worry about on that count.”
    He held out his hand, offering her a truce. “Let’s agree to disagree. I’ll stop hoping for cooperation from you, and you don’t put up any roadblocks in my path.”
    She stared at his hand as if it were a poisonous snake, then reluctantly shook hands with him. A quick, let’s-get-this-over-with exchange.
    “If you start interfering, our deal is off. Understand?”
    He nodded. He understood all right; he just wasn’t sure how long he could play nice in the sandbox with this particular she-cat.
    Seemingly satisfied, Nic nodded toward the ICU waiting area. “The woman in there is Barbara Jean Hughes. She’s Gale Ann Cain’s older sister and the one who found her only moments after she was attacked and left for dead.”
    Griff’s gut instincts kicked into play.