“Maybe you did ask for it,” he said gruffly. “You dogged Jake to report this case from the beginning.”
Brenda’s heart thumped at the intensity in his expression. She had tried to persuade Sadie to talk to her about her grandfather’s murder, but that was because she’d wanted to help her and her sister. Maybe she’d wanted to atone for her less than stellarbehavior in high school. She’d had her own problems back then. She’d been upset over finding out that she was adopted, insecure, but that didn’t excuse her rudeness.
She couldn’t share any of those feelings with Nick, though. “Yes, I did,” she said. “If I hadn’t pursued the story, someone else would have. And they might not have been as easy on Jake as I was.”
“Because you’re still in love with him,” Nick said sharply.
Brenda sucked in a breath. “That’s not true.” In fact, she’d never really been in love with Jake. She’d dated him to fit in, at a time when she felt out of place.
Nick grunted. “Not that it matters to me, but you know he loves Sadie.”
Of course it didn’t matter to him. He didn’t feel anything for her. So why did it hurt so much? “Nick, I wrote the story the way I saw it,” Brenda said. “What your father did wasn’t Jake’s fault or yours.”
He licked his lips, drawing her gaze to his mouth. She chided herself for reacting, but forced herself not to look away.
“Not unless you knew what your father was doing.”
Nick glared at her. “Is that what you think?”
“I don’t know,” she said softly. “But I’m a good listener.”
He cursed. “Yeah, you’ll listen, then plaster my personal thoughts all over the fucking television.”
“No, Nick, that’s not what I meant—”
“Just stay out of my way,” Nick snapped. “And keep your end of the deal.”
Brenda started to assure him she would, but he stalked toward his car without giving her time to reply.
Frustrated, but knowing she’d gleaned all the information she could from him, she motioned to Louis to wrap it up.
Maybe Nick would have some luck with the trace. Meanwhile, she’d try again to open up communication with the killer. Jordan Jennings, the weather girl who’d wanted Brenda’s job, would kill to have this lead.
Brenda didn’t intend to waste it.
Her thumbs quickly typed another text:
Call me and tell me your story.
Maybe she’d arrange a meeting with the killer.
It would be dangerous, but it would be worth it if she uncovered her identity.
Nick fumed as he drove back to his cabin. Damn Brenda Banks.
She was persistent, so pushy that if she were a man, he’d have slugged her for digging into his personal life.
There was no way he would discuss his feelings or past with her or anyone else. Did she really think that he and Jake had known what their father was doing?
It was too late to go to the TBI office, but he’d installed a state-of-the-art computer system linked to their national database at his cabin, so he could do some research tonight.
He wound around the mountain, then turned onto the road to his cabin, grateful he’d found a place close to town but also tucked into the woods for privacy. A small group of cabins had been built on Slaughter Creek years ago, but the builder had nestled them into the trees and situated them miles apart for seclusion.
He parked, crickets chirping as he walked up to his door. Instincts always on alert, he scanned the perimeter and woods beyond for an attacker, but barring the sound of an animal skittering in the bushes, everything seemed quiet.
Forcing thoughts of Brenda from his mind, he let himself inside and flipped on the light. A profiler would have a field day with his obsessive-compulsiveness, the way he kept everything in perfect order. They’d say it was his military training, but Arthur Blackwood had beaten it into him long before he joined the service.
He went to the kitchen and poured a shot of whiskey, then sat down at his office nook and
Brenda’s heart thumped at the intensity in his expression. She had tried to persuade Sadie to talk to her about her grandfather’s murder, but that was because she’d wanted to help her and her sister. Maybe she’d wanted to atone for her less than stellarbehavior in high school. She’d had her own problems back then. She’d been upset over finding out that she was adopted, insecure, but that didn’t excuse her rudeness.
She couldn’t share any of those feelings with Nick, though. “Yes, I did,” she said. “If I hadn’t pursued the story, someone else would have. And they might not have been as easy on Jake as I was.”
“Because you’re still in love with him,” Nick said sharply.
Brenda sucked in a breath. “That’s not true.” In fact, she’d never really been in love with Jake. She’d dated him to fit in, at a time when she felt out of place.
Nick grunted. “Not that it matters to me, but you know he loves Sadie.”
Of course it didn’t matter to him. He didn’t feel anything for her. So why did it hurt so much? “Nick, I wrote the story the way I saw it,” Brenda said. “What your father did wasn’t Jake’s fault or yours.”
He licked his lips, drawing her gaze to his mouth. She chided herself for reacting, but forced herself not to look away.
“Not unless you knew what your father was doing.”
Nick glared at her. “Is that what you think?”
“I don’t know,” she said softly. “But I’m a good listener.”
He cursed. “Yeah, you’ll listen, then plaster my personal thoughts all over the fucking television.”
“No, Nick, that’s not what I meant—”
“Just stay out of my way,” Nick snapped. “And keep your end of the deal.”
Brenda started to assure him she would, but he stalked toward his car without giving her time to reply.
Frustrated, but knowing she’d gleaned all the information she could from him, she motioned to Louis to wrap it up.
Maybe Nick would have some luck with the trace. Meanwhile, she’d try again to open up communication with the killer. Jordan Jennings, the weather girl who’d wanted Brenda’s job, would kill to have this lead.
Brenda didn’t intend to waste it.
Her thumbs quickly typed another text:
Call me and tell me your story.
Maybe she’d arrange a meeting with the killer.
It would be dangerous, but it would be worth it if she uncovered her identity.
Nick fumed as he drove back to his cabin. Damn Brenda Banks.
She was persistent, so pushy that if she were a man, he’d have slugged her for digging into his personal life.
There was no way he would discuss his feelings or past with her or anyone else. Did she really think that he and Jake had known what their father was doing?
It was too late to go to the TBI office, but he’d installed a state-of-the-art computer system linked to their national database at his cabin, so he could do some research tonight.
He wound around the mountain, then turned onto the road to his cabin, grateful he’d found a place close to town but also tucked into the woods for privacy. A small group of cabins had been built on Slaughter Creek years ago, but the builder had nestled them into the trees and situated them miles apart for seclusion.
He parked, crickets chirping as he walked up to his door. Instincts always on alert, he scanned the perimeter and woods beyond for an attacker, but barring the sound of an animal skittering in the bushes, everything seemed quiet.
Forcing thoughts of Brenda from his mind, he let himself inside and flipped on the light. A profiler would have a field day with his obsessive-compulsiveness, the way he kept everything in perfect order. They’d say it was his military training, but Arthur Blackwood had beaten it into him long before he joined the service.
He went to the kitchen and poured a shot of whiskey, then sat down at his office nook and
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