When the Dead Speak, Bailey Bradford [new ebook reader .TXT] 📗

out, and was going to say something. I wish he had, God damn it! I wish that was all he’d done.” So many thoughts and emotions were pulsing through him that Laine couldn’t seem to focus on any one. He was vaguely aware of the two men across from him muttering and rubbing their arms against the dropping temperature. “You going to tell me that McAlister is still in Houston?”

Rich scrubbed his arms harder and shook his head. “Nope. I came back later that day we first talked, and my notepad was gone, and McAlister’s desk looked too neat and clean. Asked around the next day when the guy didn’t show up for work, turns out he took an emergency leave of absence. That set off the rest of the alarms in my head. And with that file there that Matt gets to rewrite, I’m betting, though I wished to God I was wrong, that the son of a bitch has already found you—and Severo.”

Laine had his cell phone out and was already punching in Zeke’s number before Rich finished. He needed to let him know that they were all in danger now.

“Is it just me, or is it freezing in here?” Rich directed the question to Matt while Laine spoke in low, urgent tones on the phone.

Matt looked around the room, his eyes widening with a sudden insight. “Shit! This is what happened to Severo in his hotel room! Uh…” Matt felt the flush crawl up his neck. “Conner? Could you maybe back off a bit? We can’t go after this fucker if we’re Popsicles.”

Rich started to say something snarky, Matt could see it in the man’s expression. Then he noticed that the room had warmed, and he still said something snarky. “Well, lookie there, McKinton’s got its own homegrown ghost whisperer. Maybe you’ll get a show on Syfy.”

Matt wanted to knock the jackass’s teeth down his throat, or maybe ask Conner to freeze Montoya’s balls at the very least, but Laine finished his call and smacked a hand on the desk. That was the only reason, Matt told himself, that he didn’t kick Mr. Houston PD’s stuck-up ass.

“Let’s get moving. Matt, hurry up and fix that report. Call me as soon as it’s done. We’ve got to get McAlister before he hurts anyone else.”

It was on the tip of Matt’s tongue to tell the sheriff the report could wait, but he saw that determined look in the man’s eyes and nodded. He’d get the damned report fixed in record time. He had a feeling catching this son of a bitch was going to be harder than any of them suspected.

* * * *

He watched through binoculars as Detective Montoya walked out of the Sheriff’s Department with Laine and felt a fury rising up inside that threatened to make him act rashly. Discovering Laine had a lover had nearly tipped him over the edge, but he was, in retrospect, glad he hadn’t hurt the little fag—he wasn’t the type to be savored. When that burst of anger had died down, his path had seemed so clear. Let Laine worry that his lover was in danger. That would be a distraction that would make Laine vulnerable.

He wouldn’t make the same mistake he had years ago, though. Laine’s lover was safe, for now at least. This time, no one but Laine would do. And his former partner wasn’t going to be able to do a thing to stop it.

So, Montoya thinks he’s come to save the day. Not gonna happen, asshole. The Houston detective might have figured out who and what he was, but there was no proof, he’d made sure of that. Nothing incriminating would be found if his home or office was searched, no trophies or mementos from past conquests. He’d been meticulous when the need to satisfy his hunger had to be met. Three years he’d waited, finding poor substitutes for the man he really wanted, but he’d finally have Laine, and he’d take his time. When Laine Stenley gasped his last breath, he’d know without a doubt who he belonged to, who had stolen his soul and mastered his body.

I’ve learned so much more in the past three years, and oh, Laine, I’m going to enjoy showing you the ways I can bring you so close to death and then pull you back. It will be good for me, and so bad for you—and it will be very soon, I promise.

Chapter Eleven

Sev tried not to hover as Zeke talked to Laine on the phone, but with every grunt from Zeke’s lips, and the way the man’s shoulders were tensing up, his frown deepening, Sev found himself drawn closer, though he tried not to be obvious about it. Brendon didn’t even try to be subtle. He walked over to his partner and gestured to the phone, his face scrunched up as he tried to hear what Laine was saying. Zeke reached for Brendon and pulled him close, rubbing Brendon’s back as Zeke listened intently. Sev would have thought it sweet if he wasn’t certain that the news Laine was imparting was bad, as in deadly, dangerous bad. It was hard to think happy thoughts when there was a psycho after you—or your lover. Zeke grunted again, then held the phone out to Sev.

“Here. He wants to talk to you.” The twitch of Zeke’s lips warned Sev the man was planning on doing some eavesdropping of his own. Well, it wasn’t like they were going to have phone sex—not this time, anyway.

“Hey, Laine, are you okay?” Sev closed his eyes. God, he sounded like a wuss.

“Yeah, I just wanted to make sure everything was fine there.” Laine’s voice was a deep rumble that had Sev’s cock twitching despite the worry pressing down on him.

“And what else? What’s going on?”

“My former partner from Houston PD showed up. He thinks he knows who killed Conner, and why.”

Sev’s eyes popped open and he turned his back on the