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

nodded again. Brendon got it. Laine picked up his Stetson from the hutch and put it on.

“So what makes it okay, then?” Zeke sounded confused, and a little exasperated.

“I’ll check in off and on,” Laine informed them as he opened the door.

“You do that,” came from Zeke, with Brendon chiming in, “Of course you will.”

“Now, Zeke, how would you feel if a psycho had killed your lover years ago, and was back, and you’d just found the love of your life?” Laine heard Brendon explain as he shut the door.

Yep, Brendon got it.

* * * *

Matt snagged his cell phone out of its belt clip as he pulled into his usual parking spot, not even checking the number, knowing intuitively it would be his boss.

“Morning, Sheriff.”

“Yeah. Matt, where are you?”

“In the parking lot at work, why? Something wrong?” No one was late yet…

“I don’t know. I can’t get hold of Rich, his cell is going straight to voicemail and no one is answering the phone in his room. Might be nothing, he could be at the café, or… Shit. Can you go check? You can get there before me.”

An icy dread had settled over Matt. He tried to tell himself he was a melodramatic idiot, but he couldn’t shake it as he shifted into reverse and turned around, heading for the hotel. “Well, he’s a city boy, maybe he— I just passed the café, his car isn’t there.” And that bad feeling was growing, weighing on Matt until he wondered how he could breathe.

“Shit. Matt, I don’t like this. No matter what you think, Rich is a smart cop. He wouldn’t turn his phone off or let the battery die, and he wouldn’t do anything else irresponsible. You two may hate each other, but he’s—”

Matt’s gut clenched hard as he pulled in at the hotel. “I know, I do. We’re just different. Fuck, Laine,” Matt dropped the title, propriety be damned. “His car isn’t here, either.” Matt unbuckled and opened the door, shutting it quietly behind him.

“You stay right there. I’ll be there in under ten minutes. I’m going to hang up and keep trying Rich’s cell. You try the room number. I’ll text it to you.”

“I got it. I followed Rich back last night and made sure he had my numbers and yours, and vice versa.” He hadn’t wanted to admit doing so. It might give Laine the wrong idea, like that Matt and Rich would ever get along. They wouldn’t. Matt had only followed Rich back because it occurred to him, belatedly, that they should have one another’s cell numbers in case of an emergency. That was all there had been to it.

“Good, that’s good. Wait for me there—and don’t go near his room.”

Matt grunted and hung up, one hand raised to bang on Rich’s door. Well, he was already here before he was told any different, so…what the heck. Maybe he’d wake Rich up, and they’d laugh about it later.

The door whipped open and Matt was jerked inside. The door was kicked closed and his arm wrenched around his back. He was spun and his face slammed into the door with enough force that he saw a brilliant explosion of stars. His gun was been stripped away from him, then his face met the door again, knocking the stars away and filling his vision with a dimming gray. Before he could even hope to orient himself, Matt was turned around again to face his attacker. A sharp pain ripped through his stomach, up toward his chest, and he tried to scream through the hand clamped over his mouth.

“Shut up, you God damned pussy, you won’t die from that…yet.”

Matt blinked, trying to clear his vision, then wished he hadn’t. McAlister. Oh God, Rich! The face peering at him was devoid of emotion, and the eyes… Matt wanted to look away, look anywhere but at this man, but the hand clamped over his mouth kept him from turning away.

“Now, I know that Sheriff Stenley is on his way, you were loud enough to wake the dead.” McAlister laughed and brought a hand covered in Matt’s blood to Matt’s cheek. “You’re going to give him a message for me.” Those dead eyes drilled into Matt’s. “You tell him I’ve had hours to play with his former partner.”

Matt started to gag, feeling the bile rise up. He’d seen the pictures of Conner. If McAlister really did have Rich, the man would surely be dead—or wishing he were.

“You tell him he’s got fifteen minutes to get to where he needs to be, and if he doesn’t make it… Well, Rich is still alive. He’s got more fight in him than I would have thought. But if Laine is one second late, or brings anyone else, I will put Rich out of his misery. Who knows…” McAlister hunched forward, his hand slipping from Matt’s face to cup his chin in a bruising hold. “I might just kill the fucker anyway.” He bit Matt’s bottom lip, tugging until the skin gave and blood gushed down Matt’s chin.

“Good boy.” McAlister tossed Matt to the floor, smiling as he threw a hard kick into the knife wound he’d given Matt. Matt curled up into himself as much as he could, fighting the agonizing pain that ripped through him as he moved. He heard the door open and close and tried to focus, his thoughts a swarming mass of fear for Rich and himself. Laine’s anger would be justified. Matt knew he’d been stupid, had walked right into McAlister’s hands. He fumbled for his phone, one hand clutched to his stomach, trying not to panic over the blood he could feel seeping out steadily.

If he died, it would be his own fault for being such a cocky son of a bitch, but he couldn’t let that sick fucker kill Laine, and maybe, if he hurried, Rich might make it. Matt got the menu open and hit Laine’s number, grimacing at the busy signal. Laine must