When the Dead Speak Bailey Bradford (books on motivation txt) 📖

them. He caught all of them except for one that kept just ahead of his trailing fingers, teasing and taunting him every time he thought he had the paper in his grip.

“Cut it out already!” Laine’s temper snapped. “I’ve had a bitch enough of a day as it is, so just stop!” The paper dropped to the floor, every evidence of the ‘breeze’ that had toyed with it gone in an instant. Laine picked the paper up and told himself he did not feel like a bully for running off the playful spirit. The last thing he needed was more guilt, and it was plumb stupid to feel bad about hurting a dead person’s feelings, wasn’t it?

Laine stuffed the information on Severo into his desk drawer and steeled himself. He needed to make a call, one years past due probably, and it would take all of his courage to pick up the phone and plunge himself into his past.

* * * *

He watched Richard Montoya as the detective talked on the phone, laughing occasionally at something the deep voice rumbled over the line. Pretending to read reports, he noticed Montoya taking notes, heard him promise to ‘check into him’ for the man who’d called. It was all he could do not to walk over to Montoya’s desk and read what he’d written. Excitement and anticipation tingled inside him—he’d waited over three years for this. He’d always known he’d get another chance, and this was it. Soon, he’d have the man who’d slipped through his fingers years ago.

Montoya hung up the phone and grinned, looking over at him. “Damn. Guess who that was?”

He kept his voice disinterested as he shrugged. “No idea.” But he knew.

Montoya laughed and shook his head. “That was Laine Stenley, my old partner. You remember him, kid?”

Oh, yes, more than you’ll ever know. “Vaguely. Tall guy, dark-haired? The one whose, ah, friend, was…” He let his voice trail off, hoping there was enough insinuation in his words to keep Montoya talking.

Montoya cast a mean look his way. “Yeah, his friend. Anyone who says anything else will answer to me.” Montoya gathered up the paper he’d written on and tossed his sport coat over his arm, then slammed his chair against the desk.

Fuck! He’s still protective of Laine! I fucked up, but I can fix it. “Hey, man, I didn’t mean anything by it. I was just trying to make sure I had the right guy.”

“Yeah, well, it didn’t sound that way to me.” Montoya glared at him one last time then left the room.

That fucker needs to learn a lesson. Maybe I’ll teach him what happens to people who talk to me like that—after I finish what I started years ago. Grinning despite his anger with Montoya—because the man would pay for his snotty attitude—he walked over to Montoya’s desk and picked up the note pad Montoya had written on while talking to Laine. Sure enough, he could see the deep pen strokes left on the paper beneath the one Montoya had torn off. He pocketed the whole note pad and strolled out, ready to get home and plan his next move.

Chapter Three

Laine hesitated, his hand curled into a loose fist as it hovered over the number on the hotel room’s door. Why was he doing this? No, why was he hesitating? This inner battle that had him wanting to pound on the door and run away at the same time had to stop.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever.” Laine tapped the door three times, trying to organize his thoughts. When no response followed, he rapped his knuckles harder against the door. He’d come early—it was just a few minutes past seven in the morning right now—hoping to catch Severo off guard. Laine had a feeling this particular man posed a risk to him and felt it would be best to keep Severo off balance.

When the door finally opened, Laine realized the error of his thinking. He was thrown completely off balance, off his guard, damn near off his feet by the sight of the bed-warmed skin and tousled hair, the soft, heady look of sleep still showing in Severo’s heavy-lidded eyes. Even the pillow impressions creased into Severo’s cheek looked sexy and called to Laine with a promise of smooth sheets and even smoother skin.

What the hell was he thinking? Laine watched Severo blink the sleep-induced haze away and willed himself not to let his gaze drop down to the tempting expanse of golden brown skin on display. Damn. Who’d have thought the little guy was so built? Severo was shirtless, Laine had noticed that the second the man opened the door, and the promise of a visual feast was making it difficult for Laine to keep himself focused on Severo’s startling eyes.

“Can I help you, Sheriff?” Severo’s voice was soft and slightly slurred, as though his tongue hadn’t yet woken up with the rest of his body. It was the sexiest thing Laine had heard in a long time.

“Yeah.” Laine wondered when his voice had gotten so low, so hard. “You want to tell me again what brings you to McKinton?”

Severo rubbed his eyes and the gesture seemed to chase away whatever sleepiness had remained. He looked up at Laine with clear, pale green eyes and pursed his lips while fingering a silver chain. Laine felt his control slipping again, glancing down to watch long, surprisingly elegant fingers rub the thin necklace. The contrast between Severo’s skin and that silver chain was fascinating, scintillating even. Laine’s gaze dipped lower, to Severo’s well-defined chest, still surprised at the amount of muscle the small man had packed onto his frame. Two small, dark copper colored nipples rested on firm pecs, a slight smattering of black hair between them leading down to bisect abs that put Laine’s six-pack to shame.

“I don’t know if I should invite you in, or lock the door and protect my…virtue.” Severo’s teasing words had Laine snapping his gaze back up where it should