When the Dead Speak by Bailey Bradford (books to read to improve english txt) 📕

“The only one at fault was that sister of yours. Not to offend, but Eva was never quite right in the head, Zeke.”

Considering Eva had tried to have him murdered, had poisoned a good chunk of his cattle, threatened his lover, then run Zeke down with her car, nearly killing him—and that was the abbreviated list of what she’d done—Zeke had to agree. He realized Doreen was looking at him, waiting for something. A light clicked on in his head.

“I’ll make sure he knows I don’t hold him responsible. Neither does Brendon.” Zeke’s skin grew warm when he mentioned his lover. He was still very cautious, wary about how people would react, having been a victim of hate crimes more than once. But Doreen knew, and she hadn’t judged. Her smile was toothy but genuine and it eased a knot of tension coiled inside Zeke.

“I’d appreciate it, Zeke. He’s a good man, and so are you.” Doreen turned and hurried to Stenley’s door, tapping firmly on the wooden frame. She opened it and poked her head in when Laine called out. “Got a visitor.”

Zeke stepped up behind her and grinned. The fact Laine didn’t groan, didn’t glare or make any cutting remark, joking or otherwise, wiped the grin away. Brendon was right, and maybe Doreen was, too, but that flat gray stare Laine gave Zeke told him that there was more going on than Laine feeling guilty. It told Zeke that Laine was balanced on an edge, and close to tipping over the side. Zeke stepped into the room, murmuring his thanks to Doreen before she skittered off, and locked the door behind him.

Laine watched Zeke make his way over to the chair across from his desk and didn’t even try to squelch down the guilt he felt as he studied the man’s stiff movements. Zeke had come a long way in the months following Eva’s attempt to murder him, but he’d always have scars—more on the inside than the outside, Laine would bet.

Zeke sat and propped his cane against the side of the chair. Laine forced himself to meet Zeke’s eyes, something he hadn’t been able to do for longer than a handful of seconds earlier. If he had, then they wouldn’t have been having this little tête-à-tête, forced on them both by Brendon. Laine knew Zeke wouldn’t have come in here without some serious encouragement from his lover. God only knew what Brendon had to threaten…or promise.

The silence was uncomfortable, but Laine didn’t know what to say. He’d used silence before when questioning suspects and wouldn’t have ever thought to be bothered by it, yet it took all of his willpower not to squirm in his seat under Zeke’s penetrating gaze. He couldn’t see a trace of the sarcasm Zeke usually wore like a second skin, at least when it came to Laine, but Laine was waiting for it. It was the way things always were between them. When Zeke finally let loose with his opening volley, Laine’s eyes shot wide with surprise.

“You wanna tell me what’s wrong?” Zeke’s voice was soft and gravelly, a hint of embarrassment evident in the tone. Laine wanted the floor to open up and swallow him. He didn’t feel a hint of embarrassment, he felt a damn dump truck load of it.

“Christ,” Laine muttered, dipping his head down and rubbing his forehead with both hands. He immediately regretted the action, knowing it showed Zeke more than Laine wanted him to see. He peeked around one of his wrists and saw Zeke frowning at him. Laine looked longingly at his door, then his radio. What he wouldn’t give for there to be an emergency call right now, nothing major, even a cat stuck in a tree would get him out of this farce of a heart-to-heart chat. Maybe the phone would ring…

“I think you’re stuck with me.” Zeke’s amused voice had Laine shutting his eyes against a newly erupting pounding in his temple. He dropped one hand down on top of the desk, wishing he didn’t always keep the surface so neat so he’d have something to fiddle with. Laine rubbed at the throbbing pain in his head with the other, giving Zeke a measuring glance.

“No, not really. You can just head on back and tell Brendon that I’m fine.” Laine held his breath, waiting for Zeke’s answer.

“I don’t think so, Laine.” Zeke shook his head slowly, once, twice, then pinned Laine with a sharp look. “I’m not going to lie to my lover for you.”

Laine let out a pent-up breath, irritation taking place of his normally cool disposition. “Fine. Then tell him I said I’m fine!” That way, it’d be Laine telling the lie, because he so was not fine. He watched Zeke work past anger and cringed when he saw sympathy in the man’s expression.

Zeke leaned forward. “Laine…”

“Zeke?” Laine managed, just barely, to keep from snarling. He didn’t need this man in particular or anyone else in general feeling sorry for him. “You can leave.” It wasn’t an offer, more of an order, and about as polite as Laine could get it out.

Zeke wasn’t intimidated at all. Laine wondered why he even bothered to try to get the man to back down. It hadn’t been successful before, had it? Brendon would call him a dumbass again, if he were in here.

No, instead, Zeke moved closer, elbows braced on the desk and couching his chin in his hands, framing his face with long, tanned fingers.

Laine slumped back in his chair, the fight going out of him in the blink of an eye. “What do you want, Zeke? What do you want me to say?”

Zeke shrugged, jostling his head. “How would I know? I don’t know anything about this male bonding crap.”

Lips twitching despite his surly mood, Laine brought his other hand to the desktop. “Then if I say there’s nothing to say…” Maybe there was a chance to get out of this yet.

A snort was Zeke’s