Free Death in Her Eyes (A Mac Everett Mystery Book 1) by Nick Vellis Page A

a long shot with me poking around his business and his boss still looking to mount my head on a pike. Yeah, it was good to reconnect with Stan, but I’d have to be careful of Lt. Raven.
    “See you,” he said and he was gone.
     
    At 7:10, the buzzer sounded and I heard the voice of my former best friend on the speaker.
    “Come on up Stan” I said.
    A moment later, he was at my door and I knew I was in trouble. Instead of an old friend anxious to reconnect, the guy in my door was hard and closed off, a six-foot scowl.
    “Howdy, Mac,” he said in an emotionless way.
    “Hey Stan. I’m glad you came,” I replied. “I… ah… I hope we can put the past behind us and …”
    “Hold it right there. We should get this out of the way. I’m sorry for the way things worked out. I know it was hard on you. I recommended you and I stuck up for you.”
    “Not as hard as it was on you,” I replied. “I put you in a bind…but not hearing from you hurt.”
    “I’m sorry,” he said. In my own special way, I knew he really meant it. I read it in his eyes.
    “It was no way to leave a teammate. I’ve regretted it… bury the hatchet?”
    He extended his hand and with a firm handshake, I had one of my best friends back.
    “Good to see you again Stan,” I said. Stan’s broad grim made up for the whole crappy mess.
    “You look good, sir.”
    “Cut the sir crap. I haven’t rated a salute in a long time. I look like hell and I know it, but thanks for saying it. I’m cleaning up my life,” I said with a smile.
    “Good,” Stan nodded. “The haircut helps. The last time I saw you, you looked like a crack head, so I’d say you look good. It’s about time, too.” He teased. “You let me know if I can help you.”
    “I’ve heard that before. Thanks Stan. That means a lot. How are you ?” I replied.
    “Should I tell you…. do you want to read my lips or is it my eyes?” There was a sparkle in those eyes.
    Stan knew my secret. We shared a lot in Iraq, too much for him not to know. That was the rub with our falling out. Along with my other Lead NCO Roscoe Black, we’d interrogated nearly twenty-five hundred POWs. I’d made every one of them spill his guts and some of them ended up hysterical on the floor. Interrogation was my special skill. Stan and Roscoe had watched me with a mixture of apprehension and admiration.
    One night, the three of us were sitting around the barracks doing the only thing there was to do over there. I got my advance degree in booze in the sandbox. After a couple glasses of expensive scotch, Stan asked me how I did it, how I broke so many men.
    “Yeah, captain, I’ve been wondering that too,” Roscoe said. “How do you do it?”
    He leaned his bulky fame back in the bunk and put his hands behind his head.
    Taking a risk, I told them.
    “You ever heard that the eyes are a window to the soul?” They just looked at me.
    “That Shakespeare?” Stan asked after a bit.
    “I’m not much into reading,” Roscoe scoffed as he leaned forward to pour another glass. “Come on Sarge, you graduated high school,” Roscoe joked. “You should be all over this poetry stuff. You being in touch with your softer side and all.”
    “Shut up,” Stan said. “The captain’s talking.”
    “It’s an old English proverb. The idea goes back to ancient times,” I began. “Cicero wrote about it, so did Shakespeare, you were right on there, Roscoe.”
    Roscoe shot Stan a bird.
    “It’s saying that by looking into a person's eyes,” I continued, “you can tell who they are on the inside, maybe look into their soul.”
    “So you’re saying you’re telepathic,” Stan asked.
    “Or you can read minds, something like that?” Roscoe added.
    I was afraid Roscoe was going to draw down on me with his Beretta.
    “No, it’s not mind reading or telepathy. I use body language, word choice, a lot of intuition, and subvocal expression…”
    “What’s that?” Roscoe asked.
    “It’s…when people think