Whispered Words Page 2

  He stood with her, a frown on his face that turned to outright hostility when Keegan Price suddenly occupied the doorway. Like oil and water, Jack and Keegan didn’t mix. Too much testosterone to occupy one small space, Chloe thought and held back a smirk.

  The long, tall Texan drink of water grinned at her. “Hey, little bit. Just the person I wanted to see. James and I are going into the mountains with you.”

  “No, you’re not.” Jack folded his arms across his chest. He looked like a rock wearing a frown.

  Not to be outdone, the good old boy blocking the exit did the same. Keegan had to be the only one in their organization with the balls to cross Jack on a regular basis. Even finding himself happily married and in love with both his wife and his partner hadn’t softened the man. But at least his interference would guarantee she had Jack’s okay to go solo. Jack would agree with the devil himself just to aggravate Keegan.

  She patted Keegan on the arm. “This is my cue to head out. I’ll talk to Ian, Jack.” She turned to Keegan. “Keegan, wish Rory and James a Merry Christmas for me.”

  “But—”

  “Look, dickhead…” Jack cut him off, and the pair started in on an argument about to turn ugly. On her way up the stairs, she ran into the team’s resident empath. Just the person she didn’t want to face. She constantly feared Kitty would see her facade and know Chloe had issues with her abilities.

  Chloe pasted on a smile and forced herself to remain normal. Strong. In control of herself and her abilities. “Just the person I wanted to see. Kitty, Jack needs you.

  Keegan’s down there in Jack’s face, and Jack’s not having one of his better days.” Kitty sighed. “Crap. Okay.” But before Chloe could move past her, Kitty grabbed her by the shoulder. “Don’t think we’re not going to talk about this anxiety that flares up whenever I see you lately.”

  Chloe frowned, sure she’d put a lid on her worries. “Not sure what you’re talking about. But Jack’s waiting.”

  A burst of psychic power flashed up the stairwell. Kitty’s eyes widened, and she raced down the stairs.

  Relieved at her narrow escape, Chloe hustled up the remaining steps and out the door into the staff changing room that was off-limits to everyone but her psychic peers. No one in Bend knew their history, and they intended to keep it that way.

  Maintaining a low profile kept them off the government’s radar as well as let them live normal lives. More or less. She exited the room and made sure to close the door behind her, the lock overloud in the silence. On her way back into the main gym, she passed a few of the regular staff, locals who had no idea the rest of the staff bulked up because they had to, not just because they were into health and fitness.

  Chloe nodded to their new aerobics instructor and passed Avery, their precognitive genius, on the way out. “Hey, Avery, you’re going on night shift while I’m gone on vacation. Jack will be talking to you about it soon, if you didn’t already know.”

  His frown came and went in a split second. “Okay.” He stopped her before she walked past him. “One thing before you go.”

  She prayed he hadn’t seen anything dire in her future. “Yeah?” He pulled her in for a hug. “Merry Christmas, sweetie.” Her return wishes that he have a nice holiday were lost, muffled against his expansive chest.

  Avery laughed and let her go with a chuck under her chin and a sly look in his eyes. “Don’t worry. You’ll like it once you’ve tried it.” His wink did nothing to settle her nerves. “Man, what I wouldn’t give for a pack of Doublemint gum right now.”

  “You’re a loon, you know that?” She ignored his laughter and left before another of her friends delved into her business. Even the snow didn’t bother her as she left the gym and drove to Frank’s— Ian’s—house.

  The forger previously known as Frank Hanover answered the door before she could knock. The wide smile on his face did nothing but raise her blood pressure.

  “Chloe King. My favorite person in the whole wide world.”

  “Asshole.”

  He chuckled and pulled her into the house. She wasn’t surprised to see artwork all over the place. The once-master forger and art thief couldn’t stay away from paints and canvas. She’d busted him enough times to know. “All legal, Frank?”

  “Quit calling me Frank. Frank’s dead and gone. I’m Ian Ryder. Say it with me.”

  “Hell. Okay, Ian.”

  “Good.”

  “So, is this legal?” she asked again.

  “You wound me, boss. Of course it’s legal. Mostly.” He laughed, and she remembered the first time she’d nailed him for art theft during her rookie days as a cop. So very long ago.

  Ian continued, “What’s up? It has to be something important to get you to my place on your day off. Unless you’re determined to prove you can turn me from the dark side.” He wiggled his eyebrows and tried to feign interest in her breasts.

  “Ian, I’m glad you’re gay.”

  “I’m thinking of going bi for you.”

  She groaned. “I don’t have time for this. I’m going away for two weeks. I need you to manage the night shift.”

  Ian beamed. “Really?” He studied her with a keen eye. “Jack forced me on you, didn’t he?”

  “Of course.”

  He shook his head. “Too much to hope you trusted me by now. I won’t let you down, boss.”

  “Stay out of my office, and stop calling me boss.”

  “I will if you’ll tell me the truth.” His smile faded. “I know how to read people. I mimic for a living. I mean, I used to mimic for a living,” he hurried to correct. “So what’s up? The ribs are barely healed, and you’re going away without backup. The voices come back yet?”

  She didn’t know what to say. “I, what, how…?”

  “I know the look you get when you hear them. You haven’t made that face in weeks. But I’m told you normally hear from your otherworldly friends all the time.

  So spill it, Tinker Bell, or I’m going to Jack.”

  She poked him in the chest. “First of all, you’re not that much taller than I am.

  You’re also five years younger. So can the Tinker Bell crap.”

  “Hey, I’m six foot.”

  “Five-eleven, if that. And secondly, you tell anyone what you suspect, you’re on toilet duty at the gym. I’ll sic Avery on you.”

  He threw his hands in the air. “Okay, okay. I’m just worried about you. Is that so wrong?”

  She let out a breath, tired, achy, and strangely relieved to share the truth with someone, even Ian. “I have to go away. I need to regroup, so I’m going to a cabin in the woods. The coordinates are in my desk at work, under the King file.” She’d been planning to let Jack know after she’d gotten a head start on her “vacation.” Ian nodded, no questions.

  “Why is it I have the feeling that you already know where I stash my secret files?” She wasn’t surprised when he nodded with a sheepish grin. “Damn it. Okay, okay. I don’t have time to rip you a new one.” She took a deep breath and let it out, annoyed when Ian continued to watch her with a rapt expression, as if he’d never been so entertained. “The coordinates are there. I’m supposed to check in with Jack twice a day—you know about the crazy guy from the warehouse.” They’d had a group meeting right after it happened; the group always pulled together to protect their own.

  “I don’t know how the guy did it, but consensus is he psychically shielded himself from the rest of us. Not even Avery saw him coming.” Ian frowned. “Our resident retrocog thinks he’s killed before, and that he’ll do it again. When Noah went to the warehouse, he got a sense of your Psycho Stan’s psychic spoor in that scene between you and those others there. Creeped him the hell out, I can tell you.” She sighed. Poor Noah. Her last assignment with the man had been hell. His ability to read the past was about as useful as hearing voices. “Personally, I’m glad not to see the past.” She thought of Avery. “Or the future. Hell, I can barely deal with the present.”

  “Ame
n, sister.” Ian paused. “So no word yet on who those other guys were, huh?”

  “No.” And the mystery wouldn’t leave her mind. Especially because she’d felt so attracted to the tall man holding her. The last place she should have felt turned on, especially with a killer tracking her every move. She hurried to clear her mind of the incident. “Ian, see if you can’t get Nathan to handle that scrap of fabric I got off the stalker again. And my shirt, the one I was wearing when he attacked me.

  Have him touch that too.” If anyone could get a psychic reading from that psycho, it was Nathan.

  Ian nodded. “Good idea.”

  “Yeah. I thought of it on my way over. See if he can’t get some leads while I’m gone.”

  “I still don’t understand why you need to leave at all.”

  “Because I need a break. I’m tired,” she admitted, knowing Ian, for all his irritating qualities, wouldn’t betray her. The handsome little sneak actually liked her. “All the voices have gotten hard to hear, and lately the one that protects me plain doesn’t speak. I think I need to decompress to allow them back in. Let’s face it.

  Psycho Stan has gone to ground. We can’t find him anywhere. My being gone will either force him to make a move or come after me. So make sure the team on my house is solid.”

  “Jack’s overseeing that. But I’m sure he won’t mind me looking over his shoulder.” They shared a grin. “Don’t worry about a thing here, Chloe. I promise not to rearrange your files like I did the last time I helped you out.” He crossed his heart with his finger, and she wanted to break it off and shove it up his—“Seriously, so get that look off your face.” Ian stepped closer. “Go do what you have to do. I won’t tell anyone you’re weak, pathetic, and losing your mind. But if you don’t keep Jack in the loop at all times, I’m coming after you.” That was all she needed, Ian Ryder’s interference. “Yeah, yeah. Now let me get home and out of town before some other idiot psychic pries into my business.”

  “I’ll miss you, darling.” Ian’s bright blue eyes filled with fake tears.

  Despite her annoyance, she laughed. “You’re such an asshole.”

  “And that’s why everyone loves me. It’s my natural charm and handsome physique.” He made an impressive muscle. Yet the man couldn’t hold a candle to the buff freaks she worked with. Though Ian had once worked with the PWP at its startup, he’d somehow managed to avoid taking the gene-enhancing drugs the others had been given. He had a lean frame and the graceful hands of a painter—or master forger.

  “Sure thing, Arnold. Just keep it together while I’m gone, okay? And don’t let Avery and Nathan kill each other either.”

  He groaned. “Not fair. Avery’s going on nights?”

  “Jack’s call, not mine.”

  “They’re so hot but so unattainable. Together, they’re just freakin’ annoying.” She had her first true belly laugh of the day. “Pot calling kettle, hello? Try to stay out of trouble and have a nice holiday. I don’t know why, but you’re growing on me.” She left and closed the door, but before she reached her car, he had the last word.

  In his best Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer impression, he yelled, “She thinks I’m cuuuute.”

  Definitely time to hit the slopes.

  Chapter Two

  So far so good. She’d had been hiking all day and night to reach the cabin. By now her car would lay buried under several feet of snow in the lot off the highway.

  She had enough food and clothing to last her a few days, and she knew from experience the cabin would be stocked with canned goods. Chloe felt bad about reserving, then canceling at the last minute, but the snowfall made the excuse a plausible one. No way to trace her whereabouts.

  The cabin was the ideal place in which to lose herself, to give herself space, and to help find her voice again. Accessible only via a hiking trail, it served hard-core hikers and campers. Parking as far away as she had along the highway, no one would guess it might be her destination. What crazy idiot would walk twenty miles in the snow to reach a cabin they hadn’t even reserved? She’d be lucky if the cabin had a generator to power electricity.

  An owl hooted overhead. The quiet soothed the worries she’d been carrying for far too long. Not much stirred under the dark sky. The unfettered moonlight and beaming stars overhead made her think of fairy tales and universal mysteries as she neared the marker that signaled the rise to the cabin that lay snug in the woods.

  She wondered about her voices, why she had them, how they could be so precise. She’d heard them ever since her sixth birthday. Dry, dispassionate orders that told her all manner of things. Who liked who, which neighbor had stolen a car, cheated on his wife, or had gambling debts. Odd facts about things she had little interest in. Sometimes the information led to an arrest, sometimes it just entertained her. She’d find a missing engagement ring. Point out who stole a book from the corner store, or what kid had secretly been bullying others.

  As she grew older, another voice became more distinctive. It told her what to do, who to trust, secrets that helped her avoid danger. All of the advice from her voice, from him, helped her to advance in life, stay safe, and be a better person. She tuned into him more than any of the other voices, although why she thought of it as a man’s voice, she couldn’t say. The voice could as well have belonged to a woman. It had no gender, no inflection. The voice simply was, and it always took care of her.

  It bothered her more than she wanted to admit that she’d lost that intimate tie to the psychic plane. No matter how often she reached out to him, she heard nothing.

  The pack on her back felt ten pounds heavier as night turned into early morning. Yet she trudged forward step-by-step. Jack had been right. She’d needed the exercise. Though tired, she felt worlds better than she had the past week. Her ribs no longer pained her, and the exertion awakened her fuzzy brain.

  As dawn approached the horizon, she saw it. The hazy outline of a rooftop past a scraggle of branches and pines blanketing the forest floor amidst the snow.

  To her dismay, smoke curled from the chimney. She hadn’t thought for one second someone might have intruded into her space. Hell, yesterday morning the rental Web site had showed the place still empty. What the hell?

  Could it be her stalker had beaten her out here? Chloe shook her head. There was no way the man could have followed her trail. No one had sensed or seen him, and the team had done its best to use all their resources to scry for him. Still, it paid to be cautious. She carefully concealed her pack at the edge of the tree line and withdrew her pistol from the front pocket.

  Then she approached the cabin. She made her way to the eastern side, where she could peer through a window into the kitchen at the back of the house.

  Firelight flickered against a pot of something steaming on the stove. Past the kitchen, she noted a long arm strewn over the back of a couch. The arm belonged to a man with short dark hair. She couldn’t make out his features or his height, just the back of his head and a long arm encased in a sweater.

  She shivered. Before she could decide what to do next, something cold and hard pressed against her temple. Damn. A pistol. She held her breath. The voices had been right. It was too late to find them now.

  “Easy, sweetheart. Drop the gun.” Joshua didn’t relent until she dropped her weapon in the snow. He clearly had size on her, but he’d made it a habit never to underestimate anyone. In his experience, the female of the species was much more lethal than the male. He took a step back. “Hands up. Now turn around. Slowly.” The small woman bundled in a polar vest, gloves, jeans, boots, and a skull cap all dusted in snow could have passed for Frosty’s wife before she turned around.

  When Josh got a good look at her face, the blood rushed from his head.

  Absolutely beautiful. Not a pale cream or a dark brown, her cheeks looked caramel in color, flushed with cold and no doubt anger that she’d been caught. Long black hair trailed over her shoulders and contrasted with the light blue-gray eyes of a woman who could
have owned any man she wanted. Full lips, a slender nose, and a stubborn chin completed the picture of seduction personified.

  “Well?” Her husky voice shot a bolt of lust straight to his cock.

  Yeah, she had killer looks. He couldn’t quite peg her ethnicity. Black, Hispanic, Indian? A mix? Hell, he didn’t much care. She’d perked his interest enough that he wanted to peel her like a banana and see what lay under the layers of clothing. But the shock of what felt almost like recognition unnerved him. She had the same height as that woman Xavier had rescued the other night from the warehouse, but his sense of familiarity went beyond that. He’d tried more than once to see into his own future, but lately he caught nothing. His attempt now showed him more of the same. Shit.

  He leaned down and grabbed her pistol from the snow. After making sure the safety was engaged, he tucked the gun in the back of his jeans.

  “You first.” He nodded to the front of the house with his weapon, a handy .45

  that could and had blown holes through flesh and bone.

  She made no sudden moves and kept her hands where he could see them, on either side of her head. Not one flinch or tremble from the steady woman—a sign she most likely had experience with dangerous situations. She walked with graceful steps, even through the white powder accumulating on the ground. When she reached the front porch, she stopped.

  “Up the steps and through the door.” He still didn’t understand why he hadn’t seen this coming. His foresight had never failed to alert him to any threat. An advanced sense of self-preservation, his foresight protected him and his brother, usually without fail. Yet a woman with a gun had spied on them through their own goddamn kitchen window.