Psychic Link (Linked Inc. Book 2)
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Authors: Kate Allenton
psychic
link
Kate Allenton
Copyright © 2016 Kate Allenton
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Published by Coastal Escape Publishing
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TABLE OF CONTENTS
Cara crossed her legs and let her gaze sweep over the man standing in her doorway. He looked in need of a good tumble in the dryer and a few eye drops to clear the redness from his eyes. Stubble covered the sexiest jaw she’d ever seen. Broad shoulders and muscular thighs gave him that bad-boy vibe that screamed ride me all night long. Damn, now that song would play in her head the rest of the day.
His Caribbean blue eyes were mesmerizing. His brown hair matched the icing on the brownie sitting on her desk. He’d make pretty babies. All she’d need was his sperm. Would he be offended if she handed him a cup and lifted her shirt to help him along?
“Are you Cara Thatcher?” His voice was deceptively calm, his gaze assessing. Muscles coiled in his arms, his jaw clenched, and Cara had this gut-wrenching feeling that if she answered his simple question, her life would be forever changed.
“Who’s asking?” she deflected and rose from her chair, ready to fire whatever security guard he’d slipped past downstairs. People called the workers at Linked Inc. quacks for having abilities. They weren’t the crazy ones. Crazy people were unpredictable, and…this guy, although good looking, might very well be tiptoeing the line.
His jaw ticked as he slipped his hand into his pocket. Cara kept her finger hovering over the alarm button beneath her desk. The scent of baby powder drifted to her nose, making her pause. The sweet, innocent scent was so at odds with his appearance.
The stranger’s blue eyes darkened while zeroing in on her fingers, and he slowly pulled his wallet free with two fingers as if he were a criminal trying to calm a trigger-happy police officer. “Relax, lady.”
Relax wasn’t in Cara’s vocabulary, even if he looked like a sleep-deprived, crazed daddy in need of a night off.
He opened his wallet and held out his badge. FBI? She plopped back down in her chair. The tension in her shoulders deflated, like the air in her tires the last time they’d been slashed. That crazy person had never been caught. Cara’s cheeks heated under his stare. Overreact much? Gah…“How can I help you, Agent…”
“Special Agent Cooper Cruz.” He gestured to the seat, asking permission to sit.
Cruz? The only Cruz she knew was Eric. The one that she’d dated. The same one who had destroyed her heart by stomping it into a million little pieces. That Cruz was the reason she no longer dated cops. And, although that Cruz and this one didn’t look remotely related, she couldn’t help the gut punch from having to relive the brief memories. Cara shoved the distant memories away and focused on the man she’d be addressing by his first name, in an effort to disassociate the two. It was the least she could do.
“Yes, of course. Please have a seat, Agent. Is it okay if I call you Cooper?”
Cara opened her desk drawer, pulled out her phone, and turned on the recorder. It was standard practice that she recorded everything so the authorities and her clients could review the message from a spirit or her visions later when they weren’t so emotional. It didn’t hurt that it protected her ass from lawsuits. “You don’t mind if I record, do you? I like to make sure you guys don’t misinterpret whatever it is I say.”
“Uh, sure.”
Silently she ran through her work calendar in her mind. She hadn’t had an appointment scheduled with Agent Cruz. She would have remembered. She would have canceled or pushed him off on one of her other sisters, just because of his last name. She smiled smoothly, betraying nothing of her annoyance. Her mother would be proud.
“Thanks, and sure, you can call me Coop.” He sat across from her, and his gaze traveled over the contents of her office. His expression darkened with an unreadable emotion as he crossed and uncrossed his arms. He looked one step away from bolting out the door, until his gaze landed on the “unofficial” certificate the FBI had given her for helping to pinpoint clues that led to the apprehension of a serial killer. He lifted a brow. “So it’s true? You helped catch the notorious Tri-County Reaper.”
The Tri-County Reaper was a serial killer of the worst kind. He was smart. He’d been terrorizing Florida, Alabama, and Georgia cops for ten years, disposing of his victims’ bodies inside the fresh graves of people just laid to rest. It was the last place any cop would look, and the only place where he’d left the evidence behind that had sent him away for life.
“I don’t catch criminals, Agent….Coop. I merely provide new clues for the police to investigate.”
He nodded and ran his hand through his already disheveled hair. “You come highly recommended.”
Doubt that. Feed me another line
. Her brow rose instantly. Her help was usually swept under the rug. Her involvement was usually the last resort, after all the leads had turned cold. Who did this guy think he was kidding?
“I only deal with missing persons or homicides. Which one are you here for?”
Coop’s brows dipped. The energy around his aura sparked out like a live wire. His emotions seemed to be bouncing off the walls, even though he remained tight-lipped.
I can’t read your mind, buddy.
The words were on the tip of her tongue. She could have eased him into a false sense of security, but why bother? He might as well get a first-hand look at crazy if he was asking for a one-way ticket on her crazy train.
“Hopefully, just a missing person.”
His answered piqued her interest. She hadn’t had a good case in a month.
“Although I’m really here about your other ‘ability,’” he said making air quotations with his fingers, as if her ability was as imaginary as unicorns, the tooth fairy, and the unopened bottle of scotch in her desk drawer. She’d been tempted to offer him a shot to loosen his lips. At the rate he was talking, he’d eventually get to his problem by the end of next week.
“My other ability?” she asked, and her interest went from piqued to guarded quicker than a kid being released the last day of school before summer break. She had other abilities, but only a few select friends and family members knew what they entailed. This guy didn’t qualify as either. Someone was getting a voodoo doll commissioned in their honor. Cara clicked off the recorder.
“Yeah, you know. The one where you touch people or things and get flashes of their life.”
She knew, but how did he? Her affable smile from minutes ago slipped as she pegged him with her gaze. “Who did you say recommended me?”
“Eric Cruz, my brother. Well, technically, he’s my half-brother. His mom, my dad…”
“Um….” Cara pressed her lips together, biting back the words she wanted to say. Fuck you, get out of my office, and tell that sorry sack of shit, asshole-from-hell brother of yours to take a flying leap…were just a few. Her clasped fingers turned white as she tried to contain the anger bubbling inside that was on the verge of breaking free. Most days she was a professional, but that name had her sprouting imaginary horns. She should send him packing. Would a kick in the ass, to pass along to his brother, be unladylike? “I’m sorry. I can’t help you.”
“He said you’d say that. He actually said you’d say a lot worse, and told me not to bother, but I’m desperate. We’re desperate.” His wild blue eyes searched hers. “Please, don’t turn me away because of what Eric did.”
Cara held up her hand and rose from the chair. Any more mention of that name and he was getting a first-rate show. Stuff would be thrown; hexes would be made, and she would personally toss his ass out of her office…from the window. Screw trying to maintain an adult demeanor. Her shrink would charge overtime, and she’d need bail money, but it would be worth it.
“I’m sorry. I can’t help you. Maybe you should find someone else, a little less familiar.” Her voice was firm and final. He’d already ripped the Band-Aid off the wound. No way in hell would she wait around to see what was next. Childish, probably; unprofessional, absolutely, but it didn’t matter. Unless called by the President himself, or her mother dragging Cara by the ear, she wouldn’t be helping anyone with Eric’s DNA. It was a scientific fact that traits were passed around. She wasn’t chancing that Eric had received all the shitty ones.
Cara crossed her arms over her chest, for his protection, and to prevent her ass from having to spend a night behind bars. She rounded the desk and moved to the door.
“He said that you’d say that too.” Cooper walked to the door and held out his hand. “It was nice meeting you.”
Cara glanced down at his outstretched hand and shook her head. If Eric had told him about her ability, then this
special agent
must be thinking he was smarter than the average badge. With a single touch, she’d know everything about whatever he was working on, regardless of whether she’d wanted to or not. She may be blonde, but that sun-kissed shade came straight from a box.
Cooper’s lips twitched as he dropped his hand. Her reaction seemed to amuse him. “It was worth a shot.”
“Nice try, Agent.” Cara pursed her lips together. Bastard.
She watched him as he left the office and stood in front of the elevator. She was making sure he got inside.
“He’s a hottie. Who is he? Is he in the running as a baby daddy donor?” Cara’s sister, Harper, asked as she approached. Her model figure and porcelain skin turned the detectives into dogs in heat just by being in her presence. With Harper’s beautiful looks, and the calming gift she had, Cara and the others only brought her in on special assignments. Cooper might have had better luck with her.
“No one,” Cara said loud enough for Cooper to hear as she held his gaze one last time before he stepped onto the elevator. He frowned.
“Look at that pitiful face and tell me the truth. Did you show him your boobs and then tell him he couldn’t play?”
He should be so lucky. Cara, on the other hand, wouldn’t be. One touch and she’d know all of his dirty secrets, just like how she’d discovered Eric was screwing her best friend. One simple brush of his shoulder, and it was as if she was a voyeur watching the man whore and his skank getting busy in her bed. She’d tossed his ass out and burnt a perfectly good bed, not to mention some of his “personal” items. He’d never miss them.
“I told him I couldn’t help him.” Cara walked back into her office. Harper leaned against the doorframe.
“Why not? He’s a cop, right? If it’s in an official capacity, we normally don’t turn them away.”
True as that statement was, it didn’t change a thing. Cara snagged the brownie from her desk and took a bite, savoring the chocolate as she chewed. It was either that or the booze in her drawer. Hell, it might take both. “His last name is Cruz.”
Harper’s luminous eyes widened in astonishment before they flickered in amusement. Cara could count on her sisters to enjoy watching her squirm. “Is he related?”
Cara nodded, not bothering for a verbal answer as she shoved another bite of chocolate-y goodness into her mouth.
“Ohhhh…well then. I guess that says enough because you know….the sins of the brother and all that.” She turned to leave and grabbed the door to shut it behind her. “You know…if that were the case, then we’d be responsible for every single one of Quinn’s actions too.”
Low blow. Cara’s mouth parted as she narrowed her eyes. It was one thing for Quinn to be crazy, another for someone to blame Cara. Her sister, Quinn, was the poster child of crazy town.
The brownie Cara had been enjoying suddenly tasted like sawdust as she swallowed around the lump lodged in her throat. Damn her. Harper quickly shut the door as the remainder of Cara’s brownie sailed through the air. It splattered against the door.
“See what you made me do?” A perfectly good brownie, ruined.
Harper peeked inside. “Don’t forget you drew the short straw and have to help Aunt Betty at the bar tonight.”
If Cara had another brownie, that one would be splattered along with the first. If Quinn was the poster child of crazy town, Aunt Betty was the founder.
Harper’s laughter carried past the office window, where she wiggled her fingers goodbye.
It wasn’t as though Cara was being irrational. It made perfect sense. Eric was a low-life, bottom-dwelling, scum sucker. It stood to reason the other Cruz would be too. DNA, damn it. Why couldn’t everyone else see the connection? Maybe if he hadn’t said, “
We
need your help,” she would have listened. She shook her head, probably not even then. Cara stomped over to the splattered brownie and started cleaning up the pieces, much like she’d done with her life after Eric.
Cara tossed the brownie into the trashcan, moved over to her window, and glanced out at the calming view. The crystal blue water of the ocean gleamed in the distance, lowering her blood pressure. The only thing better would be to hear the crashing waves. She made a mental note to take her recorder next time she went to the beach.
She’d expected to see tourists walking by on the street below, with shining bright sunburns, while wearing big straw hats and bikinis. Instead, she found Harper standing outside the building doors deep in conversation with the
other
Cruz.
The anger that had been simmering in her gut started to boil. The Thornton clan was about to be minus one sister at Sunday dinner. Mom could always conceive another.
Harper tapped Coop’s arm, pointed to Cara’s window, and waved. Damn her. Damn him.