Psychic Link (Linked Inc. Book 2) (11 page)

You don’t walk away from his kind. You walk backward and pull him by his tie straight to the bed
. It was the reason goose bumps covered her arms, and why she locked her doors at night. For all she knew, the body attached to the voice was short, bald, and would think the big O belonged on the music scale. His voice was probably more than his body could ever deliver. That would be her luck, not that she’d ever invite this guy out for coffee to test her theory. Even she had boundaries, not many, but some.

He hadn’t told her exactly what he did, and she’d never asked for fear she’d wind up dead. She was too young to die. 

“Harper, are you still there?” His voice oozed sex and wrapped around her body, making her all warm and tingly inside. Whatever his profession, he’d make a killing as a phone sex operator. If she closed her eyes, he could be anyone, anywhere. A stranger on the street, a dark, mysterious man from a bar, her gynecologist. She’d never know until she heard him speak.

The truth was he was just a man on the phone asking her to tap into the energy of a location. 

Harper adjusted the headset and moved away from the window. Her gut churned, and yet she couldn’t pinpoint why. “I’m still here. Just trying to tap into the energy and get an idea. Where did you say this business trip was taking place?”

“Mexico.”

Mexico? Who takes business meetings in Mexico? Drug lords, America’s Top 10 Most Wanted hiding from the law, that’s who. Not that it was any of her business. She didn’t get paid to have an opinion on how this guy ran his life. He paid her for something entirely different; use of her ability to guide him away from danger and uneasy situations. He’d branded her the intuition he’d been born without.

“Mexico,” she whispered to herself and closed her eyes. Her gut clenched tight, and her heart pounded frantically. A feeling of unease skittered down her spine. The location wasn’t a place she’d soon be visiting. “It doesn’t feel right. If I were you, I’d either move it somewhere else or cancel it altogether.” 

“How about Los Angeles?” He was quick to ask.

Her shoulders immediately relaxed. Her ass cheeks no longer could crack a nut from its shell. That was the place. She felt it in her gut. “That feels a lot better. Relaxing even. Maybe you should extend your stay after the meeting and have a vacation.”

His deep laughter filled the line. “You’re cute. How much time do we have left?”

His words put a smile on her lips.

“Ten minutes.” She ignored the time on the clock. He’d paid for a fifteen-minute psychic call. That was twenty minutes ago. She just couldn’t make herself hang up. He was like a drug. A sexy, addictive, in-need-of-rehab drug, and she needed a fix.

“What are you wearing?”

Typical. She’d give him the same answer as last week. He’d asked so many times the question no longer made her blush. “This isn’t 1-800-Talk-Dirty-To-Me. I’m wearing clothes.”

“You stay dressed a lot.”

“People tend to do that when at work.”

“Let’s play a game. You tell me what you’re wearing, and I’ll answer one question honestly. Anything you want to know.”

“How do I know you’re telling your truth?”

“You’re psychic.”

Harper pressed her lips together. If her sisters knew she was getting personal with a client, well, they’d probably pat her on the back or give her high-fives. They were good like that.

“Fine. I’m wearing a black pencil skirt, a white silk blouse, and three-inch heels.”

She totally lied, trying to make herself a more attractive package. Harper ran her sweaty palms down her boyfriend cut jeans she liked to wear loose in case she splurged at lunch and needed the extra room. Jeans that cut into her stomach ranked right up there with an enema.

She glanced down at the coffee stain smack-dab on the lead singer’s nose on her favorite concert tee-shirt. She was hopeless.

“Sophisticated, refined, and I bet wearing the heels makes you the perfect height to kiss.”

A shrill of excitement traveled down her spine
. Down, girl
.

“Your turn.”

“What’s your real first name?” The question flew from her mouth before she could stop it. It was the same question she wondered every time he called. Maybe she wanted to know—she had hoped it was Bob or Leroy—to kill some of the fantasy she had after every conversation.
Oh Leroy, take me. That was about as sexy as granny panties.
She needed his name to be like jumping into a bucket of ice.

“That’s the question you were waiting to ask? My name?” His voice turned playful. He almost sounded disappointed she hadn’t asked how many inches lay behind his zipper.

“It’s only fair, you know mine. Don’t tell me you’re a Harold or a Eugene.”
Please do
.

“This is confidential?”

“Like attorney-client privilege. Okay, well, maybe not that. How about, like a barista and a customer. What’s the name they put on your cup?” She’d bet he ordered his extra hot and black.

“Ryker Cage.”

“Of course it is.” Her hand flew to cover her mouth, and her eyes bulged. She couldn’t believe she’d just blurted that out loud.

A low, throaty, very masculine chuckle reached her ears, making her goosebumps add an extra layer. “My turn. What’s your favorite dessert?”

“Anything chocolate,” she answered without hesitation. “You?”

“The chocolate left on your lips.”

She fanned herself, trying to control the heat flooding her body. Blood rushed to her cheeks, and she bit her lip to keep from moaning. This guy was good. Too good. “Okay, I think your time’s up.”

“Harper.” The way he said her name left her breathless.

“Yeah?”

“My time was up thirty minutes ago. We’ll talk again soon. You can count on it, princess.”   

A dial tone filled her ears, and she let out the breath she’d been holding, yanked the headset from her ears, and tossed it onto her desk. What was it with that man? Every time he called, she felt like she’d run a marathon. A sexy, naked, in-the-mud marathon, but a marathon nonetheless. The first time he’d called, he’d asked to speak to a manager, and he’d been asking for her ever since.

Harper’s assistant, Patricia, peeked into the office before walking in with a folder and a package that she so politely laid in the inbox. Harper’s eyes narrowed as she regarded the extra work. Her day was getting longer by the minute as a headache attempted to form at her temples. She bet Ryker knew a good cure for getting rid of headaches. She shoved the thought aside. The folder, the package. She should be thankful for a distraction.

“Is that time sensitive?”

“Would I have brought it in if it wasn’t?” Patricia smiled and parked her butt in one of the office chairs. It was her not-so-subtle way to hurry Harper along.

Picking up the folder, Harper flipped it open. The small print on the contract made her eyes cross. “Give me Cliff Notes.”

“It’s a contract for the new security and IT guy that you finally got your sisters to agree to. He’s rewiring the entire building with new stuff for better performance and security.”

“Who picked this guy?”

“Quinn, I believe.”

Harper flipped to the money amount and what was involved. “Anything in the contract out of the ordinary? Any clauses that agrees to the equivalent of kicking a puppy?”

Patricia smiled. “No. I read it. It’s a standard contract. One-year term with the cost of monitoring and system upgrades. Nothing strange.”

“Will he need to bring the call center down?”

“Afraid so.” She pressed her lips together and cringed as if waiting for her bark.

Harper hated to take the company offline. It had been the main reason her sisters always opposed the upgrade, but it really needed to be done. They had a ton of confidential files rotting in the basement that needed to be uploaded into something secure. “Do we really need to take down the entire system?”

“The death threats from the crazies and religious fanatics that want to burn the building have doubled. I think it’s a smart move to get it all done at once.”

Harper nodded and scribbled her signature at the bottom before handing it back. 

“Coordinate a shutdown the week before Christmas and send out an email to the staff and post an announcement on our website for our clients.”

Patricia’s fingers flew over the keyboard on her phone as if she’d been expecting Harper’s request. She’d probably seen it coming. She was gifted too.

“What’s in the package?”

She shrugged. “Not sure. A courier dropped it off about fifteen minutes ago. There’s no return address, just your name.”

Harper lifted the package to her ear and closed her eyes. No ticking. “Thanks.”

Patricia rose and headed for the door.

“Hey, Patricia. Is Grace still in the office?”

Patricia turned, walking backward.

“No, Grace was meeting your mother and your Aunt Betty.”

Better Grace than Harper. Their mom was a handful all by herself. Throw crazy Aunt Betty, who owned the Thin Blue Line police bar, into the mix, and there was no telling what Grace was having to deal with or how much she would have to spend on bail.

Harper nodded and returned her attention to the brown package in non-descript wrapping. Her name was scribbled on the top in a masculine handwriting. She closed her eyes and sensed the package. It was the same energy that cocooned her when she spoke to Ryker; all consuming.  Interesting.

She ripped into the brown packing and tossed it into her garbage. A blue box sat inside. It was the kind that women fantasize about from the store where everything was overpriced and shiny.

A card was attached to the delicate white bow.

Harper sat back in the chair and stared at it as if it was a new species yet discovered.
He’s lost his ever-lovin’ mind
.

She could read the card and make sure. Yeah, she could at least read the card.

She ran her finger under the flap and slid the card out.

I have your direct line. I thought it was time that you had mine.

~R

Ryker. His name popped instantly into her mind. How had he known she would ask his name, even if he’d planned to play the game? Maybe he hadn’t.

Screw it.
Harper eased the lid on the box open, gently pulled back the white tissue paper, and grinned. A can of mace sat next to a phone identical to the one nestled inside her purse. The screen was turned on. The screen saver had the word “Princess.”

She picked it out of the box and pressed a button to make the phone come to life. A notification said there was an unread text message. She should have put the phone back. She should have walked away. She should have done a million things. What she shouldn’t have done was actually open the message to see what it said.

Princess,

It’s time we meet.

Ryker

“Oh, I don’t think so, buddy.” Who does that?

The phone in her hands rang, making her jump. The caller ID read Ryker. Her finger hovered over the decline button. At the last minute, she answered the call and pressed the phone to her ear.

“This is borderline stalking,” she blurted out before he could speak.

“I knew you’d be cautious, but I also know you’re curious, so I’ll make this easy for you. Regardless if you agree to meet me, I’ve programmed my number into this phone. If you ever need me, just call or text.”

“Why would I—”

“If you’d like to meet, LeRochelle at seven. It’s public and has security. You can bring the mace. Nothing will happen to you there. Not that I’d ever do anything to harm you.”

“You’re crazy.” And so was she for even considering it. She should have hung up and tossed the phone, but there was something about Ryker that made her keep listening.

“I’ve been called worse.”

“Didn’t your momma ever warn you about stranger danger? I could be some deranged psycho chick and you….well, you could be my boring accountant. I’d hate to have to stab your eyes with the toothpick from a fruity drink.”

His chuckle filled the line and eased her tension. He had a unique sense of stifling her unease and, what was odd, calming people. That was one of her specialties. “I’m not worried.”

“Ryker. How about we keep things professional, and I forget you ever sent this…phone.” 

“You could, or you could finally at least have a face to put with my voice. One drink. If I’m inappropriate, you get up and leave. If I scare you, spray me with mace and then get up and leave. If I turn out to be the accountant, poke my eyes out and then leave. I won’t even put up a fight.”

Harper chewed her bottom lip and clenched her eyes closed as she searched for the energy in his words and the location. Nothing. She was nuts for even considering it.

“My momma is gonna be mad if you make me a statistic. I can see it now. My story will be used in an updated training video on what
not
to do when taking calls.” She clutched the phone tighter in her hand. “If I’m going to do this, then I pick the place.”