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

Chapter
2

Cara pulled up outside The Blue Bar and parked between two unmarked patrol cars. Fluorescent blue neon lights flashed the name as two scantily clad women disappeared inside. The badge bunnies were out in full force for mating season.

“Are you there yet?” Cara’s sister, Quinn, asked into the Bluetooth protruding from Cara’s ear.

“Yeah, I just pulled up outside the bar. How come I’m always the one stuck dealing with Aunt Betty?” Cara knew the answer without Quinn saying a word. Cara was the responsible sister. 

“Quit bitching and take one for the team. You know, if I was stateside, I’d handle it myself.”

Cara smiled at Quinn’s response, even though they both knew she was full of crap. “No, you wouldn’t.”

“Fine, but I would have paid one of our other sisters to do it.”

“True.” Cara bobbed her head as if weighing her sister’s answer. Quinn marched to her own tune. One that only she could hear, just like the opera-singing Scottish ghost that had haunted her butt last year. She so deserved it.

“I hope you’re keeping score. I want brownies for this one, and I’m not talking about the prepackaged crap. I want Mavis’ brownies.” Mavis was the Scottish cook in Quinn and Collin’s castle. Quinn used the bribe often, and Cara wasn’t one to ever tell her no. Not when homemade brownies were used as an enticement. Cara grabbed her purse and stepped out of the car. She amended her early demands. “Overnighted. I’m not waiting until Christmas time.”

“Deal.” Cara was a second from clicking the Bluetooth button to cut her sister off when Quinn added, “I’ll do one better.”

“Yeah? How can you do better than Mavis’ brownies overnighted from Scotland? Are you sending Mavis too?” Cara asked and adjusted the shirt of her uniform to cover her black bra poking out from the top.

“Not Mavis, but close. Ian’s already in route with a fresh batch, and he’s going to need a place to crash while in town. I told him you had room. Love you, bye.” Quinn quickly disconnected the call.

Ian. Just what Cara needed. Of course, Quinn would saddle Cara with a horny Highlander, with roaming hands, after a night of fighting off advances from drunk cops. Cara tilted her head back and forth to ease the coiled tension in her neck. Her day was getting better by the minute. What next?

I’ve got this
. Cara adjusted the hem of her uniform. The blue schoolgirl skirt barely covered her ass, and her white cotton top was cut into a V at the top and molded to the curves of her generous round breasts. She was a walking felony. She headed into the bar to fulfill her family duty. Music blared from the speakers as women danced and men crowded the stage.  Cara had been promised a slow night working behind the bar, but this… Cara shook her head as she headed toward Aunt Betty behind the bar.

“You’re late, sugar,” Aunt Betty called out and lifted the bar top so Cara could get behind it.

“And you lied, Aunt Betty. You promised me a slow night,” she said, trying to bite back her annoyance.

“This is slow,” Betty argued, pulling a beer from the cooler. She handed it to one of the guy’s perched on the barstool. He wobbled. Cara registered the rest of the men sitting nearby, DUI, DUI, crossdresser? She did a double take.

“The girls will be off the stage in thirty minutes, and some of the crowd will leave.”

Cara rested her elbows on the bar and scanned the room. The women on the stage were prancing around in strings that barely covered their assets while men stuck money between their fake breasts. Cara shook her head. In another ten minutes, Aunt Betty would probably be on stage. It was a wonder she’d lasted in the FBI as long as she had. Cara bet they’d thrown one hell of a retirement party.

“Did you have your appointment?” Aunt Betty asked.

“Yeah.”

“How are your eggs? Are they all scrambled?”

Cara smiled at her question. Aunt Betty was always blunt and blurted out her thoughts. “They’re healthy and frozen.”

“Good to hear it.” Aunt Betty gestured toward the dance floor. “I still think you should conceive the old-fashioned way. With a nice guy, in love, in the bar stockroom, but…do what you must. Tonight’s candidates are ripe for the picking. You sure I can’t change your mind?”

Aunt Betty elbowed Cara. Her aunt was a feisty old broad who weekly dyed her hair a different color. This week it matched the bright blue of her neon sign.

“I think I’ll pass.” Cara smiled sweetly at her aunt. She might not have put drunken cops under the
hell no
on her donor list, but she’d rectify that when she got home, right after she added anyone with Cruz as their last name.

“What about Juan, here,” Aunt Betty said while smacking the bar-back’s ass as he carried a crate of beer mugs. “He’s got a fine ass.”

“I’m sure his boyfriend, Michal, would agree. Although I’m not sure he’d approve.”

“That’s not true, Cara.” Juan grinned. “We could both be your baby’s daddy. Double the pleasure.”

“Sorry, Juan. I’m not looking for a daddy. I’m looking for sperm.”

“So am I, honey. So am I.” Juan high-fived Cara as he passed. 

“You keep being picky; your clock isn’t just going to quit ticking. It’s going to fall out of your uterus onto your yoga mat.”

Yoga mat? “Now I know you’re mental. You have me confused with Becca. When I get into yoga pants, it’s because I opened a five-gallon carton of ice cream.”

Cara’s sister, Becca, was a nature child. She loved everything organic, including stretching her body into a pretzel. She’d make some guy happy one day.

“Enough chitchat. You know the drill. You’ve got the far end of the bar, and I’ll take the orders from the waitresses.”

Cara did know the drill. Betty had taught her nieces at an early age how to mix drinks while Betty was still in the bureau. If she hadn’t been the law, they would have arrested her for child endangerment.

Two hours later, Cara was still batting down advances quicker than melting ice cream on a Florida beach, when Aunt Betty disappeared through the back door and returned carrying a diaper bag covered with cute farm animals.

Talk about toppings before the ice cream scoops. “Isn’t it a little early to give me a diaper bag?”

“It’s not for you, and the one I buy wouldn’t ever be as bland as this one.”

Cara smiled at the thought. The one Aunt Betty gave her would probably have flashing breasts acting as a bottle from which the baby could feed.

“I can handle the bar by myself for the rest of the night, but would you make like a call girl and make a house call?”

Laughter erupted from Cara’s lips. “It’s the outfit, isn’t it? It screams streetwalker. You should really think about classing the joint up.”

“Sex sells, doll. I need this dropped off at a friend’s house on the way home.”

“Sure.” Cara slipped the diaper bag over her shoulder and watched as an approaching man’s eyes widened. The color drained from his face as he slowly backtracked away, making Cara’s smile widen. The diaper bag worked like man-whore repellant. She should have had this bag slung across her body all night. “What’s the address?”

Aunt Betty grabbed a napkin and wrote down the address. “It’s an old Victorian house. You can’t miss it.”  

****

Cara parked on the road in front of an old two-story house. One car was parked in the driveway. Light seeped through the small opening in the closed curtains covering the living room window. The upstairs part of the two-story house was dark. Creepy places like this scared most people, but to her, it was history, and whatever ghosts were haunting the place were normally friendlier than the owner. She slipped out of her car and pulled at the hem of her skirt. Heat seared her cheeks from embarrassment. She should have gone home and changed first. Cara shoved the thoughts aside. Who cared. She’d never be seeing these people again, and they had to know she was coming from Aunt Betty’s bar. That alone would explain everything. Cara slipped the strap of the bag over her head as she walked up the drive.

The front door flew open, stopping her in her tracks. A woman emerged from inside the house. Her scream pierced the hot night air. The color of her face was whiter than Cara’s ass cheeks. The woman ran down the street, flailing her arms like a teen chasing her favorite band. Who taught that girl how to run? Cara’s fingers tensed around the bag’s strap as she slowly approached, ready to flee if a knife-wielding maniac should appear. She knew better than to go rushing inside. Momma hadn’t raised the dumb chick in a horror flick. Uh-uh, not this girl.

Cara peeked inside the open door and froze. A baby was floating in mid-air. Normally, people wouldn’t be able to see the ghost that was holding it, or the other three ghostly presences in the room. Cara wasn’t normal. No wonder the chick had run off. To her, the baby probably looked possessed.

Cara shook her head as she walked to the open door. A man stood with his back to her, jumping to try and grab the baby as it was lifted out of his reach. Poor guy.

Cara stepped inside. “Put that baby down, or so help me, I’ll have this house blessed and salted to drive your asses out and prevent you all from ever coming back.”

All of the ghostly eyes turned toward her, as did the man. Cooper Cruz. The last man on Earth she’d ever thought to see again. Cooper’s gaze travelled down her body before meeting her gaze. He spun back to the baby as the baby was lowered to the blanket.

He was quick to grab the baby and cradle it against his chest. “What was that?”

“Strong, mischievous ghosts. I’m sure it takes a lot of energy to move things, and I can only imagine the energy it took to play a game of Keep Away.” She walked into the house and shut the door. “You should think about tossing their asses out.”

The living room was a mess. Toys were strewn across the floor. Blankets and empty bottles lay nearby. The baby had a T-shirt around his bottom, knotted at the stomach and being held by rubber bands. A spit-up stain traveled the length of Cooper’s shirt in the back.

Laughter burst from her lips, warming her body from the inside out. This explained the walking zombie look from her office.

Cooper glared. She tried to stifle her laugh. Really she did.

“Bad night?” she asked, clearing her throat to hide the humor.

Cooper sighed and kissed the blond peach fuzz on the baby’s head. “The worst.”

Cara strolled across the room and took the baby from his hands, suppressing the baby’s images that formed from the touch.

The scent of baby poop lingered in the air, and it was a toss-up if the stink was coming from the baby or Cooper.  “I’ve got him. Go take a shower and get cleaned up. You both smell like sour milk.”

Without a word, Cooper disappeared up the stairs. Cara grabbed one of the blankets and walked into the kitchen, hoping Aunt Betty had thought enough to pack some baby shampoo, among other things she’d need to make everything right. As if that was possible. She was in a Cruz house, and here she was helping. She must be slowly losing her mind. Cara glanced down at the beautiful baby. Had it been just Cooper, she would have walked away, but this sweet innocent baby…well, one look into those blue eyes and she knew leaving wasn’t an option. Not yet.

Had Aunt Betty been trying to test Cara, to see if she could handle the situation, or was it because Aunt Betty had known there were ghosts?

Cara cradled the baby against her chest and opened the bag to get a good look inside. Diapers, formula, and a large box of condoms. A little late for that.

She unzipped the side compartments and found baby shampoo. “What do you say we get you all cleaned up.”

Fifteen minutes later, she’d bathed the baby in the sink, put a normal diaper on him, and made a fresh bottle. Settling in the recliner, with a burp rag over her shoulder, she rocked him while he ate. His little fingers clutched around her pinky as he stared up at her with Caribbean blue eyes, confirming Cara’s first assessment of Coop. He did make beautiful kids. The baby’s eyes slid closed. He was probably as worn out as Cooper.

Cara set the bottle on the table and burped him, wiping at his mouth. She kept him in her arms and rocked him the rest of the way asleep.

Cooper jogged down the stairs, running a towel over his head. He’d showered and changed into a pair of track pants without a shirt. Her eyes tracked his movements as he neared. The tick-tock of her clock sped up as her libido danced a quick rumba. Women everywhere would rejoice if he donated sperm. She silently wondered what it might take for him to give her a few of his swimmers. Nope, not happening. No way was she unleashing another Cruz into this world.

She wasn’t looking for a husband, just a donor. She compared men like she did ice cream toppings. Which one would give her the most delicious outcome? This guy screamed the perfect combination. Damn his last name, and damn the hormones the doc had her on that were still coursing through her system. They had her acting like a wanton hussy.

“How did you get Adam to sleep?” he asked, his voice only a whisper.

“I’m more than a pretty face with a weird job,” she answered with a wink. What the hell was wrong with her that she was flirting with the devil’s brother? Heat flooded her body. “I would have put him down, but I don’t know which room has his crib.”