Whispered Words

by Marie Harte

  Whispered Words

  (a PowerUp! story)

  Marie Harte

  www.loose-id.com

  Whispered Words (A PowerUp! story)

  Copyright © August 2011 by Marie Harte

  All rights reserved. This copy is intended for the original purchaser of this e-book ONLY. No part of this e-book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without prior written permission from Loose Id LLC.

  Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Purchase only authorized editions.

  eISBN 978-1-61118-471-6

  Editor: Ann M. Curtis

  Cover Artist: Anne Cain

  Printed in the United States of America

  Published by

  Loose Id LLC

  PO Box 425960

  San Francisco CA 94142-5960

  www.loose-id.com

  This e-book is a work of fiction. While reference might be made to actual historical events or existing locations, the names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Warning

  This e-book contains sexually explicit scenes and adult language and may be considered offensive to some readers. Loose Id LLC’s e-books are for sale to adults ONLY, as defined by the laws of the country in which you made your purchase.

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  * * *

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  Chapter One

  Bend, Oregon

  December

  Gripping her side and praying the pain meant bruised and not broken ribs, Chloe King did her best to remain quiet and breathed through her mouth to counteract the pain. The crisp winter weather made her breath fog as she exhaled, and she shivered, wishing she’d worn a warmer coat. At least she was wearing black. She blended into the shadows better than she might have otherwise.

  “Come on, sweetheart. I know you’re there. I’ve been watching you, waiting for you. Did you like the roses I sent you last week? Your favorite, I know. Well, Chloe, I’ve saved the best surprise for last. It’s time.”

  A shaft of moonlight flashed across the warehouse floor. She spotted where her pistol had fallen when the asshole had knocked it from her hands. So damn far away. Shit. For all that she’d worked on teams to defeat terrorism, drug gangs, and genocide, this particular stalker proved to be a handful. Who would have thought an average psychopath could be so much work?

  She blamed herself for this. The little notes, the flowers, the anonymous gifts that had escalated from cute to creepy the past month. She’d thought her friends were up to something, even though she’d felt a shiver every time something new showed up in her mailbox. She should have treated the odd presents more seriously, but she’d stupidly relied on her psychic abilities to protect herself, even knowing they’d been more off than on lately.

  A chill of real fear snaked its way up her spine. She was all alone with this wacko. And he’d already proved he had no problem hurting her. Her palms sweated, and her heart raced. She sent out a mental plea. “Hey, voices. A little help here?” And heard nothing but the sound of muted footsteps and the wind whistling through the abandoned warehouse.

  The moonlight vanished, leaving the warehouse in darkness.

  “Chlo-ee.” He sang her name, accompanying the cadence with the whining scrape of his knife against the walls. She had yet to see his face, but she’d never forget that tone—crazy with a side of lust.

  Now, when she really could have used some advice from the voice she’d been hearing for the past fifteen years, it remained quiet. The way it had since she’d returned from Arizona two months ago. The last warning she’d received sat at the forefront of her mind. Find us before it’s too late. The cryptic advice annoyed her.

  How the hell could she find them without help? She knew nothing about them. Were they alive or dead? Male or female? And was this creep what they’d meant when they’d said too late? Too late for her?

  Knowing she had little time before Psycho Stan—as she’d dubbed him—

  reached her, she silently crept toward what looked like a large hole in the wall. The gloom in the place made it hard to tell if the black patch was a large stain or the outside. On the outskirts of Bend, the rundown warehouse sat on a desolate ranch.

  The building had once housed trucks used for transporting cows, horses, and other livestock. But now, with the ranch closed and the economy down the toilet, the warehouse and ranch remained vacant. Mostly.

  She shivered and did her best to suppress her fear.

  At this time of night, there weren’t many passersby on the main road either. If, by the grace of God, she did manage to snag some attention, Chloe had no doubt her stalker would take care of any Good Samaritan foolish enough to offer help.

  “It’s just you, me, and my knife.” He chuckled, and the husky burr of his laughter made her shudder. Just two short months ago, in the course of a murder investigation, she’d been kidnapped by a possessed killer. Now this. A psycho nutjob. For someone no longer working for the government, she continued to end up in dangerous situations. Except this time, she didn’t have a team backing her up or psychic voices guiding her through the danger.

  Apparently, Chloe had no one but herself to rely upon. Terrific.

  She squelched a groan, held on to her side, and lowered to a crouch. If she could just make it past the shot of moonlight now pushing through a broken window, she could rush for the dark gap in the wall. After a bit of study, she’d determined it was an exit, and thank God for that. She’d arrived tonight hoping to get information on her client’s missing pocket watch, an antique worth a lot of money. She knew the watch existed, but the informant? She didn’t think so. The watch and the other items she and her team had been hired to find weren’t well-known. A confidential client and a secret list, yet this psycho had known about the case.

  He had to be psychic—the only explanation that made sense.

  Yet shouldn’t Jack have known?

  Her boss employed psychics to man a discreet investigation and security service. Chloe worked with people who could see the future, move things with their minds, create fire from a thought, sense emotions… The list went on. Yet not one of her buddies had sensed that they might have interference on this case. She put the facts together and froze.

  The likelihood this stalker had nothing to do with the case and everything to do with Chloe couldn’t be ignored. And she was all by herself, because she hadn’t thought to bring a friend with her, so sure of her ability to defend herself, that she belonged on the team like all the others. Shit.

  Suddenly a hand pulled her to her feet and shoved her against the wall at her back. She couldn’t breathe. The shock from being slammed against the wall robbed her of breath. The large palm covering her mouth didn’t help. The pressure on her ribs made her light-headed with pain before it eased.

  “Shh. Not a word.” Warm breath whispered against her ear. Not her stalker, unless he had a friend. And wouldn’t that just be her luck.

  The stalker’s singsong voice snapped with irritation. “Damn it, Chloe. I’m getting tired of this.” The lights flickered. A few bulbs came to life overhead just as the moonlight ebbed.

  She sensed Psy
cho Stan had something to do with the lights. Psychic energy flooded the space, crawling over her like the scuttling feet of tiny insects. She felt itchy all over. Shuffling footsteps drew closer.

  The man holding her ran a hand gently over her shoulder. A comforting caress.

  It startled her because he felt so solid and safe against her. Who the hell was this guy? She opened her mouth to whisper the question when he stole her breath again.

  He leaned down and…inhaled?

  Odd tingles of excitement lit her from within, taking some of her pain. Though much smaller than her captor, she didn’t feel the least bit frightened of him.

  Instead, she felt aroused, fascinated, and attracted.

  What the hell is wrong with me?

  The guy holding her tensed just as someone else knocked the stalker on his ass. The two on the floor grappled as the lights flickered above.

  She caught nothing more than two large men rolling around, their hair hidden under knit caps, their bodies encased in dark clothing. She saw the sudden flash of a large knife. But then the lights blacked out and took away any chance to identify the men around her.

  The guy at her side nuzzled her hair aside to position his lips at her ear. She moaned. Not in pain but because her entire body felt like one giant nerve ending.

  Sexually excited and in the worst danger of her life. Even Chloe had to admit she made no sense.

  “Don’t worry,” he whispered. “He won’t harm you.”

  She felt his lips caress her earlobe and shivered, unable to help her response.

  With that note of confidence, he darted away and joined the others scrapping on the floor. At least she thought he did. She could barely see her hand in front of her face. Never a fool, she didn’t stand around and wait. Taking her chance to escape, Chloe moved as fast as she could. She grabbed her gun off the floor and swung around to level it at the sounds of grunts and groans coming from the floor.

  Then…nothing.

  Moonlight returned, and she found herself alone, no hint that she’d ever been around anyone other than herself and her imagination. The moonlight fluttered and died as the clouds scurried to engulf the world once more in darkness.

  * * *

  A week later, she refused to change her mind. Trying not so squirm in the uncomfortable chair across from Jack Keiser’s desk, Chloe kept her gaze steady on her boss. It wasn’t easy. The man’s ice blue eyes remained frigid with disapproval. His broad chest heaved as he tried to get a handle on his temper, not one of Jack’s strengths lately. Built like a linebacker, the guy had muscles growing over muscles, a mind that had Mensa written all over it, and a natural dominance that made his leadership over their psychic squad easy to accept.

  A dozen or so members of the government’s now defunct Psychic Warfare Program, or PWP, worked for Jack’s PowerUp! gym. They should have been bored out of their minds, but ever since Jack had taken on their big, anonymous client, adventure had returned to their lives. And thank God for that. If she had to focus on helping middle-aged men lose their love handles for one second more than she already had, she’d have gone stark-raving mad.

  “Wake up, King.”

  She blinked and tried a smile, but Jack wasn’t having it. She huffed her excuse. “It’s not my fault. I didn’t take backup to that warehouse. It was a simple meet for information. You know that.”

  “You still should have taken someone with you.” He blew out a breath. “Damn it, Chloe. This makes no sense. You leaving only puts you in greater danger.” He glared at her. “You’ve spent a week on your ass as it is. You look like shit.”

  “Gee, thanks, Jack.” Asshole.

  “How are you going to keep up with your training?”

  Courtesy of the US government, every one of the ex-PWP agents working for Jack had been genetically altered to enhance their psychic productivity. Even Chloe had felt a strengthening connection with the voices she’d always heard, and one voice in particular. Her special voice had grown crystal clear after she’d taken the government’s drugs.

  Getting cut off from their meds when the program went under had turned a lot of the agents crazy. Many of her peers had decided to stick with Uncle Sam and veered off into other departments. Not Chloe. She was tired of following orders that made no sense. So, with a handful of other independent thinkers, she’d joined up with Jack. Now they used physical and mental exercises—not drugs—to stay focused and rational.

  “The workouts aren’t that necessary for me. I’m not like you other freaks,” she said.

  Jack just looked at her.

  “Well, okay, maybe I am. But I’m not as bad. As long as I use my skills to concentrate on the voices, I’m okay.” Of course, those voices had become strangely silent. She still heard the occasional whisper offering tidbits of information or demanding she fix things for other people, but nothing that related to her specifically. The voice that saved her ass on a daily basis had simply vanished. And she needed it back.

  “You’re not telling me all of it. I know it.”

  Jack and those damn eyes. “Look, boss. I’ll be fine. My ribs are healed up. I’ll be hiking through snow. In the mountains. That’s a better workout than I can get here. Besides, Psycho Stan can use a few weeks without me. Trust me; I’ll be safer in the woods away from him. When I come back, the situation will resolve itself.

  They told me.” The voice was never wrong. At least, not when it actually spoke to her.

  She hated to lie to Jack, but she really needed to handle her problems by herself. With so many psychics underfoot, one of them would eventually realize she wasn’t herself. In order to center herself, she had to go away. One way or the other, she’d find her voice again. She had to. Because without that particular voice, she feared she’d be worthless to the team.

  Her only family now, the team accepted her; they offered her friendship, a sense of worth. She couldn’t lose that. She wouldn’t lose that.

  “Chloe, talk to me.”

  Oh hell. Not the gentle voice. Chloe didn’t like it when Jack turned soft. He rarely used that tone with any of the others. But she knew he had a soft spot for women, though he’d die before admitting it.

  She blinked to hold back the tears, knowing that if she relented and shared her worries with Jack, he’d never let her leave. And she had to go.

  “Damn it.” He ran a hand through his dark hair, and his biceps bulged. “I don’t like any of this. Avery still can’t see your future, and Nathan didn’t get any hits off that torn piece of cloth you brought back from the warehouse. That fucker of an informant must have somehow shielded himself from psychic residue, which proves you were right. Your stalker has to be psychic. Whether he’s tied at all to the PWP

  or not, that we’ll soon know. I have Ian working on it.” Jack’s grimace said volumes.

  But was he annoyed because of Ian—their newest hire and a constant thorn in their side—or her?

  He finished with, “I have a bad feeling about you going off anywhere alone.” Nope, Jack was still annoyed with her. In hindsight, not telling him her voices had started to fade now seemed like a godsend.

  “But Jack, the voices told me I need to do this. Alone.” He eyed her with suspicion before sighing. “Oh hell. Okay. I have Kitty and Gavin looking into the pocket watch, so that’s handled. Take the next two weeks off, since we’re near the holidays anyway. But you check in with me twice a day, you got me? Consider it your vacation, since you still refuse to take any. And you’re sure the ribs are better?”

  His easy acceptance bothered her. Jack didn’t like to lose. Not at anything.

  “Yes. Much better.” One thing the gene therapy had done for her and the others. It made them resistant to a lot of diseases, and she healed faster than a normal person.

  “You need to get back to training, Chloe. I worry about you.”

  “It’s a size thing. I’m sure you’ll get over it eventually.” Every one of the ex-agents—male and female—treated her like the weakest
link on the team because of her smaller size, and it grated.

  His lips quirked. The closest Jack ever got to a smile. “Sure thing, Tinker Bell.” She hated when he called her that. “So the voices. You’re absolutely sure they’re telling you to go this alone? Because I’d hate to think one of my own is lying to me.”

  The burning stare almost broke her. But she needed to handle this herself. She always had and always would deal with personal business in private. And she considered her ability private.

  She kept eye contact as long as she could, then looked away before she lost herself in his stare. More than one of them had mentioned they thought Jack had gained some sort of mesmerism talent since leaving the PWP. But no one had the guts to out-and-out ask him.

  “Guess I’d better go, then.” She put her hands on the chair arms, preparing to leave.

  “Good luck. Just make sure you turn everything over to Ian before you go.” She stood before the name registered. “Wait. What? Ian?” He blinked. Jack could do anger, hostility, and menace better than anyone she knew. But innocence?

  “Ian is your replacement.”

  “Not him. He’ll make a mess of everything,” she whined and hated herself for doing so. But Frank—Ian—whatever the hell he was calling himself these days, had made it his duty in life to become her personal pain in the ass. “Come on, Jack. Let me put Nathan on point. He already works the night shift, and with the holidays getting even busier, you need someone who can do the job.” And not turn my office into a natural disaster.

  “Ian has a knack for handling people. Nathan just pisses them off.” He pinched the bridge of his nose and closed his eyes, then opened them again and glared at her. “Hell, he pisses me off on a daily basis. And before you say it, yeah, everyone pisses me off. I tell you what. I’ll keep Nathan where he is, but I’ll move Avery to nights to help the guys. It’ll do him good to get away from the pool.” She didn’t know if that would be such a good idea, since Nathan and Avery started arguing the minute they caught sight of each other. But, eager to depart before someone else prevented her from leaving, she nodded. “I’m good, then. The voices are telling me to hustle. Gotta go.”