SAFE (Men of the ESRB Book 1)

by Shiloh, Hollis

  I found myself immediately putting on a brighter expression and focusing on upbeat feelings the way I did around Sky. The lines around the man's eyes eased a little, as if it had helped.

  I looked at Sky. He didn't seem upset, but he was alert, something about him gone quite still as he paid attention to some inner sense of what was happening here. There was serenity, though, with the alertness. He wasn't frightened by these men. I was, but the desire to put the new empath at ease still came first. It was habit by now, and I probably couldn't have done otherwise. The realization amused me.

  The other man was studying our faces, mine and Sky's, looking between us with an awareness I found disconcerting. He seemed more aware than the average guy about us, like he was measuring us in some way we couldn't understand, but there was nothing terribly empathic about him. He looked too assured to have to deal with the constant barrage of emotions.

  All this I took in in a moment. Then the captain was speaking — after clearing his throat nervously.

  "Hunter, Zane, these men are from the ESRB. They're here to check up on how Zane is doing." He cleared his throat again — super nervous — and sat back down awkwardly. A fine sheen of sweat decorated his forehead.

  "Zane," said the other empath, and he shook Sky's hand, looking at his face as though memorizing him. He smiled then, looking relieved, and gave him a tiny nod.

  Holy crap, had he just read Sky's thoughts? He had to have an incredibly high rating. No wonder the captain was freaking out.

  I wondered just what he'd been picking up off me to make him so uncomfortable. I soon found out. After a brief talk where the captain was present, he took me aside privately and spoke to me quietly, his eyes knowing and serious, but very calm. I wasn't afraid of him, because I'd been around Sky so much I felt comfortable with empaths now. A few months ago, I'd have freaked out.

  He crossed his arms and leaned back against a table in the quiet room where we were talking. It was private. He needed to confer with me, he'd said, and the captain had fallen all over himself to make it happen.

  "I can understand your desire for privacy, and I respect it," said the man without preamble. He hadn't given his name, and I suspected he didn't intend to. Neither man had.

  I nodded, grateful, but unable to speak just then. He had discerned my feelings quickly and wasn't going to reveal me. It was a surprise.

  "But what I can't allow is for your desire for privacy to keep you from protecting Skyler. That appears to be your job at this precinct, and if you allow people to call him names without informing the captain — who I would then expect to take appropriate action — you are not doing your job. You are not keeping him safe. And I would be required to recommend his reassignment elsewhere."

  He crossed his arms again and kept his gaze on me steadily. I gulped.

  "Now, Skyler is happier and more secure than I have ever seen him. I don't want to see him reassigned. But this toxic environment needs to change, and hate-filled language must stop. Safety is necessary for Skyler, or we must remove him. And safety includes freedom from verbal abuse."

  I nodded, hard. "I'll tell the captain about it now."

  "Good. And I expect you to do so in future, whatever personal concerns you may harbor. Skyler is not to be abused."

  Duly chastised and warned, I went to see the captain as soon as possible.

  He was pissed, but less with me than himself and the guys responsible for the hateful comments. He seemed to understand how I thought it would make it worse if I'd spoken up every time I heard something rude.

  But he'd also gotten his ear chewed off by the officials. The dark look in his eyes told me he was going to make some heads roll if there weren't changes, stat.

  I talked to Sky afterwards. "I'm guessing the empath was rated One, and you two had a private conversation. Am I right?" I said, holding the steering wheel tightly as I drove us home.

  Sky smiled faintly, gave me a little nod. "You're pretty clever, officer."

  "Thanks," I said dryly.

  "Well, you are. And I'm really relieved they came by, actually. He told me they definitely weren't planning to separate us, and Chard is a good guy."

  "Was he your teacher or something?"

  "No, but we all met him at school and he gave us some talks about dealing with government infrastructure and stuff like that. He's an expert."

  "And the other guy?" I asked nervously. "He seemed … powerful, but I didn't quite get a handle on it."

  "Barnes. He's a psychic. It's — well, they have better terms for it these days, but that's basically what he does, glimpses of the future, getting a read on people, that kind of thing. He's predicted some big earthquakes and stuff like that, too. It's a help when you know it's coming before even the most precise instruments can warn anyone."

  My brows rose. "Really?" That must be pretty useful, an ability like that. "Does he work for the government?"

  "With and for, but also the Bureau. He helps check up on people, too."

  I'd just learned more about the men than I had during their whole visit.

  "I did get the feeling he was looking through me, like he could see me pretty well, but not necessarily emotionally." I said the words slowly, not sure they made any sense.

  Sky nodded. "I wonder if he was looking at the future for us or something like that. It wouldn't surprise me. But I think they'd tell us if he saw anything important." He didn't sound worried.

  I wondered if I should be. "Tell me more about us getting to stay together."

  "Oh. Chard promised I wouldn't be taken away from you." He looked at me shyly, smiling softly. "I'm glad."

  "Oh. Me too." And they weren't going to try to out me, either. I'd gotten off a lot luckier than I'd expected to.

  I was worried about the reaction at the precinct, though, when the captain clamped down on the hateful talk. I was afraid it would backfire.

  Well, we'd deal with whatever came next. Like always.

  #

  Captain Quill put the fear of God into the men who'd been harassing Skyler. I was afraid we'd all end up paying for it another way, but nothing immediate happened. Sky seemed calmer and less stressed when he had to go through the squad room with lots of people around.

  Were they actually thinking less hostile thoughts, or was he just feeling more mellow about things? He seemed … secure. Or at least as secure as such a gentle, unassuming, easily unnerved guy could.

  He looked almost smug sometimes when we were going to bed together, like he really thought he had a good thing going.

  No complaints from me. I was glad to be with him. I felt very lucky.

  I'd never expected to feel this settled and safe with a guy, much less so homey and happy. The sex was amazing, but so were the other things we shared, the quiet moments of just being near each other, not even focused on each other like it was a big deal, just in each other's orbits, the most natural thing in the world.

  Maybe I was more domestic than I thought.

  #

  I might be a sentimental prick these days, but I wasn't an idiot.

  Skyler knew things he couldn't know any other way than reading my mind. Sure, he'd blown me off about being see-through a few times, and it was easy to convince myself he always got my coffee the way I wanted it because I was predictable, or he had a good memory, or I'd wanted it a special way and just forgot I'd mentioned it aloud to him.

  But there are only so many times a guy can fool himself about stuff like that. He'd get me the right hammer without me even having to ask. We worked scarily in tune together — because he was in tune with me. Yeah, I was aware of his moods and tried to take care of him, but it was a whole other level with him — stratospheric "guesswork."

  He'd make me the meal I'd been hungry for. Fix me the frou-frou coffee I was hungry for that morning instead of my usual cuppa joe. He was great in bed, of course, and a lot of that could be put down to empathy, but I mean, come on. He knew when I wanted to top (or bottom) before I could eve
n hint. The man didn't require words; he just knew what I liked, and nine times out of ten, knocked himself out to go along with it.

  I worried, sometimes, that he was working too hard to please me, perhaps wanting to earn my affection. But no, he seemed to really get off on being in tune with me. Like it made him happy, taking care of me and being around me. I felt the same way about him, so I could understand that. Having him in my life to care about, take care of, and do things with, well, it was more fulfilling than I'd ever expected.

  All the same, he was clearly literally reading my mind on some level, and it was about time we talked about it.

  "C'mere, hon," I said one day, catching hold of his hands and drawing him after me. I pulled him close and sat down. He was pliant and came with me willingly, looking at me with expectant happiness in his eyes, like he was thinking maybe sex.

  Maybe … but later.

  I rubbed his wrist, and looked at his eyes. I purposefully kept my emotions as level and low-key as I could, but the phrase I thought was romantic and incendiary: I love you.

  We hadn't said it. We'd probably both felt it, but yeah, we hadn't gotten near the words at all.

  Now, I thought them as clearly as I could while still keeping my emotions level. I think I succeeded. I was pretty good at staying cool for him. But the words, I really focused on them.

  He looked at me, first with that expectant look — and then as I lobbed the L-bomb, he colored up and twisted away from me, pulling his slim wrists free. "Hunt," he complained, looking down away from me, and rubbing his arms awkwardly against his sides. "Don't tease."

  "C'mere." I pulled him into the safety of me: between my legs, tugged against my body as I sat on the end of the bed, and he stood there awkwardly uncomfortable. I put my arms around him, holding him close. "Wasn't teasing," I promised. "I mean it." I hugged him to me.

  He huffed, and then took a jittery breath that sounded like he was close to crying. "Hunt," he said in a jagged voice. "R-Really?"

  "Yeah. You mean you can't tell?" This was more important than tackling the mind reading right now. I rubbed his back gingerly, soothing him, trying to comfort him.

  "I — I can't always trust myself, you know that."

  "Well, I mean it. Come on." I pulled him onto my lap.

  There was a lot of kissing and touching and cuddling before he stopped feeling so vulnerable. After that, we had some incandescent sex and fell asleep before we could even consider talking about the whole mind reading thing.

  Oh, and yeah — he said it back. A lot.

  But in the morning, then we talked.

  I drew him onto my lap and held him close so he would feel secure. He was often hard to pin down about the extent of his abilities, as if he was afraid they might be too strong. As if that scared him.

  "You knew exactly what I was thinking last night," I said in a calm voice.

  He made a jerky movement, ready to get up and get away from me, to change the subject, or to be too busy to talk.

  "Hon, you did."

  "Lucky guess?" he mumbled, trying to hide his face against my shoulder and neck.

  "Shh." I kissed him, careful and gentle, and rubbed his back some more. That seemed to ease his anxiety every time. I didn't mind babying him shamelessly, either. I hadn't thought I'd enjoy that, or that I'd ever find a man who'd let me, but here he was, on my lap, relaxing under my comfort.

  "You know I don't mind," I continued in a soft voice. "I just think we should figure it out if we can. Sometimes you're so amazing at what you do, it's like you can read everyone's minds. Other times, you struggle with even the simpler things you can do. Is it anxiety? Do you just have good and bad days? Are you always great at this, and you're just trying not to freak everybody out by sometimes pretending to be bad at it?"

  It took him a moment of thought-gathering to answer. "N-No," he said hesitantly, picking out the words as if he didn't know how to explain. "I feel close to you. It's … easier. But I do have good and bad days. And I don't want to mention the good ones, in case I unnerve you."

  "You haven't," I promised.

  He nuzzled closer and gave a contented sigh. He knew I meant it. He knew. It was nice to be believed when I said something.

  "So, do you want to maybe practice sometime? This could be really handy if we need to communicate privately." I drew back and looked at him, raising my eyebrows.

  He thought about it for a second, then nodded shyly. "I will if you want. If it doesn't bother you. Just … don't get annoyed, if I'm not always good at it. Because it seems to vary."

  "Okay," I promised.

  And so we tried honing his skills. We took a few minutes every day to practice. Sometimes he could pick out whole words and phrases, sentences and meanings clear from my mind. I had to hold my thoughts carefully and think clearly. Fleeting thoughts were too difficult for him to understand.

  He still read emotions far more easily and clearly than thoughts, even when they were passing, flickering, easy emotions that didn't hold any great depths. Getting actual thoughts, words, and complex ideas was high level, and I could see why he'd never been rated higher. Aside from being too nervous and unsure of his abilities, it really was hit or miss. At work, when he tried, he was less likely to get anything clear from someone who wasn't me.

  Also, he was uncomfortable trying to get words from people who hadn't given him permission. It made him nervous and awkward. Apparently he already felt like he was intruding just feeling people's emotional states, even though this was something he'd been born with and had always experienced. It was as though the people around him had no filters, and he, easily embarrassed and awkward socially, found it really difficult to constantly "hear" their emotional states. And he always did. That was why he was so jumpy around the captain. Quill was not a very mellow man.

  But me? I was learning to be.

  For me, his constant life experience would be like if I walked into a room and everyone was loudly complaining about their last breakup, weeping about some inner pain, or talking at the top of their lungs about wanting a fuck: hard to tune out, awkward, and unpleasant. But at least in that situation, everybody would realize that I was aware of their emotional displays. Sky had the added responsibility of feeling like a sneaky, unwanted intruder.

  #

  When Sky went missing I felt like I was going to lose my mind.

  There was no way. I'd been careful. I'd kept a close eye on him at all times, not just because I was crazy about the guy — and I was — but because I worried about his ex kidnapping him again, and even more importantly, I knew he did.

  So I hadn't done anything stupid like make him go somewhere on his own. No, I was his taxi service, and I owned it. I didn't mind. Why would I? With me there, he was safe. I was more than happy to take care of Sky and be his unofficial bodyguard.

  But that day, he'd gone to the bathroom, and when fifteen minutes had slipped by without him returning to the room, I went to see if he was okay.

  The captain didn't ask me to, but the interrogation on the other side of the glass was getting held up as we waited for Sky to return. And personally, I got worried easily about Sky. He was one vulnerable dude. If he was feeling sick, or if somebody had started harassing him — well, I needed to know.

  Maybe even fifteen minutes was too long. I tormented myself about that. Maybe if I'd gone to check on him sooner, I could've found him, kept him from being snatched. But I hadn't. And when he wasn't there, and wasn't in the precinct (I tore around wildly, asking everyone), we got busy right away, realizing his life was probably at risk, that Gruver had likely kidnapped him again.

  Officers scoured the security footage, but there was nothing that showed him leaving the building.

  He had, though. He wasn't there.

  And while I didn't know how Gruver could've gotten past security, my panic levels rose with each passing hour.

  None of the security cameras were broken. There were no unexpected loops in the tape. The tech guys wer
e sure — even a little indignant about our insistence that there must be something wrong with the security footage.

  There was nothing. We could find nothing. And yet he wasn't here.

  All officers were on alert. Every lead we'd been tracing about his abusive ex, Gruver, was dragged out and gone over and over. We sucked down coffee, put in extra hours without pay, put everybody we could spare on it.

  He was missing. Gone.

  Quill called the ESRB so they'd send someone. We needed help, and he wasn't too proud to ask. He was probably almost as scared as I was.

  I put in a lot of time on the street, in my patrol car. I couldn't go home and rest. I had to look, had to find him. I kept my phone close, hoping all the while he'd escape and get to call me again.

  But last time? That had been a lucky fluke. Gruver wouldn't make the same mistake again.

  Most likely, he'd taken Sky somewhere quiet to kill him. Maybe Sky was already dead. It could easily be true; I had no great psychic connection to him to tell me. I wished I did; I wished there was something like a line between us that I could follow to him and then take him home. Somehow, I had to fix it. He'd counted on me, trusted me. I'd let him down, and I didn't even know how. How did Gruver do it?

  After the first twenty-four hours, the theory had to be floated. I'd been expecting it sooner, actually.

  They thought maybe he'd run away.

  Because he was so valuable, all available manpower was on the case, and the ESRB was sending an expert to talk to everyone who was here, who might've seen something without realizing it, or been on the inside of a snatch and grab.

  But even more so, the main theory was now that he'd run.

  He had a history of emotional problems. Maybe he'd wanted out and was afraid to tell anyone. It wasn't like work didn't take a toll on him — it did — but I knew he would never do that to me. He wouldn't plan to sneak off this way.

  I couldn't tell anybody we'd been lovers and that he'd never leave me, though. I was pretty sure it wouldn't help, and might make things worse. Nobody believes a lover who says the relationship was completely happy, and "he'd never have left me." No cop, anyway.