Extrasensual Perception

by Rayna Vause

  “Keys?” He held out his hand, never taking his gaze off of their surroundings.

  They approached the door. Locked. The early morning moonlight offered a limited view, but it didn’t look as though anyone had tampered with the lock, and the doorframe appeared undamaged. He opened the door, stepped into the foyer, and flipped on the lights.

  Chris walked from room to room, switching on lights, checking behind doors, and looking under beds. Angelica stayed no more than a few inches away the entire time. When they came to her bedroom, again he checked under the bed, the en suite bathroom, and finally the walk-in closet.

  “Well, Ang, looks like everything is all clear. That must have only been one creepy-ass prank text.” He turned to find she’d gone stark white. His pulse sped as he rushed to her side. “Hey, what’s wrong?” He rubbed her arm hoping to calm her, but ragged breaths rushed in and out of her. She trembled under his hand.

  “The closet.” She croaked out the words.

  He turned, putting her behind him, and scanned the room. “What? What did I miss?”

  She cleared her throat and balled her hands into fists. When she spoke, the words came out raw and rough. “When I left this morning, the closet was a disaster.”

  Chris looked back into the large walk-in. Clothing now hung in tidy rows and shoes were tucked in pairs into cubbies. He caught sight of a blue pair of shoes just above a pink pair. Holy shit those are the heels from the picture. He met her wide, scared gaze.

  “Chris, someone has been in my home.”

  HE’D followed the pair from the hotel. He’d done his best not to alert them, but at three in the morning, traffic thinned enough to limit cover. He’d pulled into a shadowed section of the street a few houses away from Angelica’s and cut the engine. He watched and waited, the remaining air-conditioning in the car just winning out over the oppressive July heat. Coming here had been a risk, but he’d needed to take it. His whole body throbbed with excitement.

  He’d have killed to have eyes and ears in the car and the house, to be the proverbial fly on the wall, but for tonight he’d have to be satisfied with watching from here.

  Angelica and her companion climbed out of the car and approached the house with caution.

  “A little jumpy tonight?” He chuckled.

  She kept looking back over her shoulder, checking the street, watching for someone to approach from behind. The guy with her, though, he seemed steady. Ready to defend if necessary. He’d need to do some digging, find out more about the new player. He couldn’t afford surprises. He’d spent far too long planning every detail to allow for errors. He clutched his thigh, digging tensed fingers into denim, pressing hard enough to sting the flesh beneath. No more giving in to impulse. He’d given in to temper when he’d vandalized Angelica’s car. So stupid. But at least he’d had the forethought to block the surveillance cameras.

  The two entered Angelica’s house. One by one, every light in the house went on. His breathing sped up with each light that illuminated. First the entry hall, then the living room, then the kitchen.

  “Patience. Patience.”

  Then it happened. Two silhouetted figures rushed into the living room. Angelica spoke on the phone and paced, gesturing like a madwoman. Warmth surged through him, and he couldn’t stop his smile.

  Time to go. The cops, and likely Jack, would be here soon. He shifted the car into gear, rolled past the townhouse, and out of the development.

  “Welcome to the game, Angie. Round one to me.”

  Chapter Three

  TANGLED in his sheets, Chris jerked from the clutches of the dream. He wiped his palms down his sweat-drenched face, then reached for the remote control, switching on the television and welcoming the inane chatter of infomercials. He let the flickering light and soft voices chase away the shadows of the dream and wrap around him like a security blanket. God, I’m tired. Sleep continued to elude him; every time he closed his eyes, pain and fear assaulted him.

  When the sun came up a few hours later, Chris dressed, left a note for his mother, and headed down to the waterfront. She’d sleep for a few more hours, and if she needed him, he’d only be a phone call and a few minutes away.

  At a little before six in the morning, the docks still slept. Seagulls floated on the salty sea air in search of breakfast. The boats that bobbed in their berths remained dark, any inhabitants sleeping their way through the sunrise.

  Chris breathed in the cool morning air. The lapping of the water soothed him. He allowed himself this brief moment of peace before diving back into the chaos of his daily life. He needed it to chase away the terror of the dream. It had come to him every night since he’d walked into Angelica’s office to pass on Ma’s warning.

  Some psychic. His gift tormented him with bits and pieces of the events to come. He could read other people clear as day, but his own future stayed shrouded in mystery. He folded his arms on the metal railing that separated the land from the wood-planked dock. He took one last look at the water, then closed his eyes and rested his forehead on his arms.

  Approaching footsteps caught his attention, invading his quiet time. He bit his lip to keep from grumbling when unwanted company stopped right next to him. The person joined him, leaning against the railing as well. He huffed, lifted his head, and found Jack Whitman watching him.

  Chris straightened and ran a hand through his hair. Great. Mr. Country-Club-Perfect would be bright, shiny, and gorgeous first thing in the morning. Life is so not fair. He groaned.

  “Good morning to you too, Chris.”

  His skin tingled and he could all but feel the caress of Jack’s mercury gaze as it scanned him from head to toe. He took a step back, fidgeting a bit. “What brings you to the waterfront at this hour of the day?”

  Jack cocked a brow at him and gestured at an enormous motor yacht, gleaming in the morning sun at the end of a private dock. “If I head out early enough, I have the water to myself for a while.”

  Chris nodded. “Makes sense.”

  “Do you like boats? If we head out now, the sea traffic on the bay will be low.”

  Chris glanced at the water and his gut clenched. As soothing as he found the sights and sounds of the water, going out on it made him nervous in a major way. He glanced at the boats and shivered. The image of flying through air, and then plunging into the cold, dank watery depth flashed into his mind.

  “Thanks, but no. I really should stay close. I need to be able to get home ASAP in case mom needs me.” Chris shook his head, and backed away another step.

  Jack studied him for a long moment. Chris couldn’t help but squirm under that intense scrutiny. A smirk tugged at the corner of Jack’s sexy mouth. Chris couldn’t look away from those expressive lips. In that moment, the urge to have them pressed to his, firm and commanding, like they’d been that one unforgettable night, sent sparks of sensation buzzing through his body.

  Jack took a step, closing the distance between them. “Come on, I promise we won’t even untie the yacht. We’ll just sit, relax, and enjoy the gentle sway of the water. I know I always find it soothing.”

  Chris blinked as he looked at the boat, then back at Jack. He must look worse than he realized. Why else would Jack be so nice? From no interaction at all to smiles and invitations. Again, Chris looked at the boat, then back at Jack. A small fissure formed in his resolve to both stay off the water and away from Jack. He hesitated before responding.

  “Really, I can’t. I have this thing about boats and water. They make me nervous.”

  “Bad experience.”

  “No, not really.”

  “Then what?”

  Chris opened his mouth, then closed it. He turned to lean against the rail and look out over the bay from his nice safe spot on dry land. “This will sound silly to you, but I’ve been having dreams about water lately, and they don’t end well.”

  “It’s just a dream. Dreams can’t hurt you.”

  Maybe not the average person’s dreams. Chris just nod
ded.

  “I’ve always believed that the best way to fight fear is to face it.” Jack laid his hand on Chris’s shoulder and squeezed it. “Come on. It will be fun, and I won’t let anything happen to you. I promise.”

  Chris stared into Jack’s intense silver eyes. The electric attraction that sparked between them flared to life again, buzzing through him from that single point of contact. Then Jack flashed his stunning, gum-commercial smile, and Chris’s resolve broke.

  “Jack—”

  Jack stepped back and held out his hand. “Trust me. It will be fine.”

  Chris pressed his fingers to his eyes. His brain must have been more rattled from lack of sleep than he realized. Why else would he even consider the offer? He stared at Jack’s extended hand. Then he glanced out at the bay, at the early morning light dancing across the rippling water. Despite its beauty, the memories of his nightmares stayed fresh and clear in his mind.

  “We won’t leave the slip at all?”

  “Nope. We’ll stay right here.”

  Chris nodded. “Fair enough.” He took the offered hand.

  Before Chris could have second thoughts, Jack tightened his grip, tugged him through the gate, and down the dock. Even though every self-preservation instinct he possessed told Chris to keep his distance from both the water and Jack, he couldn’t resist the lure of either.

  Before he knew it, Chris stood in the midst of amazing luxury on the biggest personal yacht he’d ever seen. He turned in circles, taking it all in. Teak decking, plush couches and chairs, gleaming brass fixtures. Inside, the decor looked to be leather and wood in shades of white and gold. His jaw dropped when he saw the hot tub on the upper deck. He’d stepped out of the real world and into the middle of a celebrity magazine. So this is how the other half lives. He claimed a seat on a couch with thick white cushions in a sitting area at the bow of the boat.

  Despite the distraction of all the opulence, he couldn’t shake that knot of nervous tension tightening in his stomach. You’re on the water, not in it, Chris. Relax. You’re going to be fine. He looked out at the tiny peaks of the waves that rippled across the bay, the warmth of the morning sun surrounding him. Snippets of his dream crept into his thoughts and cast a thin layer of shadow over what should be a fun experience.

  “Here.” Jack handed him a champagne flute of orange juice.

  “Thanks.” Chris took a sip from the glass. “This boat is amazing, Jack.”

  “Thanks. It’s all part of the Whitman image.”

  Chris frowned and took another sip. “Is everything about image and appearances with you?”

  Jack took a long sip from his glass. “Perception is important, especially to be successful in business endeavors. Whether you or I like it or not. You have to play the game in order to succeed.”

  “So, are the luxury and excess a means of demonstrating your wealth and power?” Chris gestured to their surroundings with his free hand. “I figure a man in your position wouldn’t give a damn what anyone thinks.” He snorted. “Or am I wrong and you really are the stereotype of every spoiled rich man?”

  “You do realize that this spoiled rich man writes your paychecks, right?”

  Chris’s chin dropped to his chest. “Shit. I’m sorry. Have I mentioned that sometimes my brain-to-mouth filter goes on the blink? Yeah, well, it tends to get me into trouble.”

  Jack smirked. “I did notice that. Look, I think we got off on the wrong foot here. I really wanted to say thank you for being there for Angie last night. I don’t even want to think about what could have happened if she’d come home by herself and someone had still been in her townhouse. If there is anything I can do for you, just say the word.”

  Chris barked out a laugh and rubbed the back of his neck. “You just can’t help it, can you?”

  Jack flared his eyes wide. “What?”

  “Let me explain something to you. Angie is my friend. Saying thank you is more than enough. I would have stayed with her until you and the police arrived because that’s what a friend—hell, that’s what a decent person—does. No reward expected.”

  “That’s not necessarily true. On the rare occasions when I’ve made an offer of this nature, few refused. Yet here you sit, arms crossed, eyes shooting sparks at me, and sounding very much like the mere offer of repayment is an insult.” Jack leaned back and stared at Chris like a scientist studying an alien species.

  Chris shrugged, hugged his arms tighter to his body. “I don’t know what to tell you. Sounds like you hang out with the wrong crowd. You need people in your life who want to be with you because of who you are, not because of what you can do for them. You need someone who’s not impressed by your money.”

  A smile tugged at the corner of Jack’s mouth. Amusement danced in his brilliant gray eyes. “Sounds like I may have just found that person.”

  Annoyance, attraction, and a touch of pity flooded through Chris as he studied Jack. What a sad world to live in when everyone wanted a piece of you and everyone had a preconceived notion of who you should be. He considered Jack a moment longer. “You know what, Jack? You may be right.”

  Jack pushed up from his seat. “On that note, I’m hungry.”

  “Yeah, I should get going and get some breakfast myself.”

  Jack furrowed his brow. “Get going? Why?”

  “Aren’t you going back to the hotel for breakfast?”

  Jack shook his head. “No. There’s a fully stocked galley right here.” Jack crossed his arms and gave Chris a bland look. “You assumed that I couldn’t cook, didn’t you?”

  Chris cleared his throat. “Guilty.”

  Jack pointed at Chris. “Stay right there. I’ll be back shortly.” He pivoted and walked into the interior of the yacht.

  Chris pulled out his cell phone and called home. He disconnected a few minutes later with curt assurances that she could more than take care of herself for the fifteen minutes until the aid arrived. My mother is a piece of work. Being alone on the top level of the boat with nothing to distract him felt like he had a small knot tying itself in his stomach.

  “You’re in the middle of a massive boat. You’re not likely to fall off. Relax.” He turned his face so the strengthening rays caressed his face. The brush of the breeze in his hair helped settle him. Tension slowly started to slip away. He stretched out on the couch, pillowed his head on his arm, and closed his eyes. I’m just going to rest them for a minute.

  As the thought slid through his mind, the motion of the boat rocked him to sleep.

  JACK came back up on deck with a tray that held two bacon, egg, and cheese sandwiches. It wasn’t eggs Benedict, but it got the job done. He set the tray on the table and approached his sleeping guest, careful not to wake him.

  Chris had curled up on his side, his dark cloud of hair mussed and falling into his face. His parted lips glistened and begged to be kissed. Jack stepped closer and reached out to smooth a stray lock of hair back from his forehead, hesitated, and dropped his hand back to his side.

  Jack told himself that he simply didn’t want to disturb Chris’s nap.

  His attraction to Chris made no sense. It never had. He could have any of the gorgeous men in his social circle, but he couldn’t resist the pull of a snarky, defensive psychic, of all things, who seemed to want very little from him except a job.

  A smart man would back off and keep his focus on his business and family. He should put Chris Vincent out of his mind for good. Maybe then he could think straight again, but he found the puzzle and challenge—and temptation—too intriguing to walk away.

  Chris moaned in his sleep, then jerked.

  What’s disturbing your sleep? Jack watched him for a few more minutes, half tempted to wake Chris when he started gasping, but he settled, slumping down with his head at an uncomfortable angle. Jack grabbed a pillow and eased his hand behind Chris’s head.

  As Jack started to move him, Chris jerked awake, struggling to get away, kicking and fighting for freedom. “Chris! Chris, calm
down. It’s just me. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you.”

  Chris pressed a hand to his chest, his breath racing in and out. “Oh god! Oh shit. No, I’m sorry.”

  “I was just getting you a pillow. If I’d left you like you were, you’d have woken up with an awful crick in your neck.” He waved the pillow at Chris.

  “God, I feel like an idiot.” His face flushed with embarrassment. He took the pillow and hugged it to his chest. “Thanks.”

  “Bad dreams?” Jack sat next to Chris and rubbed a hand down his arm.

  “You could say that. I haven’t been sleeping well lately.”

  Jack’s protective instincts wanted to push, to find out what troubled him. Something about Chris pulled at him, brought out protective instincts that he reserved for a select few people in his life. The exhaustion in Chris’s eyes said it all. The man needed a break. He didn’t need to be peppered with questions he’d likely not answer anyway.

  “If you’re hungry, I brought breakfast. Made with my own two hands, I might add.”

  Chris looked at him for a long moment, then said, “What do you know? The millionaire hotel mogul can cook after all.”

  When they finished eating, Jack collected the plates and set them back on the serving tray.

  “Now that you’re rested and fed, what would you like to do?”

  “Don’t you need to get to work?” Chris checked his watch. “It’s going on eight thirty.”

  Jack looked down his nose at Chris. “I’m the boss. I can come and go as I please.”