“My point is, you can’t keep your nose clean, and it’s a liability I don’t like.” Jack leaned closer to Ian, his eyes like pinpoints of ice.
It took balls, but Ian dared him. “Prove it. Go ahead. See if you—or the law—can make anything stick.”
Jack straightened and sighed. He crossed his massive arms over his broad chest and snorted. “I would if I could catch you at anything. I know for a fact you’re still selling counterfeit artwork, though you’ve been warned repeatedly to stop.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
Jack frowned. “How do you have time for this shit? I thought Owen was keeping you busy with that project of his.”
“I’m plenty busy.” Trying to come up with some excuses to keep you and the studly millionaire off my back.
It wasn’t that Ian couldn’t leave if he wanted to, but he liked working with psychics—people like him. He saw patterns in things others couldn’t, and he could repeat those patterns down to the last detail, which made his skills as a forger remarkable. Life in the big, bad world was freer, but it came with risks. Here, Ian knew a sense of protection with the team. And being surrounded by people who could blow you up with a thought or set fire to your whole world made Ian feel safe, safer than he’d been in a very long time.
“Right.” Jack sighed. “Owen needs your help. You do what he asks.”
“More like orders,” Ian mumbled. “Man has never used the word ‘please’ once.”
“Please get yourself back to my office and finish what I gave you to do yesterday,” Owen said from the doorway, standing behind Jack. “How’s that?”
Jack stepped to the side so Owen could enter. “Owen.” He nodded. “Ian was just telling me you’re a slave driver. That you’re working him way too hard.”
“Oh?”
Owen raised his left brow in that way that drove Ian crazy. So sexy, yet so irritating at the same time.
Ian hated this twitchy feeling he had when in Owen’s presence. From the first, he’d sensed the power in Owen and been curiously drawn to it. But Owen didn’t seem manageable. At all. And Ian controlled his relationships. He called the shots. He had others fawning all over him, doing whatever he wanted to keep him happy. With Owen, he’d never have that control, not with a man that wealthy and fine.
Owen continued in a husky voice that put Ian in mind of satin sheets and sweaty, carnal teasing. “Is that right, Ian? Am I working you too hard?”
Shit. He was growing aroused, as usual. He fumed and glared at Owen. “I’m busy here, boss.”
Owen ignored him and said to Jack, “I don’t think I’m working him hard enough. He’s supposed to be at my place through the weekend. I’ve narrowed down my search. I’m very, very close.”
Jack nodded. “You need help? The team’s available if you want.”
A group of psychically enhanced ex-government agents could be an ace in anyone’s hand. Ian mentally cataloged the talent on-site. A telepath, pyrokinetic, telekinetic, empath, levitator, prognosticator, and a few others with a mishmash of talent comprised the small squad of leftovers from the now disbanded PWP.
Ian recalled his brief stint when the PWP had been a baby. He’d been so young, and one of the first to be drafted into the top-secret project. Fortunately he’d joined before they’d started enhancing their agents. Ian had been full of ideals then. He’d helped bring down dictators, had stolen from drug lords, and put away some very bad people.
And then they’d turned on him. Uncle Sam had used his abilities, praised him for being a thief, a con artist, and a master forger when the need arose. Then Ian had inadvertently stepped on the wrong toes during the course of an investigation and become public enemy number one. It all seemed like a lifetime ago.
He glanced at Jack, aware that this boss would never throw him to the wolves. Jack might kick his ass out, but Ian would know exactly when and where and why. One thing Ian could say for his tough-as-nails boss—Jack stuck by his people. He’d never left a man or woman behind, and he never would.
Owen, on the other hand… Ian couldn’t get a bead on the guy. He’d infiltrated Owen’s house, had seen the man nearly get himself killed, yet he’d never noticed Owen sweat or worry. Not once.
Ian compared the men standing so near. Jack had brute strength and overpowering energy, and those eyes—gray one minute, ice blue the next—that made a body tremble with the need to please. Owen, however, seduced. He had a pleasant smile and beautiful, deep green eyes that made a person want to please. Of the two of them, Ian considered Owen the more dangerous. Here was a man who could slit your throat and have you smiling and hurrying to die to make him happy.
“…not a problem. You can have him indefinitely.” Jack, the man who never smiled, actually grinned at Ian.
“Great. I’ll be gone for a while. Time to flush this out and finish it for good.” Owen cleared his throat. “Keep an eye on Heather for me, would you? She keeps bothering me to share my troubles, and this needs to stay far away from her. If he knows I’m on to him, he’ll take her out sooner than later. I’m trying to make sure he’s gone before he becomes an even bigger threat to her.”
Jack nodded, his grin gone, replaced by a ferocious mask of determination. “No worries there. To get to her, he’ll have to go through me. I’ll circle the wagons closer, just in case.”
Ian couldn’t think past “you can have him indefinitely.” “Wait. What?”
They ignored him. “Good,” Owen said.
“You sure you don’t want more help?” Jack dismissed Ian with a wave. “He’s smart but a lot of trouble. Could be more than you need right now.”
“Hey.” Ian stood, annoyed to be disregarded.
“No, he’s perfect,” Owen practically purred.
Ian blinked at him, feeling a bit hunted. He ran a hand through his hair, missing the length he used to have. Some dumb idea to look more sophisticated had urged him to get it cut short, with longer bangs in a style he likened to surfer meets runway model. Chloe had said it made him look even more handsome. He’d gotten his share of compliments about it. But none from Owen. The prick.
“His power is substantial, yet subtle,” Owen said thoughtfully. “I get the feeling none of you know what he’s really capable of. Maybe not even Ian.”
Jack and Owen studied him.
“Nah, still not seeing it.” Jack shrugged.
Owen chuckled. Then he crooked his finger. “Come on, Ian. Time to get back to work.”
“I’m not a damn dog,” Ian snapped.
Owen opened his mouth, then closed it and shook his head. “Too easy.”
Jack snorted. “I have shit to do in my office. You want him, he’s yours. But that means you have to keep an eye on him.”
“Not a problem.” Owen shook Jack’s hand.
“I am not a child needing a babysitter,” Ian enunciated. He was about to add so fuck off when Owen gave him the look.
It never failed to fascinate and mystify him, that need to obey and back down at the same time, when Owen stared at him like that. “I hate that,” he groused, not surprised when Owen nodded in understanding.
“I know.”
“Huh?” Jack stared from Owen to Ian. “Never mind. I have other fires to put out. Good luck. And like I said, you need help, just call. I can get the Cannons on board too if you need.”
The Cannons, the other psychic family in Bend. What were the odds that ex-PWP agents would find a home right next to a group of independent contractors like the Cannons? A family of psychics as strong as the PowerUp! team, to hear Chloe tell it. And she knew, since she’d hooked up with the Cannon twins. And the younger pair, so yummy. Chloe’s men’s younger brothers. In their midtwenties. And so buff.