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.