The Unwanted

Chapter One

“He dumped me because he got tired of washing the blood out of our sheets.”

Destin Mortin swallowed the knot in her throat and lifted her gaze to stare into the unreadable eyes of her boss, Elise Oswald, aka Oz. Although Destin’s heart was racing a mile a minute and her palms were sweating, none of it showed on her face.

She was a master at hiding how she felt. Came in handy in her line of work.

It didn’t matter if she was tracking down a rapist, if she’d just connected with one, if she was caught in the middle of his mind while he tracked down his next victim.

Being a psychic, that was something that happened fairly often, especially with her. For reasons she couldn’t quite fathom, she usually connected with violent sexual predators. It was a screwed-up ability, but because of it, she knew how to hide what she was thinking, what she was feeling, pretty damn well.

And it was definitely coming in handy now, under the eagle eye of her boss, the woman who’d just asked about the man who’d held her heart, and broken it.

With a cool smile, Destin met Oz’s gaze and shrugged. “What does it matter now? We broke up five years ago and he’s still with the Bureau. I’m very much not.”

Oz cocked a silvery-blonde brow, her expression remote. It wasn’t the expression she usually wore here in the office.

Oz smiled. She laughed. She let people know if she was pissed or cranky or if she’d been up too late reading a book. When her emotions didn’t show, it was cause for concern—if she felt a need to hold those cards close to her chest, there were usually problems; a bad case, a troubling one. When one of her agents was about to get thrown into a job she knew they wouldn’t like.

And Oz had just asked about Caleb…shit.

Stop it, Destin told herself. It couldn’t mean anything. Caleb Durand had left Oz’s group years ago and he was still an agent with the FBI. Oz did private work now.

Nothing to worry about.

But that tight, composed expression on Oz’s face was troubling. Very troubling. Over the past few years, her pale blonde hair had slowly gone silver. There were a few more lines around her green eyes. But other than that, Oz looked pretty much exactly as she had when she’d recruited Destin ten years earlier. She was every bit as inscrutable now as she had been then and that blank expression had Destin’s belly shrinking down into a tight, cold knot.

Why in the hell is she asking about Caleb?

Destin slumped more comfortably in the seat and prepared herself to wait it out. If it had been just anybody else in the group, she might have tried a psychic probe—she didn’t always strike gold with those, but on occasion, she’d pick up something. But she wouldn’t with Oz. The other woman was a blank surface, until she decided she didn’t want to be.

Oz leaned back in her chair absently toying with a Montblanc pen. The boss loved them. Loved them, and lost them.

Destin didn’t see why she bothered. A pen was a pen. And Montblanc pens were expensive pens. Losing one of those was like just throwing money out the window.

As Oz tapped the pen on the arm of her chair, she studied Destin, her eyes close and watchful.

Destin was damned glad she knew how to hide what she was thinking. What she was feeling. That gaze seemed to see clear through to her soul and Destin felt like curling up into a little ball and hiding, like that would make whatever this was just go away.

Seconds ticked away and then the silence was shattered by Oz’s blunt statement, “You’re full of it, Destin.”

Destin shrugged. “Hey, you can’t blame the guy. It gets disconcerting to wake up and find your girlfriend covered in blood and nearly catatonic once or twice a month.” Destin had gotten caught in odd dream-like visions for more than half of her life and when they came at her unawares, they often came with vicious headaches and heavy nosebleeds. Very attractive stuff.

“Did it happen that often?” Oz’s face softened a little, the blank mask fading away as she leaned forward.

The visions that hit Destin didn’t always happen easily. Sometimes they were a mere figment, just a wisp of a thing. Other times, they came with a brutal, one-two punch that left her reeling, dealing with the physical aftermath.

Bad? Not always. But sometimes? Yeah. And nothing freaked out a boyfriend quite like waking up in the morning to find his woman covered in blood and practically catatonic.

Destin shrugged. “Yes. Sometimes more.” She smirked and hoped it masked the pain she felt. “I got used to it a long time ago, but it’s probably a little disconcerting for others. Probably gets real old too, after a while. Hell, it gets old for me. But I’m stuck with it. No reason for others to deal with it.”

The nosebleeds came with the visions. They were something she was stuck with and there was nothing she could do but deal. Granted, Caleb hadn’t ever acted like they bothered him and more than once, she’d come out of the trance-like state to find him gently cleaning the blood from her face.

He’d never once made her feel like the freak she knew she was. He’d never once made her feel like a monster or like some twisted, perverted thing that should never exist.

She made herself feel like that. Her parents had. One or two of the friends she’d tried to trust with the information.

But Caleb had—

Stop. Caleb walked out, remember? Just like everybody else in her life. He’d walked out.

And just like it was yesterday, she saw it all playing out. The way he’d looked as he sat across from her and told her he didn’t know if they were heading anywhere or not. Destin had been frozen with terror, because she had known where he was going. Out the door. They all hit the door sooner or later, and that was exactly what happened with him too.

“You know, Destin,” Oz said, tossing the pen down on the desk and leaning back. “I’m not quite buying that. I’m not buying that Durand dumped you because he didn’t like that you wake up with nosebleeds after having one of your dreams. It just doesn’t click.”

Destin shifted in the chair and crossed her legs. “Look, I don’t know why he dumped me. For all I know he got bored with me—” The rest of the words wanted to stick in her throat, but she forced them out. “Maybe he found somebody that was a little less neurotic to deal with. I don’t know. It doesn’t matter. It’s over. It’s done.”

“Destin, if it didn’t matter, I wouldn’t have you in here. Like you said, it’s been five years. I’m not asking just because I’m bored, or because I’m going to reprimand you for having an affair with a colleague. It’s because—” Her eyes cut to the door.

A second later, Destin heard the door open.

The skin on the back of her neck crawled and she squeezed her eyes shut. Her heart started to race and her skin felt too tight, too small. Something that might have been happiness bloomed inside her heart before it withered and died as reality shifted and settled into place.

Even before he spoke, she knew.

Opening her eyes, she glared at Oz.

“Good afternoon, ladies.”

The flight from D.C. to Dallas was a bitch and not just because he hadn’t ever planned to return to Texas.

He’d spent most of the trip telling himself he could handle walking into Oswald Group just fine and he knew he’d lied every single time. He could handle it, yes. But just fine? Not an icicle’s chance in hell.

Caleb hadn’t seen Destin since he’d walked away from her five years earlier, not even a glimpse. The case he’d just been assigned had him in a different part of the country for nearly three months and he’d been leaving that very day.

Once he’d finished, he’d put in for some personal time and then requested a transfer to the other unit that worked with psychics. It had been headed by Special Agent in Charge Taylor Jones and the man had a reputation for being a brutal, cold son of a bitch to work for. It had suited Caleb just fine—he needed work to forget, after all.

Oz and Jones had worked together to get the first unit going and for quite a while, they’d worked together, but then eventually, they’d split into separate units, handling different areas of the country.

Being in a different part of the country had sounded ideal, and working with somebody who’d work him into exhaustion had sounded even better. There hadn’t been a shortage of work, that was for sure.

The world in general was mostly oblivious of the weirder element that functioned within the FBI. Telepaths, empaths, others who connected with the spirits of the dead.

Caleb’s abilities fell somewhere in the middle. He was psychic, but his gift was classified as a sub-ability. He could pick up on random vibes and he had unusual insights, and every once in a while, he’d get a solid, real connection but his main skill was filtering.

He worked with people like Destin who had powerful but erratic abilities, let them cut through the white noise, the pain, everything that might block them from finding what they needed to find.

There had been just as much a need for him in Jones’ unit as there had been in Oz’s unit and he’d buried himself in the work, hoping to forget. Hoping, pointlessly, praying that nothing would send him back to the other unit.

But just a year after his transfer, Oz left the Bureau and when she did, several agents abruptly quit. Others came to work with Jones and the second unit was disbanded.

There had been terse whispers and rumors, but none of Oz’s former agents would talk and Jones had been there to make sure of that. Caleb had been fine with it. He didn’t want to hear about his old unit. The one thing that mattered to him, he already knew. Destin was working with Oz. She was no longer with the FBI and that probably suited her better, anyway. She’d hated rules, had felt stifled by the structure.

The freelance group took on investigative work and although very few realized just how specialized they were, they made a killing and they had a rep for being the best in the business. Which wasn’t surprising. Psychics were going to have a leg up on the competition.

As he cut through the rather posh offices, he studied the faces. More than a few were familiar. A couple waved. The others, people he knew, deliberately turned their backs on him. A nice, subtle fuck you if he’d ever seen one. Okay, then.

The others watched him with no small amount of curiosity. Ten employees. And to his senses, they all felt psychic. He might not have one of the flashier abilities, but the skill he did have was reliable. Every person in here was a psychic and he had a feeling Oz used them to pull in some high-profile cases. All without explaining just how she managed to have a stellar rep.

He didn’t bother to ask where he’d find her. He’d seen the neat little office tucked in the back when the administrative assistant had led him up here and he knew without a doubt where Oz would be. She’d want privacy, but she’d also want to be close to her people.

The door was closed, but he didn’t knock.

Destin was there.

He felt it in his gut. And he wanted one look. Just one look at her before she managed to compose her features and hide herself away from him.

As he pushed the door open, his hands were practically sweating and his heart was racing away somewhere in the vicinity of his throat. Racing, pounding. Dancing…

Oz’s gaze cut to him and as desperate as he was to see Destin, he looked at Oz first, braced himself.

She hadn’t changed much. She was still all steel and ice, elegant beauty and deathly self-possession. Unlike his current boss, Oz did have a serious psychic talent, although it was unreliable as hell.

Caleb didn’t think she’d retired, at least not willingly. He suspected she’d come up against something ugly and the higher-ups had told her to let it go. That fit more in line with his memories of Oz. There had been several times when she’d bashed heads with people and she had lacked Jones’…diplomatic skills.

Something ugly had happened, he knew. Either she walked…or they pushed her out over it.

But Elise Oswald looked like she was doing just fine, regardless.

He was painfully, acutely aware of the woman sitting off to his side.

Shifting his attention to her, he found himself staring at her profile. Her gaze was locked on some point just above Oz’s head, like she couldn’t be bothered to look at him and he guessed he couldn’t blame her.

After all, he’d walked away from her.

He’d walked away from this woman he’d loved more than anything…Destin Mortin…the woman who had slowly been killing him inside. She just hadn’t realized it.

His heart had withered away to ashes inside his chest over the past five years and he hadn’t ever planned on seeing her again. If it wasn’t for Oz, he could have probably managed to do just that.

Now? Shit, now he couldn’t remember how he’d felt just five minutes ago—when he’d been almost level. Not happy, never that. Not without her. But he’d existed. He’d been level.

Now it was like he was freefalling all over again.

And she still wouldn’t look at him.

Hell, maybe that was best. If he could get settled again before those big blue eyes shifted his way, he’d be better off.

Time fell away and it was like the very first time he’d seen her. Just like then, he wanted to grab her and protect her against all the world. He wanted to grab her and do every dirty thing imaginable to her. He wanted to grab her and just stare at her face. Learn everything that had happened in the past five years.

Even though he knew every line of her face, every inch of her body, he wanted to relearn them, see if anything had changed.

And still, she hadn’t looked at him.

All he could see was her profile, the clear, elegant lines of her cheek, her chin. The straight line of her nose, her unsmiling mouth.

She was still so beautiful. And if he let himself, he could lower his shields and find himself lost in the heat of her. That wild, powerful soul. The temptation was strong.

No. Don’t, Caleb. You’re here for a job, only a job. With that thought firm in his mind, he did a quick mental check on his shields. All nice and solid.

So far, she hadn’t turned to look at him and that was good. Gave him a minute to settle himself before he looked into that beautiful face, before he lost himself in the vivid intensity that glowed in her ice-blue eyes. She’d cut her hair. Seriously cut, as in so short it almost looked like she’d buzzed the back of it. It was longer on top, falling in straight, silken tresses to frame her face. As he studied her, she reached up, pushing her fingers through the soft, black strands. Her nails were unpolished, clipped almost brutally short, not a single ring in sight. He frowned, trying to recall if he’d ever seen those pretty hands without polish and glittery rings.

She glanced at him over her shoulder, a quick look that let him see her face for all of, oh, maybe three seconds. Then she looked back at Oz. “What’s the deal, Oz?”

“A job,” Oz said, smiling a little. “You didn’t think I called you in here for cupcakes and milk, did you?”

Destin sighed and crossed one leg over the other. “I can always hope. I like cupcakes and milk.”

Her unspoken words hung heavy between. I don’t like this. Not at all.

I’m not too thrilled about it myself, sugar, he thought sourly as the ache in his chest twisted, shifted, settled.

It was a good thing he hadn’t come out here with any big expectations about getting over Destin. Because that obviously hadn’t happened.

Destin seemed about as thrilled to have him there as he was about being there, he decided, venturing a few more feet into the room. With his heart a leaden weight, he shifted his attention away from her to look at Oz.

It didn’t matter that he’d focused, meditated, prepared himself.

It was like preparing yourself to ride a tornado.

There was just no preparing yourself for the ride to come. You could know it was going to happen, but that was it.

Staring into her pale green eyes, he thought bitterly, Damn you, Oz.

If he wasn’t mistaken, there was amusement in her eyes.

Yeah, you be amused, scheming bitch, he thought sourly as he settled in the chair next to Destin’s. One nice thing about the fact that she wasn’t in the Bureau anymore, he didn’t have to school his thoughts quite so much.

She might pick up the odd and random thought, but she wasn’t his boss and he didn’t have to deal with her once he finished here.

Destin crossed her legs, lovely legs left bare by the knee-length black skirt. It was almost severe in its simplicity, but she could have been wearing sackcloth and it wouldn’t detract from the sheer beauty of her.

Her skin was the color of sun-kissed ivory…she didn’t tan. She never had, but her skin would get this soft glow. Just the faintest bit of color. It made him think of peaches. And he wanted to stroke a hand down her thigh, press a kiss to her knee. Caleb had the weirdest feeling that if he closed his eyes, he could smell the sweet scent of Destin’s skin on the air. Lust and need punched through him.

Not what you need to think about.

Job. He was just here about a job.

Tapping his fingers on the arm of the chair, he said softly, “You want to tell me why I was put on a plane at four o’clock in the afternoon? By now, I ought to be settling down to eat dinner, watch some TV and relax. Instead…I’m here. Why am I here?” Flicking a glance at his watch, he checked the time. Play it cool. That was what he had to do. Play it cool so neither of them realized how hard it was to be here.

Play it cool and maybe nobody would realize the truth…he still loved the woman sitting next to him. He always would.

“I’m sorry to interrupt your precious alone time,” Oz said, lifting a brow as she studied him. “I just have this case…a series of date rapes in Charlottesville, Virginia. Pretty little college town.”

That explained why Destin was needed. It was just up her alley. Didn’t explain why he was here. She’d been working cases like this just fine without him for five years.

“Charlottesville is a little out of the way for you,” Caleb said, absently tapping out a beat on the arm of a chair. “If you planned on sending me flying back to Virginia, why fly me down to Texas to begin with?”

Oz gave him a cool look. “I needed to make sure the job was going to click for you. I never know that until I have you in front of me, and you won’t know until you read through the files.”

She was bullshitting him over something. He could tell. But he hadn’t bought the plane ticket and he didn’t plan on buying the one back to Washington, either. With a negligent shrug, he said, “If you say so, Oz.”

The look on her face had been known to reduce people to stammers and stutters. Caleb just stared at her. He wasn’t playing her games anymore. Didn’t have to play her games. It had been made damn clear he wasn’t obligated to take this “assignment”. It might be appreciated, but it wasn’t required.

If Oz thought he’d jump just because she said so, she needed to readjust her thinking.

Of course, if he left, he wouldn’t be able to see Destin…

And he was an idiot. She was the entire reason he’d come here.

“I assume Durand is the only other one you think is suitable for the job?” Destin asked.

Caleb didn’t need to look at her to know she was scowling.

Oz settled back in her chair and plucked a piece of imaginary lint from the lapel of her navy blue suit. “Yes.” She gave him a narrow look before she looked back at Destin. “Now, I want you both aware of a few things. Officially, I’m not sending anybody out there. As of yet, there’s little reason for us to get involved and nobody has contracted for our services. The locals aren’t having much luck and, to be completely honest, there’s no reason for federal involvement on your end, Durand. It’s not entirely likely that’s going to happen, either. This guy is smart. He’s not going to do anything that will catch federal interest.”

“He caught yours,” Caleb pointed out. And just how did he do that?

“That’s true. Pity, that.” Her lashes swept down, shielding her eyes.

Something pulsed inside him and he had to wonder… Just what aren’t you telling us? She didn’t elaborate, and he suspected she wasn’t going to.

But he wasn’t wrong. He knew it, could feel it in his gut, a sharp, strong tug. Studying her face, he tried to get some clue as to what was going on, but there wasn’t one. Since he wasn’t one of the psychics who could read thoughts, he was just going to have to play her game until she decided to tell him.

He hated these games. At least with Jones, the bastard laid things out on the table.

Oz continued to watch him expectantly so he went ahead and gave her what she seemed to need. “So if there’s no reason for federal involvement, just why am I here?”

“I think a two-party team would work best,” she said vaguely. “And you’re the person who works best with Destin. In the past five years, she’s worked with all my other people and she’s never managed to click with them quite the way she clicked with you. That’s what I need on this. I need my best, which is her, and she needs all the tools I can give her.”

“But you’re still not answering why you’re bothering to put a team out there at all. Screw whether it’s me or somebody else. Why get involved? Why do you need anybody out there at all, much less one of your best?” Destin asked, shooting Caleb a narrow look.

You really don’t want me here, do you, doll?

A slow smiled curled Oz’s lips, but she didn’t say anything. Playing her cards close to her chest, Caleb thought moodily. “She’s not going to tell you anything yet, Destin. She’s having too much fun with her head games on this one,” he said, keeping his voice flat and his gaze focused on the boss’s face.

“Oh, come on now,” Oz said, her voice light, belying the hard glint he saw in her eyes. “There’s more to this than head games.”

“Okay. Then spill it.” He wasn’t holding his breath on that happening, though.

“Why…it needs to be done.” Oz smiled again, an inscrutable little curve of her lips that made his spine go tight and his gut go cold. That smile never meant good things. Oz had some sort of insight into this job.

For the past five years, he’d been working with a man who’d pushed him to his limits. Taylor Jones was brilliant. He was driven and he had a knack for knowing which of his agents was the right one for any particular job, but he had no real psychic skill.

Oz, on the other hand…

Oz was a different story. She had an erratic ability that could be as strong as an F-5 tornado one day and then she’d be unable to predict anything for months. When her visions came on, they came on strong. But they weren’t always useful. One of the weirdest visions she’d told them about had been when she’d once helped a sixty-three-year-old widow find her missing wedding ring. The vision had pulled her out of bed at night and she hadn’t been able to sleep until she found the woman, somebody she’d never met, living in a town two hours away.

Then she’d spent the next four months unable to see anything.

It also meant he had to do the job, whether he liked it or not. Maybe Jones wasn’t going to force it on him, but if Oz was having one of her gut feelings about this, there was no way he could just turn his back and walk out.

That look in her eyes wasn’t because she had an odd little feeling or she’d heard rumors, damn it all.

“If it needs to be done, then quit dicking around and tell me why I’m here,” he said flatly. “I wrapped up a case today, I’m tired and I’m hungry and I wasn’t planning on boarding a plane back to Virginia at the end of the day, either.”

Destin shot him a dark look.

He ignored it.

Oz just smiled. “Don’t worry…I plan on letting you catch some sleep first. The flight doesn’t head out until noon tomorrow. You’ve got time to sleep, grab a meal, all of that. You know, you used to be a lot more charming than this, Durand,” she said as she leaned forward and laid two files flat on her desk. “Is Jones working all the fun out of you?”

“He keeps me working and he does it without the mind games…so maybe. Can we get on with this?” Leaning forward, he grabbed one of the files from the front edge of Oz’s desk.

Destin leaned forward at the same time and their hands brushed against each other. Such a simple touch and electricity sparked through him. A muscle jerked in his jaw, but he managed to keep any other reaction hidden—he thought. Locked down good and tight behind his shields, even though the shields weren’t really necessary to keep the distance between him and Destin.

She could pick up on random thoughts and emotions, but she had to look for them and he doubted she’d be looking for that from him. Beyond that, her empathy was a very specific, very strange sort. It reacted to violence—specifically sexual violence, for reasons nobody really understood. Not even Destin—probably especially Destin. Caleb had his theories, but the one time he had really tried to push…well, she locked down so tight on him, pulled back. It had been the beginning of the end for them.

Settling back in his chair, he flipped open the file and studied it. Not a lot to go on, but they’d made do with less. He skimmed each report while Destin kept hers closed in her lap. He heard a soft breath and he glanced at her from the corner of his eye, watched as she laid her hands on the file, flexed them, and squared her shoulders.

Steadying herself… He didn’t know whether to be relieved or bitter. Three years they’d been together and he’d tried to get her to prepare more for the cases they’d handled, but she hadn’t once tried. She’d always jumped in, feet first and fists ready. He’d been the one to pull her back time and again, to keep her from attacking suspects and totally blowing their cases straight to hell.

Three years, and she hadn’t once shown any interest in learning some caution, some self-control. But she’d gone and done it at some point. He recognized the signs well enough. He used the techniques himself and it had saved his ass more than once when her impulses bled into him during the times they worked together. If he didn’t get grounded before linking, he got lost in her, lost in her passion, lost in her fury.

He made himself focus on the file again, blocking her out. Seven rapes reported. There were probably more. Some women who were confused, scared—or in denial. Guy had been very careful. Used a rubber, so no semen samples. Bruising, minor vaginal tears for the most part… He clenched his jaw as he read each report, fought to remain dispassionate. Fought to make himself go cold.

He knew from experience that the more he could distance himself from the crime, the more he could help the victim, especially when he was working with empaths like Destin. It was hard, though, and by the time he finished reading the reports, there was a nasty, vicious headache taking gleeful bites out of his brain matter.

Destin had already closed the file. He glanced her way but she had her eyes closed. Her chest rose and fell as she took a series of deep, steadying breaths. Without opening her eyes, she asked, “You said we fly out tomorrow. I assume once we land, we get to work immediately?”

“No time like the present,” Oz said. And then she glanced at him, that strange smile on her face once more.

They both stood, Destin moving slower than him. He glanced at her as she turned to face him, then away.

The pit of his stomach dropped out as the connection hit and he stopped in his tracks, looking back at her. Her face, like her ruthlessly short nails, was naked, devoid of any color. No makeup, nothing. Just her pretty mouth, unsmiling, her eyes cold and hard…and a scar. It ran down the left side of her face, sliver thin, about three inches long, and faded.

He lifted a hand to touch her, unaware he was doing so until his fingers brushed down the slightly ridged surface of the scar. She didn’t blink. Didn’t flinch.

Caleb didn’t let himself react, although his gut was knotted with rage and he had the insane impulse to step closer and wrap his arms around, shelter her, cuddle her close. She didn’t want that from him. Didn’t need it.

“What happened?”

She stepped out of his reach and he let his hand fall to his side, closing into a fist. The need to pound on something was strong. A brick wall, a metal file cabinet—some bastard’s face—just show me who did it, baby…please… He even lowered his shields enough to try and pick up some kind of flicker, but there was nothing there.

“I was careless,” she said, her voice flat.

“What happened?” he repeated.

This time, she had some kind of reaction. She cocked a brow and smirked at him. “I told you, lover…I was careless. I dove in feet-first, like I always do, and didn’t pay attention. The guy had a knife and when I barreled in, he did this.” She trailed a finger down the scar, angling her head so he could see it better. “But that wasn’t the worst. I picked up on him when I was off-duty…you know how it happens. I put the call in to Oz and she told me to wait for backup. I didn’t. He was close, very close. And he hadn’t hurt her yet. I thought I could stop it. I was wrong. He was bigger than me, stronger, determined not to get arrested. I didn’t wait for backup and because I didn’t, he got away and he killed the girl I was trying to save. Careless.”