The Reunited

TEN





"THE happiest place on earth.” Joss stood in the middle of Main Street USA, looking all around and trying to figure out just what he’d gotten himself into.

The one good thing—Jillian hadn’t lied to him when she’d said she had control.

She had it in spades. Once he’d adjusted to the sync, gotten that badly needed sleep and a solid meal, he’d acclimated enough to imagine that door she used. He shut it down tight, and then he went the extra step . . . every damn body had a door, one that led to their mind, and he shut those doors as well, leaving him in the blissful silence of his own mind.

Granted, it didn’t do anything for the occasional icy chill of a ghost’s touch, their calls, but he could deal with those. People died, and when they died before their time, they left echoes. He didn’t like it, but he had to concern himself with saving the ones who were still alive, so he moved the ghosts down on his list. He was good at compartmentalizing.

Now . . . if he could just figure out what in the hell he was doing in Disney World.

What had led him here . . . well, there was that dream. A mere figment, a blind hope.

And instinct.

Actually, instinct wasn’t a bad thing to rely on, he told himself, forcing himself to take a step after he saw one of the photographers flash a smile in his direction.

Oh, no. Did he really look like he wanted to pose in front of that stupid castle?

Hands jammed in his pockets, he headed down the strip, no particular destination in mind. As a tiny little girl—dressed in a wide-skirted dress of sunny yellow—cut in front of him, he almost tripped over his feet to keep from tripping over her. Geez, what did she have on her feet, rockets?

Her mother came running out of a store after her, and automatically, Joss took a step to cut the child off. The little girl stopped in her tracks and smiled up at him, her mouth smeared with chocolate, a rather marked contrast with the glittery stuff on her eyes, her hair.

“I think somebody’s looking for you,” he said, nodding to the frazzled woman just before she could catch the girl’s arm.

The woman gave him a thankful look, and as they melted back into the crowd, Joss did the same, moving with the flow.

Nothing here, he thought, distracted, nothing . . .

The road veered in a path off to the left. It wasn’t a conscious decision to follow it, but he did so, following it around the curve, passing behind a shop to a small alcove.

And he came up short, freezing in his tracks.

There she was . . . it was the woman he’d glimpsed earlier, in that figment of a vision, just before the dream had fallen apart, but that gut-deep recognition . . . he knew her.

He knew her face.

Joss Crawford wasn’t prone to melodrama, he wasn’t prone to wishful thinking, and he didn’t much believe in fairy tales. He didn’t buy into those crazy stories of love at first sight.

But he knew there was a woman for him—he’d been searching for her his entire life, had dreamed about her always. He looked for her in every face he saw, waited for the moment he’d find her again.

And here she was, striding down the pavement, her face grim, her eyes dark . . . the sight of her was a punch, straight to his heart. She didn’t look like she should, part of his brain insisted. The rest of him didn’t care. He knew her, in his gut, in his heart, in his soul.

Standing rigid, barely able to breathe, much less move, he waited for her to look at him, to see him . . . to know him. But it didn’t happen.

In fact, she was so busy staring at the pavement and making a concentrated effort to ignore everything around her, she didn’t even seem to notice him. She went to go around him and he just couldn’t stop himself—he stepped right into her path so that she crashed straight into his chest, all lean limbs and long muscles and golden, sun-kissed skin, a nice, solid weight that he figured would fit his body just about perfectly. She stumbled and he reached up, closed his hands around her upper arms, where the cotton of her shirt kept him from touching bare flesh.

He wanted to touch bare flesh . . . after all this time, he figured he just about needed to. But not now.

Right now, she was watching him with dazed, distrustful eyes—wariness flashed through her gaze and he felt her tense.

“You . . .” He didn’t even know what to say. A total stranger, and that’s what he’d seem like to her, he knew. How could he tell her he’d been dreaming of her for always? Waiting. Searching. Absently, without realizing it, he stroked his thumb across her arm, and it rubbed across the bare skin just below the sleeve of her shirt.

As bare skin touched bare skin, he felt something . . . a buzz in his brain.

And more . . . he felt the echo of it in her brain. Followed by a blinding rush of knowledge.

Her pupils flared. She sucked in a breath. “You . .

Her eyes widened.

And a rush of images slammed into them both as that gift he’d absorbed from Jillian faltered under his grasp.

“You’ll come away with me, won’t you, Amelie?”

“And how are we to live, Thom? Hmmm? I do not think there’s room for me on the boat where you work.”

Pushing her golden hair back from her face, he tipped her chin back, kissed her gently. “We’ll be together. And we’ll find a way. I’ll find other work. Just say you’ll come away with me.”

His head was spinning, blood roaring, as he jerked his mind and those hazed memories from another life back under his grasp, shoving his shields up. Her eyes, wide and dazed, stared into his.

“You . . .”

Her pupils spiked, flared, and she sucked in a desperate breath.

She swayed closer, and logically, Joss knew it wasn’t because she was suddenly overcome, like he was. She didn’t know him—he would have known it if she had. But she was closer, and she was there, and he could feel the warmth of her, feel her, and f*ck it, he was just too weak.

Groaning, he dipped his head and pressed his lips to hers.

He was fully prepared for the fact that she was going to haul off and belt him.

He was fully prepared for her to jerk away and scream.

What he wasn’t prepared for was for her to sigh against his lips, then open her mouth for him.

What he wasn’t prepared for was for her hands to come up, curl into the front of his shirt, tugging him closer.

But that was what she did, and the top of his head almost came off as he caught the first hint of her taste.

The tip of her tongue stroked along his lower lip before pushing into his mouth. He nipped it gently and returned the favor, stroking her tongue with his, tracing the outline of her mouth. She moved closer, her hands moving down to his waist, tugging him closer still, and Joss figured maybe it might be okay to touch her, too.

Fisting one hand in the back of her shirt, he used the other hand on her braid and tugged, angled her head farther back. She was long, and lean, fitting so perfectly against him, and he f*cking loved it.

Long and lean, but soft, too, cradling him so perfectly. He could feel the curve of her belly, her breasts, all of her and it was fan-f*cking-tastic. Under her shirt, he could feel the silken warmth of her back, and he wanted to drag the shirt away, learn all the curves and hollows and sweet delights of her body.

More . . . he needed more. Couldn’t wait to peel her out of those clothes and get her naked—

“Mommy, look, they’re kissing!”

The high-pitched laughter managed to penetrate the drunken fog of need that wrapped around his head, and Joss lifted his head, staring into those pale green eyes for an endless moment. By the time he’d slanted a look over, the little girl was being herded away by a grinning set of parents.

In the two seconds it took to check out their potential audience, his potential partner decided to extricate herself from his hands and Joss wanted to howl.

He felt empty—needed to haul her back against him, but how could he explain that?

“Ah . . .” She stared at him, a rosy blush staining her cheeks.

He figured he could say something to help with the embarrassment he knew she was feeling, but he wasn’t exactly sure what he should say. If he lied and apologized, she’d know. He wasn’t so far gone he’d forgotten about that buzz he’d felt in her brain.

He’d have to be careful here. Very careful.

She continued to stare at him, her head half lowered so that she watched him through her lashes.

“If you’re waiting for me to apologize, we’re probably going to have a problem,” he finally said. “If I said it, I’d be lying. You’d know it.”

She lifted a brow. Simple. Eloquent.

“Have dinner with me.” Screw the case. He was still trying to wrap his head around the mess that Jillian had thrown into his brain, and he could take a few more hours to adjust, right?

“That’s not possible, Mr. . . .”

Shit, what name was he using . . . hell, hopefully if she picked up on any nervousness, she’d relate it to the kiss and the awkwardness of the situation, and not realize he’d given her a false name. “Baldwin,” he said, grabbing one of his aliases out of the air. “Why not?”

“I’m spoken for.” She lifted a hand and glanced down at it, scowling at the pale strip on her finger.

He reached out and caught her hand, rubbing his thumb over the area where the ring had rested. He remembered now . . . that odd dream. The vision. Seeing her staring at the ring, snarling like a caged beast as she tore the bit of jewelry from her hand and threw it. Seeing the rage on her face. “He doesn’t make you happy.”

Tugging her closer, he slid his free hand up her arm, cupped her cheek. “He doesn’t even know much about you, does he?” He brushed his thumb across the satin of her skin and thought about kissing her again.

“No. And that’s probably for the best.” She tipped her head back to meet his gaze. “Look, this is all terribly . . . well. It’s quite intriguing, and I wish I’d met you a few years ago, but I’m engaged and that’s all there is to it.”

Joss grinned at her. “Is it?” Dipping his head, he pressed his mouth to hers. “Will you do one thing?”

“What?”

He shuddered as he felt her lips moving against his. “Tell me your name.”

“It’s Dru.” She eased her head back and glanced around, a quick, subtle look. Then she looked back at him, and those pretty green eyes held something of sadness. A flash of something he couldn’t quite read lingered there. “You feel odd to my head . . . it’s almost like you burn. I haven’t met too many who did that.”

She eased back and reached up, touched his cheek. “I really do wish you’d found me before this.”

“I’ll find you again, Dru.”

“No.” She shook her head. “It’s best if you don’t.”

He said nothing. He wasn’t going to argue with her, and he already knew it didn’t matter . . . he could already see it happening.

They’d see each other again, and soon.

As she turned away, he murmured her name to himself. Dru. He supposed he hadn’t exactly expected her to be called the same name.

And Dru suited her now.

Simple. Efficient. And if the look in her eyes was any indicator, she was a lot more equipped at taking care of herself than she had been.

He kept his eyes on her narrow back until she was lost among the crowd of people and then he blew out a breath, tipped his head back.

Damn.

“Maybe there’s something to be said for this Magic Kingdom shit, after all.”

* * *

SHE was on adrenaline overload by the time she made it back to her room.

The flood of memories swimming through her mind weren’t hers, but they sure as hell felt like it.

“You’ll come away with me, won’t you?”

A man’s face. Familiar in a way she just couldn’t place. But she knew she knew him.

“Why didn’t I get his name?”

Better off not having it, she tried to tell herself, tried to console herself. But it wasn’t working. Already, she missed him, already she wished she hadn’t told him no. Although wouldn’t that have been a lark, having dinner with another man and then having to explain it to Patrick? And he would find out. That was just how he was.

Swallowing, she swiped her key card and let herself in, groaning and falling back against the door, sinking down. Her legs felt like Jell-O as she drew them upward, buried her face against them. What had she been thinking, letting him kiss her like that?

Kissing him back?

Those eyes of his . . . damn those eyes, they’d all but gutted her. Left her low.

And when he kissed her, she had the strangest sensation he’d kissed her before. Had the strangest sensation he’d touched her before. She didn’t usually like kissing. But his kiss, she could get addicted to it. She could come to crave it.

Sex, yes, she usually liked sex, but she was rather good at using her own body to get what she needed from a man, and her hands, if she had to. Kisses were a different story. Too many men were either too bloody hesitant, or they acted like they were trying to ram their tongues down her throat and choke her. Or they acted like they were a damn vacuum and went about sucking her tongue off.

This man, though . . . he kissed like he was made to do just that.

Sighing, she let herself remember it. A wonderful kiss. She had almost lost herself in it.

Then there were his hands, the way he’d stroked them down her back, how he’d pulled her against him as though he had every right to do so—and it felt like he had every right.

Dru had lost her mind. It was as simple as that.

No other reason to explain why she’d risk something so utterly dangerous.

Why she was willing to risk it again. Why she was already craving another touch.

Her sex drive had withered away and died the past year, and it was no wonder, considering what she had plunged herself into, and what she had to live with, but now, it had flared to burning, sultry life.

All because of a few light touches and a stolen kiss.

But he’d done it so right. Tugging on her hair like that. Tangling his hand in her shirt. Waiting until she’d moved in on him before he’d really done much of anything, but then he’d taken over in just the right way . . .

Why didn’t I get his name?

Now she just had the rest of her life to remember what it was like to have a total stranger kiss the daylights out of her . . . and she had nothing to call him. Maybe she should just make up a name to call him—

The phone on the small table next to her rang.

An icy chill raced down her spine.

Blowing out a breath, she rose. If her knees had been left weak by those kisses, it was something else that weakened them now. It just wasn’t acceptable, though. She was tired of being afraid of this monster. Just telling herself to stop being afraid wasn’t exactly doing the trick, but damn if it didn’t piss her off.

* * *

THE sudden bolt of fear that shot through him wasn’t his.

All-consuming and breath-stealing, it took Joss a minute to figure that out, though. Hands wrapped around the metal railing, eyes squeezed tightly closed, he slammed up layer after layer of shields, trying to focus past that fear, think beyond it.

It was like trying to move through quicksand.

Finally, though, he managed to get it all under control, and he had that fear separated from his own mind.

Locking in on the source wasn’t hard.

He’d been vaguely aware of Dru ever since he’d laid eyes on her. He’d felt a rippling awareness course through her when she looked at him. He’d felt her dazed arousal as they kissed. He’d felt the same gut-deep recognition, even if she didn’t know why she seemed to know him.

It wasn’t hard to trace this back to her.

The hard thing was understanding just why she was suddenly so full of terror.

And then, just like that, it was gone—like she’d turned off a faucet, the fear was abruptly cut off, and once more, all he could feel was that vague sense of awareness.

Closing his eyes, he tried to strengthen that connection, but he couldn’t. This screwed-up gift was just too new. Too new, and too much. And the connection to Dru was definitely too new.

Sighing, he lifted his hands, ground the heels of his palms against his eyes, sucked in a deep breath. He needed to think about the job.

He was here for that. He wasn’t waiting until it was done to focus on Dru—he could multitask pretty damn well—but he had to focus on the job for now.

The job.

The f*cking job—

“. . . a good one there. Too bad I can’t get merchandise while I’m here.”

That train of thought snaked in through the layers of shielding Joss had slammed into place, and slowly, he lowered his hands, turned his head. Tracking thoughts to their owner wasn’t quite the same as following a voice—they didn’t exactly leave the easiest sort of trail.

But thankfully, Joss was used to working with telepathic gifts. Considering how damn young Jillian was, she was a virtual artist with hers. It wasn’t too hard to home in as those erratic thoughts kept coming.

“Look at the ass, damn. Down here with some friends, too . . . would be so f*cking easy. Maybe I could figure out where she’s from . . .”

Big bastard. Almost as tall as Joss was. Dark-haired. A friendly-looking sort. Managed to move, unnoticed, through the crowds as he trailed along behind a cute little coed. Joss shifted his position, tracking him, following the man’s train of thoughts, as they all fell into the line for one of the rides. It was in front of a big, old-looking house. One of the many themed rides here. Joss had already figured out there were nothing but theme rides here as he walked around, hoping to find her again.

He had known he wouldn’t.

But something wouldn’t let him leave.

Guess he knew what it was now.

He shot a cursory glance at the sign and pulled out his phone, pretended to glance around.

Don’t pay me any attention . . . I’m just looking for my girlfriend . . . sending her a text, he thought absently, watching the group, watching the guy who was watching the girl.

Even though he was a big, rough-looking piece of work, Joss was good at fading into the woodwork.

So was the guy in front of him.

If Joss hadn’t been trained to notice shit, if he hadn’t been on the lookout for something off . . . and if he hadn’t had that insane gift crammed into his head, he probably wouldn’t have looked twice at this guy.

Nobody else seemed to think anything was off with him.

He chatted with the group next to him. Even chatted with the group of college kids. Although not with the pretty girl who’d caught his eye.

“Name is Alyssa. Pretty. Twenty years old. No boyfriend. Lives in Tulsa. Goes to college in Atlanta . . .”

A cool, efficient sort of monster, Joss noticed.

But not efficient enough.

Joss managed to get a few pictures of him. Sent them to Jones, along with a text. See if anything pops on this guy.

As the line continued to wind closer to the house, Joss watched, doing his own thing to blend. Chatting. Grumbling about his nonexistent girlfriend. An image of Dru flashed through his mind, and he tried yet again to strengthen that connection. Just thinking of her made him more aware—she was angry now, angry and frustrated.

It was enough to distract him, and he couldn’t afford that right now.

It took a hell of a lot of control, but he had to break that connection. For now.

Until he knew just what he was dealing with, he had to focus on the man standing about fifteen feet away. The man watching a pretty college girl with well-hidden greed.

* * *

HE used the name Mike. Mike Sellers. It was one of fifteen different aliases.

Mike was bored as hell, and wasn’t expecting that to lessen anytime soon. He was being strung along by the arrogant son of a bitch who’d “requested” his services. The request had come from another arrogant son of a bitch, but it was somebody whom Mike just didn’t like saying no to.

When certain people asked for favors, it was wise to just say yes. The favors came with a lot of money, and it made those people more inclined to be friendly with you . . . and it also made them less inclined to want you dead.

Mike knew how the game was played.

So he was playing it, even though this current potential customer was being an a*shole of the highest order, bringing him in and then ignoring him for days on end.

It was a power play and he knew it. Mike could play that game very well, and he’d done it more than once. He’d play it, because playing it, and winning, just meant he’d get what he wanted in the end.

It wasn’t money. Or rather . . . it wasn’t just the money.

It was the hunt.

Finding a pretty girl . . . like Alyssa. Stalking her. Learning her ways, her pattern. Then catching her. Once he turned her over, he didn’t know what happened, nor did he care. Sometimes he took his turn with his prey; sometimes he didn’t. If he decided to take Alyssa, he’d take a turn. She was his sort of lady—a beautiful, petite little blonde with big tits, a tight little ass, and when she glanced at him, it was a nervous, blushing sort of smile that made his dick swell up.

A piece like her would be fun to keep around for a while.

Going to the Art Institute in Atlanta. Amazing how easily people tossed out information.

They didn’t realize how easily they dropped it.

He’d heard her mention a few of her teachers’ names. He could figure out her schedule. Follow her. See if she had a roommate—she probably did. Her clothes were nice, but not quite high-end enough for her to be rich, so she’d probably have a roommate. Another challenge. When to grab her.

It would take some planning . . .

It was also a good way to occupy his mind. That was why he was here, after all. Bored as hell and killing time. It was one of his favorite pastimes, surrounding himself with people, looking for potential merchandise, even if he wasn’t actively hunting for a piece. Sometimes, he took a girl just to do it. Just for himself.

He could do that with her. He thought he just might.

A smile curled his lips as she glanced up at him, that hesitant, shy little grin on her face. Oh, yes. He was going to start planning. It would be a while. He’d been told this current job would keep him busy for a few weeks to a few months, and it would likely be an ongoing project if things turned out well.

But it wasn’t a problem to wait awhile before moving on Alyssa. A few months down the road, and he could start laying the groundwork as soon as he had an idea what he was doing here.

And he could fantasize even now.

Man, she was going to be fun. He could already see her, tied up and facedown in the workshop he rarely got to use. Screaming behind a gag. He’d take care not to leave a mark on that soft skin . . . it would bring down the price once he was tired of her and sold her.

He never kept them for too long anyway, and it was better to sell them off when he was bored.

An acquaintance of his had told him it was just as much fun to kill them, but that was a waste. Plenty of his buyers liked taking a woman after she’d been broken, and Mike enjoyed that part almost as much as he enjoyed the hunt.

No point in killing them, after all.

* * *

BRING down the price . . . yeah, you start thinking along those lines, Joss thought. It was a struggle not to grab the son of a bitch and snap his neck then and there.

As the man who called himself Mike continued his hellish little fantasy, Joss sent another text to Jones. Check out the name Mike Sellers. I suspect he’s one of the connections here. He’s new, though—I get the feeling he doesn’t know his contact here. Can’t pick up a name yet. I’ll get one, though.

Mike didn’t know his connection here. This was good. Joss already had a vague idea about just how to proceed from here.

It would be a risky gamble, but instinct was telling him it was the right gamble. Which meant all he needed to do was confirm his suspicions.

And keep from killing that monster in the meantime.

Hard, that, considering he was getting a mental play-by-play of the sick f*ck raping that college girl.

He snapped a picture of her as well, sent that one to Jones. He’s got a thing for this girl. I’m in the park. Her name is Alyssa—

Joss focused his mind on the girl, probed a bit, and then swore as he saw her sway, flinching. She pressed a hand to her head, and he realized he’d pushed inside her head too hard.

He needed to get a better grip on this gift before he did shit like that. He told her sorry silently, not that it would do much good. Her name is Alyssa Brascum. Goes to the Art Institute in Atlanta. This Sellers guy has this idea to grab her later down the road. I plan on interfering with said plan tonight, in a big way, and once I’m done, I doubt his brain will be good for anything, but just in case, we need to figure out what to do about her.

It wasn’t even a minute before Jones’s text popped up. Do you like making my life difficult?

Consider it payback. I’m supposed to be off. Remember?