Killer Thoughts

PowerUp! - 8

by

Marie Harte

Chapter One

Bend, Oregon

The PowerUp! Gym

Ian Ryder swore and glared at the familiar face across the gym, coming closer. Cropped ash-blond hair, mysterious green eyes that saw everything, and a firm, uncompromising mouth graced a face worth millions. He watched as Owen Stallbridge, the recent bane of Ian’s existence, walked past the open spinning class, where women and men raced like mad and still went nowhere.

Bikes. Ian snorted. Why pedal when you could drive? Owen turned in his direction, and he crouched low behind the desk, squatting with his back against the wall, hoping Owen would see no one sitting there and continue on.

“Ian? What are you doing?”

Jack Keiser, Ian’s boss and a man who never let him get away with anything, asked in a flat voice from the doorway. It had been too much to hope that Jack’s new fiancée would turn the cold bastard into a man with feelings. The guy still acted like he had a rock where his heart should be. And with his massive size, he stood out like a sore thumb. Damn it, Jack. Go away.

“Uh, I dropped a pencil.” Ian felt around him on the floor to maintain the pretense, then slowly eased into the chair behind the desk in the glass-walled office, making sure to keep himself small. Though the Nautilus machines in front of the office didn’t obscure his view out, maybe from Owen’s angle they’d block visibility to the consulting room. Normally the trainers used the space to talk to their clients and recommend training plans. Ian’s only proposal at this point was for Jack to move his big ass, or better yet, intercept Owen so Ian could dart out the back. But then Jack would know Ian hadn’t been doing his job lately, and he’d—

“Who are you hiding from?”

Jack didn’t pull punches. Big, mean, and smart. A triple threat. Too bad Keegan wasn’t boss. Ian usually ran rings around the giant Texan before the man even suspected he’d been hoodwinked.

“Ian,” Jack growled.

“Fine. You want to know? Your soon-to-be brother-in-law is stalking me.” A glance up showed Owen bearing down on them, his expression grim. With any luck, Owen would ignore Jack and walk on by to yell at someone else. Then Ian could gear up for his weekend excursion to Portland. He had his eye on a painting being sold at a particular underground auction, a stolen Helzman, circa 1842, worth a quarter million. He’d see it, memorize it, then repaint it from memory and sell it as the original for half that much. If he could keep Owen Stallbridge off his tail.

“I thought you were on night shift this week?”

“Kitty lost a bet with Chloe, so they put me on days.” Kitty, the day manager, did a better job handling him than Chloe. But she wasn’t as much fun as Chloe, whom Ian had learned to finesse into forgiving him for his many ongoing transgressions…when her cute boyfriends weren’t hanging around. Trust Chloe to snag two hotties when Ian still couldn’t find one decent, wealthy sugar daddy in this town.

“Poor Kitty.”

Jack didn’t smile, but Ian saw the humor in the slight crease at the corner of his eyes.

“Still doesn’t explain why you’re hiding from your boss.”

Technically, Owen and Jack ran the gym. Except Owen remained a silent partner and investor while Jack managed the day-to-day. Jack Keiser, lead psychic and all-around ball breaker. Not a guy anyone would want as an enemy, not when he could bench-press two of Ian and not break a sweat. Ian still hadn’t quite figured out what Jack’s superpower was, unless brute intimidation could be considered a psychic skill.

He glanced around at the upscale gym, noting the many people working out. Since opening the place over a year ago, Jack and his band of supposed trainers—ex-government psychics—had steadily grown in popularity. It didn’t hurt that they all had looks, brawn, and that pervasive energy one could feel. What the community didn’t know was that downstairs, in the secret, private gym, the psychics had to train to remain sane and safe.

Though Ian himself had never been physically altered or drugged by the scientific geniuses in Washington DC—whose facilities didn’t officially exist—he’d seen the results. And he had to admit, they worked. The Psychic Warfare Program—PWP—had turned weak psychics into monstrously strong ones. Gene therapy aided those needing control and precision, so that the rough, explosive powers of the pyro- and telekinetics no longer threatened to destroy everyone around them.

The side effects sucked, though. Without the constant barrage of drugs, the psychics went wrong. Out of control, some even turned psychotic. So although Ian despised Jack’s “work the body, work the mind” mantra, he understood it.

Nature had gifted him with a naturally lean frame, however. So he did his best not to work up a sweat here. Not that he minded the muscular hotties who roamed the halls of the PowerUp! Gym. Even the few normal employees Jack kept on hand were pretty. And speaking of pretty… Ian glanced again at Owen, who’d stopped to smile and talk with some skinny guy on a treadmill. Owen looked like a model on a bad day, but next to Skinny Guy, he fairly oozed sex appeal in those shorts and plain T-shirt.

Oh yeah. Give me a nice upper body, rock-hard abs, and muscular thighs any day. Turn around, just a little… Owen turned, and Ian sighed. He raised his head to see that tight ass and broad back. Sure, Owen was a pain, but God, what a body. The eye candy alone almost made the annoyance worth it.

Almost.

“Ian?” Jack drawled. “I’m still waiting for an explanation.”

Ian swore. “Shit, Jack. He’s like a rabid dog. I can’t work under these conditions.” Ian meant it. For the past month, he’d been assisting the authoritative playboy too smart for his own good. A lot of work for little results. “He’s looking for something I can’t find. And if I can’t find it, it doesn’t exist.”

Jack frowned. “Something or someone? I was under the impression he’s hunting a man.”

“Does it matter? Either way, my sources haven’t seen it or him.” Ian sighed. “I haven’t had a day off in weeks.”

“Yeah, four of them. Suck it up, princess. You’re finally going to earn your keep around here.”

Ian tried to look affronted, but Jack didn’t blink. “Oh come on. I do my job.”

“You cause more problems than you’re worth.”

“Hey. I hooked you up with a place to stay on your trip to Germany. I helped you find the love of your life.”

“And you nearly started World War III while I was gone. You fucked up our filing system. Aidan still wants to rip your head off. Chloe can’t find the extra set of keys I left for her—and don’t deny it; I know you have them somewhere.”

“But—”

“And let’s talk about the law. Do you know how many times I’ve had to talk down the locals? And how about the Feds still keeping an eye on us? One wrong step and they’ll come down on us like a ton of bricks.”

The temperature in the room seemed to drop several degrees as Jack’s wolflike stare turned even more predatory.

Ian tugged at the collar of his T-shirt. “Now, hold on. Those Feds are permanent. They rotate them. No matter what I do—or allegedly have done—those two are going to stay until we all die of old age or move.”

“Oh? So stealing Senator Clancy’s crap and selling it back to him for twice what it’s worth was fair game?”

“Please. He’s a thief. And he’s retired,” Ian reminded him. “He stole them in the first place. I was only giving him a taste of his own medicine.” He frowned. “How did you hear about that anyway? I know he didn’t call the cops. And he can’t trace me as the seller.”

“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.

“Thanks. I’ll call you if I need anything.” Owen crossed his arms over his chest. “Ian? Shall we go?”

“Fine. Whatever.” Ian crossed to the door. Before he could move through, Owen put a hand on his lower back. The connection seared him. Damn it. He had to stop reacting to Owen, or he’d never be able to manage him. Though Ian preferred to remain distant, now that he had to work closely with the man once more, he was determined to one-up His Millionaire Hotness. “Your orders, boss?”

“Oh, I like that.” Owen chuckled and removed his hand. “My car’s out front. I’ll even let you drive.”

Ian perked up. A chance to sit behind the wheel of Owen’s new Porsche Boxter? Hell, yeah. He practically skipped out of the gym and waited impatiently next to the car, excited to feel the wind in his hair, and ignored the fact that it was Owen, more than the vehicle, who aroused his passion.

OWEN STARED AFTER Ian, amused and satisfied more than he should have been. Ian Ryder had looks, a brain, and the ability to screw with Owen’s concentration—which in itself was a cause for alarm. But Owen hadn’t been kidding when he’d said he needed Ian’s talent.

A forger without compare, Ian could copy anything and reproduce it with such authenticity that even the original artist couldn’t tell the difference. His unique talent had never been duplicated, not even by the many scientists in Washington who’d tried so hard to make another Ian.

Owen remembered seeing Ian a decade ago, back when Ian had been a kid barely into his twenties. So handsome, a heartbreaker with brass balls. He’d been a scammer then, like he was now. But in the years that passed, Ian had grown in strength and beauty. His looks made him stand out no matter where he went. And that new haircut had nearly brought Owen to his knees.

With long black hair and bright blue eyes, a square jaw, high cheekbones, and long lashes, Ian had appeared like an Adonis. But cutting that hair short gave him a rakish appearance, showcasing the naughty side of the charmer who could get anyone to do anything he asked. Just about.

Jack, fortunately, saw through Ian’s bullshit and had often saved the slighter man from himself. The shortest male member of the PowerUp! team, as well as the leanest, Ian didn’t have the same athletic build as his teammates. Instead, he had a quick mind, nimble fingers, and the muscle tone of a man used to running for his life.

Owen watched critically as Ian waited impatiently by the driver’s side door. “You need to eat more.”

Ian rolled his eyes. “So feed me. Now can I have the keys or what?”

Owen hit a button on the key remote to unlock the doors. He opened the passenger door and tossed the keys to Ian. After seating himself next to the man who stirred his blood and challenged him in ways no one had in a long time, Owen settled back and watched Ian’s competent hands control the vehicle. The top hummed as it went down, and Ian maneuvered the car like a professional race-car driver.

“We’re not going to my office this time. I’m working straight from home now.” Not that he had to give Ian directions. The arrogant thief had already broken into the place at least three times that Owen knew of.

Soon enough they sped down the road toward Owen’s private retreat, which overlooked the Cascade Mountains and had plenty of solitude. It was a short drive but long enough to give Owen time to control his impulses and figure out a few very important things.

Like how to finally get Ian in his bed, in his home, and in his life. Permanently.

And how to catch a killer before he murdered not only Owen but Heather as well, extinguishing the Stallbridges from the earth, forever.

Chapter Two

Owen let out a breath when they pulled into the drive.

“Man. This car is just fabulous.”

Ian ran his long-fingered hands over the red-leather-covered wheel and dash. An artist’s hands. A thief’s hands.

“Yes. Nice driving.” Competent, just a tiny bit reckless. Owen wondered what Ian would think if he knew how much he gave away about himself with the littlest details.

A huge risk taker would drive the Porsche like a bat out of hell. Ian drove over the speed limit, but not so that he lost control. He seemed to love the wind through his hair but held on to common sense by not taking the turns too fast. He tossed around words like fabulous and darling and acted like a drama queen but always followed his theatrics with a sly look Owen’s way. The affectation wasn’t the real Ian, just the one Ian wanted others to see.

Ian was gay and proud of it. Owen knew, though, that Ian couldn’t be sure about his orientation, because Owen worked hard to maintain a shred of mystery. Though he’d been with both genders, Owen preferred men. And recently, one man in particular. The press had linked him with heiresses and actors and CEOs of Fortune 500 companies of both genders. Yet nothing but speculation ever hit the tabloids. Unlike the latest A-listers, he kept his private life private and steered clear of the cameras.

Here in Bend, they pretty much left him alone. But the minute he stepped foot in LA or New York, he had the attention of the press.

After Ian parked the car, they both got out and headed toward the front door of Owen’s home. Not a place he used simply as a spot to crash when he did business, but his actual home. He loved it here, away from the crush of people who always wanted something from him. Here he could feel like a real person, a brother and friend. Not just a wallet.

Before they reached the door, it opened.

“Sir.” Tim Mallory nodded at him. “Ian.”

Ian gaped up at Tim. “Do I know you?”

“No, but he knows you.” Owen nodded at Tim. “We all set?”

“Yes, sir.” Tim stood back from the door. The six-foot-seven former ultimate fighter had accepted Owen’s offer of employment a year ago without a backward glance. While with the security division, he’d done everything Owen needed. He was efficient and discreet, two traits Owen prized, so Owen had started using him more often. Now Tim spent his time wearing several hats—bodyguard, butler, organizer. Tim did it all and without complaint. Then again, with the salary Owen paid him, Tim had nothing to complain about. But what made him worth every penny—his unswerving loyalty.

Ian frowned over his shoulder at Owen as Owen prodded him to enter.

Tim closed the door behind them and held out his hand. “The keys, Ian?”

“How do you know I have them?”

Tim said nothing, just stared down at Ian with an intimidating mien.

Owen nodded. “Tim knows and sees all. He’s my new assistant.”

Ian flushed and withdrew the car keys from his pocket and handed them to Tim. “I wasn’t planning on keeping them, you know.” He turned to Owen. “So what’s the deal with Harry if Tim’s your new guy? You fire him or what?”

Owen didn’t flinch, though inside the rage still burned. When he found his former assistant—and he would find the backstabbing asshole—he’d make him pray for a quick death. Harry Barker had been with Owen for five years, during which time Owen had given the younger man more and more responsibility, gradually letting go of his reserve to trust Harry fully. A mistake.

Harry had become Owen’s right hand, and then a month ago, he’d shown his true colors, turning on Owen for nothing more than money. Carl Kerr, that bastard, had bought Harry’s loyalty. Tim had proven his worth, taking a bullet meant for Owen.

Owen stared at Tim’s shoulder, now covered by the short-sleeved polo he wore. He could still see in his mind’s eye the bloody wound. Nothing serious, but it could have been for Owen if Tim hadn’t been present to shove him out of the way. Not to be outsmarted again, Owen had borrowed a few of Jack’s people to vet his new assistant. Deemed solid by people who could read his thoughts, Tim had joined Owen’s personal team, and Owen hadn’t looked back since.

“Harry’s gone,” Owen said bluntly. “If you see him again, you need to let me or Tim know right away. He’s not part of the organization any longer. Consider him a dangerous threat.”

Ian blinked. “Ah, okay.”

They walked past the entryway into the main living area. Five thousand square feet of comfort had cost Owen a pretty penny, especially with the views he had of Mount Bachelor. But he’d gladly pay more to feel at peace, protected. He had two more men on staff for security, as well as a cook and a housekeeper who lived on the premises. Two guesthouses on the periphery of the property, as well as a swim house for an indoor pool, took up the space outside. But the main home was a gem all on its own.

“I sure do like your style,” Ian murmured.

Owen watched as he walked past the living room, with its grand leather sectionals, rock wall and fireplace, and expensive artwork. A Van Gogh and a Matisse had special places on the walls away from the heat generated by the fireplace, while other sculptures and local artwork gave the room a comfortable feel. Owen liked nice things, but he didn’t want to feel as though he lived in an art gallery.

“That’s new.” Ian pointed to one particular piece in the corner, Coyote Dreams.

“Yes. It’s a Dane Hanson original.” Dane’s work had recently taken the art world by storm. In a few years, the piece would easily be worth three times what Owen had paid for it. Yet Owen had bought it because he liked it.

Ian grinned. “Does Kitty know you have her new boy toy’s artwork in your house? Does Dane?” Just a few short months ago, Kitty and Dane had worked a case that involved a cursed statue and Owen’s ex-girlfriend. A woman who’d done her best to kill Owen while Ian had watched from the closet, yet she’d ended up dead instead.

“They will at the Christmas party this year. Heather convinced me to have it here.” Owen shrugged. For his sister, he’d do anything. To include keeping her safe and away from him. Thank God she had Jack. Owen didn’t worry so much with that hulking brute to watch over her.

“I still don’t understand what Heather sees in Jack. I mean, I get the muscle and the tough-guy thing he’s got going on. But she’s so nice.” Ian shook his head and gave Owen a sour look. “Not like you at all.”

“Ian, behave.” Owen saw Tim try to hide a grin before the big man walked past them to the kitchen.

“Lunch is waiting for you on the table, sir.”

Owen sighed. “You can call me Owen, you know.”

“Yes, sir.” Tim disappeared.

Ian smirked. “If you didn’t have that lord-of-the-manor attitude, I’m sure your staff would be friendlier.”

“I don’t see you calling me sir.”

Ian stopped moving, propped his hands on his hips, and glared. “I’m not part of your staff.”

Owen drew closer, invading Ian’s personal space. To his gratification, Ian swallowed audibly. A nice show of nerves. “You could be, Ian. I’d love to hire you to work me.”

“You mean work for you.” Ian’s gaze dropped to Owen’s mouth.

Owen had been waiting for months to make his move, and now that he had Ian at his beck and call, for however long it took to finish this Kerr business, he’d indulge. Hell, he’d more than earned it. Keeping his distance from the handsome con man had been difficult at best. When Owen found something he wanted, he didn’t stop until he got it. And he wanted Ian. Badly. Owen raised a hand and pushed Ian’s long bangs off his forehead so he could see into those beautiful blue eyes.

“Yes, you’d work me hard, wouldn’t you?” he murmured, pleased to see Ian lick his lips, his eyes glazed over with lust. Owen smiled, dropped his hand, and stepped back. “I mean, you’d work hard for me. Now let’s get some lunch, and I’ll fill you in on where we stand.”

He thought he heard Ian swear behind him. Good. Ian wasn’t unaffected. As it was, it took Owen a moment to calm his raging hormones. Being so close to Ian, inhaling the sexy cologne he wore, gave Owen the hard-on from hell.

To his relief, he entered the kitchen without an erection and found the large marble table laid out with a full lunch. Cold cuts, sandwich rolls, a pasta salad, fruit, and glasses filled with tea had been arranged to perfection. He loved Beverly. The older woman cooked like a dream. She’d been with the family since before his parents died, nearly seventeen years ago, and she kept getting better with age.

“Pays to have money,” Ian said and sat down without being asked. He filled his plate with food and commenced to eating, not waiting on Owen. “So what now, Your Highness?” he said between bites. “Damn. This is good ham.”

Owen sat and watched his future lover wolfing down lunch. “Good. You need to eat more.”

“Feed me like this, and we won’t have a problem.”

Ian grinned, and a face that could have made a fortune in magazines brightened up the room. Then that grin faded. “You know, this great lunch aside, we need to be real about what you need from me. It’s not that I don’t want to help you. But I’ve done all I can. If my sources can’t find it, it can’t be found.”

“But you did find it. Or rather, him.”

“Come again?”

I’d like to come between those full lips the first time. Then in your tight ass after. Owen frowned, annoyed to let Ian distract him with thoughts of sex. But really, Owen had a right to fantasize. Ian had no lack of male attention. His looks saw to the initial attraction, while his charm kept them coming back for more.

“Uh, Owen? What? Do I have mustard on my face or something?”

The flush on Ian’s cheeks told Owen he knew what Owen wanted. But he wanted to pretend otherwise. Fine. Owen would let it stand for now, considering he’d wanted to talk about Kerr in the first place.

He concentrated on business. “The pattern you thought you saw last week. Tell me again what struck you.”

Ian shrugged. “Something in those newspaper articles linked for me. I don’t know. They didn’t seem related, but those deaths connected. All five businessmen had their throats slit. They were each involved in illegal arms, small-time, but still. All of them in northern states. Not too far-fetched, but it struck a bell. The Canadian ties really clued me in. When you put that together with their financial backers buried under a lot of paperwork and false trails, all of which led them back to northwestern-based companies, I don’t know. It seemed like that’s what you were looking for. Made sense to me.”

“It did. Does.” Owen helped himself to a sandwich, hungrier than he’d thought. He glanced to his right and peered out the window. Overlooking the guesthouse where the Knox brothers, his personal security, lived, the majestic Cascade Mountains stood like sentries, clear against a crisp blue sky. He wanted to go running or maybe take a day hike. But duty called.

“How so?” Ian asked and started on a second sandwich.

Pleased to see the man eat more, Owen explained. “I don’t know if you’re familiar with my history.”

“You mean, besides you mysteriously killing Linda Cavendish?”

His ex-girlfriend and a woman sent to plague him by none other than Carl fucking Kerr. Owen ignored the reference to Linda’s death. “Years ago, my family had a loose tie with Jacob Kerr, founder of what used to be known as JHC Industries.”

Ian’s eyes narrowed. “Now known as Precision Tech. A Stallbridge concern.”

“Yes.” Ian had done his homework. He reminded himself not to underestimate the man again. “What you don’t know is we didn’t just buy out the company. My father threatened to go to the police and tell them exactly what Jacob had been up to if he didn’t sell to my father. Making guns for the military was one thing; selling them to unfriendly foreigners with a lot of money was another. Jacob sold the company back to us, then killed my parents.”

Ian stared, wide-eyed. “Really? So that business about an unfortunate plane mishap was made-up?”

Owen nodded. “I thought it best to keep quiet. My father had warned me there might be trouble. And there was.”

“You were what? Seventeen, eighteen at the time?”

“Yes. Just out of high school.” Owen smiled, but not with joy. Remembering how he’d handled the Kerrs gave him a savage sense of pleasure. His sister had always known she could heal. But none of them had known what Owen could do, not until he’d been pushed. “I refused to sell the company back to Jacob. Then he had an unfortunate aneurism and died. Jacob’s sons, Henry and Carl, naturally came after me.”

“The battles between your companies made headlines for years. Back when the Kerrs were legit, that is.”

Owen nodded, not surprised Ian would keep abreast of the company’s history. Since working with Owen, Ian would have found out everything he possibly could to stay ahead of his perceived adversary. Something Owen would do. “And then a few years ago, Henry made a mistake. He came after Heather, although Heather has no idea the attack was personal. She thought someone was after our money, a kidnapping we managed to forestall.”

Owen had known he’d given Henry and Carl too much leeway. He’d hoped they might turn out different than their father. Hating each other as business rivals was one thing. But when they’d gone after Heather, everything had changed.

“So it was the Kerrs.” Ian’s eyes narrowed. “And then Henry died of a heart attack. Another early death for a Kerr. Bad family history.”

Owen smiled through his teeth. “Bad, yes.” Back then he’d had help. A spotter to pinpoint his talent, a way to lock on to his target from a distance, then point and kill with a psychic blast no one could survive. “Henry died, leaving his younger brother Carl all alone.”

“And Carl blamed you.”

Owen nodded. “And Carl blamed me. There was no proof. No evidence to the contrary. Henry died when his heart stopped beating. They said it was a blocked coronary, a massive buildup of plaque that killed him. A natural death by all accounts. Yet Carl pointed the finger at me.”

“Go figure,” Ian drawled. “So Carl came after you. That’s why he stole that book of yours a few months ago. He’s been trying to bring you down for years. Financially he can’t touch you. But to destroy your reputation…”

“I don’t care. He can do and say what he wants. He knew I wanted the book back; that’s why he went after it and kept it. My warehouse getting broken into has caused me all sorts of problems.” Owen sighed. Over a year ago someone—he still didn’t know who—had broken into a family warehouse in France, a place he’d thought secret, and stolen a hoard of enchanted and cursed objects. Family heirlooms that had Stallbridge energy locked inside them. A powerful locket, a haunted painting, a clock that stopped time, and Chronicles—a book recounting his family’s odd history, as well as some sexually explicit material his grandfather had thought to put in for fun. But the book had been so much more. Fortunately, his sister had recovered it and fallen in love with Jack in the process.

“Well, your warehouse thief has done PowerUp! a favor. You’ve paid through the nose for our services, but hey, we’ve gotten a ton of your crap back for you.”

“True.” Owen smiled. Ian wore smug well. “And now Carl is on the run because your team did its job. Aidan and Gavin were exceptional in finding Chronicles. And Heather, well…” He still couldn’t believe his gentle sister had taken on murderers in a foreign country to preserve the book. Had he known about the danger, he never would have allowed it. But she’d come back and brought both herself and the book home in one piece, and that was all that mattered.

“Heather is getting married to Jack.” Ian made a face. “I’m still waiting for her to soften him up. Hell, we all are.”

Owen chuckled. “Jack is Jack. Gruff, mean, but loyal.” His grin faded. “Loyalty is something you should never take for granted.”

“I’ll bet.” Ian looked a bit too understanding for comfort. Too knowing.

“Damn it. Who told you?”

Ian shrugged. “Not sure what you’re talking about.” Yet the cautious expression in his eyes said otherwise.

Scooting back from the table, Owen stood and grabbed Ian by the back of his shirt. He dragged the man to his feet, then manhandled him over his shoulder and carried him from the room. He nodded at Tim, who didn’t so much as twitch at the sight of Owen hauling Ian from the kitchen and down the hall toward the back stairs.

“What the fuck?”

Ian struggled to get free, and Owen slapped him on the ass.

“You did not just spank me.”

“Oh yes, I did.” Owen was tired of having people turn on him. He wanted to know who had tipped Ian off about Harry. And since the little thief wouldn’t answer without being forced, Owen figured the time had come to see just what Ian was made of.

IAN DANGLED BEHIND Owen, getting a fine view of the man’s tight ass. Especially in those mouthwatering shorts. Yet being carted around like a sack of potatoes didn’t sit right. It was sexy as hell but so out of character for the stern yet laid-back Owen.

Ian knew Harry’s defection had hurt, but he wasn’t supposed to know anything about it. So he pretended to be clueless. He hadn’t meant to let it slip that he knew anything. Stupid. Getting caught up in Owen’s deep voice and that beautiful mouth had thrown him.

He struggled to get free, but Owen’s arms were like a steel trap. When the hell had the bazillionaire become so inhumanly strong? Granted, the guy was probably a good fifty to seventy pounds heavier and had more height and muscle, but jeez, he made Ian feel like a friggin’ girl.

“Get off. This is sexual harassment,” Ian tried, feeling dizzy when they went upstairs. Did nothing slow this guy down?

“Not yet. But it’s going to be.”

Registering what Owen said, Ian’s dick went from semihard to full-out erect. Being so close to Owen had its typical effect, arousing him. But the thought that Owen might want Ian back, sexually, was like a fantasy come to life.

Ian had been whacking off to carnal thoughts of Owen for months. He’d never imagined the sexy guy might want him back. Not that Ian wasn’t pretty enough, because he had to-die-for blue eyes and a sexy bod. He knew that. But Owen had never seemed particularly gay to him. A sad state of affairs, but one Ian had accepted.

Was he wrong.

Owen walked into his master suite and shut and locked the door behind him. The short snick echoed in Ian’s muddled brain. He recognized the bedroom from having snooped in Owen’s house previously. He liked the muted blues and browns, the king-size bed, and the tasteful, modern, dark chocolate furniture. Unfortunately he hadn’t had the time to snoop through Owen’s boudoir, but he’d bet the hottie had a kinky streak. I mean, he’s carrying me like a caveman and acting all dominant. He’s got to be a freak in the sack.

He squirmed against Owen’s shoulder. “Let go, damn it.”

“Not yet, thief.”

Ian did his best not to shudder with pleasure. He loved when Owen called him that. Like an endearment, but more personal than baby or sweetie. And it fit, because Owen had caught him red-handed right before Linda Cavendish tried to kill him four months ago.

Owen tossed him onto the bed, and Ian scrambled to leave. Before he could move, he found himself cuffed and strung up like a sacrificial virgin. “What the hell?” Ian tugged at the cuffs affixed to chains bolted into the headboard. How had he missed those the last time he’d been by?

“I had them installed a few weeks ago. After your visit, of course.” Owen smiled, but the expression didn’t reach his eyes. “Now you’re going to tell me how you knew about Harry.”

“I, uh…”

Owen removed his shoes, and Ian watched, frozen, as the bigger man stripped him of his socks and then moved to his shorts. They’d come straight from the gym, so it wasn’t as if Ian wore layers of clothing. Embarrassing, because his dick stood out like a pike under that friggin’ nylon. Typically, Ian handled his lovers. They didn’t handle him. But Owen was different from the rest, in ways that unnerved Ian more than he felt comfortable admitting, even to himself.

Owen gripped him hard, and Ian nearly shot off the bed.

“Okay, now that’s sexual harassment,” he rasped when he settled back on the bed. His voice sounded shrill, and he hated the fact that he was hard and aching beneath Owen’s firm hand.

“Harry?” Owen said again, his eyes mean.

Oh shit. Ian felt Owen’s palm slide against his dampening shorts. “I saw the pattern, okay?” came out in a rush. “I was going to tell you he wasn’t right. I’d gone through some, um, financial documents and e-mails of his the last time I was here.” Ian sucked in a breath when Owen stroked him. “Jesus.”

“And?” Owen didn’t smile, laugh, or change the inflection of his voice.

Damn if that cool control didn’t make Ian want to come all over him. He pushed harder into Owen’s palm, overjoyed when Owen started jerking him off through his clothes.

“And I saw something…wrong. Harry was… Shit, Owen. Rub faster.” So of course the bastard slowed down. To Ian’s satisfaction, though, Owen sported some major wood.

“And?”

“And I went to Avery with what I thought.” Avery, the team’s prognosticator, a man who could see the future. “I asked him to focus for me, and he saw men try to kill you. They didn’t succeed. And then Tim was there, taking a bullet,” he said on a whimper when Owen slid his thumb over Ian’s slit.

Fuck, he was so wet. The thin fabric of his shorts looked damp, and he’d soaked his underwear. Oh God, in Owen’s own hand. Talk about a fantasy of epic proportions. Now if Owen would just take Ian’s shorts down and put his sexy mouth over Ian’s cock, Ian’s life would be complete.

Owen let him go. “So you knew but didn’t help me?”

Ian moaned. “I wanted to, but Avery told me not to interfere. I’d screw things up if I did, and you and Tim had it handled. If I did something, I might have killed you.”

Owen narrowed his gaze, his scrutiny intense.

Hopefully, he saw something good, because Ian was on fire to fuck. “Come on, dude. I did you a favor. I didn’t help, and we’re all good. I don’t suppose you’ll blow me?” Sure, he sounded overly hopeful. But a guy could dream.

To his amazement, the star of his daily fantasies didn’t say no. Instead, Owen stood and removed his clothing. Every last stitch, until he stood naked and hung like a fucking horse in front of Ian.

Ian tugged at his wrists, still constrained to the headboard. He wanted to touch that golden flesh, feel the warmth of skin against his palms. Like Ian, Owen had little chest hair. And what he did have was a golden blond, fine and so pretty around Owen’s hard nipples.

“Come on, sexy. Stop teasing,” Ian rasped.

“You’ve been a good boy,” Owen said. “So you deserve a treat, don’t you?”

“I knew you’d be into kink.” He’d read that one right.

“You need discipline.”

Uh-oh. “Um, wait. I meant kink-y, not like, full-on D/s shit.”

Owen’s grin scared the hell out of him…and nearly made him come.

“Now, now, my little thief. I think we can come to an understanding, don’t you?”

Owen tugged Ian’s shorts and underwear off, then lifted Ian’s shirt to his armpits, exposing his chest, which was much less impressive than Owen’s. Ian had some muscle but not much.

Trying to gain control over the situation, Ian tried again. He cleared his throat and prayed he sounded less hoarse than he thought he did. “So, Owen. You were telling me about the Kerrs. Jacob and Henry left. Carl…he wants to kill you, right?”

“We’ll discuss him later. Right now I need to fill your mouth. You talk too much, thief.”

Then, to Ian’s simultaneous horror and pleasure, Owen knelt on the bed and crawled to Ian’s side. He straddled Ian’s torso and walked on his knees up Ian’s body until his heavy balls rested over Ian’s mouth.

“That’s right, little thief. Time for you to steal from me again. How about this time, you take some pleasure, hmm?” Owen lowered himself over Ian.

“N-no condom?”

“No. I trust you keep yourself clean. Do you trust me?”

“You’re too controlling and careful to take a chance like that. Bastard.” Ian’s mouth watered. He so wanted a piece of this man, especially when Owen gave him a mean smile.

“Well, boy? Get to it.”

Ian was helpless to resist. He opened his mouth and sucked.

Chapter Three

Owen had lost his fucking mind, but feeling Ian’s warm mouth over his sac was too right to resist. He’d dreamed about owning Ian for months. Now he’d make it a reality.

He moaned, unable to resist, as Ian expertly applied pressure to his balls. The light suck, the gentle scrape of teeth, and when his thief moaned his own pleasure, Owen couldn’t help himself. He rocked while Ian alternated sucking both balls. Then he moved back and angled his cock down, wanting to feel and see Ian swallow him. No condom, just skin-to-skin sex.

Ian didn’t protest, his slumberous expression one Owen committed to memory. A hank of his blue-black hair covered one eye, softening his face. But those plump lips, so soft and slick, moist with saliva, gave Owen a thrill. And maybe soon, some cum. So much better than my dreams.

Owen pushed just his cockhead between Ian’s lips and watched his lover suck, hollowing his cheeks until Owen’s eyes nearly crossed. He pumped short thrusts into the furnace of Ian’s mouth, and the man’s tongue lashed him until he was a hairbreadth from coming. No control, just pure, unadulterated pleasure. A rush to the end. Too soon…

“No,” Owen rasped, pulling out. “Not yet.”

Ian groaned. “Quit being a cock tease.”

Owen took a breath and let it out slowly. He mastered. He controlled. So how the hell had he let some smart-mouthed con artist nearly blow more than his mind?

He left the bed and looked down at Ian. The shirt had to go. He moved to his bed stand and took out a pair of scissors and a tube of lube—smart. He ignored the condom—not smart. But he was clean, and he knew for a fact that Ian had recently received a clean bill of health from his doctor. Despite wanting to appear like a slut—and he wore the moniker proudly—Ian wasn’t promiscuous. Owen had kept tabs on the younger man, and today he’d reap the pleasure from his surveillance.

Using the scissors and ignoring the sudden worry on Ian’s face, he cut through the thin T-shirt.

“What the hell are you doing?”

Yet Ian’s fear didn’t translate into a lessening of arousal. If anything, his cock bobbed with approval, still thick and wet and waiting.

“Getting you naked. As a member of my staff, you should be presentable.” Owen grinned at the curses coming from Ian’s mouth. After cutting the shirt from Ian’s fine body, he put the scissors back and grabbed the lube.

“Hold on.” Ian tried to act firm, but then he licked his lips, unable to hide his excitement.

“Oh, I’m holding on. Barely,” Owen muttered with a hard laugh. “You, my little thief, need discipline. Good thing Sir is here to give it to you.” Why not add to the fantasy? The Dom thing might be pushing it, and Owen didn’t need it to find pleasure. But with Ian, he more than wanted to challenge the stubborn younger man.

Ian groaned. “Are you kidding me? Sir? Really? I was kidding about the kink thing.”

He tugged halfheartedly at his bonds, and Owen knew it. The sexy thief might pretend he didn’t like being tied up, but his body didn’t lie.

“Let me go.”

“After.” Owen greased his cock, putting a liberal amount on. He had no idea how tight Ian might be. But he couldn’t wait to find out. He moved to the bed once more and knelt between Ian’s thighs. Propping his lover up, he tilted Ian’s hips and angled his cockhead at Ian’s tight entrance.

“Oh man. You going to rape me, boss?” Ian sneered.

Owen gripped Ian’s thighs and rested himself at the entrance to Ian’s hole. Fuck, he was hot. “Rape, hmm? Well, boy. Tell me. Should I let you go? Do you want me to leave you alone?” Owen didn’t move, though he wanted nothing more than to ram deep and come.

Ian squirmed, trying to impale himself on Owen, but Owen wouldn’t let him. No way he’d tolerate Ian pretending to be forced. Oh, they could play the force stuff later. But right now, Ian had to make a choice. Owen knew for a fact he hadn’t read his boy wrong, but he wanted Ian to admit the truth.

“Well?” Owen pulled back, regretting the loss of heat from Ian’s body. But before he could move completely away, Ian trapped him with his strong thighs.

“No.”

Owen raised a brow and didn’t move.

Ian swallowed convulsively. “No, Sir.”

“What do you want, exactly?”

“I want you.”

“Ah. Better.” Owen placed himself back at Ian’s entrance, taken with his lover’s flushed face and nipples. Those pretty buds standing on end, needing a good bite. Or better yet, with studs through them. Ian would look beautiful with his nipples pierced. “What do you really want? Tell me, little thief.” Keeping himself still but for the tip of his cock at Ian’s entrance nearly killed him. Ian groaned and bucked, but Owen wouldn’t be pushed.

“Shit. I want you, Owen, Sir, whatever you want to be called. I want to feel that fat, juicy cock up my ass.” Ian moaned and twisted his hips, and Owen’s cockhead pushed into Ian the slightest bit. “Please.”

“You don’t beg well. But you will.” Owen decided to end their torment, because by damn, he had to have Ian. Now.

Slowly sliding into Ian’s ass was like heaven. Ian gloved him, the tight grip of his flesh too good to deny.

“Fuck. You’re so tight.” Owen groaned and continued to push until his balls were flush against Ian’s ass. “Your cock is still so hard. And pearly at the tip. You hungry for it, boy?”

Ian nodded, his eyes nearly closed as he gasped his pleasure. “Oh yeah. Fuck me. God, make me burn. I need to come so bad.”

Owen retreated, then slowly pushed back inside. He watched Ian’s ecstatic expression and experimented by shifting his angle to see what his thief liked best. When he found Ian’s hot spot, he took Ian’s cock in hand and started jerking him off.

“Oh fuck. Oh fuck, yes. Yes, please,” Ian cried and jetted all over his belly.

He made a mess as Owen took him harder, incredibly moved by Ian’s raw sexuality. But when Ian clamped so hard with his ass, Owen couldn’t stop himself. He let go of Ian’s cock and slid his fingers through Ian’s cum.

He fucked him faster, nearing his end. “Taste yourself,” he ordered and lifted his finger to Ian’s mouth. All the while, he continued to fuck his boy harder, taking purchase in every gasp and groan.

And then Ian sucked his finger, laving it with his tongue. And Owen remembered that mouth around his cock. The thought of filling those beautiful lips, watching this gorgeous man accept such pleasure, had his discipline careening out of control. Owen thrust once more and cried out, coming hard.

He spurted, the rush of bliss taking everything but pleasure from his mind and body.

After a few moments, he felt Ian’s legs stroking the back of his thighs. He blinked down to see Ian staring up at him with what looked like awe. But when Ian saw him staring, his expression changed, growing sly.

“Was it good for you…Daddy?”

Owen barked a laugh, which seated him deeper and caused them both to shiver. “Please. I’m no one’s daddy…boy. You call me Sir. Or Master if you like.”

“God. No Master. I can barely handle Sir. I don’t do authority.”

Ian’s mutiny looked adorable.

“Oh?” Owen pulled away, the slide of his semierect cock evident by the look of ecstasy on Ian’s face. “Because you did me.”

“Funny.”

“I think you liked me being in charge.”

“Maybe. Just in bed, though, so don’t think you can boss me around all the time.” Ian arched his hips up, trying to keep Owen inside.

“Mmm-hmm.” Owen withdrew and left to go to the bathroom. After cleaning himself up, he returned to handle Ian. Bathing the cum from his lover’s body, taking care of him, felt right. Too right. He cleared his throat and moved to undo the cuffs around Ian’s wrists. One flick of a button and they opened.

He lay next to Ian on his back. To his pleasure, Ian rested on his side, propped on his elbow, leaning toward him.

“Hey.”

Ian frowned, but Owen saw the spark of amusement.

“I could have released them myself.”

“But you didn’t.” That a man as sharp as Ian hadn’t even tried spoke volumes. “Now, let’s be honest. You need my cock buried up that ass as much as I need you taking it. It’s been building between us for months. So say it with me. In bed, Owen is in charge. Like you mean it, boy.” Owen used his mean voice, and Ian responded.

He let out a breath and snapped a smart-ass salute. “Yes, Sir. In bed, you’re in charge.”

“Ian.”

Ian lifted a finger and drew it over Owen’s chest. “And if you want me to blow you, anytime, you just have to ask.”

“Right.” Owen believed that like he believed Kerr would be easy to take down. “I’ll probably have to bribe you. You’re not that easy.”

“You sure, handsome? Because I’m a pretty popular commodity in Bend. I have a lot of friends.”

“Oh?” Amused, Owen let Ian pet him, conscious of Ian’s attempt to put them on equal footing. So I’m just another notch on your belt, hmm? “How’s that? Because from what I know, your last relationship ended four months ago. It didn’t last, because he frankly wasn’t old enough for you.”

Ian flushed. “He was twenty-four, for God’s sake.”

“Yes, and way too young and easy to handle. Like all your other lovers have been. Casual. Young. Tossed aside.” Unlike Owen, who knew just how to handle him.

“What the hell would you know about it?” Ian clenched a fist on Owen’s chest.

“I’ve had my eye on you for a while, Ian Ryder. Frank Hanover. Michael Wilder.”

Ian blinked. “How do you know those names?”

“Your aliases, you mean?” Owen shrugged and linked his hands behind his head. “I know about all my employees.”

“Now that was just mean.” Ian grinned. “Though I admit I’m impressed. I used Frank Hanover with Chloe and Noah, so that alias was easy to get. But I had Michael Wilder buried deep.” He paused, his eyes narrowed. “Or so I thought. You’re more than just a pretty face and a big wallet, aren’t you, Owen?”

“How flattering.” Owen sighed and closed his eyes. “Yes, Ian. I have a brain too. For instance, I know you’ve been snooping through my house. That against Jack’s and Kitty’s orders, you tried to sneak a look at The Little Death, a figurine—”

“Worth a cool quarter million,” Ian interrupted.

“—that is responsible for too many deaths to count over the years. Why do you think I’ve hidden it in my vault? I also know you’re involved in two open forgery cases currently ongoing in the states of Washington and California. You try, but you just can’t keep your nose clean.”

“You seem to have all the answers.” Ian’s soft voice warned he didn’t like what he was hearing.

“Not at all. I think I found where Kerr has been hiding, but I’m not sure what he plans to do to draw me near. I can’t tell you why Harry nearly killed me, when he’d been as close to me as my own family. And I don’t know if I can count on the man I’d like to bring in to help us end this.”

“Us? Now there’s an us?”

Curiously, Ian didn’t sound panicked. “Us, as in, you’re helping me, and I just fucked you. So yes, us.”

“So romantic, Owen.” Ian paused a moment. “Okay, we’ll get back to Kerr. But I have to know something. You’ve dated women, beautiful, rich, successful women. Were they beards or what?”

Trust Ian to be more concerned with Owen’s love life than the possible danger facing them. “No, they weren’t covering for me. I genuinely like women and men. I’m bisexual.”

“Ah. That answers a lot of questions.”

Ian looked down at him, his deep blue eyes so serious. So amazingly beautiful, framed by thick lashes and set in a face made to be worshipped. It always stopped Owen’s train of thought when he spied Ian, so that he had to work to appear unaffected when what he really wanted to do was lick his thief from tip to toe.

“But I sense you have more.” Questions.

Ian nodded. “Linda Cavendish. She tried to shoot you. She would have, except she coincidentally dropped dead of a heart attack before she could pull the trigger. I couldn’t see what happened, since I was inside the closet at the time.”

“Spying on me.”

Ian blinked. “Ah, kind of. But I know she wouldn’t have missed you from that close a distance. By all rights, you should be dead, Owen. We both know it. So what really happened with Linda? And don’t think for a second I’ll buy an ‘act of God’ excuse. If she had a heart attack all on her own, I’m Jack’s best friend.”

Owen had known this was coming. But he didn’t have an answer for his new lover, not yet, maybe not ever. His psychic ability remained a secret from everyone but a select few. His old spotter, Caleb Dalton, knew. Then there was Owen’s friend and a man whose projects he often funded, Admiral Geoffrey London. And Heather, of course. They’d discussed his talent years ago, right after he’d killed to avenge their father. He’d wanted her to know. They’d never spoken about it, but he’d understood she needed closure the same way he had. Which made him wonder if she’d told Jack about him. He didn’t think so. Even as close as Heather and Jack seemed to be, his sister would never reveal his gift without asking first.

Sad that he could only trust Heather with his closely kept secrets. But at least he’d never told Harry what he could really do. He’d learned his lesson all too well when it came to relying on others. Even Tim, who’d taken a bullet and saved Owen’s life, could someday turn if Owen wasn’t careful to keep an eye on him.

Money did strange things to people, which was one of the reasons Owen liked Ian so much. The mouthy thief didn’t seem to care how much money Owen had. Oh, Owen had no doubt Ian would steal him blind if he let him. Ian liked the finer things in life, and he scrapped to get them. But he made no bones about his profession, and he’d never pretended to be anything he wasn’t—not to Owen at least. He was one of the few people not afraid to tell Owen the truth about things. Several times he’d even told Owen to kiss off when Owen pushed too hard, and to hell with Owen’s feelings.

Owen stared up into Ian’s frown and smiled. Ian blinked at him, seeming confused. Owen pulled his face down for a kiss. He didn’t let Ian turn it into something carnal. Instead, Owen played, exploring the hard yet soft facets of Ian’s mouth. Kissing the man with an emotion he didn’t often give others, Owen let himself fall under Ian’s spell for a little while. Pretending Ian felt the same affection, at least, until Owen could seduce him into feeling it.

IAN KISSED OWEN back, stunned at the depth of his feelings. This was supposed to have been a casual fuck. Fast and hard, and then he’d know exactly what it felt like to bottom for Owen Stallbridge. Except Owen’s kiss melted his resolve to keep his emotional distance. And then after kissing Ian for what felt like forever, bringing his cock back to life, Owen ended it, rolled them both over, and cuddled next to him.

Ian lay there, baffled, in lust, and strangely more attracted to Owen because he couldn’t figure the man out.

Owen sighed and pulled back. He slapped Ian on the ass.

“Ow.” Ian glared over his shoulder at him.

“I’m going to shower. You can join me if you like. Then we’re getting back to work. I’ll explain about Kerr. Now that I have him in my sights, it’s time to take him down.”

Owen left the bed, uncaring of his nudity—and why should he care, with a body like that?—and ambled to the bathroom. He disappeared inside, and soon the shower could be heard.

Ian rolled to his back and stared at the ceiling.

What the hell?

For months he’d watched and studied the man he considered his new mark. One way or the other, Ian planned on capitalizing on Owen’s wealth. The man could clearly afford it, and Ian would consider it a bonus for work well done. Though he’d used illegal means to help Jack’s team get the information they needed to recover Owen’s property, no one seemed to mind. And hey, though Ian hadn’t been in on the actual recoveries, he’d played a vital role. Time to reap the reward, in his opinion. So he kept an eye on the best-looking man he’d ever seen—discounting every time Ian looked in the mirror, of course.

Owen was a player, a lot like Ian. Yet the man’s smooth polish and money cleared doors Ian could only dream about.

Stallbridge had a reputation as an excellent lover and often left his partners wanting more. A heartbreaker, which would have been a problem for Ian if he’d had a heart to break. Ian had been a thief for longer than he cared to remember. He didn’t need emotion clouding his business sense.

Though he’d been ordered to work closely with Owen the last month, he’d welcomed the chance to study his prey up close. Except he wasn’t sure he liked what he’d seen. Owen seemed to be a pretty damn nice guy. He treated the people who worked for him like family.

Ian found it easy and even rewarding to rob from abusive, self-involved socialites. Even better, he liked taking from the cruel and depraved wealthy. Call him a snob, but Ian despised rich people. Having spent most of his childhood in shelters or homeless while his father worked his ass off to provide for them had given him a sour taste about money.

Owen had been born a rich kid, yet he didn’t act stuck-up or entitled, and that made Ian more than curious. Heather, his sister, was the same way. They must have had kick-ass parents, was all he could think. Because when the elder Stallbridges died, leaving Owen a rich man at seventeen, he could have gone crazy with the money. Instead, he’d buckled down, been responsible, and increased the family fortune.

Ian sighed. What the hell was he doing, thinking so hard about Owen? He had a job to do, period. Help Owen catch Kerr. In the process, scam on getting back into that vault, where he’d seen a few paintings he knew he could copy and resell for a tidy nest egg. After he finally had enough to feel good about his future, Ian would reconsider his present. Stay in Bend? Go? Retire at age thirty-one?

Nah, he’d be bored to death. But did he want to keep forging and possibly getting caught, forever looking over his shoulder?

“Ian,” Owen barked from the bathroom.

Muttering under his breath about pushy millionaires, Ian walked into the bathroom. The glass shower door opened, and Owen peered out, looking annoyed.

“Come here.”

Ian couldn’t stop staring at his naked and wet lover. Oh man, I did Owen Stallbridge. And fuck of it all, he wanted to do him again.

Owen noticed the erection Ian couldn’t help, and the asshole grinned.

“What?” Ian snapped.

Owen’s smile faded. “Come. Here.”

That mean tone had Ian suppressing a shiver. He tried to appear reluctant as he neared, but when Owen snagged him by the arm and dragged him into the massive stall for more pleasure, Ian didn’t have the heart to protest. Not when he couldn’t stop moaning Owen’s name.

* * *

The next morning, after having Tim escort him home to fetch a change of clothes and some shower gear, Ian had returned to the Stallbridge mansion and used Owen’s impressive shower. He cleaned up, then ate an amazing breakfast prepared by the delightful Bev. Two hours later, he stood in Owen’s vast study and glared at him from across the room. The place had a modern aesthetic that appealed to Ian, mostly because it suited the man currently annoying him. Owen had dressed in jeans and a short-sleeved T-shirt, showcasing those impressive biceps, while Ian had thrown on a pair of denim shorts and a borrowed T-shirt from Owen that probably cost a hundred bucks, it was so soft. He felt like a kid playing dress up in the overlarge thing, while at the same time he mentally refused to give it back. It belonged to Owen, and Ian wanted it. Not to remember the big dude when this ended. Just because.

Owen scowled at him. “So you’re telling me the information you gave me last week was false? Do you remember what you told me about Kerr and where we should look?”

“Owen, I retain everything. I know exactly what I told you.”

“Remind me.”

Ian bit back a curse, aware of the others watching. Owen had called in Tim and one of his security men, Joe Knox. The other Knox brother, Reuben, remained in the heart of the mansion, overseeing security. They made great protectors from a physical perspective—because they looked like human guard dogs.

“Arms shipments have been moving around the Oregon and Washington coasts,” Ian reiterated. “A few deaths and some small-time deals, which could be attributed to anyone, stuck out. The manner in which a few of the men were killed has Kerr’s MO.”

Joe frowned. A big guy with a buzz cut, like his older brother. Both men put Ian in mind of broad-shouldered robots who would rip your arms off as soon as look at you. Way too brutish for Ian’s taste. They made Tim seem friendly, and Ian hadn’t thought that possible.

“Explain to me what Kerr’s MO is, exactly. From everything I’ve seen on the guy, he’s a sadist who’s into abusing young men. But he’s a businessman first and foremost. He kills with a bullet to the brain or knife to the throat. Competition squashed. Period.”

“True. But he has a signature on his more personal kills.” Ian glanced at Owen, who nodded at him to go on. He swallowed the disgust balled inside him and continued, pretending it didn’t bother him that innocent young men had been killed so some perverted shithead could get off. “He’s gone off the deep end since the Feds nearly caught him back in February. Back then, his dead bodies were somewhat normal. Vics raped, stabbed repeatedly, dumped in alleys. Always good-looking young men.”

“And now?” Joe asked.

“I’ve been studying his victims. He’s…well, he’s a lot crazier. He’s carving his initials into their skin. And rape is a kind word for what these men suffer.” Ian couldn’t contain a shiver.

“How are the cops not after him, then? A serial killer is big news.”

Owen shook his head. “Kerr doesn’t leave his mark where people notice it. It’s a pattern only Ian noticed, right?”

“Yeah.” Ian swallowed hard. “At first I thought you wanted me to find the weapon doing the killing. Like, maybe it was cursed or something. But the pattern of cuts… It’s a K, for sure. You have to look hard, and sometimes he makes the cuts under the skin into muscle, but with the blown-up autopsies, I’m sure it’s him.”

Tim frowned.

Joe blew out a breath. “Sick fuck. Okay, boss, so you’re sure you don’t want us to take him out for you?”

Owen answered firmly, “No. Trust me. He knows I’m here, and he’s waiting for me to make a move. I took Ian’s info to a friend of mine in DC. Kerr is holed up on an island off the Washington coast. A private island, belonging to a friend of his family’s.”

“Great. So bomb the motherfucker, and we’re done.”

Joe’s simple answer sounded good to Ian.

Tim nodded. “I like that. A targeted hit and he’s out.”

“I would, but knowing Kerr, he’s got leverage. Probably innocent people trapped with him. I know he’s protected with more firepower than we have, I’m afraid.” A beep signaled an incoming call.

Owen pressed a button on the intercom on his desk. “Yes?”

“Sir, you have company,” Reuben reported. “A Mr. Caleb Dalton says he’s expected. He checks out, and he’s on the list.”

Ian didn’t like Owen’s wide smile.

“Ah, good. Caleb’s here. Let him in.”

“Aye, aye, sir. Out.” Reuben disconnected.

Owen rubbed his hands together. “My friend from DC is here. Things are about to get more interesting, gentlemen.”

Ian wished he felt more threatened by the fact that Dalton hailed from Washington, a place Ian never wanted to be again, than that the jerk might mean more to Owen than a casual friend. And what do I care? Owen’s just a rich tool, one I plan to use and lose… Yeah, keep telling yourself that, Ian. And maybe you’ll believe it.

Chapter Four

Carl Kerr grunted and spent, finishing inside the ass of his latest lover. Fortunately, this one had taken enough pills to appreciate the fine reaming he’d been given. His boys liked their candy, and they’d do anything for more of it. After Carl withdrew, he watched his new slut roll over, showcasing a smooth chest and a handsome face. So young, so pretty. And just a smattering of freckles over the bridge of his nose.

The young man resembled one who’d gotten away before Carl could sample him. Gavin Caldwell. One of Owen’s men. Owen. Carl sneered at the thought of that fuckhead, wishing he could stem the flood of envy he had whenever he thought of Stallbridge. Rich, respected, and controlling more of the marketplace than he deserved. All because he’d killed Carl’s family to get there.

“Thank you, Master.” The young man grinned and closed his eyes, asleep in seconds.

Carl glared down at him and stomped away. He cleaned up in the bathroom and zipped his trousers back up. He rarely undressed to fuck anymore, too concerned with being caught with his pants down—literally.

The last time the Feds had descended, he’d been a heartbeat away from orgasming into a lover’s mouth. Only some fast thinking and preparedness had allowed him to escape without incident.

Now he remained a fugitive. A rich one, but nonetheless, he hated having to hide his face. And such a handsome one too. He stared at himself in the mirror, loving his light blond hair, the cut sculpted to showcase his Nordic bone structure and bright blue eyes. Though not as large as the historic Vikings would have been, Carl took pride in his thin frame, compact and tight. He had strength of mind. When he needed muscle, he paid for it.

His old right hand, Samson Ruelle, had been too willing to assume Carl’s place. Not content to be an assistant, he’d tried hard to take over in his boss’s stead. As if. Carl snorted. Owen’s men had eliminated Samson, and now the bastard lay dead. A well-deserved killing, from what Carl had learned. Samson had been forced to stab himself repeatedly in the groin before expiring. Lovely.

It had taken Carl time to believe, but he now understood how Owen had committed so many heinous crimes against his family. He clenched the sink tight, staring at himself in the bathroom mirror as he did so, promising retribution against the man responsible for all his bad luck.

Owen was psychic. As improbable—as impossible—as that had once seemed, Carl now knew it to be true. He had money, maybe not as much as Owen, but enough to gain entrance into certain sectors of the government. Owen’s silent partnership in that little place in Bend, the PowerUp! Gym, interested Carl. The place overflowed with ex-government agents.

Owen no doubt collaborated with them on missions as well. From what Carl’s source had told him, Owen occasionally still did work for Uncle Sam. That a man as rich as Croesus would lower himself to government work said something about the workings of his mind. No doubt the prick thought he labored for the greater good. Such a crock of shit.

Carl just wanted to restore his family’s flailing empire. Gun running wasn’t enough. Prostitution, slavery, and drugs helped build his legacy in this downward economy.

“Just doing my part to help with the economic crisis,” he said to the handsome man in the mirror before leaving the room, once again in command of himself. He glanced at the soiled young man sleeping on the bed, noticed the whip marks on his back, and nodded to himself. Continuing through Shannon Martin’s home and pleased that the old bag still considered him her honorary grandson, he found Fielder and Koffman in the kitchen, armed to the teeth.

When he entered, they stood in a hurry. He liked that. “Any word?”

Koffman, the larger of the two, with dark hair, mean eyes, and a scar that bisected his left cheek, nodded. “Yes, sir. Stallbridge is in his home in Bend, Oregon. He’s currently residing with his security, his assistant, a maid, and a cook. And he brought in a new man, Ian Ryder.”

Fielder added, “Word has it someone else arrived earlier today in town that we should keep an eye on. He doesn’t register in our databases. Caleb Dalton, sir. My take is he’s federal. No question.”

Carl frowned. “Dalton. I know that name.”

Fielder spoke again. Despite his average appearance, he had an uncanny intelligence and the wherewithal to use it. “I cross-checked the reference and came up with nothing. However, I believe his appearance relates to your past, sir.” Fielder pushed a file at Carl.

Carl looked down at the table and saw a picture of his brother, caught in black-and-white, an expression of unbelievable pain on his face as he clutched at his heart. “My past?” he asked quietly. He’d only given Fielder access to his personal documents because he knew they related to Owen. And Fielder and Koffman had been working for him for the past five years. No hiccups. Both men knew their place on the team and had no problem skirting the law whenever possible.

“I’ve gone through pictures and files and inputted data. This man’s description, his picture, matches one of the witnesses at the time of your brother’s death. Granted, he was younger then, but I’m pretty sure it’s a positive ID.”

Excited by the possibility of getting closer to nailing his nemesis, Carl looked at the picture underneath his brother’s—a photo of Caleb Dalton, Owen’s likely accomplice. Though he didn’t recall the man, someone had seen him and questioned him at the hotel where Carl’s brother had been killed. Fielder pushed another photograph toward Carl. A snapshot of the man’s face in the background of a surveillance camera photo nailed his suspicions. When compared to the current picture of Dalton, they fit.

“So. Owen’s called in the big guns, eh?”

“Seems so, sir,” Koffman added in a quiet voice. “Do we make plans to storm his place in Oregon? It wouldn’t be that difficult to take him down. He’s got two security guards, that bodyguard he calls an assistant, and two domestics—females—working for him. That’s it for manpower. Granted, his security system is state-of-the-art, but I’m sure we could work around that. A contained blast would be easy to manage.”

And way too impersonal. “No, we wait for a bit. I want eyes on him at all times, though.”

“Yes, sir. We thought you might, so I had Neever and Sands standing by. They’re in Bend and waiting on word from you.”

“Excellent.” Carl beamed. “Give them the go-ahead. But discretion is key. I’m sure Owen’s aware I’m waiting. Watching. But let’s let him sweat.” The more torturous the wait, the better. Carl wanted Owen to suffer. The thought gave him a thrill, and he decided to revisit his plaything in the bedroom once more. “I’m going to be indisposed for the afternoon, but tell Harry to get that business in Vancouver off the ground. We’re moving too slow.”

“Yes, sir.” Fielder nodded his head in a little bow. Koffman did the same.

Carl left them to find his slut sprawled on the bed, his ass still full of Carl’s leavings. Perfect. He locked the door, then turned back to the bed and unzipped his trousers.

“Hey, handsome,” his boy said in a thick voice. “How about another hit?” The slut turned over and waved his delectable ass in the air.

Carl snorted and reached into his pocket. He tossed a blue pill on the bed, then watched his boy swallow it dry. His boy then presented himself on his hands and knees, willingly strapping a collar and chain around his neck. Carl smiled and approached his new slave. If Carl fucked him hard enough, he might just reach his own high. Thoughts of making Owen pay dearly only added to his pleasure. And later, when his boy moaned in delighted pain, begging for more, Carl found his own perfection in the rush of violent desire.

* * *

Owen clasped hands with Caleb Dalton, a man he hadn’t seen in way too long. Just as he remembered, Caleb had a hard face and hard hands to match. Not attractive by any stretch, Caleb had that powerful aura that often alarmed those not used to being around such strength. And no two ways about it, Caleb was mesmerizing in his own way. Short hair that had turned silver when the guy reached his twenty-fourth birthday surrounded blunt features—a square jaw, crooked nose, and lean face. The man’s dark brown eyes glowed with humor as he shook Owen’s hand.

“Getting bigger, eh, Owen?” he said with a glance at Owen’s arms.

Caleb himself was no slouch. Once a trainer for the PWP, he had also been given the drugs that finessed and empowered his psychic abilities. Off the drugs since the program had closed, he apparently exercised like a demon.

“Either you’re eating steroids for breakfast, or you’ve been working out like a dog,” Owen drawled.

“Woof woof.”

Owen laughed.

Ian cleared his throat. “Ahem.”

Owen turned back to the group. He’d gathered everyone together in one of the two conference rooms he used when conducting business at home, wanting them all to meet Caleb, who would be staying on for the next few weeks, or at least until Owen sealed Kerr in his coffin. “I’m sorry. This is Caleb Dalton, an old friend of mine and current troubleshooter for the government.”

“That’s one way to pretty it up,” Caleb muttered with a grin. “I’m a small-arms expert, demo man, and hand-to-hand trainer working for DoD.” The Department of Defense. “We can talk vitals later.”

“Sounds good,” Reuben answered.

“Reuben Knox and his brother, Joe.” Owen pointed them out. “Tim Mallory, my right-hand man, assistant—you name it, he does it.”

“Tim.” Caleb nodded.

“Sir.”

Owen rolled his eyes. Tim and his love affair with formal authority. “This is Bev Dorset, our cook and resident wonder woman. She makes the best sticky buns you’ve ever had.”

Fifty-six years young, the woman had only recently gone gray. He respected and loved Bev. She’d been a great comfort to him and Heather throughout the years, especially during their rough period of loss. He treasured her.

Bev blushed. “Oh, now. Don’t forget my chocolate chip cookies.”

Caleb laughed.

Ian, Owen noted, didn’t look pleased. Because others had attention, or because Caleb stood so close? Owen hoped for the latter. In some ways, Ian was easy to read, yet in others, he remained an enigma. Owen skipped Ian, saving the best for last, and pointed to the petite blonde next to Bev. “Meet Dolly Hampton, our housekeeper with a capital H. Without her, this place would—”

“Go to hell in a handbasket.” Dolly winked. “My mother used to say that all the time, but working here, now I know what she meant. Nice to meet you, Caleb.” A pretty woman in her early forties, Dolly had been working as a live-in housekeeper for the past six years. He’d never had a complaint about her, though if what he suspected continued to build between her and Reuben, he might have to intervene. Reuben watched her like a hawk—when she wasn’t looking. They both acted like the other didn’t exist. Polite nods and small conversation if forced, but Owen felt the sexual tension. He didn’t oppose them dating, but things could get awkward if they didn’t get on well. And he didn’t want to lose the Knoxes or Dolly. It was hard enough to find people he could trust to live underfoot.

A glance at Reuben showed him frowning at her friendliness with Caleb.

Oh hell. Might as well accept the fact they’re going to mix it up sooner than later. Owen stifled a sigh. “And this,” he said as he waved a hand at Ian, “is Ian Ryder. Ian has been helping me track down Kerr.” He paused, not wanting to go into too much detail with the ladies present.

Dolly seemed to read his mind. “I’m back to work, then.”

Apparently, Bev too, because she smiled and said, “With more mouths to feed, I need to replan my meals.”

The ladies left, and the group waited for Ian to speak. As usual, Ian managed to shock Owen and everyone around them.

“Caleb Dalton?” he sneered. “Aren’t you that prick that benched Gavin because of a little mishap?”

Caleb’s smile vanished as if it had never been. “Ryder…Ryder. Oh right. The fuckup who nearly broke the PWP before we officially disbanded. Caught stealing from the cookie jar one time too many, eh? So who did you blow to get out of jail the first time?”

Owen watched the byplay, stunned yet titillated to see his old friend and his new lover duking it out. A glance at the others showed them equally engrossed.

“Please.” Ian snorted, seeming not at all intimidated by Caleb’s clearly larger frame and angry frown. “The government begs me to use my skills to take down the enemy; then they want to jail me for it? I blew your brother, your father, and your boyfriend to get out. That’s who.”

Caleb stared at him, the veins in his forehead prominent. “You little shit. First of all, no one asked you to steal four million from the Ops Fund. You did that all on your own.”

“Hearsay.” Ian waved him on.

“And second, ‘benching’ Gavin Caldwell was the right thing to do. The kid froze on an op and nearly killed two agents while doing so. He wasn’t ready for the big time, not then. From what I hear now, he’s doing great working for your boss. A formidable CPA, right?” Caleb asked Owen, overly polite.

Fascinating. So Caleb had trained Gavin Caldwell at some point. Jack’s accountant, Gavin, was a whiz with numbers. He’d worked for Owen with another of Jack’s people to retrieve Chronicles, the book Kerr had stolen. But Owen still couldn’t imagine the quiet, pleasant man in the field. He just didn’t seem to have the temperament for the rougher stuff. Numbers and percentages? Sure. Murder and mystery? Not so much.

Seeing that everyone was looking to him for an answer, Owen shrugged. “Right, Gavin’s a great accountant. He’s not exactly my employee, though. He works for Jack at the PowerUp! Gym.” Of which Owen remained a silent partner.

“Keiser. Another asshole.” Caleb shook his head, this time with what seemed like reluctant amusement. “You really know how to pick ’em, Owen.”

“You oversized, thickheaded dickhead.” Ian fumed and, to Owen’s surprise, moved right into Caleb’s personal space. “Jack Keiser is a better man than you could ever hope to be.”

A rush of what seemed like jealousy flooded him. Ian’s defense of his boss should have made Owen feel better that Ian had a sense of loyalty to his team. Yet Owen didn’t like the thought of Ian praising anyone but him.

You’re mine, you little thief.

Instead of having to separate the two, however, Owen watched as Caleb chuckled.

“You got that right. Jack’s a huge pain in the ass, but a great guy to have backing you up.”

Ian opened his mouth and closed it like a fish out of water. “Oh, ah, right, then.” He took a step back but kept a wary eye on Caleb, as if not sure what to think.

“If the drama is over, how about we get back to work, gentlemen?” Owen suggested.

Ian flushed. “Hey. I’m just calling it like I see it.”

Caleb shrugged. “If the little guy wants to vent, let him, Owen.”

“Little guy?”

At that, the Knox brothers and Tim cracked smiles. Owen had to cough to cover a chuckle. Ian looked incensed.

“Fine. Ian, are you done yet?” he asked in his best patronizing tone, knowing how much it irked his thief.

He could almost see the steam pouring from Ian’s ears. And Jesus, but Ian in a mad was just the hottest thing. His blue eyes practically glowed with passion, and his energy tantalized. Standing so close, their personal fields seemed to fit, overlapping and seething with wild power. Sometimes Owen felt that around others. He sensed Caleb in that way, but not with the sexual vibes pouring off Ian. Owen wanted nothing better than to take his little thief back to the bedroom and fuck him into submission. Apparently Ian caught some of that emotion, because his flush grew deeper and he glanced away.

“I’m done, boss.”

Too bad. “Great. So Caleb is on board to help me nail Kerr. If you all study the folders I’ve laid out, you’ll see exactly what we’re dealing with. Joe, Reuben, I added to what you already had. You’ll want to check that over.”

“Roger that.” Reuben nodded and took a seat at the conference table in front of a manila folder.

Joe motioned to the door. “I’ll have Reuben fill me in later. I’ve got to get back to the monitors.”

“Sounds good. Thanks.” Owen nodded.

Joe left and closed the door behind him.

“Still got security holed up in the same place?” Caleb asked.

“Yes.” Out of the corner of his eye, Owen noticed Ian’s lips flatten and couldn’t have been more pleased. So, his thief didn’t like Caleb’s familiarity? Good. “And there’s a backup in the outside bungalow, where the Knoxes are living.”

“Good to have security on-site and outside.” Caleb sounded pleased.

“Sir, if I could add something?” Tim asked.

“Go ahead,” Owen answered.

“I’ve noticed some odd marks on our road, like vehicles coming and going that aren’t ours.”

The road to Owen’s home was private, his property the only thing out there off the main road. Owen tensed. “Is that right?”

Caleb looked interested as well. “See anything?”

“No. It’s a solid half mile long, and whoever’s been around is good enough to be out of sight whenever I’m on the road.” Tim frowned and said to Owen, “But I know what our tire treads look like. I wanted to be sure before I brought the matter to you and Reuben.” The head of security.

“Good work, Tim.” Owen had been waiting for something like this. “Kerr is baiting me. I’m sure he knows all about us, everyone here, and what we’re doing.”

“He’ll have marked my presence as well,” Caleb added quietly.

He and Owen shared a look. That couldn’t bode well. Back when Owen had been young and stupid and filled with seething hatred, he’d used Caleb to spot for him to kill Henry, Carl’s older brother. Except he and Caleb had been sloppy, and Caleb’s face had been caught on camera, a fact they both regretted. Nothing could tie him in any way to the murder, but Caleb had been there. If Kerr paid any attention to detail, he’d put two and two together.

“Shit,” Owen growled. A stupid oversight, not to have foreseen. He was better than that.

“So much for the element of surprise. No way I’m getting close to him now.” Caleb swore again. “But maybe I can still help from here.”

“I can’t ask you to do that,” Owen protested, trying to think ahead.

“Actually, it’s not exactly a favor. Kerr has been on my radar for some time.”

Owen stared at him. So. Kerr must have pissed off someone high up, because Caleb was a cleanup specialist. As in, he targeted with his mind and directed hits with precision. He never made a mess, left any question as to who might be involved, and vanished like a ghost afterward. A telepath and telekinetic with above-average talent, Caleb commanded two areas of psychic ability, a unique feat in itself. But to be so strong in both fields was truly special. The man had no equal that Owen knew.

“Owen? Do you think you and the silver fox could get to the point? I’m not getting any younger,” Ian said snidely. “What exactly do you want me to do now? Where do we go from here?”

Owen stopped his automatic retort, because he never mixed business with pleasure. But the minute he had Ian alone again, he’d show the smart-ass just what he wanted him to do.

IAN KNEW IT wasn’t smart, but he hated watching Caleb Dalton, a fucking G-man, flirt with Owen. If he had to witness it any longer, he’d be sick. Owen could fuck whoever he wanted, but Dalton was a grade-A dick. He had that smug attitude and moral sense of self-righteousness that grated on Ian’s last nerve. It didn’t help that he and Owen apparently had a history neither planned on sharing with the rest of them.

Tim and Reuben didn’t seem to mind Dalton. But Ian wanted to punch him in the mouth. Then scratch his eyes out. Yeah, dramatic and a bit too queenish, even for him. But if he’d ever thrown a fit in his life, he deserved to have one now. Though he and Owen were just fooling around, Ian didn’t play with more than one partner at a time. He didn’t cheat, and he didn’t like sharing his lovers. Not until he was through with them. If Owen thought he could screw both Ian and Dalton under his roof, he could think again.

“Thank you so much for keeping us on track, Ian,” Owen drawled.

Dalton grinned at him.

Laugh at me? It’s so on. Ian might not be able to hurt Dalton physically. But he could fuck up the man’s bank records. Hack into his financials, personal data, and anything else on the computer and—

“…got that?” Owen stared at him as he finished.

“Um. Say that again?”

Dalton sighed.

Reuben and Tim exchanged a glance.

“So you want us to stay close, sit tight, and keep a low profile, sir?” Tim asked.

Ian gave him a grateful smile. At least someone around here had his back.

“Right.”

Owen rubbed his nape, a sign Ian had come to recognize as the man’s mounting frustration.

“I have business matters I have to get to. Reuben, cover all the bases again, but this time you have Caleb to help you. I want you to recon those treads Tim noticed. Ian, you’re on your own until tomorrow. Call Jack and have your things sent here.”

“What? I already brought a bag.”

“We’re all bunking down. There’s plenty of space.” Owen sounded distracted. “Pack enough for a two-week stay. Hey, think of it as a vacation. We have a pool, a weight room, and a studio you can use if you want to paint.”

“Anything I’d know?” Caleb asked. “Like maybe a Chagall? I heard they found a counterfeit one floating around in Houston not too long ago.”

“Please. I doubt you’d know a Chagall from a Picasso.”

“Got me there.” Caleb laughed. Then he slapped Owen on the back. “Hey, can I talk to you for a minute?”

“Sure. I’ll see the rest of you later.” Owen glared at Ian in particular before taking Dalton aside.

Tim ushered Ian out when Ian would have remained behind on one pretext or another.

“Hey.”

“Sorry, Ian. Owen’s orders. Now, who do we need to call to get you set for the next few weeks?”

Ian didn’t like Caleb and Owen together. Then he forced himself not to care. Hell, he’d fucked Owen once. Well, twice, counting their time in the shower. He had no claim on the man, and it wasn’t as if some rich bastard like Owen would look twice at Ian for anything long-term anyway. Not that Ian wanted that. Because he didn’t.

In a foul mood, he wondered who he could annoy the most by requesting a favor. “I’ll call my buddy Keegan. He’ll help.” Keegan would be so pissed. Ian started to feel better.

“Rory’s husband?”

Rory, Owen’s cousin, had legally married Keegan Price while also being in a relationship with their third, James Foreman. Keegan and James worked at the gym, a telekinetic and a pyrokinetic with enough power to wipe out half of Bend. Rory was a delight, though. She had good taste too. She absolutely loved Ian. She’d even made him the stud he wore in his left ear.

He fingered the small sapphire and thought about the three of them. Keegan, a happy-go-lucky bruiser almost as big as Jack. James, a clotheshorse and sexy man who could have modeled for a living but preferred setting things on fire. And Rory, a lovely jewelry designer with a psychic affinity for gemstones. An operation to recover Owen’s stolen locket had resulted in the three of them coming together last year, and they hadn’t been apart since.

Their happy trio gave Ian hope that not all relationships crashed and burned. And hell, if Keegan could get someone to tolerate his Texan drawl, Ian had it made. Someday he’d find a future with a man of his own. Maybe.

He glared back at Owen and Caleb talking in low voices to each other. “Yeah, that Keegan. I’ll call him. Don’t worry. He’ll be happy to help.”

Chapter Five

Caleb frowned, and Owen knew what the man wanted to ask.

“Go ahead.”

“Why?” Caleb swore. “Damn it, Owen. Why didn’t you take care of this when I told you to? We could have nailed Henry and Carl at the same time.”

“I know. But I couldn’t take Carl out, not then. I had no idea he’d turn out to be worse than his brother and father combined.”

“Shit.”

“Yeah.” They stared at each other. “So. You’re here, and you’re going to help me.”

Caleb just looked at him.

“And let me guess, you need my help on another job in the meantime?”

Caleb nodded. “I told them to go to someone else, that you’re done, but the admiral specifically requested you by name.”

Admiral London didn’t pull in favors unless he absolutely needed them. “Must be important.”

“Oh it is.” Caleb stopped talking and sent out a psychic probe Owen immediately recognized. Though it had been over two years since he and Caleb had worked together on a job, he knew the man’s energy. “I don’t sense any other telepaths in the vicinity.”

“We’re clear. The only psychics close by are you, me, and Ian.”

“Your new boy toy. Man, he was killing me with that glare. How do you get them to be so attached?”

“If only. I think he was more irritated with you than me.” Owen wanted to think all Ian had felt was jealousy, but he’d genuinely been annoyed with Caleb on Jack and Gavin’s behalf.

“Yeah, well, he’s one to watch. I’m telling you. He ran our guys through more hoops than I can say ten years ago, and that’s when he was just a kid. Ian Ryder has more aliases than I have fingers and toes. Watch him.”

“Trust me. I’m watching him very closely.” Owen smiled.

“For God’s sake. Get that sex crap out of my head. You put one bad image there, I’ll gut you, friend or not.”

Owen laughed. “Right. So who do you need taken out?”

“Small-time drug runner in Venezuela who happens to be a serial rapist slash killer on the side. We can’t touch him, because he’s got ties to someone high up on the president’s food chain. And he’s feeding money into a few of our own senators’ pockets. Watch the news, and you’ll see them step down later in the week.”

“So you want this guy taken care of soon.”

Caleb nodded. “Like, in two days. I’m flying out on Sunday to get a bead on him. I’ve gotten even tighter since we’ve worked together. Now I only need to be in the same city once I make initial contact.” Caleb mentally connected with a target, unbeknownst to the target, and then left the immediate vicinity. Back when Owen had last worked with him, Caleb had needed to be within a much closer radius to effectively hone a beacon for Owen, yet Owen could be miles away while inflicting damage.

“Nice.”

“Yeah. So I can be right with you when we take him down. You hit him; we fly you right out. No one’s the wiser.”

Owen wondered. “Unless he has his own team of psychics. I’ve been monitoring the situation abroad. More and more governments are using teams like the PWP. In all eventuality, our guys will need to start up again.”

“They already have,” Caleb admitted.

“What?” Owen said aloud, shocked.

“Quiet, Owen. Admiral London and his wife have been working on a new team, one put directly under their control.”

Owen blinked. “You’re talking about more than psychics, then.”

Caleb paused. “Yes.”

“Shit. Circs? They’re going to use Circs again?” Owen had seen some of the Circs—genetically altered soldiers and sailors—lose their minds during the initial stage of the project, and he’d immediately withdrawn his funding, disapproving of the project with every fiber of his being. Men who could shape-shift into larger, tougher beings with hardened skin, claws, and fangs might seem like ultimate warriors, but when they turned psycho, they’d been a nightmare of epic proportions. From what he knew, the entire project had been cut, slashed and burned years ago.

“Trust me. The Circs they have now police their own. But that’s a whole other discussion. We’re talking about bringing the Fixer back,” Caleb said.

The Fixer, Owen’s alias in wet-work—assassination—circles.

“You leaking word of my involvement, then?”

“Hell, no. We want this op to succeed.” Caleb sighed. “But man, I miss working with you. You’re the best at this, Owen. Clean, no mess, no fuss. The guys I work with now always have issues. A bunch of prima donnas, or else they’re not right in the head.”

“You’d know,” Owen teased, but he wasn’t quite right either. Killing because it was the right thing to do for his country had been enough of an excuse to use his dark power as a young man, but as he’d gotten older, it had been harder to justify taking a life, even as horrible as his targets had been. He didn’t take the government’s word on it; Owen researched his marks thoroughly before agreeing to eliminate them. “Let me work on this a bit. Give me his name, and once I’m satisfied, I’ll get with you to ferret out the specifics.”

Caleb knew his process. “Sounds good. I’ll bring my stuff in and get settled, then talk with your security. The Knoxes are good men. But they’re not cheap.”

“I know,” Owen said smoothly.

Caleb chuckled. “Rich bastard. Okay, I’ll leave you to it.” He withdrew a small card from his pocket and handed it to Owen, then left.

A pass code to sensitive material on a top-secret government server. Good old Caleb. Like Owen, he didn’t believe in being a tool to be used by anyone unless he allowed it—a concept Caleb had found out the hard way.

Owen sat behind his desk and tapped at the keyboard of his secure computer. And then he went to work. Two hours later, engrossed in the material he’d been reading, he found the answers he’d sought.

Morvelo DeSanta, the Animal, had to go.

* * *

“What the fuck am I doing here with your crap?” Keegan Price asked, not very happy as he glared at Ian, then glanced up at Tim.

That Keegan had to look up at anyone made Ian want to chuckle with glee. “Thanks, buddy. I know I probably took you from something important. Like pumping up your deltoids some more. But hey, Owen ordered me to stay here for a few weeks, so I needed my stuff.”

“Why not call Chloe?”

The night manager at the gym—and the woman he liked best—should have been off today with her twin boyfriends. Or fiancés. Whatever they called themselves.

“She’s on a break right now.”

“So am I,” Keegan barked. “I have the next three days off. I was busy.”

“I’m so sorry.” Ian would have fluttered his eyelashes, but he knew Keegan wouldn’t buy it. “If I’d known, I would have asked Jack to have someone else help me out. But with Rory being Owen’s cousin, and since I knew she’d be busy working, I just thought you’d help me out.”

Keegan let out a sigh. “No, no. It’s fine. But I hate Jack taking so much damn pleasure calling my ass in to work.” He frowned.

Another reason why Ian had chosen Keegan. Jack would have had a blast, egging the big guy on. For some reason, Jack and Keegan constantly butted heads, as if Keegan continued to challenge him for a leadership position everyone knew belonged to Jack. Though Keegan had once admitted he only riled Jack for the fun of it.

“That’s Jack for you.” Ian nodded with empathy while Tim looked on, his face expressionless. “You know Tim, right?”

“We’ve met.” Keegan held out a hand, which Tim grabbed. “Still strong as a bull.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Please.” Ian cringed along with Keegan. “You don’t ever have to call him sir.”

“Yeah, please don’t. Makes me think of my father.”

Tim grinned and stepped back from the entrance to the house. “Yes, sir.”

“Hell.” Keegan followed them inside and tossed Ian’s duffel at his feet. Then he snatched Ian by the collar and dragged him some distance away. Tim, that turncoat, grabbed Ian’s bag and walked away, leaving Ian at Keegan’s mercy.

“Ow. Let go, you big brute.” Ian loved playing with Keegan. A man’s man who happened to be in love with his wife and James Foreman. Not gay, not even bi, except that he loved James like crazy. So Ian loved teasing him about an attraction that didn’t exist. “Oh, have you finally come to your senses and realized how amazingly handsome I am? Did you come for me, cowboy?”

“Shut up. God, you’re annoying.” His twang pronounced, Keegan griped in a lower voice, “I brought that shit you asked for. Not a word, you get me?”

Ian had made the big lout bring his favorite dildo and lube, in addition to a well-used plug. “Not a word. Scout’s honor.”

“Like you were ever a Boy Scout.” Keegan snorted and let him go. “Rory wants you to take care and keep an eye on Owen. She’s worried about him.” He paused. “And Avery said to keep close too. Said Mr. Billionaire is gonna need you.”

Ian’s mirth left him. “Did he say anything else?” Did that mean Owen might get hurt? “Need me how? To help him with this case? To save his life?”

“Don’t know. But he wasn’t playin’ around. Keep Owen safe, Ian. We need him, and not just ’cause he helps fund the gym. The guy is a good man. He did a lot for Rory. You need anything, you call me. Hear?”

“I will.” Owen hurt? That wouldn’t be good for anyone. Ian tried to reason his concern away, thinking about the financial aspect of Owen’s contributions. But why did his heart sink like a stone at the idea of Owen in pain?

“Avery also said to tell you that you’re gonna fix the fixer. I don’t know what that means, and I didn’t ask. Not a word to Owen about any of this, or it’ll all come crashin’ down. He said that too. Keep your piehole shut, just like last time. His words, not mine.” Keegan stepped back when Tim reentered the room. “Now I gotta get back. Rory’s comin’ home soon.” He grinned. “And I bet James twenty bucks I get to kiss her ’fore he does.”

“Your trio is positively sickening with all that happy crap, you know that?”

Keegan slapped him on the back, hard enough to fell a tree, and Ian stumbled. “Good luck, son. You’re gonna need it. Tim.” Keegan nodded at the larger man who’d just returned and saw his way out the door.

“Are you okay?” Tim asked him.

“Fine.” When I get my breath back. But it was worth making the big guy handle his toys. Ian laughed to himself, imaging Keegan’s face when he went into Ian’s nightstand to gather his things.

He spent the remainder of the day moving his stuff into Owen’s bedroom and making himself at home. Since no one had told him to go anywhere else, he figured to stake his claim. Dalton could go screw himself.

Satisfied he hadn’t seen that G-man in a while either, Ian indulged in a nice long nap, watched a few television shows he normally slept through while resting for his night shifts, then snooped through the rest of Owen’s room.

As expected, Owen had expensive clothing. Too bad they weren’t the same size, or Ian would have been more than happy to share a wardrobe. The guy didn’t have much in the way of jewelry either. A thick gold signet ring, probably his father’s, as well as a few watches and cuff links made up the bulk of Owen’s stash. Nothing impressive—well, discounting the watches. He had a Patek Philippe and a Breitling, but nothing too bling for Owen.

Unfortunately, Ian didn’t see a collection of his new lover’s sexual toys either. No doubt Owen had them, but he’d hidden them somewhere. Ian was dying to see what Owen wanted to play with…besides him.

He wore a satisfied smirk at the thought of how he’d made the sexy playboy groan his name. Ian might not have nearly the same money as his lover, but he knew how to pleasure a man. It was all in the touch. Not too hard or too soft. A caress here, firmness there, and the ability to read his partner’s pleasure.

Owen liked to think of himself as a man of mystery, but he couldn’t hold back when Ian used his lips and teeth over him. All over.

Getting revved up with no ease in sight, Ian forced himself to stop thinking about Owen and sat in a buff leather chair that had more comfort than class. He looked around him, wondering what his father would have made of his son sitting in a place like this.

Colum Burke had worked hard to find a place for himself and his ailing wife and child. When Ian’s mother died, Colum had all but gone with her. For his son, he’d done his best to support them. And then he lost his job. A cabbie in downtown New York didn’t make the same that he’d earned in Ireland, where living in a small town didn’t cost nearly as much and people often traded services for goods.

Colum had worked two jobs at a time, barely making enough to put food on the table and keep a roof over their heads.

Ian glanced around him, both repelled and fascinated with the sedate opulence of Owen’s wealth. Ian had only come into his abilities at the tender age of ten, but by then his father had taken sick. Cancer had eaten both his mother and his father, leaving him homeless and at the mercy of the streets in his early teens.

But he’d learned fast. And he’d never let anyone take advantage of him. Being able to see patterns applied to more than artwork and forgery. Ian often studied how others treated one another, how the law worked for those with wealth, and how to spot a con.

A master of the art, he tried to figure out how best to play Owen and kept coming up blank. He didn’t think Owen would take to the sympathy card if Ian decided to actually confide in him how hard life had once been. Though he’d worked that angle with previous lovers, he didn’t see Owen falling for a sob story. And the truth of his past made him uncomfortable enough that Owen might actually see through Ian’s veneer and feel pity for him—the last thing Ian wanted.

Sure, he wanted to con Owen. A challenge, a need to dominate a man who refused to be mastered.

“He likes the sex,” Ian muttered, trying to work with what he had.

His entire life, he’d gotten by on his looks and brains. So had Owen, except Owen had the additional benefit of millions to back him up.

Ian could try to get in with Heather, but he’d pretty much given up on using people. Good people, at least, and he could see the woman had a pure heart of gold. Hell, she’d taken to Jack. She had to be going for sainthood.

He slouched deeper into the chair, trying to work his way through the puzzle of Owen Stallbridge. What the hell power did the man possess? His energy was too much to ignore, yet Ian couldn’t grasp the nature of Owen’s power to understand. It aggravated him to be so close yet so far from the key to figuring out what made Owen tick.

“Hiding in here, eh?” Caleb Dalton stood in the doorway, his arms crossed over his chest.

Ian blew out a breath. “What the hell do you want?”

“I was looking for Owen, but I can talk to you as easily.”

“Oh joy.”

Caleb grinned. Ian found the man somewhat attractive—not on the level of Owen, but his energy and strength clearly marked him as someone appealing. Too bad he played for the wrong side.

“Tell me, Ian, what are you really doing here?”

Ian looked around. “What? In Owen’s bedroom? He and I are involved.” An innocuous-enough statement that alluded to a relationship without confirming it. “Why don’t you tell me how tight you two are?”

Dalton entered Owen’s room as if he owned it and walked right up to Ian, standing over him.

Refusing to be intimidated, Ian deliberately placed his hands behind his head and waited.

“You fucking the boss to get ahead?”

“That would be, fucking to get some head. But no. If I want sex, I get it easily enough.”

Dalton snorted. “I’ll bet you do. Something tells me you fleece ’em by the dozen.”

“Yeah, I’m a regular Mata Hari.”

Dalton didn’t grin, and Ian didn’t like the sudden sober expression on his face.

“Look,” Dalton growled. “Owen seems to like you. Why, I can’t say. But here’s the thing. You’re good at gathering information and staying invisible when you need to. I think Owen might need that if the shit hits the fan like I think it’s going to. How much do you know about Carl Kerr?”

“I know never to be in a room with him without a gun in my hand aimed at his forehead.”

“The asshole has had a bug up his ass about the Stallbridges for years. Owen in particular. He’s going to stretch this out, take out whatever Owen cares about, then strike when Owen least expects it. The household is at risk, and if Owen likes you more than he should, you’re at risk.”

Ian’s heart raced. “What? So Kerr will come after me? He can bring it on. I’ve faced badasses tougher than him. You were tracking me at some point, I’m sure. I survived you.”

“Yeah, but I would have just turned you in to the cops. Kerr will carve you up and spit you out, strangled on your own intestines.” Dalton paused and lowered his voice. “If you’re smart, you’ll get out while you can. Ditch this place, and don’t come up for air until you know for a fact Kerr is dead.”

“Owen told you to warn me off?”

“Owen’s a prick with an overly large ego.” Dalton sneered. “He thinks he can keep the demons at bay by locking his fucking windows. A sniper will shoot them out in two seconds flat. And don’t get me started on a telekinetic or a pyro. He’s not protected, not like he should be.”

“And I’m a distraction?” Ian wasn’t sure how to feel. Good that Owen cared about him enough to worry, or bad that he might be putting Owen’s life in danger?

“Yes, you are. I’m worried that Kerr will take you out, with you sitting here like a target. And then Owen will wallow in guilt that you died because of him. Guy has enough problems. He doesn’t need to feel guilty because of you too.”

Too? What else did Owen feel guilty about? Ian stared at Dalton, wondering how to make the man spill more information. “Why would my death be a problem? I know what I’m getting into with him.”

“Do you?” Dalton stared at him. “Do you really?”

Pressure pushed at his brain, and Ian shielded himself the way he’d been taught years ago. “Try that with a weaker mind.”

Dalton nodded, looking thoughtful. “Not a complete pussy. That’s good.”

“For God’s sake. Being gay doesn’t make me weak.”

“No, but prancing your tight ass around Owen when he’s got better things to worry about is plain stupid. Fine. You want to stay? You do whatever you can to make him happy, and when we get back, maybe I’ll go easier on you.”

“Who the hell are you to tell me what to do?” Ian sat up straight, ready to confront the bully. “And where are we going?”

“Not we, Owen and me. He and I have some work to do outside CONUS.”

CONUS—military jargon for continental United States. Ian stared at Dalton, wondering. His mind pieced together parts of Owen’s past and Dalton’s reappearance in Owen’s life. “You two work together on military operations, don’t you?”

“Yeah, right.” Dalton chuckled.

The notion fit, but the guy’s expression didn’t. Ian blew out a breath of relief that Owen wasn’t in bed with the same government who’d bent him over and fucked him hard without a reach-around.

“Owen, military?” Dalton continued. “Can you see Owen taking orders from anyone?”

“No.”

“Right. Look, I’m just telling you this because Owen needs to be clearheaded about what he’s doing the next few days. Don’t fuck with his head until we get back, okay, princess?”

Ian didn’t take offense at Dalton, mostly because he kept trying to understand Owen. Pieces were supposed to fit a puzzle, but Owen kept adding more layers of complexity. “So what does he do for you?”

“Not what you’re thinking, I’m sure.”

Dalton made a face, and Ian put on his most charming smile. “What a relief that my honey cakes isn’t into gruff, macho bastards. He likes a more refined man, not a bear.”

Dalton frowned. “A bear?”

“And for the record, Dalton, I didn’t volunteer to be here. Owen ordered me to help him for the past month, gathering intel. Now he’s still ordering me to stick around.” Ian grinned. “I think he’s smitten.”

“Jesus. Is this a soap opera or a mission?”

Ian shrugged. “I do as I’m told.”

“I wish,” Dalton muttered.

“And if you want to know why I can’t leave…” Why I don’t want to, not until I have you figured out, Owen Stallbridge. “…you’d have to ask my lord and master.” He glanced over Caleb’s massive shoulder at movement in the doorway. “Ah, there he is. You’d better stop flirting with me. He’s really possessive.”

Caleb rolled his eyes. “I’m sure.”

“Quit bothering my employees, Caleb,” Owen said, appearing not at all troubled by the man hovering over Ian.

That grated.

“He’s scaring me, Daddy,” Ian mewled, struggling not to laugh at the disgust on Caleb’s face or the way Owen’s mouth tightened.

“Okay. I’m outta here. You two play your games, but Owen, man, we need to nail out specifics.”

“After dinner. I don’t need that much time to school this idiot.”

“Hey!”

Caleb grinned. “I’ll leave you to it…Daddy.” He laughed at the finger Owen shot him. “The Knoxes and Tim are set, by the way. Again, good going, hiring them.” The pointed way he looked at Ian told its own story. Then he walked away whistling and shut the door behind him.

Leaving Ian with a scowling Adonis.

“I can explain.” Ian started to defend himself, then decided to go on the attack instead. “You’re leaving to go outside the country? Why do I have the feeling this has nothing to do with Kerr?” The blank expression that eased over Owen’s face worried him. “I want to know what’s going on. Right now.”

Anger replaced the calm on Owen’s face. “I think that’s my line…princess. What were you and Caleb up to, all by yourselves in my bedroom?”

Ian blinked, then slowly smiled. “Oh my God. You’re jealous.” He clapped. What a perfectly wonderful day.

Chapter Six

Owen did his best to close his mouth and school his expression. Damn it, he was jealous. He knew Caleb liked women. But seeing his friend standing so close to his little thief bit at his nerves.

“I’m not jealous.”

Ian glowed with mirth. “You are,” he said in a breathy voice.

Owen ignored the laugh bubbling inside him at Ian’s teasing, not sure how he managed to vacillate between annoyance and humor so easily around the stubborn man. “I’m not. I wanted to see what you’ve been up to all day while I’ve been closeted with work.” Making plans rearranging meetings and business so he could take a trip south to kill a murderer.

“Hmm.”

“What?”

Ian shrugged. “Nothing. I hear you’re going away for a few days.”

Caleb had a big mouth. Owen had planned to tell Ian after bribing him to stay in the house and out of trouble. He’d already filled Tim in on his duties while Owen was gone—keeping an eye on Ian.

“Did you get a chance to look through all my things? Is my Breitling still there?”

Ian smirked. “Please. I’ve seen better jewelry at the mall.” He said it with scathing emphasis.

Owen grinned. “Sorry to disappoint you. Most of my money is socked away in banks and investments. Houses, properties, that kind of thing. I do have a few pieces of art I’m keeping an eye on, though.”

“And don’t forget your hoards of clothes.”

“One closet is not a hoard.”

“It’s a walk-in closet the size of my living room. Too bad we aren’t the same size.” Ian sighed. “But then, you wouldn’t like me as much. You don’t go for the big, ugly, manly types, do you?” Like Dalton went unsaid.

Owen chuckled. “Ian, you don’t have to worry about Caleb. He and I are just friends. Not like you and I are, baby.”

Ian flushed. “Don’t call me baby.”

“Little thief. Boy. Mine. That better?” Owen closed the distance between them and pulled Ian out of the chair. Then he sat and yanked Ian onto his lap. He scooted forward so he could wrap Ian’s legs around him, to get closer to his lover face-to-face.

“Gee, Santa, is this what I get for Christmas? A boner up my ass?”

Owen couldn’t help getting hard around him. Something about Ian triggered his happy switch. He’d been this attracted once, a long time ago, to his first crush. In college, a boy two years his senior had shown him just how much fun men could be. But that attachment was nothing like this incredible connection he felt with Ian. Owen just wished it went both ways.

Ian liked his wealth, and Owen wanted to think they had a rapport. But to feel anything deeper made little sense. They’d only recently gotten to know each other. Their month together had been fraught with power plays and Ian trying to get the best of him. Owen had fantasized that sex would put the man in his grasp. Instead, it lowered Owen’s resistance to the smart-mouthed thief.

Owen sighed. “With that mouth, you’ll be lucky to get coal in your stocking.” He pulled Ian closer, angling his erection into the snug fit of Ian’s bottom, nestled between his cheeks. “I have to go away for a few days. I do favors for people sometimes. And this is something I have to do.” God. What he’d seen when he’d investigated DeSanta made him sick. The guy had a penchant for kids. Owen had made sure he wasn’t being set up into killing an innocent man and verified DeSanta’s disgusting habits using multiple sources. They all said the same thing.

Hell, if Caleb hadn’t asked him to step in, Owen would have paid him to take filth like this from the planet.

“Hey. What’s wrong?” Ian asked, sounding concerned.

Owen blinked into his eyes and lost himself. That bright blue invited him to share, to partake, and he did. He met Ian’s mouth, not sure if he’d pulled Ian closer or if Ian had lowered to kiss him.

And then they were loving each other’s mouths with tongue and lips and teeth. Instead of a frenzy, Owen let himself slip into Ian, enjoying the warmth of care and affection he wanted to exist between them.

Though on fire to have his thief again, more than passion inflamed him. He needed this, to feel some goodness in his life. Seeing the depravity in the world, and knowing he’d have to touch that again to extinguish such evil, made him sick. But what were his options? That he do nothing and allow a pedophile and rapist to continue to murder?

“What’s wrong?” Ian asked again, slanting kisses over his mouth to his jaw. “You good?”

“With you, yeah,” he rasped. And then he leaned his forehead against Ian’s.

“It’s okay,” Ian said softly, cupping his cheek and stroking his hair.

He remained with his eyes shut, absorbing the closeness he craved with this man, wishing it could be real and not something readying to end too soon. Kerr was the only thing keeping Ian here. Owen needed time to lure Ian into staying longer.

He took a deep breath and let it out, feeling stupid for a moment of weakness, sure Ian would capitalize on it somehow. But when he pulled back, he saw Ian staring at him with a sober expression that seemed somehow affectionate.

“You need to eat,” Ian said, mimicking his earlier tone.

Owen forced a laugh. “I am hungry.” He glanced at the clock on his nightstand. “No wonder.”

Ian nimbly jumped to his feet and glanced at the clock. “Well, let’s go. I think Tim said something about us eating around six.”

Owen stood and grimaced at the tightness in his crotch. “Your fault.”

Ian nodded. “I have that effect on most men. Not that I’m bragging or anything. Just stating a fact.”

Owen snorted. “Not that you’re bragging or anything.” He glanced around, wondering what Ian had had delivered. “Are you settled in?”

“I moved my pitifully few things into this room, yes.” Ian watched him.

“If you’re waiting for me to tell you to move out, think again. You’re here; you’re mine.”

“If you say so.”

Owen caught the relief Ian tried to hide.

“But look, I’m all about safe sex. So if you’re planning to blow Dalton—”

“Ian.”

“—anytime soon, you’ll have to get tested before we fool around again.”

“I told you, he and I are friends. Colleagues.”

“Oh? What business school did he attend? Snipers-R-Us University?”

“Come on.” Owen dragged Ian with him out of the room to the kitchen.

They ate with Joe while Reuben went on shift. Dolly, Bev, Tim, and Caleb joined them as well. Owen had talked it over with Caleb and decided that his people would be safer here, with the Knoxes, than off on their own, where Kerr would no doubt try to kidnap and torture them, slowly, to prove he could.

He’d also called in a few of Jack’s people to keep an extra eye on the place while he and Caleb went abroad. Best not to tempt fate and allow Kerr a golden opportunity to attack while Owen was otherwise occupied.

The thought had crossed his mind that this would be the perfect time for Kerr to strike. But Carl liked a personal touch. He wanted to be up front and close when he took Owen out—or tried to. Owen had studied his adversary for years. The sick fuck needed to be near the pain his men delivered, probably so he could feel anything. Owen had long harbored the idea that the Kerrs were missing something fundamental in their makeup. Compassion and love didn’t seem to register with them.

“Bev,” he said as he finished a stellar meal. “As usual, the chicken was excellent.”

“Why, thank you.” She blushed. “I love cooking. It’s like I was born to it.”

“No kidding.” Ian leaned back with a sigh. “I had three helpings. You’re amazing.”

“I wanted to tell you to keep up the good work while I’m gone,” Owen added. “I’ll be going out of town tomorrow and coming back in a few days. Friday latest. While I’m away, Ian will be here holding down the fort. I know Joe and Reuben have talked about the security risk.”

The ladies nodded. He’d been in situations before that threatened the welfare of his estate and those who lived on it, and they’d weathered previous storms. But none with Carl Kerr helming the ship.

“We’ll have extra protection on hand as well. Jack’s lending a few of his people to watch over the place.”

“Who’s he sending?” Ian asked.

“Joe has the rundown.”

Joe answered, “Avery Holton, Nathan Kraft, Aidan Marshall, and Kyle Cannon are lending a hand.”

“Cannon’s not one of ours, but he’s cute.”

Everyone looked at Ian, who shrugged. “Sue me. I’m human.” He turned to the women. “You’ll see.”

They laughed at him.

Joe continued, “Actually, we shouldn’t see him or the others. Their goal is to be invisible. We don’t want Kerr to know he’s been spotted.”

“Even though he knows we know?” Ian asked. “This is stupid.”

“So is dying,” Caleb growled. “So shut up and follow the program.”

Before Ian could throw a tizzy, Owen interrupted. “Right. Tim and Joe know how to contact me. Tim, you’re good?”

Tim nodded. He knew his major responsibility—keeping Ian safe, from himself if need be. The others would remain under Joe and Reuben’s watchful care.

“Anything you need, Bev, Dolly, you just let Reuben or Joe know. This business came up pretty suddenly, but after that, we just need to take care of the Kerr situation. I give it another two weeks, max.” By then Caleb would hopefully have gotten close enough to Kerr that Owen could nail the bastard. Screw a quick cardiac arrest. Owen planned to drag out the pain as long as he could. An aneurism wouldn’t work either. He’d rarely employed psychic torture, but he’d been dreaming about ending Carl for a while.

The question remained: just how much did Carl know about Owen? Because with psychic mercenaries growing in the field, Carl might have his own back-pocket weapon. And better to know before eighth hour struck. He looked at Joe. “Do your best to find out what we talked about, yes?”

Joe nodded.

Ian looked less than pleased at being excluded from things, but Owen didn’t want him sticking his neck out, especially not on Owen’s behalf.

He turned the conversation back to a recent slew of bad movies he’d heard about, and the meal ended with Bev’s famous apple pie and laughter.

Once everyone had separated for the night, Owen moved back to his room to pack up for his trip tomorrow. He figured they’d fly in Wednesday, lay everything out, set up on Thursday for the op, execute it, and fly back by Friday afternoon. That’s if everything went according to plan.

Ian followed him into the bedroom and closed the door behind him. Then he trailed Owen into the closet.

“I know for a fact your living room is bigger than this,” Owen muttered as he grabbed two pairs of jeans and some underwear.

Ian crossed his arms over his chest and leaned against the door frame. The camera would love him. The shadows over his face only emphasized the mystery in the man, and Owen wanted nothing more than to plumb his hidden depths.

When he tried to move past Ian to dump his stuff on the bed, Ian blocked his way. Owen sighed. “What now?”

“When are you going to tell me what you’re doing? Why don’t I have your private number? All that crap earlier about me being yours?” Ian huffed. “In bed, yeah. I get that we’re fucking. But I think I’m entitled to a little information beyond what position you want me in.”

Owen raised a brow, pleased when Ian frowned. He loved when Ian reacted the way he’d predicted. It gave Owen hope he might not be so off the mark when it came to understanding his new lover. “So then what are we, Ian? Fuck buddies? Lovers? Is this casual for you?”

“Back at ya, play-ah,” Ian taunted. “You’re the love ’em and leave ’em type. How many heiresses and actors have you on their speed dial? Millionaire stud on call, will travel?”

Owen couldn’t help laughing.

“You think that’s funny?” Ian glared.

“That couldn’t be further from the truth. Come on. If I randomly had sex with so many, don’t you think the tabloids would plaster my name up in lights? I’ve dated occasionally, and I like sex. But I’m careful about who I’m with. You do remember Linda Cavendish, my ex who tried to kill me? I’ve learned to be more circumspect since her.”

Ian seemed only slightly mollified. “So who was your last date?”

“Before you?”

“Duh.”

Owen bit his lower lip. “Before you…hmm. Probably Janson.”

Ian blinked. “The supermodel?”

“Yeah.” A woman so beautiful she could rarely look away from her own reflection. Owen had been horny, tired, and wanting to connect. She’d been at the same party and surprisingly feeling the same. He actually liked her, but they’d both known after sleeping together that they had nothing but the sex in common. “She’s a nice girl.”

“Janson?” Ian’s voice rose in pitch. “She’s fucking gorgeous. You slept with her? She was on Vogue last month.” Ian gaped at him, then after a moment added, “Can you get me her autograph?”

“If you want.” Irritated because Ian didn’t seem jealous, just gaga over Janson, Owen tried to push past him.

Ian pushed back. “Hold it. When was this date with Janson, anyway?”

“Ian, I have to pack.”

“Answer the question.”

Owen fumed. “Six months ago. Happy?”

“You haven’t had sex in six months? Or do you consider dating a relationship and fucking something else?”

He wanted to pack, fly out, and do his thing fast. The sooner he put the nightmare of DeSanta behind him, the sooner he could deal with Kerr and get on with the rest of his life—that hopefully included Ian, even as annoying as he was. “Do we have to talk about this right now?”

“If you want a killer blowjob in the next five minutes, yes.”

And like that, Owen grew instantly hard. “You do that on purpose.”

Ian smirked. “Nice to know you want me, at least.”

“How can there be any doubt?”

“But there’s more to wanting than sex.” As he said it, Ian got the funniest look on his face.

“Um, yeah. You look confused. I am too. Explain just what you mean. I thought all this was casual to you.” Owen was delighted. “You want more? To be my boyfriend?”

“Maybe.”

“So defensive. No, baby. That’s okay.”

Ian frowned. “Don’t call me baby.”

“Why not?”

“I don’t want to be like every other Janson you’ve dated. Call me by name.”

“Ah.” Owen dropped his clothes and tugged Ian closer by the belt loop of his jeans. “Ian. My little thief.” He kissed Ian softly. “My sexy cocksucker.” He placed his hand over Ian’s and guided him to the bulge between his legs. “See what you do to me? All I have to think about is your mouth, or see something blue and think of your eyes, and I’m hard. I want to fill that tight ass again, thief. Or even better, those full lips.”

Ian groaned. “Man, you’re good at the love talk.”

Owen chuckled.

“So you’re not seeing anyone now?”

“Just you.”

“And you’re not involved with Dalton, that dick?”

Owen sighed. “No. I told you that. He and I are just friends.”

“Who share secrets you won’t tell me.” Ian pouted and, when Owen remained closemouthed, grumbled, “Fine, go do your thing. But while you’re away, what am I supposed to do?”

“Stay here with everyone and watch them for me.” Owen kissed Ian’s cheek and trailed his way to Ian’s ear. “Help Tim protect the people I care for.” He licked Ian’s lobe and shoved his tongue into Ian’s ear.

When his lover groaned, Owen ground against the hand still cupping his cock. “Oh yeah. That’s it, thief. Get me nice and hard. But while you’re doing that, I want you to come for me.” Owen unbuttoned and unzipped him. Then he reached inside Ian’s clothes and stroked his thickening shaft. “You’re a big boy, aren’t you?”

“And getting bigger,” Ian rasped. “I’m going to come if you keep doing that,” he warned.

“Good.”

“No, not yet.” Ian arched his throat when Owen kissed his way to his pulse.

He nipped Ian, marking him, and let go of the man’s cock to play with his nipples. The T-shirt was no barrier, and before Ian could think to protest, Owen whipped it off him. He lowered to suck the man’s nipples, loving the moans and pleas for release.

“So what are we, Ian? Will my boyfriend be waiting for me when I get back?” Owen whispered against his chest. He teethed Ian’s flesh.

“Jesus. Do that again.”

Owen did, and Ian melted against him. “How do you do that?” Ian breathed.

“Well? Can I spend some time with my boyfriend when I return? Sex, movies, maybe even talking, like we’ve been the past month? It’s not all about the sex, is it, thief?” He’d loved the time they spent together, testing one another, seeing how the other’s mind worked. Owen couldn’t get enough of Ian’s inquisitiveness. While it bothered Jack and the others, Owen liked having someone so intelligent and quick-witted to talk to and bounce ideas off. Plus, he truly found Ian funny.

He pinched Ian’s nipple and ground against his cock again, wanting to feel his lover explode.

“Yes, yes,” Ian hissed. “I’ll be your damn boyfriend if you kiss me again.”

“You’re easy.” Owen left Ian’s chest and hugged him tight, kissing him with all the desire and feeling inside him.

“That’s what…I’ve been…telling you.” Ian kissed him back with such fierceness Owen lost his mind.

His back was against the closet wall by the door and his pants around his thighs, Ian on his knees, when he next opened his eyes. “Ian?”

“Your thief. I’m going to steal some cum…Sir.”

Owen groaned and watched as Ian’s lips parted and enveloped the head of his cock. Ian kept those baby blue eyes on Owen’s the entire time he sucked and teased Owen toward climax.

“Fuck, Ian.” He moaned. “God, your mouth. Promise you’ll stay with Tim and the others while I’m gone. You have to be careful. Promise…”

Ian made a noise and sucked harder.

Owen clasped the back of his head, trying not to thrust deeper, but he couldn’t stop himself from jerking when Ian cupped his balls. “You’re so fucking beautiful,” he blurted, unable to stop himself. “Shit. I’m coming, Ian. A lot of cum down your throat. Oh fuck.”

Ian drew him deeper, and then his tongue flickered against the underside of Owen’s cockhead while he rubbed Owen’s sac, and Owen lost it. He cried out and jetted into Ian’s mouth, clutching handfuls of silky black hair while he did so.

When he could breathe again, he blinked at Ian, who finished swallowing him down. Ian pulled back, and a drop of seed remained on his slick lips. Watching Ian lick it off sealed the man’s fate. No way in hell was Owen going to let him go. Beyond the sex, Owen saw the vulnerable glint Ian rarely allowed anyone to see. Ian didn’t want to be viewed as anything but a con man with attitude, but Owen wanted that Ian as much as he wanted the sexy thief. He wanted all of him.

“So it’s a deal, then,” Owen growled, in lust and climbing fast toward love with the younger man.

“Deal?” Ian rose to his feet, and Owen noted the impressive erection straining between his parted jeans.

Owen took him in his hands, captivated by the ruddy cock pearling at the tip. “You’re mine now. And I’m yours.”

Ian frowned. “Mine for now, you mean.”

Scared? An Ian who didn’t care wouldn’t need to put labels on them. “Exactly.” Owen grinned. For now, later, and tomorrow. He slowly knelt, keeping his gaze on Ian’s. Bright blue eyes widened at the sight.

Ian swallowed loudly.

“That’s right, lover. My turn.” Owen licked his lips, glad when Ian continued to look dumbfounded. “What? I can’t suck off my boyfriend? I mean, I don’t do this for just anyone. But since we’re a couple, this is okay. We don’t have to use condoms, since we’re together, and we’re exclusive.”

“No condoms.” Ian cleared his throat. “A little late to take that back, since you just came down my throat.”

“True.” Owen smiled. “And then last night and yesterday, when I left a mess inside that pretty ass. And those slick lips. Yum.” He stroked Ian’s cock, and Ian rocked into him as if unable to help himself. His slit was wet, the man’s balls rock hard.

“Quit teasing and suck me,” Ian groaned. He flushed, no doubt realizing how needy he sounded. “Uh, please.”

Owen chuckled and slid his hand around Ian’s ass. He squeezed, and Ian let out a breathy moan. Then he ran his fingers all over Ian’s groin. Such a beautiful cock. And so tasty… Owen leaned forward to lick the spot of cum from Ian’s slit and closed his mouth when Ian pressed forward, giving his lover a tight fit to fuck.

“Christ, Owen. I’m about to blow. Please, take me inside. I need it.”

“You need me,” Owen corrected him, needing to hear him say it.

“I do, you controlling bastard.” Ian moaned and stroked Owen’s hair. “I need you so bad.”

Owen took Ian to the back of his throat in one fell swoop. Ian cried out and pumped twice more before coming. That Ian couldn’t hold out made Owen feel like a king, one who’d mastered his lover’s pleasure, if not his heart. Not yet. After swallowing all Ian had to give, he pulled back and stared up at the most handsome man he’d ever laid eyes on. The ecstatic expression on Ian’s face drew him further along his obsessive need to capture Ian’s heart.

Then Ian smiled down at him before tugging Owen to his feet. A shy, satisfied expression that captured the essence of the man buried inside the cautious little forger. The kiss they shared was soft, sweet, and gratifying. When Owen pulled back to study his face, Ian’s smile left him, and they stared into each other’s eyes, not speaking.

Owen might not have his heart yet. But damn if he wasn’t getting closer.

Chapter Seven

The flight to Venezuela went off without a hitch. They landed in Caracas and met Caleb’s driver without attracting undue attention. The small hotel they entered catered to people who wanted to keep a low profile. Located between a large barrio on the western edge of the city and the modern district of El Rosal, the little building gave enough security that they didn’t have to fear for their lives just entering the place. At least, not yet.

In the distance, Mount Avila separated the city from the Caribbean Sea. Despite the beauty and grandeur of the distant mountain, they’d avoided a few No Go Areas, where most foreigners wound up dead. Violence was high in the city, and Owen knew it would get even more brutal before he left. DeSanta had to die.

Their driver had spoken like a native for all that he looked like a Swede. In accented English the unnamed man had said, “He’s here, hasn’t moved in two days,” before leaving Caleb and Owen with a large duffel bag when he dropped them at their hotel.

Their small room had cracked walls, a stained wooden floor, a single bed, and a small water closet big enough for a toilet. A communal shower and sink were down the hall. Of the ten rooms in the dingy, run-down place, only this one and two others had occupants, or so their driver had informed them on the ride over. Besides telling them that DeSanta was there, present, in the city.

“Chatty friends you have,” Owen remarked.

Caleb shrugged. “If I was stationed here, I’d be quiet too. Every two seconds, there’s someone lying shot or dead three streets over. But this was as close as I wanted us to be. DeSanta’s men patrol the eastern part of the city.”

“Where you’re going to connect with him. Not safe, Caleb.”

“Hey, at least I don’t have to be in the same building anymore. That was tough. Remember Florence?”

“Oh, right. That was bitch.”

Caleb grinned, and Owen could see the adrenaline junkie gearing up to go.

“I know I told you I could be a mile out, and I didn’t think I’d need to be this close. But this is kind of a rush job. I haven’t had the time to lock onto him before now. I’ll be on his block. I figured they’ll see me, but I’ll be in disguise, working on the neighbor’s house. My papers check out. An electrician is due to visit the blue house a block down tomorrow morning. No biggie.”

“Dying the hair?”

“Black.”

“Not platinum blond? You’d look even more interesting as a redhead.” Owen grinned at the look Caleb gave him. “Hey, I can make jokes, or I can dwell on how much I don’t want to do this.” His smile faded. “DeSanta needs to die. The things he’s done…” Owen’s gift—or curse—was that he connected with his targets long enough to see through them, to know, in that split second before everything ended, how they’d lived.

When he’d ended Linda Cavendish’s life, he’d seen her greed, how many people she’d had a hand in hurting with her illegal cage fights and senseless rumor mongering. In addition to murder, she’d broken careers and ended more than her share of marriages. Led by greed, she’d also died by it. But DeSanta took bad to a whole new level.

Owen had dealt with scumbags and murderers, but defiling innocents definitely took the cake. He knew Kerr was a deviant bastard, but this man, DeSanta, was the epitome of evil. He feared what he’d see before DeSanta succumbed, but even more, Owen worried he’d be forever tainted by the darkness he’d be forced to confront. As if the evil would bleed through to him and stain him forever. Sometimes after an op, it took him months to recover deep inside. And he feared losing himself more than anything.

Caleb clapped him on the back. “Don’t worry. Yeah, it’s gonna suck. But I’ll be here for you as fast as I can. Keep a gun close, and stay conscious for maybe half an hour. You don’t have to physically touch him, so you should be good to go.” He paused. “I still think we could call in—”

“No.”

“Shit. Fine. Then you just need to hang on long enough for me to get back.”

Caleb would have to stay by DeSanta until Owen made the connection. The minute Owen did, Caleb would beat feet back to Owen.

Once Owen started destroying DeSanta, he’d be vulnerable, unable to process outside of the kill. And after the deed, he’d be unfocused, confused. Unfortunately, there would be a short lag time between Caleb fixating on the mark and arriving back here at the hotel. But it couldn’t be helped. Owen refused any other offer of assistance. The fewer people who knew what he could do, the better. Frankly, he didn’t trust anyone with his most closely kept secret except Caleb, the admiral, and Heather. And he’d be damned if he’d involve his sister in danger.

“Besides,” Caleb continued. “Just think of all the kids you’re saving by doing this.”

“Yeah.” Still, the mess left a bad taste in his mouth. If he didn’t know better, he’d think he had a hint of foresight in his skill set. Because he had a bad feeling about the mission, a sense unlike what he’d experienced on similar ops, when he’d been raring to take down the bad guys. And he couldn’t have said why.

* * *

“He took the bait, sir.”

Carl gripped the phone tighter. When he’d heard about plans to eliminate DeSanta, he’d planted a seed with his contact in DC. It seemed they’d made good on the idea about asking Owen for help. And now Owen would be even more vulnerable in a foreign country without his usual backup. Perfect.

Talk about a good day. He nodded at his supplier, who dragged another stoned woman from the cattle car in the warehouse. Carl inspected his merchandise, nodded, and said into the cell phone, “That’s good, Fielder. Keep me apprised of developments as they come in.”

“Yes, sir. Also, Koffman spoke with Neever. Though they haven’t spotted anyone else out there, he swears they have company in Bend.”

Carl gave Owen credit. The man was no slouch. Knowing he had to leave his precious estate and staff behind—and aware Carl would know he’d gone—Owen had left more than his spare security to watch the homestead. Probably Jack Keiser and his little bastards patrolling the area.

Yet another reason Carl preferred not to engage Owen on his own turf. Recollections of his father and brother dying, without any trace of Owen’s guilt, unnerved him. If Owen indeed knew people who could kill with a thought, what prevented him from taking Carl out the same way? That Carl had lived this long told him Owen might be psychic, but he couldn’t kill on command. Had he been able, the bastard would no doubt have killed him long ago.

No. Owen had contacts to do his dirty work for him. Men like that Caleb Dalton. Unfortunately, Carl had yet to find his own psychic to help him out. Although… “Fielder?”

“Sir?”

“Any word on that other matter I had you looking into?” A search into a psychic for hire, one who could use his or her ability to kill. Tit for tat, Owen.

“Maybe. I had a phone call from someone claiming he knows about the program that disbanded. Someone with skills you might need, except…”

“Yes?”

“He seemed a little…off, sir. I’m not sure how much of a help he’d be.”

“No matter. If he can do what needs to be done, we’ll bring him on board. Have Harry set up the meeting. Oh wait, he’s no longer with us, is he?” Harry had been a bit too wheedling about money, and Carl had been in a foul mood of late. So just yesterday, Harry had enjoyed his last minutes gagged and strapped to Carl’s special table, fucked to within an inch of his life. Poor Harry hadn’t enjoyed the buggery, but Carl thought the slash across his throat had given him the respite he’d begged for, there at the end. Carl, on the other hand, had thoroughly enjoyed his time with Harry. Though a disappointment in some ways, Harry had proven to be a stellar fuck.

He smiled at the remembrance, then focused once more on the present. “I’d like you to screen our new friend, Fielder. See to it.”

“Will do, sir.”

Carl disconnected the call and got down to business. Trading guns for women would serve its purpose today, especially as some of the females seemed more than unwilling and just young enough to be considered illegal in most states. Just what Carl’s new clients had been looking for.

He wrapped up the deal and hurried back to his limo, careful to keep himself free to take calls. He couldn’t wait to see what happened in Caracas. Owen and Dalton had no idea what was coming their way. It would be fun to watch them squirm, fearful for their lives. What great stories they’d have to tell their pathetic friends when they returned. And they’d know just how far Carl’s reach extended.

He laughed and poured himself a scotch. And waited.

* * *

Owen spent that day and night unable to stop thinking about Ian. Had his little thief found the new Whistler etching he’d intentionally left in his personal, less secure safe off the bedroom? He’d bought it for three hundred thousand, only because he had a feeling Ian might like it. Was Ian making good use of his time painting? Though Ian had refused to admit it, Owen thought he liked the artistic challenge in copying the works, more for art’s sake than for the money he’d get when he sold the forgeries.

Ian had a creative streak that meshed well with Owen’s own ability to generate income. He had no idea why, but he’d always been able to know when to invest and when to pull out. Granted, he’d gotten burned a few times when he’d let sentiment rule logic. Yet even then, he’d known he should withdraw and intentionally ignored his instincts.

After a restless night’s sleep and a breakfast not worth mentioning, he paced the small room, feeling hemmed in and uncomfortable in the sweltering heat. He slapped at another mosquito, wishing for the moderate climate of Bend once more. Did Ian realize Owen never brought anyone into his home? Acquaintances and casual dates he entertained away from Bend—his true home. Ian wouldn’t understand what his presence meant to Owen, but the others in his employ would.

They’d take care of him. He hoped. He had a feeling he’d need to give Tim a raise when he returned. That’s if Ian hadn’t stolen the man blind and convinced him he’d be better off working elsewhere.

Owen grinned, glad to concentrate on his little thief and the pleasures still awaiting him.

“Owen. I’ve got him.”

Caleb’s mental call preceded the familiar thickness of psychic energy, a foreign sense of someone else rushing at him. Like a narrowed tunnel, Owen saw the target at the very end and readied himself to rush through and connect.

While Caleb held the tie, he lay down on the bed, gripped his pistol by his side, and closed his eyes, knowing he’d barricaded the door as best as he was able. The flimsy lock would do little, but the chair against it would scrape the floor if moved, alerting Owen to company.

He let himself go and focused, using a surge of disgust and anger to push him fast. He raced through the tunnel and landed in DeSanta’s essence. A clingy quagmire of powerful energy enveloped him, making it hard to breathe.

DeSanta had a potent psyche, domineering and sticky all at once.

“I’ve got him. Get out, now,” Owen sent Caleb before he forgot himself in the task at hand.

“I’m gone. Be there in twenty. Maybe less if I can.”

Caleb winked out, leaving Owen alone with the mark.

Owen didn’t want to linger, but he had to satisfy himself that he was doing the right thing. Despite all that he’d seen and studied about the man, the truth came from the knowing. On a sigh, he leeched into DeSanta’s bones and blood and thoughts. While Morvelo DeSanta enjoyed an early lunch, laughing with his henchmen about something, Owen seeped deeper. And then the memories hit him. Hard.

Feelings and visions of torture, madness, and moments of loving clarity intersected. He whipped a young boy to death while stripping the flesh off a little girl. Then he molested them in ways that made Owen want to gag. And then, a vision of DeSanta bouncing his niece on his lap, no thought of hurting her at all, just a pure, innocent love—which completely contrasted with his disgusting, baser needs.

More violence, this time meted out with a gun and a knife. A slashing pattern DeSanta particularly liked to use when making a statement to his enemies.

The visions and feelings grew in intensity, and he felt DeSanta relive them as he pushed the man to open himself. DeSanta shook his head and rose from the table. He excused himself and wandered down the marbled hallway into a large bedroom, where two small girls quivered with fear, chained to the foot of his bed like dogs.

DeSanta stared at the darker of the two. He wanted… No. Owen surged into the man’s mind. Instead of crushing DeSanta’s heart, as he’d done previously, Owen managed to turn him away, toward the bathroom, where his death would be in private and not in front of the children.

Can spare them that, at least.

DeSanta stumbled, muttering to himself and cursing his inability to focus.

Owen felt nauseous, the power of DeSanta’s sick, twisted desire making it difficult to hold control. He exerted himself once more, aware of an excruciating pain in his temple. Fuck. Not good. He didn’t have any more time to play. With the notion that he was judge, jury, and executioner and that this man had been found wanting, he brought out a mind trick that used to scare the bejesus out of him and leveled it at DeSanta—a darkness, an oppressive, putrid hatred for everything the man was.

Owen let it pour out of him, shooting DeSanta full of his own evil. A reflection of his own truth in the form of Owen’s version of hell.

DeSanta clutched his heart and stared blindly at the pristine white walls of his bathroom. He tried to cry out for help, but Owen tightened down on the man’s muscles, freezing his vocal chords.

Yes, extreme pain. Anguishing punishment, you fucking bastard. He gripped harder and jerked his mind, so that arteries tore and DeSanta’s lifeblood flooded his chest cavity, missing the heart. Internal damage no one would be able to explain, a definite turn from the invisible footprint he normally left. Yet Owen wanted to make a statement.

Still focused, he began to trace into the man’s flesh. The skin, the largest organ of the body, and Owen’s personal playground at the moment. Into DeSanta, he carved the ugly truth. Rapist. Murderer. The devil claimed his due, scored into the man’s chest and across his forehead as a warning to all.

DeSanta lay dead and bleeding while Owen stared through his dead eyes at the feet that entered the bathroom.

He heard men swear and cross themselves as DeSanta’s flesh continued to peel, talking to the evil in them as well.

And then he heard the roar of sirens and the local police Caleb must have sent to save the girls and anyone else trapped in DeSanta’s mansion. Gunfire erupted.

He continued to swim in the morass of the man’s mind, a dangerous thing, considering DeSanta now lay dead. With some effort, Owen pulled himself together and swam back through the tunnel toward himself.

He opened and blinked his dry eyes at the ceiling, slow to understand the loud noise drawing closer to the room. He gripped the pistol in his hand, not sure how much time had passed since he’d been gone.

Pounding on the door, accompanied by more gunfire, jerked him out of his stupor. Still exhausted and unable to do little more than crawl, he rolled off the bed and landed hard on the floor, away from the door.

Just in time too, because the chair against the door slid across the floor as the door was flung open. Someone emptied a machine gun into the mattress. More footsteps entered.

“Stay the fuck down,” Caleb shouted.

Grunting. The sound of fists striking flesh. Owen raised himself over the bed to see another man try to knife Caleb in the back. He raised and shot his own gun before the guy had the chance.

Caleb dropped the man he’d been holding and swung around to see his attacker crumple to the ground, his hand over the bullet in his belly. Then he turned back to Owen. “You look like shit. Son of a bitch. You’re bleeding.”

Owen wiped a shaky hand under his nose, not pleased to find it covered in dark blood. His head hurt too, from banging it on the floor when he’d fallen. He tried to get up but couldn’t. “H-how did they find us?”

Caleb scowled and hurried to help him stand. With one arm, he held Owen upright, and with the other he grabbed the duffel containing their change of clothing, some supplies, and more weapons. “I don’t know. But this shouldn’t be happening. We need to move, now.”

They’d just skirted the dresser and neared the bathroom when shots fired. A blazing pain struck Owen’s thigh.

“Shit.”

“Damn it.” Caleb yanked Owen into the water closet with him, slammed the door shut, and shoved Owen down. Then he opened the window they’d planned as an escape route and checked outside. “Clear. Come on.”

Sirens sounded from outside. Caleb climbed through the window with the duffel strapped to his back and turned to help Owen through while keeping his gun trained on the door.

Owen’s leg ached something fierce, but by concentrating, he was able to ignore the pain. A numbness crept up his leg as he worked himself over the ledge and onto the steel railing. Except the lack of feeling didn’t stop at his thigh. He shook, his reserves fading, and went to one knee. The fire escape shook.

He whispered, “Good thing you came when you did. I’m flaming out, man.”

Caleb swore, fired into the street below them from the flimsy landing on which they stood, and said something Owen couldn’t make out.

The world spun, and he saw nothing more.

* * *

When he woke, everything was dark, and he felt a strange vibration around him. His throat ached, and he swallowed hard, coughing at the itch there.

“Easy. Christ, Owen. Next time, give me a little more warning.”

Caleb.

Out loud, his friend said, “We’re right now in the plane heading home.” A pause. “It was Kerr. He sent a note with one of the bastards who bombed our car. Oh right, you missed that, Miss Daisy, because I had to find us alternate wheels and carry your heavy ass out of Dodge. Anyway, apparently Kerr can’t wait to see you again.” Caleb sounded gruff when he added, “I’m staying until he’s done. That was way too close for comfort, and he’s got to have impressive contacts if he tracked us that soon. The flight manifest was scrubbed, and no one but me and a few higher-ups knew about this.”

“Great.” Hell. It even hurt to mentally communicate.

“No. I want you to talk to me, with your mouth. Open your eyes, slacker. Come on. I know you’re tired, but I need to see…”

Owen felt as if he’d been in a coma for weeks. It took Herculean effort to open his eyes.

“Christ, Owen. Your pupils are still huge. Not good, man.”

“I know that,” he rasped. “I feel…bad.”

Caleb swore, creatively, in several languages. Two of which Owen recognized.

“Okay. Close your eyes and rest. We’re flying back to a private airport away from Bend, then driving back to the house. You need rest, man. Oh, and when I called to check with Tim, he said your boy is safe and sound and funny as hell. So the fact Tim hasn’t killed him yet is a plus.”

Owen wanted to laugh at Caleb’s dry tone, but he couldn’t find the energy. A slight pain in his leg alerted him that the gunshot he’d suffered had been real. But the relief that Ian was waiting for him, alive and well, gave him the respite from consciousness he needed.

“…okay? Owen, hey, Owen.” “Buddy, you still with me?”

Caleb’s voice faded, and Owen sank into oblivion once more.

Chapter Eight

“So what’s it like?” Ian asked as he stirred sugar into his iced tea. “I mean, being that large must be terrific when it comes to getting people to do what you want.”

Tim raised a brow. “Really? Because you don’t seem that impressed.”

“I’m the exception. Most people with a normal brain respond to brute tactics.”

Tim chuckled. They sat outside on the deck, overlooking the beautiful Cascade Mountains. Reuben had cleared the area out back, and unless someone planned on firebombing the house, they were clear of sniper attack. A good thing, because Ian had lost his patience for sitting still an hour after Owen had departed two days ago.

He sighed again. “I’m bored.”

“How can that be? I caught you breaking into Owen’s vault twice and found you rummaging through his locked office just this morning.”

They stared at the lunch on the table in front of them. Bless Bev and her killer nachos.

Before Ian could speak, Dolly joined them. “Boy, I need a break.” She glared over her shoulder, and Ian bit back a grin. Reuben stared at the three of them at the table, nodded to Tim, then went back inside the house.

Through the glass walls, Ian watched the large man disappear, probably back to doing his rounds around the place. So mundane, but the Knox brothers seemed to revel in dull activities.

“He bugging you, Dolly? Want me to talk to him?” Ian offered, curious about Owen’s security.

He’d checked into the Knoxes’ records the night before, the open and classified government documents. Decorated Special Forces types who’d separated from the service years before retirement, they’d been hired as mercenaries and “conflict consultants” prior to joining up with Owen a few years ago. Since then, they had a spotless record of keeping him safe when he’d traveled abroad.

Tim too passed the bar. Not that Ian didn’t think Owen could handle his own with investigating his employees, but, well, there was Harry Barker, after all.

“So what really happened with Harry?” Ian asked, wondering if Dolly or Tim would say anything. Owen had that uncanny ability to instill the utmost loyalty in his people. Hell, even Ian wanted to take care of the guy, and Owen could more than afford to hire the best. It just seemed like Owen tried to take care of everyone else and put himself last. So weird for a guy of the rich-and-privileged set.

Dolly’s mouth thinned. “That con artist wormed his way into Owen’s good graces. He was polite, funny, even a snappy dresser. We all liked him, at least until he had the nerve to sell Owen out. Tim saved his life.” She nodded. “Reuben and Joe almost had him, but the men he let into the house to kill Owen took him with them when they left.”

Kill Owen? His mouth grew dry. “When did this happen?” Ian asked, intrigued. Jack hadn’t said anything about an altercation here. Nor had anyone else. Then again, Jack didn’t often confer with Ian, which was why Ian had to spy on his boss. For Jack’s own good, of course.

“I don’t know that Owen would want us to share,” Tim hedged.

“He wouldn’t mind a bit,” Dolly refuted before Ian could. “Do you know, Ian, that you’re the only date Owen’s ever brought here?”

Tim colored. “I don’t think Ian’s his date, Dolly.”

“No. He told me I’m his new boyfriend.” Ian beamed. He’d been practicing tossing the word around, wondering at the seeming meaning Owen attached to it. He’d been pretty emphatic about them not being casual. All that mine crap. Ian got a secret thrill out of the thought of belonging. Owen was hot, rich, but more importantly, he genuinely seemed to like Ian. Unlike Ian’s other friends, who grew annoyed with him at the drop of a hat, Owen laughed off his teasing and encouraged Ian’s dry wit. To Tim, who still looked uncomfortable, Ian said, “You did know he’s gay, right?”

Dolly laughed with Ian when Tim’s blush intensified.

“We shouldn’t be talking about him like this,” Tim said weakly.

“Why not?” Ian shrugged and took a sip of tea. “You’re family, right? I mean, this is his personal oasis, his safe spot away from the press and everyone trying to get a piece of him.” Ian had wondered about Owen’s life, and from what Bev and Dolly had confided the past two days, Owen only seemed to relax here.

His insights into his new boyfriend made him realize Owen had a much harder life than he’d once thought. Hundreds of thousands of people relied on him for their livelihood. His millions made jobs possible, while his connection to Jack ensured even Ian had legitimate work.

“Family?” Tim asked. “Uh, I work for him.”

“Family,” Dolly said firmly and nodded. “Owen is a wonderful man. He helped my mother when she got sick. I never asked, either. He volunteered to get her treated and paid the tab. He keeps trying to get Bev to write a cookbook, because she’s always wanted to but is afraid to fail. But with Owen’s backing, it’ll go far. He’s a true gentleman. Unlike some people,” she muttered and looked over her shoulder in the general direction where Reuben had disappeared.

Ian smothered a grin and asked again, “Want me to talk to him?”

Tim balked. “You leave Reuben alone. He’ll eat you alive. I don’t think he has a sense of humor.”

“You got that right,” Dolly agreed. “He’s been on my case about sticking close, staying clear of the main windows, and any other thing he can pick on me about. Do I look like I have a death wish?”

Ian studied her. For a forty-three-year-old woman, she looked pretty damn good. Not that forty-three was old, but the woman smiled a lot and had an earthy prettiness he could appreciate, even as a gay man. He’d love to draw her like that, smiling and laughing. She and Bev seemed close. Joe and Reuben were brothers, but here, in this place, everyone seemed to come together. Even Tim’s bashfulness fit in with the women who tried to take care of him.

A real family. One who’d taken to him as well, according to Dolly. He didn’t know how he felt about that. Because growing too enthused about the idea would lead to hurt when Owen inevitably ended things.

“Ian? You’re going to leave Reuben alone, right?” Tim asked.

It hadn’t escaped Ian’s notice that Tim had been sticking to him like glue. “Why? Afraid you’ll have to fight him to save my gorgeous face from being mauled?” Ian sighed. “I know you’re my babysitter while the boss is away. Controlling bastard.”

“Hey, I pretty much let you do whatever you want.”

“Within reason. And I wasn’t talking about you. I meant Owen’s controlling.”

Just then, Joe Knox poked his head out. He joined their small group and sat with them. “This is nice.”

A breeze wafted past, bringing the sweet scent of lavender with it. Owen had a magnificent back garden. The place was a paradise but not overwhelming. Ian found himself surprised to feel so at home here.

Tim nodded. To Ian’s sharp gaze, he seemed edgy. Tim normally didn’t budge unless he wanted to. Like a friggin’ mountain Ian prodded and pushed to do anything resembling fun. For two days he’d been finding ways to make Tim laugh. Television could only entertain him so much. The board games had been excruciating, because he’d crushed Tim at cards and Scrabble. Dolly, at least, had given him a run for his money at rummy.

“Ian wanted to come outside,” Tim offered.

Joe nodded. His gaze seemed to linger on Tim’s mouth a split second longer than it should have.

Ian noticed patterns. Flirting, or a lack thereof. Eye contact. A pounding pulse. Lingering stares. Just as Dolly and Reuben seemed to be on the verge of coming together, so too were Joe and Tim. Very interesting.

Joe’s eyes narrowed at Ian. “Something wrong?”

Tim studied him as well. “What?”

Ian smiled at the pair. “Not a thing.” No wonder he’d felt so at ease here. None of the I’m-a-hetero-he-man chest beating from two guys who looked like they ate rocks for breakfast. He hated bias of any kind, but Ian preferred being around his friends or women and gay men, because they didn’t seem to judge him for being who he was.

“I guess I should get back to work,” Dolly lamented.

“Why? The house is spotless,” Ian argued. “Besides, you were telling me about Harry Barker.” Now he had Joe’s interest too. “I don’t know if Owen has told you much about me, but I’m really handy with computers. I could make Harry’s life a nightmare, you know.”

Joe’s lips quirked. “Is that so?”

“Yep. I figure a guy that would turn on his boss and friends like that deserves his own dose of karma, you know?”

Now Tim smiled. “Ian, that’s the first rational thing you’ve said all day.”

Ian rolled his eyes. “Please, Tim. I’m more than just beauty. I have a brain too.”

Dolly and Tim chuckled, but Joe looked a bit put out at Tim’s attention.

I am so hooking these two up together. Pleased at the thought of playing matchmaker to men he actually liked, Ian chatted them up about Harry, seeking information he could use to wreak havoc on Harrison Barker’s pitiful life. Screw with Ian’s new boyfriend, hmm? Time to clean out the man’s bank account, for sure.

As the conversation ended and Joe and Dolly went back inside to work, Ian remained with Tim, enjoying himself. He couldn’t have said why, but he liked the fact that Owen’s people seemed to appreciate his company. Though Ian loved working with the PowerUp! guys, they always acted as if he was this huge burden. So okay, he had a habit of making things interesting. Life was for living. If they wanted boring, they should have chosen another career.

Tim pulled out his phone and stared at it. It must have buzzed in his pocket, because Ian hadn’t heard it ring. Tim answered in one- and two-word sentences. Then he mentioned how pleasant and funny Ian had been, that they were just fine, and he looked forward to their return.

Ian hadn’t wanted to admit it, even to himself, but he’d been tense, waiting for word of Owen. “So, everything good?” he asked as casually as possible before taking another sip of tea. He watched the clouds passing, feeling as though he sat in a heavenly oasis missing just one piece—Owen.

“Fine. Boss is heading back. He’ll be in later tonight.” Tim’s voice was light, but he didn’t smile.

Ian sat up straight. “What happened? Is he okay?”

Tim paused.

“Tim.”

Tim groaned. “I’m not supposed to say anything, but it’s not as if you won’t see him for yourself. Owen’s fine, just a bit banged up.”

“What does that mean?” Ian snapped.

For all that Tim outweighed him by at least a hundred pounds, the guy seemed leery of confronting Ian’s anger. “He was shot in the leg. Bullet passed through, so according to Caleb, he’s fine. But he’s a little out of it. Pain meds interfering with his faculties, I think. We’ll need to keep a close eye on him.”

Ian’s heartbeat settled. He could take care of Owen. Not that he’d had a lot of practice caring for others during his life, but he could handle one injured millionaire.

Unfortunately, news that Owen had been hurt put a shadow over his forced vacation. He felt little joy in sneaking into Owen’s sanctuary anymore. Stealing from his lover was only a challenge when Owen was at his peak and able to meet Ian halfway. So I’ll have to get him back to top speed, then harangue the man.

Another thought struck. “Tim, we’re going to have to make sure he doesn’t overexert himself. And with Kerr out there gunning for him, Owen needs to be at his strongest.”

Tim grimaced. “I know. You keep him busy; I’ll talk to Joe and Reuben to reinforce our guards. We’ll talk to your team too. Maybe get more backup than we currently have.”

“Jack will want to protect Heather first.”

“So will Owen.” Tim pursed his lips. “But the boss needs to deal. We’re sitting ducks here, even if Kerr intends to make the fight personal.” He gave Ian a look.

“What? What does that mean?”

“Well, what better way to get at someone’s vulnerabilities than take away that which matters most?”

Ian frowned. “Heather’s got Jack.”

“No, you.”

Ian scoffed. “Hey, I know I’m the flavor of the month. No need to rub it in with sarcasm.”

“Ian, Owen never brings anyone here. Even before I joined on, I knew that this place was off-limits for everyone not in his private circle. Ask the guys. You’re the first new person, other than Jack, Keegan, and James, to visit. And that’s only because the guys are with Heather or Rory, Owen’s relatives. Sorry, dude, you’re the real deal.” Tim leaned closer, his gaze serious. “Don’t fuck with him, because he’s not fucking with you.”

“Sure he is,” Ian tried to joke, but Tim shook his head.

“No. I watched him this past month, working next to you. He’s different with you, and you know it.”

“Bullshit. The man is Midas rich. He can have anyone he wants. I’m just entertainment while he’s slumming in Bend.” Ian waited for Tim to confirm the truth.

Instead, Tim surprised him by laughing. “Yeah, you keep thinking that. Tell you what, fifty bucks says you’re living here full-time by October.”

In a month and a half, Ian would be back in his condo overlooking the Deschutes River and dreaming of ways to scheme a path to his nest egg. Once he had enough, then he might decide to move on. Maybe. “Make it five hundred. Why not? Every little bit helps.”

They shook hands, and Ian tried to ignore Tim’s amusement. “Who knew you big guys were so funny?”

Tim chuckled. “Whatever, shorty. Come on. I need to get back inside, and that means you need to head in.” His smile faded. “I have to talk to Joe and Reuben about the boss.”

Ian didn’t argue, even though he’d prefer to sit outside. He decided to ready Owen’s room for his return, trying not to think about Owen’s injuries. Instead, he dwelled on how best to blow Owen’s mind with the games they’d play. Yeah. It would be all about Owen’s pleasure. And then once the bossy man regained his own two feet, the gloves would come off, and Ian would do his best to fleece his lover but good.

* * *

Later that evening, the car pulled up, and Dolly, Bev, Joe, Reuben, Tim, and Ian waited anxiously by the large bay window in the living room.

When the door opened, Dalton exited the driver side. He didn’t look too beaten up. A few bruises, but no limps or disfigurement that Ian could see. Too bad about that. The guy could have used a swift kick in the ass. Then he helped Owen out of the car.

“Holy shit,” Reuben swore. “Er, I mean, shoot.” He cast a side look at Dolly and Bev.

Bev had tears in her eyes. “Oh my. I’ll go get his favorite sticky buns all warmed up for him.”

Dolly nodded. “I’ll check the room one more time. Ian, keep him busy for a few minutes, would you? I just want to make sure everything’s all tidied for him.”

“Sure, Dolly.”

Tim frowned. “He looks drugged. Why is Caleb not propping him up better?” Tim swore under his breath and hustled out of the living room and down the hall.

Ian heard the door open but forced himself to remain standing there, not wanting to appear too eager to see his lover—his boyfriend—again.

Joe and Reuben turned as one when Dalton preceded Tim, who was helping Owen into the living room.

“Hey, guys. We’re back,” Dalton announced. “I have some things to talk to you about. Didn’t want to go over it until we were in person.”

“No problem,” Reuben agreed. “Why don’t we get you something to eat while Joe heads back to security? I’ll fill you in,” he said to his brother.

“No. I want to talk to both of you together.” Dalton frowned. He saw Ian, and his frown lessened. “Hey, keep Mr. Nosy occupied, would you?”

“Right here, asshole,” Owen slurred from under Tim’s long arm.

“Yeah, I get that,” Dalton snorted. But his gaze said something else to Ian. He glared at Owen again. “Look, I don’t have time to hold your hand with this.”

“Hey, back off,” Ian growled. “He’s hurt.”

“You’d think so, with the way he’s limping and all,” Dalton drawled, “but he won’t stop issuing orders. I can handle the security with the Knoxes. Ian, if you could deal with Owen? Hey, Tim, put him in bed, would you?”

“Dick.” Owen yawned.

He looked bruised, tired, and incredibly appealing. Ian had never seen Owen appear anything less than perfect. Even first thing in the morning, he had a dewy-eyed sexuality that screamed “lovemaking at its finest.” Yet now he seemed vulnerable, and Ian finally felt on equal footing with the larger-than-life playboy.

“Yeah, Tim. Could you carry His Highness into the bedroom? I want to talk to you, Owen.” He tried to pretend to be a little mean, but inside he quavered. God, the guy is half falling down, and I want him. I want to…hold him. Too weird. Yet Ian felt the rightness of that closeness. A scary pattern that followed what his fellow PowerUp! team members seemed to feel for their significant others.

He wondered as he followed Tim and Owen to the master bedroom if that meant he was falling in love with Owen. “You might want to carry him up the stairs,” Ian suggested.

Tim immediately, carefully, lifted Owen into his arms.

“For God’s sake, Tim. You don’t have to carry me.”

“Yes, sir.” Tim continued to carry Owen up the stairs, his pace slow so as not to open the bandaged wound on Owen’s upper thigh.

Good man. In Tim’s strong arms, Owen almost looked helpless. Almost. The glare he shot Ian over Tim’s shoulder indicated the man was far from powerless.

“Put him in bed, Tim,” Ian directed once they entered the room.

Dolly had put fresh flowers and silky sheets on the bed. The room smelled wonderfully like Owen’s scent, and Ian made a note to tell her how much Owen had appreciated her efforts.

“Tim, I’m fine,” Owen protested.

“Yes, sir.”

Tim continued to yes him to death while following Ian’s orders. Ian loved it. “Awesome. Can you shut the door on your way out?”

Tim nodded. He winked at Ian before nodding to Owen. “Good to have you back, sir.”

Owen blew out a frustrated breath, and Tim grinned. Then Tim turned and left, closing the door behind him.

Ian and Owen stared at each other in silence until Owen shook his head.

“Damn, you’re fine. Even when you’re bossing Tim around.”

Ian laughed, but inside he worried over the glazed look in Owen’s eyes. “Hey, you said I was in charge while you were gone. Everyone’s safe, the place is a fortress—a clean fortress, thanks to Dolly—and everything’s good.” He approached and carefully sat by Owen’s side. “How did things go?”

Owen frowned. He leaned against the pillows stacked behind him. “Okay.”

Ian had a million questions, but he wanted to ease Owen first. The man looked too tired for anything sexual, but perhaps Ian could help him relax. He moved some pillows out of the way and scooted behind Owen, so that Owen rested against him.

“What are you doing?” came out slurred.

Ian shushed him. “Shut up and relax.”

Owen chuckled, then moaned when Ian began massaging his stiff shoulders. Ian told him all that had happened in his absence, to include the various art pieces Ian planned to copy and sell that he’d found in Owen’s supposedly secure vault. Dolly and Reuben’s growing love, the attraction Tim fought having for Joe. Bev’s traitorous falling into Ian’s camp, because Ian was so much prettier than Owen.

All the while, he continued to work through the tight muscles in Owen’s shoulders and back. His neck, his scalp. Before long, Owen’s head lolled against Ian’s chest.

“Missed you,” Owen murmured before his breathing evened.

Ian slowly withdrew from his place and settled Owen down onto his pillows. He didn’t want to jostle him, so he found a blanket in the chest at the foot of the bed and covered his tired, sexy lover.

As he watched Owen’s lips part and his chest rise and fall in even motion, Ian’s own chest felt surprisingly tight. What would it be like to truly be here with Owen all the time? To be a real boyfriend, one who spent quality time with his lover, surrounded by their friends and their people? A family where it counted, spun off the love two men shared for each other?

When Owen frowned and shook his head, Ian joined him on the bed and stroked his hair. “Shh. It’s okay, Owen. I’m right here. Right here with you.”

Owen’s soft sigh made everything right in the world, and Ian wondered who was suckering whom. Because what sane person would believe a hot multimillionaire would ever fall for a con man from the wrong side of the tracks, one who was falling in love for the first time in his short but eventful life?

Chapter Nine

Owen woke to a warm body pressed against his. He shifted and stifled a curse. Damn. His leg hurt. But seeing thick lashes drawn in sleep, feeling the warmth of Ian pressed close to his side, made the pain worth it.

He stared down at the boyishly mischievous face, even in sleep, and smiled. The fear that DeSanta was still somehow with him faded as he studied Ian. From what he knew of his thief’s past—which wasn’t much—Ian Ryder was thirty-one years old. Born a Scorpio, with natural blue eyes and black hair, no discernible birthmarks, scars, or tattoos, and he had no surviving relatives. His mother had passed away a few years after his birth, and he’d never known his father.

The Social Security number he’d fed the government over a decade ago matched a boy of that description, but Owen knew better than to think Ian Ryder was actually Ian Ryder.

His little thief had over a dozen aliases, some he still used. He’d been a huge asset to the PowerUp! team since joining Jack’s group a year ago, but he’d never had his talents manipulated by the PWP. He’d been born with his gifts and had left the program with them intact. His supposed crimes had been manufactured by some unscrupulous people no longer in Washington—or alive—to verify their claims. But if there was one thing Owen knew about Ian, for all his shifty ways, he could be counted on to do the right thing. All those he’d allegedly stolen from had been dark, with pasts more criminal than anything Ian had ever done. Ian had a Robin Hood complex for sure.

Which made it vital that Owen get Ian to see him as more than his rich employer, but as a man, as his lover. A boyfriend, he thought with amusement. Their first month together, truly together, had been spent with Owen enduring Ian’s snipes and challenges, meeting the man each time. Now that their relationship had turned into something more meaningful—and yes, sexual—Owen was determined to make Ian see how wonderful life could be together. And not just as someone to buy him things, but because they complemented one another.

Ian was type A, always busy. Owen could relax. Ian needed attention, Owen had plenty to give. He was a one-man lover, and he liked that Ian was the same. Sure, Ian kept him on his toes. Trying to keep the thief out of trouble would be a full-time job, but Owen wanted it, badly. With Heather under Jack’s protection, Owen knew an emptiness, now that she no longer belonged at his side but by her fiancé’s. But with Ian, he didn’t feel so alone. With Ian he’d found someone he could love, who needed him more than he knew.

Ian blinked up at him on a yawn. Those eyes hazy with sleep brightened considerably when he saw Owen watching him.

“You look better.”

He felt better. Owen smiled. “So, have you been as big a pain as I’ve heard? Do I have to bribe Tim to stay on?”

Ian smirked, and Owen’s heart thumped painfully hard. He loved that look on his lover’s face, that smug innocence that shouldn’t have worked on him but did. Ian was a scammer, but such a handsome one. His bangs fell over one eye, and Owen pushed them back, absorbed with Ian’s silky skin.

“Tim is all mine now. You’ll notice he carried you at my order.”

Owen pretended sadness. “Then I guess I’ll have to let him go. If I can’t trust him, I—” Ian’s alarm nearly made him laugh out loud.

“No, no,” Ian refuted. “I was just kidding. Tim’s yours, seriously. He only does what he thinks is best for you. And since I’m your boyfriend—you know, the one taking care of you—he thought you’d be best with me. Here, resting in bed.”

“Resting, hmm? I don’t feel well rested.” Actually, he had to use the bathroom, but if he got out of bed and crumbled, he’d look less than imposing.

Ian glanced past him to the clock. “It’s nearly midnight. I guess we missed dinner.”

“You hungry?”

“No. You?”

Owen shook his head. Not hungry for food.

Ian decided for him. “You should eat. Come on, I’ll help you.” He leaned closer, then stopped. “First, a shower.”

“I, ah. I can wait.” Owen’s bladder needed to be seen to. Now. “You go on ahead and get us something from the kitchen. I’m sure Bev saved us leftovers. I’ll clean up.”

Ian snorted. “Yeah, right. You probably have to piss, and you look as weak as a baby. Come on, studly.”

Owen frowned. “What did I tell you about who’s in charge in bed?”

“I forget, lover.” Ian rolled out of bed and stood with his arms akimbo, smirking at him. “Why don’t you come remind me?”

When Owen just glared at him, unmoving, Ian shook his head. “See?” He crossed to help Owen up, and Owen swore because he needed Ian’s help.

“Just get me to the bathroom.”

Ian helped him into the bathroom and left him by the toilet.

“Get out.” Embarrassing.

“Oh fine. Don’t throw a hissy.” Ian held up his hands. “I’ll be out here. Yell when you’re done, or I’ll get Tim to help.” His eyes narrowed. “I mean it.”

Owen muttered under his breath about bossy subordinates, but inside he was ecstatic to know Ian wanted to help him. He might bluster and play about being in charge, but the concern in his gaze had been impossible to miss. After taking care of his most pressing need, Owen limped to the shower and turned it on. He’d grabbed his toothbrush and toothpaste when Ian barged in once more.

“Didn’t I tell you to call me?” Ian huffed. He took off his clothes in a rush and stunned Owen into staring. “What?”

“Nothing.” Owen couldn’t look away. “I love the way you look. Especially your mouth.” He too easily envisioned it wrapped around his cock.

“Back at ya.” Ian leered. “Now finish brushing your teeth so I can clean you up.”

Owen turned to the sink and scrubbed, wanting all of him clean of DeSanta before he loved Ian again. Once finished, he turned and stood dumbly while Ian fussed over him. With deliberate slowness, Ian eased Owen’s clothing off, working around the bandage on his leg. Caleb had cut the material away so that half of his trouser leg hung by threads, while the upper portion of his pants had to be lowered carefully so as not to pull.

Just getting his pants off took energy, and Owen was sweating before they’d divested him of all his clothing. Tapping DeSanta had drained him much more than he’d expected.

“Into the shower and sit.”

Ian helped him into the stall and sat him on the cold stone bench. Then he turned the nozzle away from Owen and adjusted the water temperature.

“We shouldn’t get it wet, but screw it. I want to see it, and we’ll put a new one on after.” He carefully unwrapped Owen’s bandages, then turned the nozzle back, allowing the water to wash over him while the spray avoided direct contact with his injury.

“Ugly, but you’re healing already.”

“I’ve always been a fast healer. Heather could mend it in seconds, but I don’t want to call her here unless it’s an emergency.”

“Right.”

They just watched each other, and Owen wanted to think Ian’s caution stemmed from new loving affection he didn’t know how to handle. Because sure as shit, that’s how he felt about Ian.

He leaned his head back but kept an eye on Ian’s perfect form. Such a tight ass, long legs, and that swinging cock that got thicker as he stared. “You’re a beautiful man, you know that?”

“Of course.”

The offhand acceptance made Owen laugh. “Do you look like your parents?”

Ian blinked. “Um, my mom’s eyes, my dad for the rest of me. Why?”

“Just curious. I’m told I take after my grandfather, the spitting image. I’m like my dad in temperament, though. Heather’s like Mom. They died a long time ago, but I still miss them.”

Ian just stared, and Owen thought maybe he’d shared too much. But then Ian said, “I don’t remember my mom at all. But my dad was a prankster. He worked way too hard in life, but he had a great sense of humor about it all.”

“Must be where you get it,” Owen said quietly, not wanting to ruin the moment.

Ian paused a moment, then smiled, and his grin was so sweet and innocent it speared Owen through the heart.

Fuck. I’m a goner. And if he finds out, I’m really gone. This is not a man to let get the advantage. Ever.

He cleared his throat. “Yeah, well, do you think you could use that humor and help your poor, wounded boyfriend?”

“What’s wrong?”

“This.” Owen pointed to his dick, which, like always, had grown hard around Ian.

Ian bit his lip as if thinking about it. “I would, but you’re not clean.”

“So clean me.” With your mouth and tongue.

“Yes, Sir.”

“That’s what I like to hear.” Owen leered.

“Pathetic.” Ian brought the soap and a washcloth closer. “Oh hell. Just sit there while I do all the work.”

“That’s what I normally do.” Owen wiggled his brows.

Ian snorted and took the showerhead from the wall to spray over him. He was careful to skirt Owen’s leg, getting it wet around the wound, not right over it, which should have kept his pain minimal.

Or so he’d thought until the water trickled down his leg past the bullet’s entry. “Fuck.”

“Don’t be such a baby.”

Ian was more careful to keep the spray away after that, though. He wet Owen thoroughly, then soaped him all over. After rinsing him off, he grabbed the shampoo and massaged it into Owen’s hair.

The process was nearly orgasmic. Hard yet at the same time so relaxed he wanted to melt, Owen sat under Ian’s ministrations, moaning his content.

“You know, you have the sexiest moan. And you’re fucking hot when wet.” Ian grinned at him.

He rinsed Owen’s hair with the spray, then set it back against the holder on the wall. When he dropped to his knees between Owen’s legs, Owen wanted to weep with gratitude.

“I had a much different reception planned,” Ian admitted as he stroked Owen’s cock.

“Fuck. Yeah, me too.”

“I have a few tricks up my sleeve, but right now they’d probably hurt your leg. I figure you can tell me what happened after.”

“Yeah, little thief. After. Whatever you want. Please, baby. Kiss me.” But before Ian could drop his lips to Owen’s cock, Owen pulled him closer, angling his lover’s face up to meet his kiss, mouth-to-mouth. “I was thinking about you. I missed you, Ian.”

Ian stared into his eyes before closing his own. “You’re too bossy.”

He kissed Owen, a whisper of contact.

“Too rich.”

Another kiss, this one a promise of pleasure to come.

“Too handsome.”

Ian kissed him with a firm touch and slid his tongue inside, stroking and licking until Owen feared he’d come from the kiss alone.

“And for the life of me, I can’t stop thinking about you.”

Owen groaned. “Come closer. Wait, stand on the bench with me and straddle my face.”

Ian’s breath came faster, and he did as Owen bade without speaking. The taste of Ian was amazing, just what Owen needed to feel complete. He sucked and licked, needing to taste his lover’s essence, to take Ian into his body and never let go.

“Fuck. Owen, yes. Oh yeah, baby. That’s so good.”

Ian palmed his hair, the water running all around them. Heat and scent mixed until Owen knew nothing outside of Ian’s body.

He sucked harder and fondled Ian’s balls. And then he pushed for more, running his hands around Ian’s ass to part his cheeks. “Turn around.”

Ian moaned but moved when Owen pushed him, his ass positioned by Owen’s mouth. Owen licked him, amused at the thought of Ian bragging about him kissing his ass at some point in their future. Then he pried Ian’s cheeks apart and rimmed him.

“Fuck. Owen, oh yeah. I’m so close to coming.” Ian hitched a breath.

Owen shoved his tongue deeper, wishing his wound wasn’t so high up his leg that fucking Ian wouldn’t be a problem. Instead he continued to kiss and caress.

Ian yanked himself away and turned back around, holding his dick like an offering as he crouched over Owen. “Swallow me, Owen. Please.”

Seeing his lover on the brink and delighted to have brought him there, Owen took Ian to the back of his throat and accepted his due when his lover shouted and came, shaking hard.

He swallowed every drop and looked up, watching the water sluice down Ian’s amazing body. So lean and taut, showcasing the whipcord strength of a man not to be underestimated.

“Now it’s your turn,” Ian panted. “Damn, Owen. You destroyed me.”

And you, me. Owen let Ian push him back. He went easily, his back against the stone tile, his legs spread wide.

“You’re so big, baby.”

When Ian turned those bright blue eyes on him, looking coyly through his lashes as he sat on his knees, Owen could do nothing but moan his name.

“That’s right, Master. Your boy is going to suck that big cock until it explodes. Do you want me to? Want to feel something full inside you while I lick you to heaven?”

“Fuck, yeah.” Owen ignored the throbbing in his thigh and let Ian spread his legs a bit wider. “Give it to me, little thief. I’ve been wanting you for days.”

“Just me?” Ian asked in a whisper as he nibbled his way up Owen’s uninjured inner thigh.

“Oh shit.” If it were possible, he grew harder. His dick was like a lance as it bobbed near Ian’s cheek. “Come on, boy. Take me between your lips. Yeah.” He moaned when Ian did just that. Except his thief continued to steal his breath. Ian inched his hands up his thighs to cup his balls. He rolled them with exquisite firmness while he sucked Owen’s cock. And damn if he didn’t keep watching Owen watching him.

He hollowed his cheeks and slid his hands under Owen to his asshole. There, he pushed a finger inside, breaching that tight, hot space that hadn’t seen action in years.

The naughty pleasure stole Owen’s breath, and he fought not to come. Just looking at Ian set him off, but feeling that penetration had him thrusting into Ian’s mouth. Ian pushed more of his finger inside, and the pain contrasted sharply with the pleasure, enhancing everything.

Ian thrust his finger in and out in short jabs while increasing the suction on Owen’s cock. The building ecstasy became too strong to hold back, and Owen pumped harder and deeper between Ian’s lips despite the straining burn in his thigh.

“Fuck. Yes, yes, baby, I’m coming. Christ. So hard. So fucking hard,” he rasped as the pleasure obliterated him. He cried out as he came, the thief massaging his pleasure spot until Owen felt broken, sated, and amazingly at peace.

Ian withdrew his finger and gently helped Owen relax on the bench. “Easy,” Ian murmured. Once again he took the soapy cloth and rubbed it over Owen’s body. Owen shivered when Ian wrapped it around his cock, still sensitive and semihard, not sure he could fuck again, though his body seemed to think he could.

“Good, huh?” Ian asked with cheeky humor.

“Shut up. I can’t move.” Owen groaned.

Ian laughed and knelt by him once more. “You’re still hard, studly.”

“I know. I’m not sure how. You sucked the cum from my body like a vacuum. Shit, Ian. That mouth. You’re amazing.”

Ian preened, and the dancing laughter in his gaze grabbed Owen and didn’t let go. Uncaring about his leg, about pain or anything else determined to keep them apart, he lifted the man and settled him over his good leg.

“Owen!”

“You’re mine, little thief. All mine, only mine.” He nuzzled Ian’s cheek. “Move in with me.” Okay, so he hadn’t meant to let that slip just yet, but he needed an affirmation that Ian wouldn’t leave.

“Wh-what?”

“For now. Just until Kerr is dealt with.” Almost screwed up, badly. Idiot. Don’t scare him away. Seduce him into staying.

Ian frowned. “Oh, well, I am moved in. I mean, before you left, remember? Keegan brought my things.”

“About that.” Owen paused, cursing himself for moving too fast. “What exactly is in that little black bag on the nightstand?”

“My special toys.”

“Hell. Now I have to know what’s in there.”

“Hmm. Tell you what. I’ll show you what’s in the bag…after you tell me what really happened ‘outside CONUS,’” he ended mimicking Caleb’s deep voice.

Owen paused. “That’s classified.”

“Bullshit.”

“It’s a lot of trust, Ian. You expect me to trust a thief out to rob me blind?”

“Hey, I might want to steal your stuff, but I wouldn’t share secrets. I have some standards. Well? Gonna tell me, boyfriend?” A dare.

“I might just do that. But not until I know your real name.”

Ian opened his mouth, no doubt to deny he hadn’t already been honest about his name, when something miraculous happened. “It’s Ian.” He swallowed hard, giving Owen an odd look. “Ian Burke.”

Owen didn’t need to ask to know Ian told the truth. The smaller man looked panicked. “Does anyone else know that?”

“Just you.” He sounded angry about the fact. “Happy now?”

“Yes.” A simple answer, and one that took the wind from Ian’s sails. “You can trust me, Ian. I won’t break a confidence. And I’m here for you.”

Ian swallowed. “Until this thing with Kerr is over, right?”

“Sure, baby.”

Ian huffed. “Not baby.”

“My little thief.” Owen hugged him closer and nuzzled his neck. “God, you smell good.”

“It’s the soap,” Ian croaked, no doubt aware of Owen’s cock sitting thick in his crack. “I smell like you, actually.”

“Even better,” Owen murmured. “Now how about we take this to bed, so you can show me that black bag. After I tell you about my trip, right?”

Ian blew out a breath. “Right.” Then they kissed again, and Owen knew nothing but that he’d come home.

* * *

Ian lay on his side, propped on his elbow, and stared at Owen, who lay the same way, watching him. Ian had refused to let Owen do much of anything until he’d rebandaged his wound with some supplies he grabbed from under the sink. Now he found it difficult to do more than gaze at the handsome man who had yet to blink. Imagine Owen Stallbridge being as captivated with Ian as Ian was with him.

God, I told him my name. He still couldn’t believe he’d done that. He’d never told anyone the truth about who he really was. A last-ditch effort at keeping some part of himself safe, so that no one could touch that young, innocent boy and taint him with the lies and greed Ian too often found himself rolling in.

Owen leaned close and kissed him, a soft caress that brought those butterflies in Ian’s stomach back to life.

“I have to trust you with this.”

Ian nodded, solemn. He had a feeling Owen meant to share something not many knew. It scared him to think Owen might believe in him that much. And it humbled him, because for once, a man he actually respected was taking him seriously. It had been so long since he’d had that kind of trust and respect. Years ago, back before he’d learned what his government was really like, before his ideals had been stripped away, he’d had that same force of conviction.

“I…” Owen stared into his eyes. “Why did you tell me your name?”

Ian fidgeted but couldn’t break that stare. “Does it matter?”

“To me, yes.”

Ian felt the intensity of that answer like a punch to the stomach. He saw Owen, truly observed what he’d been hemming and hawing around. The patterns fit, the growing affection, the care, the teasing. That look… Holy shit. It was love. But Owen’s or Ian’s, Ian couldn’t yet say.

He swallowed hard. “I—you—it mattered. And I wanted you to know.”

“Thank you.” Owen grazed Ian’s lip with his finger.

Ian continued, needing to get the words out before he lost his nerve. “You don’t look at me like the others do. I’m not a fuck toy to you. And I’m not a joke.”

Owen frowned. “Who looks at you that way?”

“Please. I’m pretty. Everyone sees me as a fuck toy at some point,” Ian tried to tease, but Owen didn’t smile. “Well, I am pretty.”

“You’re beautiful.”

Said with conviction, the words meant more uttered by Owen than they’d ever meant by anyone else.

Ian blushed. “I am, but I’m a troublemaker, according to the guys at the gym. I like to have fun. Life is boring without a little risk. But they see me as a screwup. A joke they have to babysit.” And it had annoyed him after a while. At first, he’d liked being the one who kept the team on their toes. But they refused to see beyond the mask he wore. Owen didn’t. “You treat me like an equal.” Which still surprised him.

“You are. We’re the same in so many ways.” Owen stroked his cheek, his eyes soft.

Ian’s eyes burned, shocking him with the fierceness of his reaction. He blinked rapidly and coughed to cover his emotion, but he didn’t think he’d been successful, because Owen’s smile looked way too tender for comfort. Ian cleared his throat. “Yeah, well. It’s hard for me to see a rich guy who can have anyone he wants being my twin.”

Owen snorted. “Ian, let me ask you something. You stayed away from the government for years on end. If you wanted to vanish tomorrow, could you?”

“Yes.” Finally. Someone realized his potential.

“Another thing. If you wanted to sink me financially, you could throw some serious wrenches in my system. Moving money around, breaking into banks. Hacking DoD?”

With a modest huff, he nodded. Man, having Owen know what he was capable of was such a turn-on.

“Right. Like I thought.”

Now Owen looked smug. His light-colored hair swept over his forehead, masking those brilliant green eyes. Ian couldn’t look at a blade of grass without thinking about his lover.

Owen continued. “You’re smart. You make me laugh. And you could be as rich as you wanted if you worked hard for it. Illegally or legally, I’m saying.” Owen grinned. “But little thief, you’re here now, with me. And I hope you know I’ll never take you for granted.”

Not a declaration of love, but God, Ian’s throat was balled up with emotion. He nodded.

Owen blew out a breath. “I don’t want you to see me differently if you know… Only Heather and a few people, less than I can count on one hand, know what I really am.”

“Not Jack?”

“Not even Jack,” Owen said quietly.

“Owen, you can tell me. I kind of already know, actually.”

Owen frowned. “You do?”

“When Linda bought it, that heart attack out of nowhere, yeah, I put it together. Along with the other odd deaths loosely tied to your family, I think I know your superpower.”

Owen remained silent, his gaze watchful.

“You’re a psychic assassin, am I right?” Ian knew a moment’s fear at saying the words aloud, because holy crap, that was some scary shit. But when Owen remained mute, cautious, he saw his lover’s real worry. Not that Ian would tell anyone, but that Ian might reject that part of him integral to Owen’s being. Ian smiled. “I knew you were in on Linda’s death. Chloe owes me money.”

“You bet on that?” Owen blinked in astonishment.

“Honey, I bet on everything. Besides, it’s those ‘I told you so’ moments that make life worth living.”

Chapter Ten

Ian’s calm acceptance seemed to thaw Owen’s stiffness. “You knew all along.”

“Not exactly. It’s one thing, living with pyros and kinetics. Then there’s Aidan, who’s an annoying mind reader. But you’re the first psychic assassin I’ve met.”

“Ah, could you keep that to yourself? Assassin is an ugly word.”

“Oh sure. Right. What do you prefer?” Something he’d heard mentioned, a long time ago, popped up to fit a missing piece in the puzzle of Owen Stallbridge. “Oh my God. It’s you. You’re the Fixer.” Fix the Fixer—Avery’s instructions via Keegan. “You’re a legend.” Or at least, he had been. But this trip with Caleb… “Are you still active?”

Owen looked uncomfortable, but to his credit, he didn’t pull away. “I haven’t done any contract work for a while. But Caleb needed something done.” His face turned stoic, and Ian tried to wipe the numbness away.

“Tell me.”

Owen sighed. “A very bad man, abusing children in ways no one should ever have to experience, was making a mess in South America. I took care of him. Except somehow, Kerr knew about it.” He frowned.

“Not good. So tell me how it works. Oh, and if you think I’d ever judge you for killing something like that, think again. Life isn’t black-and-white, Owen. I’m all about the gray.”

“Thank God.”

Owen kissed him again, and Ian remained pliant, not wanting Owen to feel in any way rejected or that Ian might be afraid of him.

“Is it wrong that I find you even sexier now?”

Owen laughed and pushed Ian onto his back. He moved on top of him, a bit awkwardly, what with his leg and a huge erection between them.

“I was worried you’d be afraid of me.”

“Do you plan to kill me?”

Owen’s mirth left him. “Never, little thief. You’re the safest person on the planet next to Heather.”

Ian felt a burst of joy. Being put on the same level of affection as Owen’s sister meant more than words could say.

“I found out about my power later in life,” Owen explained. “We knew Heather could heal. Mom and Dad had vestiges of talent. You would have liked my mom. She could spot a fraud from a mile away. No conning her on anything.”

“Nice.”

“My dad had a head for money. Guy could finagle a deal with eerie success. He really grew the business. I think I get some of that from him.”

“That’s a great talent to have.” Ian stared up at Owen, willing his lover to continue. Their closeness seemed to deepen, and he reveled in it, not wanting to think about tomorrows or endings but to hold this tight to his chest and never let go.

“Yeah. For years, I was just the ungifted, smart one.” Owen’s smile faded. “And then the Kerrs happened. Jacob had my parents killed, and I was pissed beyond reason. It turned something on in my brain, I think. I met with Jacob in private, told him I knew he’d done wrong. And when he couldn’t convince me to sell him back the company, he threatened Heather. I lost it. I grabbed him by the arm, and a huge surge of hate left me. Nailed him right in the heart.”

“You knew what you were doing?” Ian asked carefully, curious.

“No, but I can’t say I wasn’t happy about it.”

“I’d feel the same way.”

Owen rested on his forearms and lowered his mouth to Ian’s. The kiss didn’t last long enough.

“I left him twitching. No one saw me leave his office, since it had been late at night when we met. I went home and confessed what I’d done to Heather, and she cried. But she never told me I’d been wrong, and I love her for that. But the Kerrs knew. Henry and Carl pegged me for the death, though they could never prove it.”

“How do you do it?”

“At first, by touch.”

Owen wrapped his hand around Ian’s throat, to scare him? When Ian just lay there, Owen sighed.

“You really aren’t bothered by this at all, are you?”

“Should I be?” Ian figured if Owen meant to kill him, there wasn’t anything he could do about it, so why stress?

“No. Don’t ever be bothered by this.” Owen kissed him again, but this time he ground his cock against Ian’s belly. “You have no idea how much I want you right now.”

“Finish the story first.” Ian wanted everything.

“Fine. But I’m taking that ass in another minute or so.”

“Oh, we’re going to play. You can be sure of that.” Ian bucked up against him, aroused and not wanting to hide it.

“Shit. Fine. Quick version—I met with an old friend of my dad’s who was into some psychic research for the government. He paired me with Caleb, who’s a telepath and telekinetic. Double threat.”

“I really don’t like that guy,” Ian muttered with the jealousy he’d tried to ignore for the man entwined with Owen’s past renewed.

“Ian, Caleb is as straight as an arrow, trust me.”

Ian glared.

“Oh stop. He’s my spotter and a good friend, nothing more.”

“Spotter?”

“You know how snipers use a spotter to guide them to a target? Well, Caleb and I as a team expanded my range. At first, Caleb would have to be very close to tap into the target’s psyche. Then I connect with him and, through him, hit the mark. Thing is, when I fly down the tunnel, as I see it, I merge with the mark. I see what he or she is really like, and I know what I’m doing. I can pull back if need be, though it’s hard. That’s only happened once.” He frowned. “I will never take an innocent life. The men and women I’ve put down have done ugly, ugly things.”

“It stays with you.” Ian understood more about Owen’s gift. Not such a blessing after all.

“It does. I used to worry that I’d start to turn into them. The evil has a feel. Like a cloying sweetness, hiding the rot underneath. I hate it,” he growled. “And when I’m done, I’m weak. The blast of energy I shoot into them takes from me. The closer I am, the harder it is to remain separate.”

Ian nodded, stroking Owen’s strong arms. “With Linda, she was close. You had to touch her.”

Owen shook his head. “No. But she was close enough I reached her with no problem. That guy in Venezuela who just died. Caleb tapped into him. I was miles away when I arrowed into him. Fucking pedophile was into torture and blood sport, and those were his hobbies when he wasn’t selling meth and guns on the streets.”

“Shh. You did good, baby.” Ian ran his hands over Owen’s shoulders to his face. “Real good.”

“You going to reward me?” Owen asked in a thick voice.

“I am, but only because you came back in one piece.” The only fly in the ointment that Ian could tell—he didn’t like Owen’s ties to the government. He didn’t trust the bastards. They’d used him when it was convenient, then tried to wipe him off the planet. They could and probably would do the same to Owen.

“I don’t like the work anymore, not that I ever did. But some things are best left to others now. I only do the occasional favor for a personal friend of mine. Someone I’d trust with my life.”

Ian nodded slowly. “I guess. I just… Be careful with them, Owen.”

Owen’s expression eased. “Baby, I know what happened to you. You stumbled over the wrong conspiracy at the wrong time. But you did good, and you got out. You’re so smart, so sexy.” He paused. “It’s no wonder…” Owen leaned down to kiss him again.

No wonder what? But then Ian couldn’t think anymore, because Owen had sucked his nipples into a warm mouth, and his hand gripped Ian’s cock, rubbing over the moisture at his slit.

“Oh, yeah. Time for some fun with my new master,” Ian teased, out of breath.

“Not new master, your only master,” Owen corrected in a guttural voice. He reached for the little bag on the nightstand. “Now what’s in here, I wonder?”

OWEN HANDED THE bag to Ian, who took it with shaky hands he tried to hide. Good. Owen didn’t want to be the only one who’d fallen off an emotional cliff. He’d never thought to share all that with Ian, at least, not so soon. But the look in his thief’s eyes, that soft encouragement… Fuck. Ian had truly stolen his heart.

“Show me what you brought, thief.”

Ian dug around and withdrew a set of nipple clamps attached to a Y chain that led down to an adjustable cock ring made of leather. A cock ring—one of his favorite toys.

“Jesus. I want to see this on you right now.” Owen grabbed the thing from him and held it tight. “Lube?”

“Yeah,” Ian rasped. He handed Owen the lube and lay back, looking excited to have Owen put his toys to use.

“Let’s see. Your nipples need to be harder.” Owen sucked them to stiff attention before setting the clamps over them. They went on firm but not too hard, no doubt set to Ian’s level. Ian’s cock jumped, and Owen loved the slick sheen at his slit. His boy was more than excited. “Oh beautiful. Ian, fuck. I wish I had a camera.”

“Me too.”

Owen smiled. “I’m going to fuck you raw, little thief.” He needed to grease up, but he couldn’t take his eyes from the leather cock ring hanging by the chain.

Ian tried to spread his legs wider, but Owen still covered his thighs. He moved back and tugged the ring, which pulled at the clamps, effectively causing his lover to arch up off the bed in a breathy moan. “Fucking gorgeous.” He took the ring and unfastened the Velcro, pleased they wouldn’t have a constriction problem. This way he could make the ring tighter or looser, depending on Ian’s response.

Owen expertly wrapped the thin leather band around the base of Ian’s cock, under his testicles. He cinched it closed, and Ian sucked in a breath.

“Not too tight?”

“No, it’s fine. Please, lube up. I am so hard right now.”

Owen chuckled. “Yes, you are.” He still felt pain in his leg, but it was barely noticeable next to the fullness in his balls. “I want you to get me wet with your mouth. I’m going to lie here, and you’re going to show me what belongs to me. Then you’re going to bend down, on your hands and knees, with that tight ass in the air, and suck my cock.”

“Oh yeah.”

“Yes, Sir.”

Ian moaned. “Yes, Sir.”

He and Owen switched positions. Owen sat up against the headboard and laced his fingers behind his head. “Let me see you, thief.”

Ian stood proudly, his nipples caught in the clamps, the thin silver chain bisecting his corded belly to attach to the ring at the base of his shaft. His ruddy cock bobbed in time with his movements, the long rod out for display.

“Fucking beautiful. Bring it closer. Master wants a treat.”

Ian’s breathing was harsh, his eyes wild. He’d never looked more untamable…or vulnerable. So much smaller than Owen, yet so strong.

“You are without a doubt the most amazing creature I have ever seen in my life.” Owen clenched Ian’s hips as his boy bent his knees to angle that pearly cock toward Owen’s lips. “Now give me a taste.”

“Owen. Oh yeah,” Ian moaned as Owen licked his slit clean. “God, yes. Suck me. Let me come down your throat. I am so hard.”

Like a warm piece of velvety steel. Owen sucked him deeper, laving his crown and wanting more. He wanted to come deep in Ian’s ass and watch the man explode all over himself, that seed raining over his belly like a creamy waterfall.

Owen eased off Ian’s cock and tugged him back. “On your knees, boy. Let’s see you suck some cock.”

Ian scrambled to his knees, but not before Owen got a hand on the chain. A brief tug and Ian jetted a small bit of fluid.

“Not yet, Owen. Please.”

“Knowing you’re a breath from coming is so fucking hot.” Owen watched while Ian knelt, waving his ass in the air. He didn’t wait but engulfed Owen in one hot suck that made his eyes cross.

Owen arched into Ian’s mouth, fucking him without realizing it as Ian bobbed in time. Before he lost control entirely, he wrapped his hands in Ian’s hair and pulled. “You little bitch. Not yet.”

Ian moaned. “Yes, Sir. God, do that again.”

Owen pulled his hair, and Ian went down on him again, moving with Owen’s guidance. Once again pushed to the breaking point, Owen yanked him up and off his wet shaft. “Grease me up. I want in that ass. Now.”

Ian hurried to comply. When Owen was thoroughly slick, he moved off the bed. “Come here, and bring a pillow.” He arranged Ian at the side of the bed, his ass propped up on a pillow while Owen stood ready and willing to fuck.

He stared down at his lover, his boyfriend, and smiled. Ian looked like a work of art himself. The clamps and chain had been made to be worn by him. And that cock ring plumped his balls and made his cock look even larger. So wet and needy. For Owen.

“I want to watch this. We’re going to go slow…” He prodded Ian’s legs wider and positioned his cock at Ian’s hole. Then he took Ian’s cock in hand, rubbing his thumb over the slit while Ian writhed in frustration.

“Please. I need you in me.”

“Yes. You need me. Say it again.” Admit what I want more than my next breath.

“I need you, Owen.”

Owen pushed the head of himself in and nearly lost it. “Again,” he growled.

Ian didn’t blink. “I need you.”

He looked as open as Owen had ever seen him. And Owen had to have him. He slid slowly inside Ian while masturbating him, watching his lover get off while fucking him. He wanted to remain still, to enjoy the sensation of oneness. But he’d pushed them both too hard.

Owen started fucking him, long strokes in and out that hit Ian’s pleasure center, causing Ian to cry out, not even bothering to try to be quiet. Enraptured, Owen hammered harder and continued stroking Ian’s cock.

“Oh fuck. Oh fuck, gonna come. Owen, yes. Yes.”

Ian yelled as he shot like a geyser, his seed landing all over his belly and Owen’s hand. He babbled incoherently as he released, and Owen reluctantly let him go so he could put his full attention on his own pleasure. It took three more thrusts before he lost his sanity.

“Ian,” he cried as he came harder than he ever had in his life. Oddly enough, he swore he felt a surge of power, not unlike what he sometimes experienced with Caleb, as he came. A psychic as well as a physical connection. And God knew, he already had an emotional tie to his lover.

“Fuck. I love you, little thief. I love you so much.” He thought he’d whispered it. At least, he prayed he had. But as he slumped over Ian and caught his breath, he felt Ian’s tight hug and a whisper of words over his shoulder. He just wished he knew what his little thief might have said.

IAN WANTED TO believe what he thought he’d heard, but he knew all too well that sometimes things said in the heat of lust meant nothing more than a damn good time. He didn’t mention it, nor did Owen. Not the next morning, or the next day after that.

A quiet week passed where Owen caught up on business and healed. Caleb had left with a promise to return soon. From the quiet way he and Owen would stand together sometimes, Ian knew they talked telepathically about dangerous crap Owen didn’t want him to worry about. He would have been more offended if Owen didn’t often include him with other matters in the household. That, and Owen had been fucking him like crazy, with a desire that still took Ian’s breath away. The man was hung like a stallion and didn’t care who knew he and Ian had a relationship. He now kissed Ian openly, in front of the others.

And no one seemed to care.

He’d also made a place for Ian in his life. Ian had been more than happy to take care of a few administrative matters for Owen to ease his own mind, like beefing up the man’s pitiful online security system. The Knoxes and Tim could worry about the physical security of the place, but Owen’s real vulnerabilities, in Ian’s opinion, lay in his weak firewalls.

He managed to beat Owen at cards but lost at Scrabble both times they’d played, and he’d never been happier to lose. So satisfying to have a worthy opponent once more. Tim seemed just as glad not to have to play with Ian again.

They’d had a family movie night just last night, and the confused expression on Tim’s face at being included had moved Ian. When he’d lain with Owen in bed, they’d talked about how well everyone fit in at the Bend home. The Bend home. It no longer weirded him out that Owen had more than one place to live.

He knew it was only a matter of time before Kerr attacked or Owen had to leave to address concerns in the financial world he’d been holding off. It felt surreal, being here with people who liked him. Even the Knoxes had thawed toward him, especially once Ian had given Reuben a few hints about how to woo Dolly from things he’d overheard her say. From the big smile on the guy’s face this morning and Dolly’s blush anytime she looked his way, Ian thought Reuben might have gotten lucky last night.

Too bad Joe moved like a snail around Tim. To Ian and Owen’s surprise, Tim was shy when it came to dating. If Joe didn’t make a move, nothing would happen. But instead of letting Ian give Joe a few pointers, Owen had advised him to let them be. Reuben didn’t see Ian as a threat with Dolly. Joe might not take the advice so well. A smart suggestion, considering Ian would belt Joe in the mouth if he thought about telling Owen how to handle him.

“Ian, could you come here for a minute?”

He waved at Bev and grabbed half a sandwich. “Hold on, oh lord and master.” He’d been having a grand time at Owen’s expense, and Owen allowed him the jeers. Only because Ian performed so well in bed as his slave, according to Owen. The big tease. “Where are you?”

“East wing,” sounded through the intercom on the wall.

The place had enough space that sometimes Ian turned in the wrong direction. He moved down the hallway toward the glass-enclosed sunroom and stopped. The door before the sunroom was open, and Owen stood inside.

“What do you think?” Owen asked.

Ian stepped cautiously into the room. “About what?” He saw a table and an easel, brushes, paints, and a few pieces of Owen’s more expensive art on the walls that hadn’t been there yesterday.

“This. Your office.”

“My office?” Ian gaped as he moved around. The sun was just setting outside, and the picturesque view he had of the mountains was to-die-for amazing.

“Well, not office exactly. There’s a computer desk I ordered, and the computer hasn’t come in yet. But I was thinking it could be a studio, you know. You like to paint, right?”

Owen had his hands in his pockets and seemed a bit tense. Ian didn’t know what to say. This seemed like a lot of trouble to go through for a few weeks’ stay. But the light in here couldn’t have been better. He had the sudden urge to create.

“You like it?” Owen asked again, frowning. “Because I could arrange something else. I just thought the light looked pretty good in here, and—”

“I love it!” Ian let himself be dramatic and spun around with his arms wide, laughing. He noticed the tension leave Owen’s broad shoulders, and a gorgeous smile lit his face. “Just think of all the great paintings I can reproduce! I’ll be a millionaire, like you, in no time.”

Owen shook his head. “Ian…”

“Oh relax. Don’t get your panties in a twist, sunshine. I’m teasing. I think I might try my hand at landscapes, since I have such a terrific view.”

“Maybe you could do one.” The pregnant pause sounded overly loud to Ian. “For our bedroom.”

“Really?” Our bedroom? “You’d want to hang something of mine in there?”

“An original, yes. Nothing copied.” Owen scowled. “And you need to tell Mannie Frankton that you’re withdrawing the Whistler he commissioned. That sucker’s mine.”

“Wait. What?” How had Owen found out about that? Ian had mentioned the etching he might copy a week ago to Mannie, his black-market contact. But now, the way he and Owen had been getting along, he wanted to keep their interaction private. He wouldn’t feel right selling anything to Mannie, not behind Owen’s back, at least.

“You have your sources. I have mine.” Owen winked at him, kissed him on the cheek, and sauntered out.

Had to be Tim. Ian shook his head, moved by Owen’s generosity. Our bedroom. Jesus.

It was getting harder to remind himself that Owen had been nice because of Kerr. Once that situation was remedied, he’d need to get back home to his things. His house. A place that meant a lot less to him, the more time he spent with his boyfriend.

Ian warmed. He had a boyfriend. Maybe he and Owen could continue once this ended. They wouldn’t be as tight, of course, but hell, Owen had trusted him with personal secrets he didn’t share with anyone else. He liked Ian as a person. They could at least remain friends.

Thoughts of the future without Owen depressed him, so Ian focused on his new studio. He didn’t like the paint color in here, so he decided he’d go with a creamy blue. No, green, a subtle jade over one wall to match Owen’s eyes… Better yet, a mural.

He might not be staying forever, but he’d sure as hell give Owen something to remember when he was gone.

Chapter Eleven

Owen knew the time would come when he and Ian would have to rejoin the real world again. Their week together had been ideal, and he’d been allowed to see the charming soul buried beneath the joking con man. Bev and Dolly had already given their subtle seals of approval.

Reuben had hinted at expanding the outdoor space to include a private spa, since Ian had mentioned how much he liked to soak in the indoor one. Even Joe seemed to have thawed toward Owen’s little thief. Tim thought Ian walked on water. Instead of wanting a transfer after keeping an eye on him for a few days, Tim insisted on making sure of Ian’s continued safety.

If not for the man’s less than subtle interest in Joe, Owen might have been jealous. It was as if Ian had brought life and love into his house. Reuben and Dolly were openly dating. Joe kept inching closer to Tim. And Bev cooked like a dream while testing recipes for her upcoming cookbook, eagerly awaiting the changes to the place she could see coming. Though she’d never met any of his past dates, she’d told Owen Ian was her favorite by far. Charming, handsome, and he had the good taste to fall in love with Owen.

If only. Owen knew Ian felt more for him than lust. But how much more? He wanted badly to press Ian to stay, but he still worried about scaring the man away.

And then there was Kerr to take care of.

“Boss, you need to hear this,” Tim said quietly from just behind him.

Owen turned and followed Tim to his office, where Joe stood with an angry expression. Caleb stood with him, having apparently returned a day early.

“Caleb.”

“Owen. Wish I’d brought better news.”

He ran a hand through his hair, so that it stood on end.

“I did some digging. You’re not going to like this.”

“Hell. Tell me.”

Caleb propped his hip against Owen’s desk. “Rumor has it Kerr put a hit on the admiral’s favorite cleanup specialist.” Meaning a hit on the Fixer.

“You’re kidding.”

“I wish. But that means somehow an identity got blown.”

They’d face that later. “Who’s got the hit?”

Caleb shook his head. “Mickelson.”

He snorted. “Ronald Mickelson?”

Tim and Joe followed the conversation like spectators at a tennis match.

“Who’s Mickelson? And who’s been targeted?” Joe asked. “I’m assuming you, Owen.”

“Yeah, me. Targeted by a nut job who thinks he’s psychic.” He laughed, but when Caleb refused to join in, he sobered. “Tell me the rest.”

“Well, the thing is, Mickelson went off the rails a while ago. He had no talent to speak of. Could barely squeeze a trigger. But then the PWP got their hands on him because he had a friend in a high place. Next thing you know, Mickelson’s a rogue pyro.”

“Hold on.” Tim frowned. “You told us about the PWP. But are you saying this Mickelson character is after Owen, and he can control fire? Is that what you mean by pyro?”

Caleb nodded.

“So we take him out quick.” Joe made a gun with his hand and wiggled his thumb. “Bang.”

“A great idea, if we could find him. But Kerr is deep, and we have no idea where he’s hiding. Owen, I’m worried that if we let this stand, Kerr is going to drag this out for weeks, months. Hell, years. He wants to worry you, and having you fret about your sister and everyone here all the time is gonna wear thin. You need to take him out. Not wait.”

To Owen’s surprise, Tim agreed. “Yes, sir. He’s right. Take the offensive.”

Owen hadn’t wanted to share this yet. “I would, but a few days ago, he sent me an e-mail. He says if I even think about coming after him until he’s ready, he’ll start randomly killing people in town. Folks I might or might not know.”

“You mean shoot up Bend’s residents?” Joe asked, incredulous.

“Yes.” Owen sighed. “He’s a psychopath. He doesn’t care who he hurts as long as he’s happy.”

“So throw down the gauntlet and kill the fucker,” Caleb insisted.

“There’s a better way to ensure Kerr goes along with your plan,” Tim offered quietly.

Everyone turned to watch him.

“Give him something of yours, something valuable. Let him think he has the upper hand. Then take him down.”

“Something valuable?”

Joe’s eyes widened. “Oh, right. Yeah, Owen. Someone you care about. That’s actually a solid plan.”

Owen shook his head. “I’d never knowingly give a friend of mine to Kerr. And certainly not Heather or…oh hell, no.” Ian. So that’s who Tim had meant. Funny, because Owen had thought better of him.

“Don’t look at me like that, sir,” Tim protested. “It was Ian’s idea, and a good one.”

“What?”

Ian, naturally, had to stick his head in at that moment. “Problem?”

Owen glared at him with such violence, Ian took a step back. “You. Come with me.”

“Oh hell. Take five, guys,” Caleb said with a groan.

Owen dragged Ian with him down the hall and up the stairs to the bedroom. He needed privacy for this. After slamming the door behind them both and locking it, he turned to Ian. “What the fuck are you thinking?”

“Since I’m not sure what you’re talking about, you’ll have to be more specific. Because whenever I’m in here with you, I’m normally thinking about fucking.”

It took a lot to make Owen lose his temper, but thoughts of his precious thief in Kerr’s clutches made him see red.

“Owen, relax, man.” Ian took another step back, and Owen pounced. He dragged Ian to him and kissed him with anger and passion, too confused to know which made more sense. Hunger overwhelmed him, as did fear.

He drew back, panting. “You will not put yourself in harm’s way with Kerr. Promise me. He’ll kill you, Ian.”

Ian moaned and slaked his mouth back over Owen’s. “But it’ll help you get rid of him.”

“Not at your expense.” Owen needed to have him, to stake his claim. Spiraling out of control, he pushed Ian face-first against the door and yanked the man’s jeans open, then dragged them down his thighs. Unable to stop, he freed himself from his pants and spit on his hand, then rubbed his dick. “I can’t wait.”

“Oh shit. You are so hot when you’re like this,” Ian moaned.

Owen did his best to get slick, but he knew the taking would be rough. And he needed Ian to feel it. To feel him. Spitting some more, he lubed himself as best he was able and put his dick between Ian’s cheeks. He pushed, harder when Ian’s body resisted.

“Does it hurt? Do you like this pain?” he rasped, turned on by the primitive possession yet hating himself for doing this. “Do you know how bad Kerr will hurt you?”

“Fuck, Owen. Don’t stop. That is so good. Oh, it burns.” Ian moaned and rocked back against him, and then Owen was fucking him without cease.

Climbing higher toward climax, fulfilling his own desire and to hell with Ian’s. But he couldn’t stop himself. He hammered harder in Ian’s tight ass and reached around to find his lover hard and hot and dripping wet.

“You little slut.”

“Oh God. Please. Yes, Owen. Yes.”

Ian hissed as he came all over Owen’s hand, and Owen couldn’t stop. He made Ian beg him for more while he climaxed on a groan.

The orgasm relieved and enraged him, because he hadn’t solved a fucking thing by acting like a possessive asshole. They stood there, Owen buried to the hilt in his lover while Ian gasped underneath him, pressed to the door.

Owen hated to confess the truth like this, but he couldn’t stop himself. “I love you, Ian. No way in hell I’m going to let Kerr take you from me.” Still buried in his ass, he felt his lover tense and groaned at the gloving sensation still around his cock. “You mean too much to me.”

Ian swore. “Hell. You had to go and say it, didn’t you?”

“It’s the truth.”

“The truth is… Fuck. You don’t know the half of it.”

Ian squirmed beneath him, but if anything, his actions aroused Owen anew.

“Stop moving,” Owen warned. “I could too easily go again.”

“What are you, inhuman?” Ian rasped. “Fine. I’ll say it just like this, with your rod buried up my ass.”

Ian wiggled again, and Owen clamped his hands on his waist to hold him still.

“I’ve been trying to deny it, but you caught me. I don’t want to leave. I like the room you gave me. I like Bev and Dolly and even Tim. I think this house is wonderful, but it’s the tight group that gives it that down-home charm. Tacky but true. And you’re such an asshole.”

“Me?” Owen blinked at the dark head facing the wall, aware Ian refused to look at him. He also remained semihard inside him, unwilling to let go.

“You made me fall in love with you, okay? And now I can’t steal from you or try to rob you, because it feels wrong. And that sucks, because that’s what I do. So you say you trust me.”

“Oh, little thief, I do.” Owen felt tears burning behind his eyes, and he kissed Ian’s neck, so fucking happy to feel his boy trembling. This wasn’t some joke or a way to manipulate him. Not this. “You mean so much to me.”

“Then prove it.”

Ian gripped him tight again, clenching his ass.

“Let me target him for you. I’ll sucker him in, con him into taking me. Then you find me and take him out. I know you can do it, Owen. Let me do this for you. If we’re going to be partners, you have to let me in.”

Owen groaned and hugged Ian tighter. He started moving again, needing to fill his lover with himself all over again. “Ian, I can’t lose you. I just can’t.”

“You won’t. Trust me, baby.” Ian paused. “Trust me the way I trust you.”

After a moment, Owen caved. “You little shit. Fine.”

Ian’s laugh turned into a groan as Owen reached for him again.

“But first you owe me another orgasm. I want it all over the door this time. And you are in for a world of hurt if this goes south. Do you hear me?”

“Yes, Sir.”

Owen swore when his cock hardened even more. “You owe me for this.”

“I owe you everything, Owen. Because I’m yours.”

“Yes, you are.” And then no more words were spoken, and the love flowed as free as their passion.

* * *

“You do realize this is the dumbest thing you’ve ever done, right?” Jack asked as he stood with Owen and Caleb in a swanky penthouse in Portland. Except Jack wasn’t Jack, exactly. He looked like the spitting image of Heather, right down to the Stallbridge green eyes. Even the voice sounded the same. It was uncanny, and not a little bit freaky. And especially weird that only Owen knew Heather wasn’t Heather.

Jack/Heather continued, “I mean, I understand you wanting to kill Ian. But there are easier ways to do it than inviting Kerr into your bedroom.”

Owen glared at her—him. Hell. He did his best to keep Jack’s cover, because they all knew the penthouse had been bugged. That, and Jack didn’t tell just anyone that he could shift shapes. Talk about weird even on the psychic scale. “Just because you’re my sister doesn’t mean I won’t hurt you. In ways you can’t imagine.”

Caleb chuckled at the dark look Jack/Heather gave him. “He’s serious, honey. You have no idea what my boy can do.”

“Your boy is a real Fixer. Yeah, I know,” Jack/Heather said smoothly. With a good deal of respect too.

“Damn. Who the hell doesn’t know who you are?” Caleb bitched.

“Relax. It’s my job to know things.”

At Caleb’s surprised look, Jack/Heather smoothly amended, “Though my big brother doesn’t think I know what he’s done for our country, I do, and I’ve never told anyone.” Meaning Jack knew, but he’d never told Heather.

They stared at each other in silence before Caleb broke the tension. “If you two are gonna kiss and cry, could you do it now? I have things to do.”

“Fuck off, Caleb,” Owen said.

Jack/Heather snorted. “Oh, and by the way, I’m supposed to tell you that Gavin isn’t happy you’re in town, but his boyfriend said to say thanks. And be glad that one is on your side, ’cause he scrambles brains like Bev scrambles eggs.”

Good old Aiden Marshall.

“Nice to know.” Caleb grinned. “So is your boyfriend’s special team here to help? DC is pretty impressed. The last two jobs his guys worked went off without a hitch.”

Jack/Heather nodded. Owen knew Jack had begun doing select work he chose for the government, working closely with Admiral London, a man Owen greatly admired. “Yeah, well, as long as Lonnie is involved, Jack says he’s in. He’s the only government guy my wonderful fiancé will work for. Him or Alicia.” Admiral London’s wife, a woman not quite human.

Owen knew a lot about things he wasn’t cleared to know, and he had no plans on sharing. Though he trusted Caleb, the less Caleb knew about certain things, the better off he’d be. Owen and Jack shared the same thought, apparently, for Heather/Jack’s lips quirked in a grin.

Owen nodded. “Good old Alicia.”

Caleb frowned. “Isn’t she—”

Owen cut him off. “Could we please focus on the fact that my boyfriend is currently sitting on an island off the coast with Carl Kerr, who could be doing any manner of things to him?” “While a dozen men are infiltrating the penthouse as we speak? To include a crazy pyrokinetic, I might add?” he added telepathically.

Owen should have been more worried, but Caleb had assured him Ian was both annoying and healthy. Caleb kept in mental contact, constantly alerting Owen to any changes. This close, Owen could easily kill Kerr. If the bastard would show himself.

Earlier that morning, they’d staged their trip to Portland and had been deliberately separated so Kerr would find it easy to kidnap Ian. Meanwhile, the real Heather remained in Bend far away from Jack, secretly watched over by the PowerUp! team, while Jack, as Heather, pretended to be with Owen, where he could “keep an eye on her.” Personally, it all gave Owen a headache.

Yet it had worked. Ian had been kidnapped, and Owen, Caleb, and Jack/Heather waited in Owen’s penthouse for Kerr’s men to show. Kerr no doubt figured he could divide Owen’s attention by killing not only his lover, but his sister as well.

The smell of smoke filled the outside patio overlooking the Columbia River.

“Here we go,” Owen telepathically said to Caleb. He nodded at Jack/Heather, who nodded back.

“I smell smoke. You two stay here while I check it out,” Caleb ordered and disappeared into the shadows. “If I can take him out, let me. I need you able to focus once we lock on to Kerr.”

“Fine. But do it. I’m itching to act before this goes sour.”

“Relax. Ian is right now charming the pants off some dude named Neever. And…oh good. I think Kerr is finally showing himself. Ian said they entered the caretaker’s cottage on the island.”

Owen took a deep breath and let it out. Time to play his part. “Heather, honey, we need to get out of here. I smell smoke.”

Jack/Heather hugged his arm. “Owen, hurry. I smell it too. The penthouse is on fire!”

The lights went out. Before the explosion Owen had been waiting for, screams sounded. Cries of pain from men Caleb had gutted. Then all sound ceased. Owen had a gun by his side, ready to fire. He and Jack/Heather took cover behind a large couch directly inside the open patio doors. Then Jack/Heather left him to put a hurt on their adversaries. Though Owen couldn’t see what happened next, Caleb gave him a play-by-play, his night-vision goggles a good forethought.

“Yeah. Six of them are down. Jack’s guy Price is slamming them around like toy blocks. Ouch. Another went out.” Keegan Price, Jack’s telekinetic and his cousin’s husband, could crush a car with a thought. Apparently skeletal systems and major organs were nothing compared to a ton of steel.

“Come on, motherfuckers. Put up a fight.” Price’s deep Texan drawl sounded from Owen’s direct right.

He felt movement by his side and stood, coming face-to-face with Mickelson. Uh-oh.

“Well, well. My old buddy, Owen Stallbridge. I heard you’d retired, man.” Mickelson smiled, and his eyes glowed as pinpoints of red flame danced in his hands.

Not good. Owen thought they’d already taken care of him. And then the heat started, and his flesh felt way, way too hot.

* * *

Ian had no idea why the chatty guy next to him didn’t blow his own brains out. Annoying, yet easy to manage. Like so many others, he bought Ian’s queen-of-the-keep routine.

“Yeah, boss is going to drill you good, boyfriend.” The talkative Neever chuckled. “He likes ’em pretty. And while he’s doing you, you’ll be on a live feed, so Stallbridge can watch you raped to death. It’s ugly, sure, but the boss is a master at making the pain last.”

“Ew. Hello? Pretty man, sitting right here. No need for your boss to kill me. I can make him happy, I just know it.”

Neever snorted and dragged him from a limo into a sunny cottage on a private island off the coast.

Ian contained a huff. He would have been terrified if he hadn’t agreed to do this. And if he hadn’t had that idiot Dalton in his brain at all times.

“I heard that,” Dalton answered in his mind. “Now quit being afraid, princess. Your buddy Keegan is wiping up the place with a huge-ass body count. And Heather is kicking serious ass, but in a pretty way. Man, no wonder Keiser put a ring on her. Nice roundhouse.”

“What?”

“Just focus on what’s happening around you. Soon as you see Kerr, you ping me. Shout, yell, get my attention pronto. Owen will do the rest.”

Ian mentally nodded. As much as he didn’t want Owen to have to kill Kerr, he knew Owen needed the closure and Kerr had to go. So Ian would do what he had to do to help. “You sure Owen’s okay? Dalton? Dalton?”

Great. The prick decided to go silent. Whatever.

Ian let Neever walk him into the cottage and took an immediate inventory. He cataloged the array of weapons stashed around what appeared to be a hunting cottage. Ian didn’t care to think about what they’d hunted out here. Knowing Kerr, probably people.

He followed Neever into a comfortable den. A huge sectional sofa in deep red was currently occupied by three young, naked men wearing collars affixed to chains on the floor. They lazed in wait, seeming not at all bothered by his presence.

“Stay.” Neever shook his finger at Ian before leaving him alone with the trio.

“Stay, my ass. Dick.” Ian muttered. He turned to the guys on the couch. “Ah, hi.”

“You’re pretty,” one of them slurred. “But he’s mine. My daddy has a big dick.”

Wow. That was so…ew. These guys looked young enough to be minors. And then referring to daddy with sex—gross. No wonder Owen hated it when Ian called him that. Not going there again.

“Right. So where is your daddy?”

He glanced around, seeing nothing but more of the same. Expensive furnishings. Sex toys and weapons out of reach of the chained young men. A fireplace currently burning, giving the room a nice, even temperature, considering the coolness of the island despite the summer season.

“Daddy is right here,” a new voice sounded from behind him.

Ian spun around and took his first good, hard look at Carl Kerr. Cute, if one went for the sadistic, skinny type. A glint of cruelty lingered in his light blue eyes. His blond hair looked meticulously cut, and he wore tailored slacks and a silk polo quite well.

Ian took the initiative. “My pleasure. You know, for all that Owen has said about you—and trust me, none of it has been complimentary—you’re a handsome psychopath.” Ian made sure to be flowery, fluttery, and as nonthreatening as possible while he flirted.

Kerr studied him with interest. “You’re a beautiful boy, aren’t you? No wonder Owen’s been keeping you close.”

“Dalton, he’s here. Hey, Caleb.” Nothing. Helping Owen, no doubt.

Ian called on his courage. He could handle this guy. A con man knew when to bait and switch. Time to work for his pay for a change. He grinned and held out a hand. “A pleasure, dear sir.”

“Oh, and such manners.” Kerr squeezed Ian’s fingers with force, his gaze locked to Ian’s.

Ian flinched. “Hey. Don’t damage the goods, strong man. I’m worth a lot unmarred.”

Kerr laughed. Not a sound to inspire confidence. “Oh, honey. When I’m through with you, you’ll be priceless beyond compare. Fielder, Koffman, take him into the back and strip him down.” His lips twisted, and he snorted. “Carefully. Best not to damage the merchandise until my good friend Owen’s here to see it destroyed up close.”

* * *

Owen stared through a haze of sweat at a man who was supposed to be dead. Why the hell had Keegan Price not killed the biggest threat first?

“I was promised a huge payout for burning you up. But not killing you, not yet,” Mickelson sang, his voice shrill and not fitting with the plain, average features of the psychotic he’d turned out to be. The man was notorious for washing out of early training, then having his father pay good money to give Junior whatever he wanted. Apparently, Ronald Mickelson had wanted to be a killer.

“Don’t forget the glory,” Owen said drily. “Anyone who can fix the Fixer will become legend.” He tried to stall while he listened to more destruction around him. Keegan, Caleb, and Jack must have been busy, or they’d have taken Mickelson out. Shit. That meant he’d have to save enough reserve to end Kerr once he fixed Mickelson. Because if he didn’t stop the man from pouring more heat into him, Owen would be ash and Ian dead for sure.

If he used too much of himself, he might die, but he couldn’t let anything happen to Ian. Not at Carl Kerr’s hands.

He grabbed Mickelson by the neck, shocking the man. Burns flashed over his hands. Mickelson’s fucking skin was like a furnace.

“Hey, Ronald.”

“Yes?”

Mickelson grinned at him, and Owen felt as if he’d become a human torch. Holy hell, but his hand hurt. “Fuck you.” Owen directed a blast into Mickelson’s mind, effectively shattering the precious hold he’d had on his version of sanity.

Explosions boomed around him, and Owen screamed as his hand literally caught fire, but he didn’t let go. He had to kill Mickelson before the bastard destroyed the others. He clamped down hard on the man’s mind, crushing his brain stem from within and smothering the organ so that his brain stopped functioning.

Mickelson didn’t make a sound. He just folded onto himself on the ground.

Owen remained standing, barely, and clutched his hand to his chest, the pain excruciating. But his mind was clear. A bit tired, but ready to help Ian.

“Caleb,” he yelled in his mind. “Where the hell is Ian? Do we have Kerr yet?”

He heard nothing back and had a sinking feeling. The power came back on, and lights flooded the penthouse. In the distance, sirens could be heard growing closer. Bullet holes riddled the walls.

“Owen, over here,” Keegan said as he coughed. Covered in soot and battling another fire, he stood with Jack, who no longer looked like Heather. Caleb lay under a fallen support beam, unconscious.

Owen’s tenuous link to Ian, severed at the worst possible time.

He met Jack’s gaze.

Jack scowled. “I know. I’ve got Aiden on standby. He’ll be here in an hour.”

“That’s if Ian has an hour.” Owen felt a cold sweat work its way over him.

“Jesus, Owen. I can see bone.”

Jack’s wide-eyed stare at his hand didn’t help, nor did the notion he was going into shock. “Ian. Have to find Ian.” Owen held on, praying for Ian to be strong. I’ll find you, little thief. Just hold on. “Caleb, wake the fuck up.” But Caleb didn’t move, and the blow to his head had left a large, purple-and-blue welt. A goose egg that looked really, really bad.

Chapter Twelve

Ian glared at the thugs holding him by the loop on the ugly-ass collar around his neck. When they entered the living room again, he shook his head and pretended his nudity didn’t bother him. “Please, Carl. This collar is hideous.”

Fielder and Koffman sneered at him and left him with Kerr at Kerr’s command. The playthings he’d had with him in the living room were gone, leaving just Kerr, Ian, and a big mounted camera before the roaring fire. Man, cliché of clichés, a bearskin rug lay before the monstrously large fireplace.

“You are just breathtaking,” Kerr said with wonder.

Appeased that at least the psycho had good taste, Ian nodded. “Thank you. Considering your own fair features, I appreciate the compliment.”

Kerr grinned and stared at Ian’s cock as if the thing would disappear. To Ian’s relief, he didn’t get the least bit hard.

“You’re well-endowed too. How lovely for Owen.”

Ian shrugged. “You do realize I’ve been looking for a sugar daddy for years, don’t you?”

“Oh?” Kerr wouldn’t fall for this. He couldn’t. But Ian had nowhere else to go with his playacting. Now to convince Kerr he’d switch teams without a care. “Caleb, you dick. Kerr is right here!” he sent as hard as he could.

Nothing.

“Tell me, darling,” Kerr tittered. “Is this where you convince me that I could make you happy and that Owen means nothing to you? That together, you and I can rule the world?”

“Okay, even for me that’s overly dramatic.” Ian shrugged and let the pretense drop. He immediately read Kerr and knew lying would get him nowhere. At least, not blatant lying. “Hey, it was worth a shot.”

Kerr seemed more interested. “So you admit you and Owen are a couple?”

“Sure. He’s madly in love with me.” Ian nodded. “I mean, look at this face, honey. And my body.” He did a pirouette and stuck out his ass. Kerr latched onto him like a magnet. “Did I mention I’m an A-plus cocksucker? Yes, I’m a gay man and proud of it.”

Kerr laughed. “Funny too.”

“Yes. Tell my boss that.”

“Owen?”

“No. He’s not my boss. Are you crazy?” All signs point to yes. “Dalton, pay attention. I’m naked, Kerr has a huge erection, and the camera is rolling. Um, time to step in, maybe?” “You never sleep with your employer, because when the relationship goes bad, as it usually does, then you’re out of a job too.”

“Intelligent as well. Ian Ryder, what can’t you do?”

Kerr took off his shirt and tossed it to the floor. He had enough muscle to make the possibility of taking him down difficult. Shove matches were not Ian’s style. He outthought, not outmuscled, his opponents.

“I’m guessing I can’t bribe my way out of this.” He motioned from him to Kerr.

“No, sorry.”

“Well, what if I told you about your father’s and brother’s deaths? What’s that worth?”

Kerr stopped moving. “What about them?”

Ian crossed his arms over his chest, too aware of his dick hanging free in the wind. Man, he’d never take being dressed for granted again. “Did you know Owen had them killed?”

“Of course.”

Ian narrowed his eyes. “But did you know how?” “Caleb, if you’re going to make a move, now’s the time.” Something had gone seriously wrong. Shit, shit, shit.

Kerr advanced and touched Ian’s chest. His small hands felt cold, clammy. Ian couldn’t suppress a shiver. He’d worried about rape when younger and on the streets, but he’d never let himself get this close to danger. And this was worse, because Kerr wanted to hurt not just Ian, but Owen as well.

“How?” Kerr wrapped one hand around Ian’s cock, the other around his throat, over the already tight collar.

Ian wanted to throw up. Instead, he kept his cool. “Owen did it himself,” he whispered.

Kerr stared at his mouth.

“With a thought,” Ian continued, then sneered. “You fucking shithead. Why do you think I let your men capture me? For a big bad villain, you’re not that smart.”

Kerr squeezed his neck and cock with equal pressure. And fuck, it hurt.

“How’s this for smart, you little queen?”

Ian didn’t want it to go like this, but he couldn’t break Kerr’s hold. A chain attached to his collar would have made a nice weapon. Too bad he didn’t have one. The pain in his groin made it impossible to concentrate on anything else.

“Hold on, Ian. Just a minute.” Dalton. Finally.

Ian felt a pressure on his mind, then a loosening as a bright light flashed in Kerr’s eyes. Kerr blinked.

“Wh-what?”

His grip lessened, and Ian threw himself back and watched Kerr stagger.

“No. No. Get out of my head. Stop it.” He gripped his hair and yanked. Chunks of hair and skin ripped out. Blood trickled from his nose, his ears, and even more disgusting, his eyes. “Owen! Fuck you. Leave me alone,” he screeched at the top of his lungs. He looked around him with wild desperation, and then he focused on the fire. “No!”

Kerr ran into it all the same, ramming himself headfirst into the flames.

The sight and smell of burned flesh made Ian sick, and he retched as Kerr screamed and flailed, burning to death as he watched. Expecting Kerr’s thugs to storm in to see what was happening, Ian stumbled to his feet and raced away from the fireplace.

“How many more?” Dalton asked, his voice distant.

“Three that I saw.” Yet no one arrived to help Kerr. No one responded to the screaming. “No one’s come in.”

“No one will. Sit tight, and we’ll be there in half an hour. Listen for the jet.”

They made it in twenty minutes. But they looked like hell. Ian had managed to lose the collar, thank God. He’d dressed in his own clothes again and wiped his prints from anything he might have touched in the off chance of an investigation. He’d also stepped over the bodies of Koffman, Fielder, Neever, and another guy and figured Owen must have gotten to them too.

When the cavalry arrived through the door, he turned to thank them, seeking his lover, needing his support. Keegan, Jack, and Dalton were there, dirty and bruised. No sign of Owen.

“Where’s Owen?” He started to panic. No way would Owen not be here to meet him unless he’d been hurt. “What the hell happened to you guys?” He stared at Dalton’s bruised forehead, thinking the guy looked about to pass out.

“We’re all good,” Dalton croaked. “Owen’s in the plane. He can’t move right now.”

“What happened?” Ian asked and ran past them, not waiting on an answer.

“Nothing Heather can’t fix,” Jack yelled.

Ian raced back behind the house to the small runway and hurried into the jet to see Owen lying in the back, his hand like hamburger, bloody and burned. He was also covered in soot, his clothes ragged. Ian threw himself to his knees and stroked his lover’s hair.

“Owen, baby. It’s over. We won.”

Owen didn’t stir, and Ian freaked. He started crying, breaking down. He’d finally found a man he could love, someone who knew and saw the real him. Only to lose him to a madman?

“Damn it, Ian.” Jack physically pulled him away and thrust him at someone else.

Ian couldn’t think straight. The trauma of the past twelve hours made his brain hurt. The kidnapping, the fear, the worry Owen might die…

“…be ready, honey. He looks terrible. Caleb’s hurt too, and I want you to check Ian. He’s irrational, even for him,” he heard Jack saying.

“Shut up, Jack.”

Dalton, defending him? A heavy arm wrapped around his shoulders and pulled him into a bench seat right next to Caleb. The plane took off before he could belt himself in, but Dalton held him tight.

“Don’t worry, buddy. Owen’s a fighter. He’ll be just fine.” Keegan grinned, but he looked pale.

They all looked terrible. Ian cried harder.

“Shit,” Dalton swore. “Don’t tell Owen I did this, okay?”

“Not a word,” Keegan answered.

“Ian?” Dalton’s voice was soft, caring.

That gentleness had Ian turning his way. So he wasn’t prepared for the fist to his jaw that knocked him out cold.

* * *

“I don’t care. I want him fired. Killed. Whatever you do with that psychic assassin stuff, take him out.” Ian huffed and refused to look at Dalton without glaring.

Owen sighed. It had been two weeks since they’d been back. He’d already warned Ian to lower his voice about the word assassin several times, but Ian wasn’t having it. The party was in full swing, a Labor Day to end all holidays. Having the entire PowerUp! team at his house in Bend, along with his family, as Ian insisted he call his team—Bev, Dolly, the Knoxes, and Tim—felt better than good. It felt great.

“He hit me, Owen.”

Still not letting that one go. Owen glanced over Ian’s shoulder at Caleb, who stood smiling at something Keegan said. He saw Owen looking at him and shrugged. He’d explained the situation to Owen, and frankly Owen agreed. Putting Ian out of his misery had been best for all concerned at the time. But try telling that to Ian.

“Fine. Want me to hit him back for you?”

Ian nodded and sniffed. So dramatic. But that spark in his eyes told Owen a reward would be forthcoming tonight in the bedroom.

So, for his precious little thief, he walked over to Caleb, pulled back his good hand—the other was taking longer to heal than he’d thought it might, even with Heather’s healing power—and punched Caleb in the gut. Considering Caleb’s stomach might as well have been steel, the man barely flinched.

“Shit. Make it look convincing, damn it,” he said in a low voice.

“The G-man not helpin’?” Keegan raised a brow, then grinned at him. “Watch this.”

He narrowed his gaze on Caleb, and Owen felt the psychic lash of the telekinetic in action.

Caleb bent over, clutching his belly. “Ow, fuckhead,” he muttered under his breath.

Not sure if he’d directed that at Keegan or him, Owen smiled, clapped him on the back, and said in a loud voice, “Thanks for saving him, Caleb. Ian is everything to me.”

Overhearing that, Ian clapped so loudly that everyone turned to stare. “My hero!”

Instead of making fun of him, the room exploded into applause. “Three cheers to Owen for taking on Ian!” That sounded like Chloe, Ian’s best buddy, whom he said he missed when not working the night shift. Her twin fiancées raised their glasses in salute.

Rory, Owen’s cousin, smiled at him and gave him a big hug. “I’m so happy for you, Owen. Now you and Ian can be the baby’s godparents.”

She’d found out that she was pregnant, and James and Keegan, the proud papas, couldn’t have been happier. At least, until now.

Keegan grimaced. “Rory, uh, how about we talk about this?”

James grinned. “I like Ian. Besides, Owen is loaded. He can spoil the kid, and we can still have date nights.”

“Isn’t it great?” Ian asked, his eyes twinkling.

Then Heather and Jack joined them, their hands intertwined. Heather’s wedding band glowed with an inset gem Rory had handpicked for her. Jack, for once, seemed happy. A true newlywed.

“Oh my God. Is Jack grinning?” Ian gasped as he crossed the room to Owen’s side.

The others started teasing Jack, who took their ribbing with good humor.

“I have an announcement too,” Heather said, and everyone quieted.

“She’s good,” Ian whispered. “Sexy crowd control. Just like you.”

“I know.” Owen hugged him close and kissed him on the cheek. He saw Tim and Joe standing close, and Reuben and Dolly cuddled like sweethearts. Bev had outdone herself once again, and his friends and family finally made this seem like a real home.

“Jack and I are so happy that all of you came to the wedding. Your friendship means a lot to us,” Heather was saying.

“Even Keegan’s?” Nathan, that smart-ass, jeered from the crowd.

Everyone laughed, especially when Keegan whined, “Aw, come on. Jack and me is tight now, right, buddy?”

Jack flipped him the bird, and Keegan guffawed.

Heather continued after glaring at her new husband, who shrugged and mouthed, What?

“We wanted you to be the first to know that I’m pregnant. So if Jack is a little more growly than usual for the next nine months, you’ll know why.”

The men in the crowd groaned as one, but the women gathered around Heather, squealing with delight.

Jack crossed his monstrously huge arms over his chest. “We’re very happy. Heather says I have to put you on notice as future babysitters. Well, not you, Nathan. But the others, yeah.”

Nathan complained about not being included until his lover Avery told him Jack was joking. “Right, Jack? Jack?”

“Oh, right.”

Didn’t sound like it to Owen. He glanced around and saw several of the men hugging one another. Nathan and Avery, Aidan and Gavin—who had cornered Caleb and was giving him what for—James and Keegan with Rory between them. Even Chloe with her twin loves and Kitty and her psychic-resistant boyfriend. So much love, unconventional though it might be, existed in this powerful group of psychics, lovers, and friends.

“Feels like family, huh?” Ian said with a smile.

Owen kissed him and then whispered, “You’ve never been more beautiful, little thief. I can’t wait to take you tonight.”

Ian blushed, and his good friend Noah came up to clap him on the back. Noah saw the past everywhere he looked, his particular ability rooted in seeing history. Tonight he looked at peace, as if seeing a brighter future. “Happiness looks good on you, Frank.” Ian’s old alias, the one he’d used when they’d first met.

Ian grinned. “Frank retired. I’m just Ian now.”

Noah laughed. “Lara will be glad to hear it. And you will be there for the birth, right?”

Lara was due to give birth in two months, but she wanted to do it in Arizona, in the place where she and Noah had met, back when Ian was working as an artist in a haunted little town.

“Wouldn’t miss it.” He shook Noah’s hand. “You leaving?”

“Yeah. Lara’s going to stick around, but I have some work to do for Jack. New cases, you know.” Noah turned to Owen. “Take good care of him. He’s a pretty great guy.”

Owen smiled. “Will do.”

Noah, once a reserved man, seemed less tense, and they watched him go.

Jack slapped Owen on the back. “You’re going to be an uncle. You good with that?”

Owen laughed. “You know it.” Then he winked at Ian and, in a louder voice, said, “If I can have everyone’s attention?”

They quieted and looked to him.

“It’s a pleasure being a part of your organization. Jack and you have been doing a stellar job. But I have to reorganize some business back East. While I’m gone, I’m putting a fine man in charge. He’s familiar with the workings of the gym and a real go-getter.”

Catching where Owen was taking this, Ian laughed out loud.

“Ian Ryder,” Owen introduced. “Your new boss.”

The room grew so quiet Owen feared he’d shocked the life out of them.

Then Tim started laughing. Joe joined him. The others chuckled until mirth filled the room.

“It’s not that funny,” Ian griped.

Jack, however, wasn’t laughing. “What is it about the term ‘silent partner’ you don’t understand?” he growled at Owen.

Heather latched on to his arm before Jack could take a swing at him.

“So, Jack, I have some thoughts about the future,” Ian began.

Owen subtly wandered away, seeking safety in the crowd.

An hour later, Jack found him again. “That was all a joke, right? Ian as my partner? Shoot me now.”

“He’s not that bad, Jack.”

They both turned to see Ian dancing with Rory to some hip-hop music someone had put on the stereo.

Jack sighed. “Between you and me, he’s not that bad. But you tell him that, and his head about explodes. Him and that ego.”

Owen smiled. That was the man Ian wanted them to see, not the man he really was. Oh, he had the ego, but he had a heart twice as big. “He’ll be fine. Besides, it’s just for a week while I’m gone. I’m not putting him in charge of the gym forever. I’m not that crazy. In love, yes. Insane, no.”

Jack let out a relieved breath. “Good to know. Okay, I have to go dance with my wife before she kills me with another death glare. I swear, she was so nice before we got married.” He grinned again, a record for the once-taciturn warrior now turned loving husband.

Owen watched him go. He saw Ian slap some money into Tim’s hands and resolved to ask him about that later. Tim and Joe left together, and by the looks on their faces, Owen figured another part of his family had coupled up.

He couldn’t have been more pleased. He noticed Ian motioning for him to join them. With a light step and a happy heart, he joined his best friend and partner, grooving with the man who’d stolen his heart.

Ian laughed. “Who knew you had moves to go with that pretty face?” He kissed him smack on the lips.

“Hell. I have to keep up with you, don’t I?”

Behind him, he heard Keegan complaining about the music, asking for country. Rory laughed. James argued. Others offered their two cents. Nathan demanded to be in charge of the stereo. Aiden threatened to break his mind in half if he tried. Laughter and teasing filled the crowd.

Owen looked around, more than content to see Jack holding Heather in his arms, both soon-to-be new parents. Just like his cousin and her partners. The special people working with, not for him, had finally found a place to belong. Not just in Bend, but with each other.

He turned back to see Ian smiling at him. And then Ian said the words that bound them forever. “I love you, Owen.”

“I love you, Ian.” His little thief had indeed stolen his heart. “Just promise me one thing.”

“Yeah?”

He leaned close. “That you never, ever change.”

“Anything for you, Owen. Anything.”

Content

Killer Thoughts
PowerUp! - 8
by
Marie Harte

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve