Fortune's Favor (A Power Up! Story)

FORTUNE’S FAVOR

(A Power Up! Story)

Marie Harte

www.loose-id.com

Fortune’s Favor (A Power Up! Story)

Copyright © February 2012 by Marie Harte

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eISBN 978-1-61118-740-3

Editor: Ann M. Curtis

Cover Artist: Anne Cain

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This e-book is a work of fiction. While reference might be made to actual historical events or existing locations, the names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

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Chapter One

Avery dumped the body he’d been carrying onto one of the beds and rotated his shoulder. With any luck, no one had followed them back to the hotel, and come the morning, tonight would be a forgotten episode. With as much alcohol as the idiot on the bed had consumed, he’d be lucky to survive a massive hangover when he woke.

And speaking of headaches… Avery massaged his temples, overdue for a good night’s sleep. He took advantage of the quiet while he could. After locking the door, he stripped down to his Skivvies, slid under the covers of the unoccupied queen bed, and closed his eyes.

He opened them again—three hours later, according to the clock—and stared up at a bleary-eyed, aggravated, six-foot-three mess of trouble.

“You do that again, and I’ll kick your ass back to Oregon.”

“Oh, good. You’re awake.” Avery promptly closed his eyes, wanting a few more hours of sleep. Cleaning up after Nathan was getting old. Not that his new partner didn’t have a reason for his benders and lashes of temper. Finding out one’s mother had recently passed away could make the best of men emotional. God knew what he’d do if his own mother died.

“Wake up, dickhead.”

Avery didn’t budge, even when a heavy weight settled over his midsection and a large hand wrapped around his throat. He and Nathan were mostly evenly matched. Both were near the same height, had psychic abilities, and were muscled to the max, thanks to the exercises they were forced to do to remain sane. So any bouts on the mats should have ended evenly between them. Except Nathan didn’t have Avery’s skill at hand-to-hand combat. And the sore loser knew it.

Avery sighed and opened his eyes. Despite Nathan’s stubble and bloodshot eyes, no one could claim he’d lost his looks. He never hurt for companionship, and Avery grudgingly saw why. Sexy and charming, Nathan Kraft invited smiles wherever he went. But lately, instead of his trademark charisma, grief clouded his mossy green eyes.

A hank of sandy brown hair fell over his forehead and blocked his gaze. That made it easier for Avery to do what needed to be done. Christ, seeing Nathan’s grief up close choked him up, and he didn’t like his susceptibility to the master manipulator.

Avery forced himself to remain calm and unaffected. “What do you want now? Want me to rock you back to sleep after saving you…again?”

Nathan shook the hair from his face and growled, “I didn’t need saving. I was about to get blown by a cute blond football player before you interrupted—
again
. I don’t need a nursemaid.” He squeezed Avery’s neck.

Avery gripped his thumb and twisted, pulling Nathan’s hand free.

“Ow!”

“Okay, that’s it.” He sat up and shoved Nathan to the floor. “You don’t need a nursemaid? Great. I don’t need to yank you back on track night after night.” He paused, experiencing that familiar muck of emotion in his gut when he looked down at Nathan. “I’m sorry your mom died.”

“Fuck you. She wasn’t my mom.”

Avery quirked a brow.

“Biologically, maybe. But she was my aunt.” Nathan’s voice broke, and Avery clenched his jaw not to respond. “My fucking mother, pretending to be my aunt. And now she’s dead, because Malcolm isn’t.”

Avery, a clairvoyant, had foreseen Nathan’s loss and knew he had to help. He’d envisioned them together, tracking down the stolen blade Malcolm Dixon had used to murder Nathan’s aunt—mother. What a fucked-up situation. Family skeletons falling out of the closet left and right.

He empathized with the guy. Though he wouldn’t classify them as friends, exactly, Avery had a heart. Nathan annoyed him to no end with his pranks, teasing, and irresponsible behavior. They seemed to get along as well as cats and dogs and made excellent sparring partners. Annoyance should have been the end to Avery’s feelings toward Nathan Kraft.

Instead, every time they had dealings, Avery lusted after the jackass with every fiber of his being. It made no sense. Though he was open to sex with men or women, Nathan wasn’t his type.

Regardless of his personal feelings, his professional instincts told him Nathan needed protection more than he needed to be searching for a killer. His partner had too much invested in the outcome. Nathan was still grieving, and his vulnerability made him a target for an enemy that needed serious watching.

Avery should have tried harder to convince their boss to keep Nathan at home. Back in Bend, Oregon, Nathan would have been working at the PowerUp! gym like the rest of the ex-agents of the government’s now defunct Psychic Warfare Program, PWP. The gym allowed them the ability to work out, alleviating the buildup of toxic hormones within their genetically altered bodies. With the constant exercise and mental workouts they did in the
other
gym—the one below the public one that only their team knew about, they kept themselves safe and sane.

Safe
and
sane
. Two words that didn’t apply to Nathan recently.

He looked down at Nathan still sitting on the floor. “We’ll find Malcolm. Your uncle might be able to stay one step ahead of the law, but he can’t hide from us. I’ve already seen a piece of his future.”

Nathan shook his head. “Yeah, in Bloomville, PA. But you don’t know
when
he’ll be there. I want the fucker dead like yesterday.”

Nathan’s haunted expression irritated him, because Avery wanted to soothe his hurt. That damn flutter in the pit of his stomach flared again. What the hell was it about this guy that got to him like no one had in a long time? Hell, try in forever.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” Nathan scowled.

“Like what?” Damn. He sounded like his throat had been raked over gravel. He raised a knee to hide the hard-on growing. God forbid Nathan see
that
. He’d never hear the end of it.

“I’d think you want a fuck, but that’s not your style, is it, big man?” Nathan sneered. “You’re as straight as an arrow. If it’s not missionary, I doubt you’re game.”

He’d love the chance to fuck Nathan out of his system and prove him wrong, but one of them had to remain in control and professional. Avery realized Nathan needed to lash out to deal with the upheaval in his life. But Christ, could the guy be any more appealing—
annoying?

He counted to ten in his head before responding. “My sex life has nothing to do with you being a prick. Now try to behave like the agent I know you were trained to be, and—”

“And nothing. The PWP is dead,
Major
Holton. It has been for over a year now. So quit playing by their rules. I can’t believe Jack stuck me with you for this case. We’re never going to find Malcolm if you keep coloring inside the lines.”

Avery ignored most of Nathan’s mutterings, zeroing in on the fact that Nathan had checked up on him. Though he and the rest of the ex-PWP agents had been working together for the past year, he hadn’t met but a few of them before the PWP had been shut down.

He raised a brow. “Curious about me, Kraft?”

“Fuck you.”

There were so many ways Avery wanted to respond to that, but now wasn’t the time. He cleared his throat. “That brings up a good point, though. We’re paired together on an actual job. This isn’t another training session, where I beat the shit out of you then you whine about it to Jack later. We have real work to do.” He ignored the obscene gesture waved his way and continued. “If we don’t have trust, this isn’t going to work.”

“First intelligent thing you’ve said in days.”

Avery wanted very, very badly to go back to bed. He glared at the playboy, doing his best to ignore the washboard stomach begging for a feel. “Right now, what I know about you could fit on the head of a pin. You like to drink your pain away, you seem to be after anonymous hookups, and you’re psychic. I’m the only one holding it together for both of us.”

Nathan opened his mouth to argue, no doubt, so Avery continued. “Me? I spent eleven years in the United States Marine Corps. I was Force Recon and good at my job. Uncle Sam found out I could see glimpses of the future and recruited me for the PWP. I spent a year there in training and worked a few missions before they shut it down. That’s me in a nutshell.”

“Great. A jarhead with control issues. Just what I need on top of Malcolm’s psychopathic tendencies.”

“We’ll find him. You need to be patient.” But Avery knew better. Asking Nathan to be patient was like asking him to shut up for two seconds—not gonna happen. “Point of fact: we’re here not only to find your uncle. We need that blade he’s carrying. It’s special, it’s dangerous, and it belongs to our client.”

“Tell me something I don’t know.”

Nathan rose from the floor and moved to sit on the edge of his bed. He stared down at his hands.

Avery had the feeling he had something on his mind he hadn’t yet shared about the case, but Nathan said nothing more about his uncle. Instead he cleared his throat. “I don’t want you carting my ass out of bars anymore.”

Avery agreed. Four nights was four nights too many. “Then quit getting so drunk you can’t tell one partner from another.” Avery didn’t like how territorial he’d felt last night in the bar. What the hell should he care if Nathan fucked every guy standing? “I overheard your
boyfriend
say he had plans to share your ass with two of his buddies, and they didn’t seem to care if you were willing or not.”

Nathan remained silent.

“The fact that I heard them and you didn’t is telling. One touch and you’d have known you were dealing with bad news. But you had no friggin’ clue.”

Nathan could touch an object and know its history. Psychometry, the art of knowing the history of an object by touching it. Nathan was the only one on the team with that particular talent, and he’d been an invaluable asset time and time again. Probably the reason Jack kept him on, considering Nathan’s propensity for getting into trouble. Had Nathan reached out and touched his date’s jacket, he would have sensed the bad vibes radiating from the weasel-faced asshole.