Marie Harte - [PowerUp! 08] (2 page)

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.