The Unwanted (the fbi psychics ) Read online

  The Unwanted

  ( The FBI Psychics )

  Shiloh Walker

  She doesn’t want him. He doesn’t need her. Like hell…

  Destin Mortin’s psychic gift comes with an ugly twist—she excels at tracking down violent rapists. But it’s rough on relationships. Once, her partner Caleb was her everything: filter, shield, rescuer, lover. The only man who didn’t think her a freak. Then he walked away.

  Destin turned her back on the FBI to work for a private agency, but now a particularly horrendous case has come up, and her boss wants her paired with only the best.

  For Caleb Durand, leaving Destin was an act of self-preservation. Every time she flung herself headlong into dangerous situations, every time he nursed her through soul-crushing visions, he’d died a little more inside.

  Now they are forced to work together one last time. Tragedy has changed them both, but Caleb knows if he lowers his shields for an instant, he won’t have an icicle’s chance in hell of resisting the temptation to lose himself in her wild power.

  But to catch the rapist, it’s exactly what he’ll have to do.

  Warning: Contains tortured souls who have lost love and pined for their missing half, a woman who can see evil, and a hot FBI agent.

  The Unwanted

  The FBI Psychics 3.5

  by

  Shiloh Walker

  With love to my kids and my guy, always.

  Thanks to all my readers and my editor, Tera. You all are amazing.

  Chapter One

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

  And Oz had just asked about Caleb…shit.

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

  Nothing to worry about.

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

  Why in the hell is she asking about Caleb?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

  But Caleb had—

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

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

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

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

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

  A second later, Destin heard the door open.

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

  Even before he spoke, she knew.

  Opening her eyes, she glared at Oz.

  “Good afternoon, ladies.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

  Destin was there.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

  After all, he’d walked away from her.

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

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

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

  Now it was like he was freefalling all over again.

  And she still wouldn’t look at him.

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

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

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

  And still, she hadn’t looked at him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

  It was like preparing yourself to ride a tornado.

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

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

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

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