because people got worked up over something. Jones didn’t do worked up, not really.
Dez was a different story.
Jones had hidden that pretty well from most people and that wasn’t particularly easy, considering how he was surrounded by psychics on a daily basis. If anybody could block out their thoughts, it would be Taylor. He had that control thing down pat. Were somebody to look up the word contained, they just might see Taylor’s picture next to the definition.
But Joss was around Taylor more than most of the others, and if the boss had anybody he’d call a friend, it was Joss. The two of them had spent many a long night together, and usually, Joss had his head jacked up with somebody else’s talent, a skill that let him read the heart, the mind, or both. Taylor wasn’t the easiest person to read, but eventually Joss figured out that the boss had feelings for Dez that were anything but cool and collected.
Speaking of the boss, he looked over at the car and saw the man of the hour. “You know, I’m supposed to be off. For like the next five days straight. I haven’t had many of those mythical off days lately, and I specifically requested a few days of personal time.”
“Yes, you did.” Taylor shrugged. “Sorry, Crawford. This just got dumped in my lap rather unexpectedly and it can’t wait. Your particular talents are needed.”
Joss snorted. “My particular talents are nonexistent. I’m a fucking myna bird. I mimic everybody else. Find whoever I mimic and stick them in.”
“I can’t . . .” He shifted a look at Dez.
It was just a bare glance—a quick flick—and then his eyes were back on Joss’s face. But it was enough. Okay . . . so Jones wasn’t willing—or able—to send his woman into this? Was that it?
Dez sighed and ran her fingers through her hair. It was a little longer than she usually wore, falling almost to her chin. “He needs more than a ghost talker on this gig, Joss. But if he sends in more than one person, we’ll be made. And besides, I’m not exactly the . . . ideal . . . person to do this. And I’m assuming the other person isn’t going to work any better than I will.”
Joss had heard her. He had. But the one thing his mind focused on was “more than a ghost talker.”
A sinking sensation settled in Joss’s gut.
Without even look at the man, without opening his mind, he knew. “You’re going to mind-fuck me again, aren’t you?”
Silence stretched out between them.
Finally, Taylor sighed. “Joss, I don’t have much choice. You’re the only man I’ve got who can do this. You’re the only agent I’ve got who can pick up any given ability at any given time; I need multiple abilities and I need them now.”
“Where?” He didn’t bother trying to talk his way out of it. There was no point. He was in this line of work because he had to be. He wasn’t in it for fun, for kicks, or for the money. If he was needed, then so be it. He was needed. After one last glance at the garden of stone, he looked toward Taylor. The pull had been stronger this time . . . so much stronger . . .
“Just an hour south. In Orlando.”
THREE
"JUST . . . get away.” Blood trickled from his mouth as he spoke. “Get away from him, Amelie. Don’t let him . . .”
“Shhh. Hush, now. Do not fret about me. You need to save your strength,” she told him as the blood burned out of him to stain the ground beneath him red. This was her fault. Hers. If she had just left with him as he’d asked . . . “Just rest, love. Will you do that for me?”
He squeezed her hand. “You have to get away from him. Promise me . . .”
He pushed something into her hand. Whispered it again. “Promise . . .”
* * *
FROM the penthouse, she could see the bright lights of the amusement park . . . and the castle. A bit of whimsy hit her, and she remembered how she’d once stood at the base of that castle as a child, gazing up at it in rapt wonder.
She was glad that girl no longer existed, glad that girl had had the wool ripped away from her eyes a good long time ago, so she couldn’t see what was happening to her now.