Psychic Storm: Ten Dangerously Sexy Tales of Psychic Witches, Vampires, Mediums, Empaths and Seers

by Deanna Chase

  "I need to tell you that I don't do relationships." Oh wasn't that smooth, Sam. Good job, Sam? How to advertise your inexperience and total lack of social skills.

  Brandt slowly turned around to stare at her. "Why not?"

  Heat pooled in her tummy at the sensuous vibes emanating from him. Her cheeks warmed, but she stood her ground. "I'm no good at them," she said baldly.

  "How would you know if you don't do them?" he asked in a reasonable tone of voice.

  Sam stared at him, unsure of how to go on. "I tried."

  "So that's it. You tried and failed so you're doomed to a life alone? Haven't we been around this block once before?"

  "Yes. No. I don't know. Maybe." Sam shut up, too flustered to answer clearly.

  "You don't know because you're too afraid to go on."

  "So?" she challenged him.

  "So live a little. Don't spend your life so afraid of trying and failing that you live alone. Take a chance and let someone in your world." He reached out and cupped her chin, raising her face to meet his gaze. "I want to be a part of your world. I thought I'd proved that already."

  He was saying the words she'd yearned to hear all her life. Moisture collected at the corner of her eyes. It's all she could to not start bawling. In spite of herself, her bottom lip trembled.

  His thumb smoothed even as it rubbed her lower lip, gently teasing it to a smile. Sam couldn't resist. She kissed his thumb as it made its next pass.

  He stopped. "Dangerous."

  Sam's lips twitched. His thumb moved again, this time much slower, more seductive in its sensual mission. The tantalizing movement slowed when it reached the middle swell, where it sat heavy and waiting. Sam raised her eyes to his.

  His asked a question.

  Sam hesitated. Did twice mean a commitment. Or given her lack of social skills and inexperience did twice mean still dating? Could she really walk away? Did she even want to? No. If at the end she was devastated, then so be it. At least she'd have enjoyed life...and him for a little while.

  Closing her eyes, she let her body answer for her. Her lips parted slightly. Her tongue slipped out to caress his thumb. Sliding first to one side then to the other.

  Brandt bent his head, his eyes absorbed with her every tiny movement.

  From under half-closed lids, Sam watched his eyes deepen, darken. Sliding her tongue out further, she slowly curled it around the top of his thumb. Instinctively, she'd invited him inside. He didn't resist. His thumb gently caressed the inside of her lips. Sam closed her teeth on his skin, tugging his thumb ever so gently inside. She sucked it lightly, her eyes wide, watching him watch her.

  His eyes became heavy-lidded, his breathing harsh and rasping. Sam half smiled. She sucked harder.

  His mouth opened, his tongue gently licking across his own lips. His nostrils flared.

  The wait became unbearable. Sam closed her eyes to enjoy the simple sense of arousal. Nerve endings she'd tamped down surged to life, making her body tingle in places she didn't even know could respond.

  Then he pulled his thumb away.

  Her eyes snapped open. Blinded by sensation, her whole being focused on his mouth as he lowered his head and replaced his thumb with his lips. Stunning, hot liquid engulfed her as Brandt kissed her slowly, leisurely, and very, very competently.

  When he lifted his head long minutes later, Sam sagged against him.

  Holding her close, his lips against her ears, he whispered, "Too much?"

  She shook her head, and whispered, "Not enough."

  He needed no encouragement: bending and lifting her in his arms, easily carrying her up the stairs to the single room upstairs. He lowered her feet to the floor. Lowering his head, he gave her a long, slow kiss. When he broke it off, she stretched on tiptoes to recapture his lips.

  "Sam, I need to know – are you sure? I don't want just a moment. I want to see where this goes. To give it a try. To give us a try."

  Sam didn't want to talk, but Brandt reached up to hold her face in his warm hands as he dropped soothing kisses on her forehead, her cheeks, her closed eyelids, and even the corners of her mouth – but never on her lips. "Are you sure?" he murmured insistently.

  Sam moaned as his teasing lips moved to her ear and down the smooth line of her neck. Shivers ran down her spine. She melted deeper against him.

  "Sam."

  She smiled. Her tongue slid against his lips, darting inside to stroke his tongue. Brandt took her mouth in a deep drugging kiss. He finally broke off the kiss, breathing in deep sharp rasps. "Sam, answer me," he ordered.

  Sam forced her heavy eyelids open to stare at him in confusion.

  "Say yes."

  With her gaze fixed on his, she whispered the promise they both needed to hear. "Yes."

  11:00 pm

  Brandt studied his surroundings. The bare bedroom fascinated him. What an insight into her personal life. All walls and the painted ceiling were bare, not even a poster to break up the bleakness. There were no dressers, closets, or storage of any kind. He could only imagine how her life had been up until now.

  Her bed held cheap army surplus blankets with even more stacked on the floor. He glanced at the odd stack of blankets. His face grew grim as understanding crashed in on him. They were spares in case what happened to the one on the couch, happened again.

  His cell phone rang. His heart sank. Gently, disengaging himself from Sam's arms, he hurried to find the phone before she woke up.

  "Hello." His cell phone showed it was just past eleven. Moonlight cast a pale shadow on the bedroom floor.

  "Brandt. We've got trouble."

  Brandt listened, glaring into the night. "What the hell? Not again. Who. Did. This?"

  "I don't know. I have called the station, but no one is talking. If it takes a court order, I will find out. The ring incident was minor compared to this. You need to warn Samantha."

  "Oh I will. Don't worry about that. I get first dibs on the asshole that did this."

  "Don't go jumping to conclusions," warned the captain.

  "I'm not. Go ahead. Get all the proof you need – then he's mine." Brandt's mind fired on all cylinders. "They actually gave her name? How irresponsible is that?"

  "They say it never occurred to them that she might be in danger. Many psychics need publicity to stay in business. I don't think they understand what they've done. But don't worry. You look after Sam, and I'll sort this out."

  His voice brooked no argument.

  "Fine. You get the first shot. Sort it out...or I will." Brandt hung up.

  11:05 pm

  "Oh Shit!"

  Dillon leaned forward to stare at the television newscaster, his handful of chips frozen in midair. Sam's face filled the screen. Dillon chest constricted. He hadn't done this. He hadn't given the media a picture of her. Oh, crap. He dumped the chips into the bowl and rubbed his hands through his hair. It wouldn't matter if he'd done this or not. If anyone found out what he had done, he'd be blamed regardless. He was so fired.

  He'd talked to the reporter, but had only mentioned a psychic being part of the investigation. How could they have put the rest together? He hadn't given them any details. He sure as hell wouldn't have given them her name.

  They had to have a name to get a picture. Or the reverse. That's it! Someone could have seen and recognized her at the station. Then it would have been easy to have followed up on her.

  Not that it mattered. Once the others knew he'd talked to the media a little bit, no one would believe he hadn't given them everything. Everyone would assume the worst. Given his behavior to date, he couldn't blame them.

  The woman's face stayed on the screen so long Dillon wanted to throw something.

  What was he going to do?

  There was no doubt about one thing. If Brandt and Sam were right about a killer taking out women in the area, there was no doubt which woman would be his next victim.

  He needed to save his neck. Shit. There was only one way.

  He reached
for the phone.

  11:06 pm

  "What the hell!" Beer spewed out of Bill's mouth. He leaned forward to hear the newscaster's voice clearer. "A fucking psychic."

  The small apartment closed in on him for a long moment. The picture on the screen wavered before focusing in tightly again. Whoever she was, she looked like hell. The picture was grainy and old, the woman hardly identifiable.

  He leaned back, unsure what to think. After a minute, he started to laugh. A slow rolling-barrel laugh pealed across the small room. "Oh God, that is too funny. Fucking incompetent cops. They can't solve anything. Their heads are stuck so far up their asses they had to bring in a goddamned psychic."

  With his beer safely down on the long pine coffee table, he laughed and laughed. This was so perfect.

  Abruptly the laughter died in his throat. He glared at the picture still on the screen, committing her features to memory.

  She'd better not sense him. He'd fucking kill her.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  11:15 pm

  Brandt gazed down at the sleeping angel beside him. God, help him, he was just as much to blame for this mess. There were so many things he could have done. He could have talked to the station himself about who supplied the picture of the ring. He could have put the fear of God into Dillon and Kevin – let them know he was suspicious of them. Most of all, he should have beat the shit out of that asshole deputy from her past. He closed his eyes and groaned. Guilt squeezed his heart. Stupid.

  He'd never knowingly do anything to hurt her. Ever. But just as bad...he'd promised to keep her involvement private and he'd failed.

  His arm tightened around the tiny woman that had broken into the locked places in his heart. Lowering his head, he dropped tiny caresses to the side of her face tucked into his shoulder. Unbelievable. He cared so much and just the thought of anything happening to her made his arms squeeze tightly.

  With a muffled protest, Sam, still asleep, shifted slightly out of his grasp. "Sorry, sweetheart." Brandt shifted to give her more space.

  His phone rang again. Casting a worried look at Sam, Brandt slid upward to sit against the wall, cell phone in hand.

  "Hello."

  Captain Johansen's next words had Brandt hopping out of bed to the far side of the room. He stopped in front of the window. "What?" he hissed.

  Brandt shook his head at the next piece of information. "He what? What the hell was he thinking? Yet, he says he didn't give them her picture and name?" Brandt, remembering Sam was still asleep, took several deep breaths. "Do you believe him?"

  Brandt, tucking the phone against his shoulder, quickly pulled on his briefs and pants. Trying not to wake Sam, he walked downstairs and into the kitchen.

  The captain's heavy sigh was unmistakable. "Yes. I do. He's an idiot, mostly a harmless one. Do you have a picture of her in the file?"

  "No, I don't."

  "Right, and he wouldn't have gone to the trouble of digging one out. He's too damn lazy for that. Chances are someone else did it. I just don't know who yet. The station did admit this information came from a different source than the one who provided the ring – which confirms Dillon's story."

  "Christ, what a mess." Knowing the captain agreed didn't help any.

  "Brandt – you know what has to happen. I'll deal with Dillon. You have to get her to a safe house."

  Brandt laughed a short angry bark. "That's not as easy as it sounds. She's not going to be happy."

  "To hell with keeping her happy. At this point, I'm only concerned with keeping her alive. If she won't come willingly, you know what to do."

  The captain rang off, leaving Brandt glaring at the phone in his hand.

  Someone had deliberately put Samantha in danger. Whoever had done this might as well have pointed a gun at her head and pulled the trigger himself.

  What if that was exactly what this asshole intended? Deputy Brooker came to mind. The more he thought on it, the more his suspicions grew. It shouldn't be too hard to pick him up. Adam had been working on tracking where he was staying earlier today. Brandt quickly made a couple of phone calls. Within minutes, an APB was put out on the vehicle, and Adam was heading into the office to pull a photo off the database to circulate as well. Then he'd be taking the photo to the newsroom to confirm Brandt's suspicions.

  Could anyone else have done this? Sam said only a few people knew about her skills. After today's mess at work, that select few had grown considerably. Several of those might have wondered about her skills before – not after today. God damn it. He highly doubted Kevin would have done something like this, particularly after seeing Sam in action today. Besides, he'd have never put the department at risk.

  "What won't make me happy?"

  Startled, Brandt turned around to find Sam, with a blanket wrapped around her shoulders, leaning against the doorway. Tousled and tiny, she appeared so lost Brandt couldn't help himself. He walked over, tugging her into his arms.

  He didn't want to tell her. Brandt grimaced. There was no way around it. She had to know.

  "That was the captain. One of our detectives has fessed up to telling the media that you were helping the police with this case. He swears that's all he said. But on the news tonight there was a little more to it than that."

  "Exactly how much more was there?" Her voice was quiet, too quiet. So were her eyes.

  His heart sank. She already knew.

  "Your name and picture."

  She froze. Brandt rubbed her back soothingly. "It's okay. I won't let anything happen to you."

  Stiff and unyielding, Sam didn't answer. After a few moments, Brandt tilted her chin so he could gaze into her eyes. Searching deep, he tried to find out what she was thinking.

  Her eyes were frozen blanks.

  "Oh, God, Sam. I am so sorry." Brandt tugged her closer, rocking her gently in his arms. "Captain Johansen wants you to go to a safe house where we can keep an eye on you."

  Sam shook her head vehemently. "I'm not going."

  Brandt winced. "I'm afraid it's not a choice."

  Sam reared up, glaring at him. Brandt, damn his hormones couldn't resist noticing the gentle sway of her breasts. Now that he knew what those God-awful sweaters covered up, he whole-heartedly approved of them. He didn't want every other male getting an eyeful. Christ, she was gorgeous when she was mad. Peach flushed her normally pale skin, giving her a lively bloom that was so often missing from her skin.

  "Like hell. You can't force me," she declared defiantly.

  He sighed and tried to tug her down against him, only she was having nothing to do with it.

  "Actually, I can, but I don't want to have to." He shifted slightly, realizing his body's interest in her nude state wouldn't be received well at the moment, but knowing there was damn little he could do about it. "Sam, try to be reasonable. The killer now knows who you are and it won't take him long to find where you live."

  "Do you realize what you've done? It's not just the killer. It's my job and my friends." Sam stopped, a stunned look on her face. She snorted. "Okay, so they may not be friends in the 'forever' sense, but they were friendly to me. Why is it, I'm only just understanding what that means, now that I'm about to lose them?"

  "Not everyone will see the news."

  Sam snorted. "This is a small town. Whoever doesn't see the news will be told by 9 am tomorrow."

  She was probably right. "That doesn't mean they will treat you any differently." Besides, he couldn't let anything else matter. She had to stay safe. Nothing else was acceptable.

  Fine tremors ran through her. "I don't think I can I live here if I'm an outcast again."

  Brandt ran his fingers through his hair. He couldn't imagine what her life had been like up to now. She'd built herself a life here. He didn't want her to lose that.

  "I can understand how you feel."

  An angry laugh escaped. "Can you?"

  Brandt could feel the slow burn he'd stomped on earlier, start to flare up. Her anger was nothing in comparis
on. He couldn't let it be. This was beyond serious. She had to leave and now. Staring out into the black of night, he realized they didn't have much time. The killer could already have found her location and be on his way. His voiced his thoughts. "You have to consider that he could be on his way right now."

  Sam aged before him. His heart went out to her.

  "I'm sorry, Sam. But this is the way it has to be."

  Sam blurted out, "The animals. I can't take them to a safe house. Soldier needs this place as much as I do. To take him anywhere else will slow his rehabilitation, magnify his trust issues if you take him away from his new home."

  She had a point – just a small one. He was concerned about her though, not the dog.

  "Staying here is out of the question."

  "Why?" she interrupted.

  "There's too much cover for a predator. It would be hard to defend."

  "Not true," she answered shaking her head. "Someone could stay in the house with me."

  "We don't want to use you for bait. He's going to come looking for you and you know that. If we take you to a safe house, he won't be able to find you."

  "Really? You mean until another detective leaks that information too. Thanks but no thanks. I didn't trust the police before, and the behavior out of your office hasn't changed my opinion one bit." Sam walked over to curl up on the couch with the blanket wrapped around her body.

  Sadly, he watched as those beautiful curves disappeared from view.

  "Besides, if he can't find me, he'll just kill other women. You..." her voice choked, "or someone else has already set me up as bait. So you might as well make good use of the opportunity." Bitterness edged her voice.

  Shit. Brandt sat down beside her. "Sam, I'm wondering if this isn't part of Deputy Brooker's machinations. If the killer found you, it would be an easy solution to his problem."

  Sam shot him a considering look. A sweater lying over the couch caught her eye. Dropping the blanket to her waist, she pulled the sweater over her head, tugging it down under the blanket. Oddly enough, it was that action that made him suddenly very nervous.