by Harte, Marie
Table of Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Loose Id Titles by Marie Harte
Marie Harte
RetroCog
(a Power Up! story)
Marie Harte
www.loose-id.com
RetroCog (a Power Up! story)
Copyright © May 2011 by Marie Harte
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eISBN 978-1-61118-403-7
Editor: Ann M. Curtis
Cover Artist: Anne Cain
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Chapter One
Bend, Oregon
His flesh pebbled with the cold, but Noah First didn’t feel the brisk wind as it roared over his sweat-soaked skin. Instead his mind was locked on the scene in front of him. Intrigued, he studied the rich scale of detail he saw in the woman kneeling on the ground. He placed her in the mid-1800s. Though he stood on a paved lot in the dark of early morning, he clearly saw the woman wearing a blue pioneer dress cradling her infant son in the light of day. She lifted her head, and under the brim of her bonnet, he saw the ghost of a smile.
Her young son cried, and she opened her blouse to feed him. The child suckled greedily while she crooned to him, her voice clear against the crisp backdrop of rustling grass in a small field near an uncluttered forest. The beauty of the moment struck Noah dumb. So peaceful. Nature devoid of the rough concrete, electric lights, and the constant sense of urgency of the city.
“Oh hell. Noah, break out of it, big guy. Hey, Noah.”
Hands tugged his arm, and he regretfully pulled back from the images that looked and felt more than real.
“Christ, you’re like a block of ice. It’s October, numbskull. Where’s your jacket?”
He blinked and stumbled, almost knocking Chloe over. He would have crushed the petite woman if Nathan hadn’t grabbed him and hauled him upright.
“Dude, I step out for a few minutes, and you desert me. You left me alone downstairs with Jack. Seriously, do you hate me that much?”
Nathan grinned, but Noah could see the concern in his gaze.
“I came up here for a break and got sidetracked.” A tale they’d heard all too often, but Noah couldn’t help what he saw. The images appeared where emotion had been strongest. And here, in this parking lot, a small child had once been born to loving parents who’d barely survived the trip west. Over a hundred and fifty years ago.
Jack Keiser, their boss and slave master, appeared in the doorway of the gym behind them. He frowned.
“Quit fucking around. Noah, with me. Chloe, go man the desk. You know we’re a body short tonight with Aidan out sick. Nathan—”
“Yeah, yeah. I know. Go see who needs help inside. Man, I’m seriously beginning to hate this job. Who the hell works out at two in the morning?” He glared down at his T-shirt, where the PowerUp! logo blazed in white on red cotton. “Power up, my ass. More like dumb down. My skills are so underappreciated.” He sulked, glaring at Jack.
Jack raised a brow, and Nathan broke eye contact in a hurry. He muttered under his breath but scooted past Jack and went inside. Instead of heading for the Employees Only door that led to a private downstairs—where Noah and Nathan had just been training—he continued down the hall toward the gym, Bend’s newest success story. In a town where people biked, swam, and hiked for fun, the fitness business was booming, despite the dour economy.
“Noah?” Jack asked again, his low, gravelly voice not as harsh as it normally was with the others.
“Sorry, boss.” Noah couldn’t control a shiver as the brisk fall wind whipped through him and preceded Jack back into the gym and down the private stairwell few knew existed.
Though PowerUp! had more than a dozen employees, only ten of them had come from Washington, DC, leftovers from the government’s Psychic Warfare Program, or PWP. Like so many other experimental programs, the PWP had been disbanded and scattered due to funding problems. Or so he’d been told.
Noah hadn’t exactly liked the clandestine work. But he’d more than appreciated the gene-altering drugs they’d given him, injections that expanded his abilities beyond anything he might have hoped. He could now focus the power, whereas before, he’d simply tried to live around it. Best of all, he didn’t suffer the aftereffects of withdrawal like the others on his team did. Noah didn’t turn psychotic from withdrawal, and he didn’t suffer mood swings if he didn’t exercise his mind or body. He simply lapsed into a strange lethargy that sometimes made it hard for him to feel excited about anything.
“Sit down,” Jack said from behind him as they entered Jack’s office.
Noah sighed, burdened with reality once more. Though he appreciated this new start in life, away from the government’s prying eyes, the night shifts made it difficult to function during the day. And Kitty kept giving him crap, more therapy nonsense he had no intention of following. A lifetime filled with doctors and drugs had done more harm than good, until it had led him to the PWP, where he’d finally found his place. He wished Kitty would understand that and leave him the hell alone. Unfortunately, the empath thought she could fix everyone and everything, even those who didn’t want or need her help.
He blinked, amused to see a young Asian man furiously digging right where Jack’s head should have been.
Jack snapped his fingers. “You with me, Noah?”
Noah coughed to cover his embarrassment at zoning out again and focused on the here and now. “Yeah.”
Jack narrowed his eyes. The light blue color always made Noah think of an arctic wolf, and he remained alert, cautious around a man who was a true predator. His boss’s massive chest, arms, and neck attested to the workouts they all practiced. Jack never acted out of sorts, but from the size of him, Noah figured the guy needed the constant physical exertion to keep his cool. And frankly, he didn’t even want to think about what Jack might be like out of control.
>
“I have a job for you. A retro job.”
Retro, short for retrocognition—the ability to perceive past events. The reason he’d been handpicked to join the PWP in the first place.
Despite not wanting to participate, Noah’s interest stirred. A few months ago, two of the guys working the day shift had gone on a road trip and returned with a woman and a supposedly powerful artifact. There’d been rumors that Jack was restarting the PWP, and the road trip proved it. Yet Noah was in no hurry to join the ex-agents keen on heeding Jack’s call to arms. Far away from the government that had often used them to discreetly clean up their messes, Bend provided them with normalcy. A fresh start away from conspiracies, bad guys, and the ever-present threat of death.
Noah had been delving more and more into the rich history of central Oregon. He felt no hurry to leave.
Jack ran a hand through his short dark hair and sighed. “You’re not surprised about this job. I knew Price and Foreman wouldn’t keep their damn mouths shut.”
“It wasn’t that hard to figure out.” He wondered how to reject the job without seeming like he was refusing.
Jack swore under his breath. “Fine. But for the record, we’re not restarting the PWP. We’re a discreet, and I’m emphasizing discreet, service that specializes in investigations and security. Our current client wishes to remain anonymous.”
Owen Stallbridge, a multimillionaire and one of Jack’s few known associates. Noah had seen the two of them planning the building of the gym in one of his visions of the past, but he kept that knowledge to himself.
“Anonymous. Right.”
Jack glared at him. “Sometimes I really hate working with psychics.”
Noah smothered a grin, surprised to find one wanting to curl his normally sober lips.
“Our client owns a warehouse that was broken into some time ago. Lately, items from the warehouse have started to reappear. Understand that no one but myself, our client, and the thief or thieves knows he was robbed. The items taken were…unusual, to say the least.”
Intrigued despite himself, Noah asked, “Unusual how?”
“Things people like us would understand. Powerful heirlooms our client needs to get back. In the wrong hands, some of his treasures can do some serious damage.”
“Like kill?” Noah asked bluntly. Half the guys he worked with could do harm to others with a thought—controlling fire, moving and hearing things with their minds, knowing the future… All of which made for some dangerous potential. Probably why the government still kept tabs on them even eight months after the PWP had closed down.
“Some of the artifacts are lethal, yeah. But the item you’re going after isn’t dangerous. It’s just, well… Hell, read the file.” Jack paused to dig a folder out of his desk.
“I didn’t say I’d do the job.”
“I didn’t ask.” Jack slid the folder over to Noah and opened it up to reveal a picture. “That’s what you’re going after—a rare portrait, one of Emilio Vala’s earliest works, commissioned in 1854. According to Sotheby’s, it’s worth a few hundred thousand.”
Shit. From the look on his face, Jack wasn’t budging. Noah had no choice but to follow orders or get the hell out. After finally finding people who for the most part understood him, he had no wish to move from his new home. Though he didn’t relish the idea of leaving Bend, even for a few days, he’d do it because Jack had asked. Ordered, he corrected himself.
Noah studied the picture and felt his enthusiasm for the case build, regardless of wanting nothing to do with it. The picture was a portrait of a woman from the waist up, the backdrop a blue curtain. She wore a red dress trimmed with black lace that exposed her shoulders and the upper swells of her breasts while hinting at so much more. Little jewelry adorned her body except for a pair of glittery silver rosebud earrings. Her shoulders looked pearlescent, giving her an almost ethereal appearance. Until you looked at her eyes. Sooty lashes shuttered dark brown eyes that hinted at pleasures a man could only dream about. Pouty lips, a dainty nose, and a stubborn chin tugged at him to take a second look, to see what secrets she refused to share.
The artist had captured her charm and sensuality, yet there was something more that made Noah sit up and take notice.
After several minutes of quiet study, he glanced away from the picture to see Jack’s smile of satisfaction. “What?”
“I knew you’d see more.”
“What am I seeing, exactly, except a beautiful woman?”
“You tell me.” Jack paused. “Noah, you like to think you’re more grounded than the rest of us, but the truth is, you need to exercise your abilities more, not less, than everyone else so you can control them.”
“I’m fine.”
Jack snorted. “Yeah, that’s why you’re always staring off into space. I don’t even want to know what you were looking at a few minutes ago, because it sure as hell wasn’t my face.”
Noah flushed. Guilty.
“I need you to find the painting and bring it back. Kitty booked your airfare already. She left the ticket sitting with the front desk. If nothing else, at least it’ll get you out of this place for a while. You’re starting to distance yourself more and more from everyone. Don’t think I haven’t noticed.”
Noah didn’t like being on Jack’s radar. “You mentioned a ticket?”
Jack nodded. “You fly out tomorrow afternoon.”
Thank God he wouldn’t have to drive. “Where am I heading?”
“You’ll fly into Phoenix, but your destination is a small town called Superior.”
Noah paused. “Any reason you didn’t send me out right after Price and Foreman told you where the painting is?” Noah could see the scene in his mind’s eye as his friends debriefed Jack on everything in this very office. Two months ago, they’d told Jack about that painting, as well as a half dozen of Stallbridge’s other treasures littered across the states.
Jack scowled. “I needed to iron out a few details with the client before any more of our team tracks down the artifacts.”
“The anonymous client, right.” Noah paused. “So Stallbridge is okay with me going?”
“You’re a real pain in my ass, Noah.” Jack sighed. “Our client leaves the manning of the cases to me. There was some question as to the ownership of one of his items after the first job, so we spent the last eight weeks cataloging and verifying the others. The painting is the real deal. It belongs to our client, and it’s part of his collection. I need you to get it and bring it back without a scratch.”
“Gotcha.”
“And Noah? This should be a simple retrieval.”
Right. Like the last one, in which their guys had nearly been killed. Price had been more than chatty during last week’s Seahawk’s game. Man had no head for liquor and the attention span of a gnat with his new fiancée and Foreman around.
“But be prepared for anything,” Jack added.
Their new company motto, it seemed.
Noah stood, nodded, and left with the folder tucked under his arm, itching to go home and stare at that picture in private. He needed to see what it was that drew him, because Noah knew better than to go into a situation without all the facts. He fingered a tiny scar at the corner of his left brow as he left the gym, his mind on other things.
* * *
Three days later
Lara Graham checked in an enthusiastic pair of out-of-towners, pleased to introduce the Lady Fine Inn to yet another group of art collectors. Brownville, Arizona, had been growing in leaps and bounds ever since the Associated Press had run a story revisiting famous outlaws and hidden treasures of the West. Brownville’s claim to fame was one Finnegan Fury. The press had chronicled the scandalous robber who’d bankrupted several nearby banks and involved himself in a forbidden romance with Cecilia Fine, the local madam and namesake of the current Lady Fine Inn. The tragedy of their deaths and the rumor that Finnegan had killed her in a fit of jealousy made the tale one that still had people speculating over a hundred
years after the fact.
“Enjoy your stay.” Lara nodded to the elderly couple and locked their credit card receipt in the old-fashioned register. The nine-room inn, once an infamous saloon and brothel, now boasted polished pinewood floors, comfortable southwestern décor intermixed with nineteenth-century antiques, and the modern conveniences of air-conditioning, spa bathrooms, and a state-of-the-art kitchen Lara used to its fullest. Nine rooms of rental bliss for those who wanted the real Southwestern atmosphere of a brothel done in tasteful hues and tacky tassels. Lara had loved the place the minute she’d laid eyes on it six months ago.
And if she had her way, she’d own it in a few short years.
She watched a couple people relax in the formal living room while their newest guests went upstairs. To both her relief and suspicion, the voice in her head remained quiet. So far, so good. That made two weeks of relative peace.
