The Unwanted (A Novella of the FBI Psychics) Read Online Free PDF Page B

didn’t trust herself anymore, she didn’t trust her gift, and that scar served as a reminder of her failure.
    An ugly reminder. She made herself look at it every day when she got out of bed.
    “We’ve got a job to do, Caleb,” she said quietly, making herself look at him.
    There was something in his eyes—something that made her want to squirm with nervousness. A curiosity. A wondering.
    She pulled away from him and opened the door.
    This time, she was the one who didn’t want to break the heavy silence, and even though he tried to start a conversation a few times, she tuned him out.
     
     
    Caleb was usually pretty happy to be a filter. When working in close contact with a psychic or empath, he was able to help them filter most of the extraneous data so they could lock on the important details easier. It sounded complicated but it was pretty simple and although there were unpleasant aspects, it was a necessary skill. It helped. It wasn’t as flashy as the telepathy or as impressive as the ghost whisperers, and he’d never be one of the bloodhounds who drove the unit, but he did his part and he knew it.
    Right then, though, he would have given quite a lot to have a more direct psychic skill. At least enough to penetrate Destin’s thick skull and figure out what was going on inside that head of hers. Figure out what made those eyes so dark and sad.
    I know it’s uglier than hell, but you’re a big boy—you should be used to seeing ugly shit by now.
    Ugly—shit, it was just a scar. Wasn’t even that much of a scar, narrow and neat—almost surgically neat. He had scars worse than that one and it didn’t detract from her beauty, but then again, considering the fact that he’d been shit-faced in love with her almost from the beginning, maybe it colored how he saw things.
    Nearly an hour later, with that heavy silence still hanging between them, he pulled the car into the hotel where Oz had set them up. It was a Residence Inn, probably the best option since they didn’t know how long this would take, but if it took more than a few days, Oz would be wise to look for something other than a hotel.
    Just then, though, it could have been a camping site somewhere up in the mountains and he wouldn’t have cared. As long as he had some time to himself. After those tense hours in the car, wrapped in terse silence, he needed a few minutes.
    They could go to their respective rooms, take a few minutes so he could settle and then figure out their game plan.
    Except Oz had only gotten them one room.
    The desk attendant slid the room keys across the counter and said, “Your room is on the eighth floor—”
    “Uh, excuse me…room?” Destin interrupted. “As in one?”
    The desk attendant’s polite smile faded a little. “Yes, Ms. Monroe.”
    Monroe —the false ID that Destin was using for the job.
    Without blinking, without losing his smile, he reached for his wallet. “Ms. Monroe can use that room. Can you put me in another one?”
    “I’m sorry, but we’re all booked up. There’s a conference in town, I’m afraid. We’ll have availability coming up once the weekend is over, but for now, this is the only room.” Her smile took on a decidedly strained cast and she offered, “The room is a suite—two separate bedrooms. But it’s the only one available until Monday.”
    Two bedrooms. He blew out a controlled, slow breath and then made himself smile. “That will work fine, then.” Liar . He tucked his wallet back into his pocket and took the room keys. “Are you ready, Destin?”
    She glared at him.
    He stared back.
    She finally looked away. There was rage in every line of her body.

Chapter Four
    Her hands were sweating.
    Destin swiped them across the thin cotton of her pajama pants and told herself to get a grip. Easier said than done. She stared at her reflection in the mirror, her gaze straying to the scar time and again. Maybe she should let her hair grow back out. Chin length, maybe. Or shoulder