Extrasensual Perception (Dreamspun Desires Book 26)

By: Rayna Vause

Chris leaned against the wall of the elevator as the weight of the day all but made his knees buckle. “God, Jack. I don’t know how much more I can handle.”

Jack wrapped Chris in his arms. “I’m here, you know. You can lean on me.”

“Everyone already does that. I don’t want to be another burden you have to carry.”

“Never. You’re capable of standing on your own two feet. I know that. But we can lean on each other now.” The elevator doors slid open.

Chris leaned against Jack as, arms around each other’s waists, they made their way down the hall to Jack’s suite. They headed straight for the kitchen. Chris leaned against the counter and closed his eyes. An image of Angelica lying in that hospital bed projected in his mind. She lay so pale and still, swathed in bandages. The slow, steady beep of the heart monitor the only indication that she lived.

His mother popped into his head as well, coughing, annoyed to be back in the hospital. A smile tugged at his mouth. Only his mother could make him laugh in the face of illness.

He opened his eyes, trying to chase away the memories, and found a bottle of water being held out to him.

“I could use a beer.”

“You get water. Especially with the pain meds in you.”

“It’s ibuprofen, not narcotics.” Still, he accepted the drink, twisted off the top, and took a long pull.

Setting it aside, he turned to Jack, only to be yanked into Jack’s strong embrace.

Extrasensual Perception

By Rayna Vause

If a stalker doesn’t kill them, the heat between them might.

Christopher Vincent is desperate enough for a job that he accepts an offer to entertain as a psychic in a friend’s nightclub. Jackson Whitman, the club’s other owner, is less then thrilled by the new act. To him, psychics are ridiculous and a liability. But when they come face-to-face, attraction flares to life between them.

Someone is watching Jack and Chris from the shadows. What starts as a series of creepy encounters leads to deadly attacks.

Jack and Chris must set aside their differences and work together to survive a homicidal stalker. But can they survive their explosive connection?

To Elle Brownlee for helping me whip this book into shape. To my amazing friends who support me through every book. And, as always, to my mom.

Chapter One

PAIN tore through him as the impact of the bullet knocked him backward. He went flying, not airborne long enough to draw a full breath, let alone scream, before he plunged into frigid water. Agony radiated through him in waves as displaced water encased him in its murky depths. He fought his way to the surface as best he could with only arm. The other arm hung useless at his side as a cloud of blood formed around him.

His sodden clothes weighed him down, his jacket tangled around him, and his lungs burned, demanding oxygen. He kicked toward the surface but something held him down. His heart pounded; the rush of his blood surging through his body roared in his ears. He caught sight of a net clinging to his leg, keeping him prisoner in the cold and muddy harbor waters. He clawed at the net, trying to get free as he resisted the urge to inhale, but he couldn’t hold out for much longer. Black spots bloomed before his eyes, obscuring his vision.

Strength seeped from muscles that continued to wrestle with the tangled web of netting. He caught one last glimpse of light dancing on the surface of the water before the world went dark.

“MORNING, Mama.” Chris slipped into the room carrying his mother’s daily tea, toast, and fruit. He placed them on a bedside table, then went to adjust the blinds, allowing a sliver of daylight into the small bedroom. No surprise that when he turned to face her, he found her struggling to push herself up in the bed.

“Mama.” He blew out a frustrated breath. “Let me help you.” He lifted her slight weight so that she sat upright, back supported by the mound of pillows she slept on.

She frowned as she cussed and slapped at her weakened arm.

“Useless thing,” she grumbled, furrowing her brow as she adjusted the oversized navy blue T-shirt she called her favorite nightgown. Then she smoothed back her shoulder-length salt-and-pepper hair with her strong hand.

Chris pulled over the tall, wooden chair from the corner of the room, smoothed her covers, and sat. He laid a hand on his mother’s knee.

“Give it time. The doctors and therapists say you’re improving. Getting a little stronger every day.”

“Bah. Charlatans, every one of them.”

Chris picked up the mug of tea he’d made in her cherished Lily Dale mug and handed it to her. “Drink, take your medicine. The aide will be here in a bit to help you wash and dress, then take you to therapy. I’m going to head over to the shop and start getting things packed. We’ve only got thirty days to get everything out before the end of the lease.”