Trace's Psychic Read online

  Trace’s Psychic

  Jory Strong

  Book 1 in the Supernatural Bonds series.

  Homicide detective Trace Dilessio has always considered himself a regular meat and potatoes kind of guy—a red-blooded man who likes his women with big boobs, a nice ass and legs that don’t stop. Aislinn Windbourne is a whole different type than what he usually goes for. And even though he hates psychics—especially those who get tangled up in police business—Trace can’t seem to fight his obsession for the delicate beauty who makes him feel both primitive and protective.

  Years of being shunned in Elf-space because of her half-elf, half-human blood have made Aislinn cautious about opening her heart—until she meets Trace. He beguiles her from the start, and among Elves, such a reaction usually means a couple is destined to form a heartbond. But even as love chases away her loneliness, every time Trace rejects the magic that’s part of who she is, Aislinn fears this human world might be every bit as painful as the one she grew up in.

  Ellora’s Cave Publishing

  www.ellorascave.com

  Trace’s Psychic

  ISBN 9781419900921

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

  Trace’s Psychic Copyright © 2004 Jory Strong

  Edited by Sue-Ellen Gower

  Cover art by Syneca

  Electronic book publication 2004

  The terms Romantica® and Quickies® are registered trademarks of Ellora’s Cave Publishing.

  With the exception of quotes used in reviews, thisbook may not be reproduced or used in whole or in part by any means existing without written permission from the publisher, Ellora’s Cave Publishing, Inc.® 1056 Home Avenue, Akron OH 44310-3502.

  Warning: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. No part of this book may be scanned, uploaded or distributed via the Internet or any other means, electronic or print, without the publisher’s permission. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in federal prison and a fine of $250,000. (http://www.fbi.gov/ipr/). Please purchase only authorized electronic or print editions and do not participate in or encourage the electronic piracy of copyrighted material. Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated.

  This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locales is purely coincidental. The characters are productions of the author’s imagination and used fictitiously.

  Trace’s Psychic

  Jory Strong

  Trademarks Acknowledgement

  The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of the following wordmarks mentioned in this work of fiction:

  Associated Press: Associated Press, The

  Bailey’s: R & A Bailey & Co

  Dos Equis: Cerveceria Moctezuma, S.A.

  Kahlua: The Kahlua Company

  Starbucks: Starbucks U.S. Brands

  Tums (Fastchew Tums): SmithKline Beecham Corporation

  Prologue

  The girl-child was uncharacteristically quiet. Where usually she was a dizzying whirl of laughter and motion, today she stood by her mother’s side with the stillness of a delicate fey creature surrounded by condemning spirits.

  Her mother had warned her not to speak unless spoken to, not to try and touch any of the beautiful animals that she might see, or the shiny gold statuettes, or the sparkling gems.

  All these things belonged to the man they were going to visit—her nonanti, her grandfather—though she wasn’t to call him that unless he gave her permission, and she wasn’t to get her hopes up that he’d grant that permission.

  Why this was the case, the girl-child didn’t understand. She knew only that since coming to this place, her mother had changed.

  Or maybe her mother had always been like this, but because the child rarely saw her, she hadn’t understood before.

  The child’s lip quivered. She missed Moki.

  Moki was a warm hug and big pockets always full of magical items. Moki was music and singing, stories of mysterious places and gypsies who traveled all over the country and had great adventures. Moki was the mother of her heart, the woman who’d taken care of her every day since her birth.

  She missed Moki. She wanted to leave this place and go back home. But her true mother said that she must forget about Moki and concentrate on fitting in here.

  “Bring the child forward,” the man on the shining, gem-covered chair said. He did not smile, nor was his voice welcoming.

  The girl-child tried to be brave, though it was hard. Her mother’s hand tightened on her own and she thought her mother might be afraid of the man as they took the few steps necessary to reach the place where he sat.

  “What do you call her?” the man asked.

  “Aislinn.”

  “And what of her father?” The man’s lips twisted with distaste. “The human?”

  “He’s dead. Along with the rest of his band members.” There was a small, almost silent sob, before Aislinn’s mother added, “Their tour bus went off the road during a storm.”

  The man turned his attention to the girl-child. “She has the look of one of us. Let me see her ears.”

  Aislinn’s golden locks were pulled back to expose the delicate pointed ears. She twitched, wanting to cover them. It still felt awkward to go without the butterfly earrings that Moki had always insisted she wear during the day so that she wouldn’t be ridiculed for having funny ears.

  The man said nothing for several minutes. Then he said, “Half-elf, half-human. She may stay here until she is old enough to be tested. If she proves to have our powers, then she may live among us. If not, then she must be returned to the human world.”

  Chapter One

  “Son of a bitch, Trace, I hate this stuff!” Detective Dylan Archer said as he stomped into the homicide bullpen.

  Trace Dilessio grimaced at the sight of the newspaper in his partner’s hand. He’d seen it himself when he stopped for breakfast this morning. Fuck, he might as well have ordered cardboard for all the pleasure he got out of his meal.

  He’d been up half the night doing what he could to help locate the missing Morrison kid and it wasn’t even his case. Thank God.

  He was a murder detective, not a Missing Persons cop. But he’d pitched in all the same because everybody on the force knew that the more time elapsed, the less likely things were going to end well.

  Then the parents had rushed off to some psychic, and suddenly the kid was found.

  It stunk like a publicity stunt.

  And like pouring salt in a wound, this morning’s article had suggested that the police should be more open-minded and consult the psychics on missing person’s cases. The play it was getting on the TV was even worse.

  Trace gritted his teeth just thinking about it. This psychic shit always managed to push his buttons.

  “I say we have vice run a raid on this psychic operation,” his partner said. “There’s bound to be something we can bring them in on.”

  Trace shook his head. “Yeah, and the newspapers would have a field day with that, Dylan. Be grateful it’s not our case. What goes around comes around. Eventually the psychic involved in this stunt will get what’s coming to them. Now let’s hit the road. We’ve got a full day ahead of us.”

  Dylan dropped the newspaper on his desk. “Hey, you’re still on for after work, right?”

  Trace shrugged. “Yeah, sure.”

  * * * * *

  The chime sounded over the doorway and Aislinn looked up from where she was dusting the glass shelves and rearranging a display of crystals. It still made her nervous when Moki left her in charge of Inner Magick, but when she saw who’d come in, Aislinn relaxe
d. She counted Sophie as one of her truest friends.

  “I won’t take no for an answer,” Sophie said, putting her hands on her hips and scowling for effect. The crystals dangling from her ears echoed the green fire in her eyes.

  Aislinn laughed softly and held her hands in the air, acknowledging defeat. “I’ll go, but only for a little while. I promised to be somewhere tonight.”

  Sophie frowned. “Tell me that you’re not going over to that…person’s…place tonight.”

  “He has some talent, and he’s been kind to me.”

  Sophie snorted. “Of course he’s been kind to you. He wants to screw you—literally and figuratively.”

  “It’s not like that. Patrick is a friend. He’s not interested in me in a sexual way.” Aislinn ducked her head to hide a smile. She knew what Sophie’s next words would be.

  “Right. He’d jump you in a second, so would most of the guys who meet you. I mean, look at you. You’re like something out of a fairy tale—tiny and beautiful.” Sophie paused and looked down at her own tall, lithe figure, before adding, “Next to you, I’m an Amazon. I hate you.”

  Aislinn laughed. “You always say that, but whenever we go out together, by the end of the night you have the men begging for your phone number.”

  Sophie snorted again. “Only because they don’t get anywhere with you. You know, just because ninety-nine-point-nine percent of the guys don’t believe in anything besides beer and football doesn’t mean that you can’t enjoy having one of them in your life. At worst they won’t say anything about this—” Sophie waved her hand toward the displays containing crystals, tarot cards and runes, “—and at best, once they see you’ve got talent and aren’t some hokey fortune-telling-fake, then they’ll actually be interested in what you do. But—and here’s the big ugly but—you’ve got to actually date one of them! And to date one of them, you’ve got to first meet one of them. Which luckily for you, is where I come in.”

  Aislinn couldn’t stop herself from smiling. “Are we meeting up with any of your friends tonight?”

  “Tiffany and my cousin Storm. The cop. You’ve met her a couple of times. She’s the one Moki did a reading for a while back. Speaking of Moki, it seems like she’s been gone forever. When’s she coming back?”

  “I don’t know. She said that traveling with her family again made her homesick for the old days. When I talked to her last night, they’d just gotten to Italy.”

  Aislinn moved one last crystal to form a new arrangement, then stood up. “I can leave now if you like.”

  Sophie huffed. “Tell me you’re not going in that outfit.”

  Looking down at the jeans and oversized work shirt, Aislinn frowned. “What’s wrong with this?”

  “Nothing if you want someone to have to guess whether you have breasts or not.” Sophie pointed toward the back of the store and the stairway that lead to the upstairs apartment. “Go! I’ll lock up for you.”

  Aislinn laughed, but gave in and headed to her apartment. When it came to stubborn, she knew that she was no match for Sophie. And it was not as though she truly objected to dressing up, or that she had no breasts—she did, though they were in proportion to the rest of her, which meant small when compared to non-elfin women.

  A hint of despair touched Aislinn. Not elfin. Half-elfin. A distinction that meant everything among her mother’s people and to her mother, especially after she’d heartbonded with a high-caste Elf-lord.

  Aislinn rubbed a finger over the silver and crystal butterfly earrings that perched at the top of her ears and cleverly concealed what no human was supposed to see. Plastic surgery wasn’t an option. Even if she could truly bring herself to have that part of her heritage cut away, she’d found that human medicine was unpredictable when it came to her body.

  With a sigh, she pulled her hand away from her ear and opened the closet door. As if on cue, Sophie yelled up the stairs, “Wear the pale blue fuck-me dress!”

  Aislinn laughed, but reached for the sundress anyway. She could just imagine what Sophie would say if she knew how truly inexperienced she was with men.

  * * * * *

  As soon as Trace walked into Lily’s Place and saw Miguel and Conner in a non-cop bar with expectant smiles on their faces, he knew he was in trouble. “Shit, Dylan, you’ve set me up!”

  Dylan laughed. “You’re a detective all right, can’t pull anything over on you.” His eyebrows moved up and down. “I hate to say this, Trace, but since you sent your last girlfriend packing, you’ve been cranky as hell, which is a sure sign that a guy who’s used to getting some isn’t getting any. Since I know it’s not from lack of offers, I figured you just needed a new face. Then out of the blue, this opportunity came along to meet some women. I did the only thing a partner can do, I took it upon myself to make the ultimate sacrifice and accept on your behalf.”

  Trace laughed as he and Dylan joined the other detectives.

  “Not here yet,” Miguel Torres, the newest member of the department said.

  Dylan grinned. “They’ll be here. Just try not to scare them off doing your desperate puppy routine when you see the tantalizing Officer Storm O’Malley.”

  Conner chimed in, “Ah man, he’s not going to try and hump her leg, is he? I hate to see a cop doing that. It doesn’t look good for the rest of us.”

  Miguel picked up his bottle of Dos Equis. “I’d hump every inch of her. Just remember she’s mine.”

  Dylan rolled his eyes. “In your dreams. Last time I had my ears out, the word was that Officer O’Malley turned you down flat.” He nodded toward Trace. “But tonight you’re in luck. If fact, we’re all in luck. Tonight gentlemen, we’re going to get to watch a pro at work. We’re going to learn how it’s done from the guy who has to keep nametags next to his box of condoms so he can remember who he’s fucking.”

  Trace shook his head. Shit. What would these guys say if they knew the truth? That the reason he went through so many women was because his dick never got satisfied. Yeah, he came. Yeah, the women came—always. He made sure of that. But it was like scratching an itch that never went away. He’d even tried having a live-in girlfriend, thinking maybe that would take the edge off. Wrong.

  He shifted in his seat, feeling the pent-up need starting to build. Between trying to get the live-in out of his house when he was home and all the OT he’d been putting in at work in order to give her incentive to move on, it had been a while since he’d been with a woman.

  Goddamn! Maybe Dylan wasn’t bullshitting. Maybe he had gotten cranky without even realizing it. Maybe this was just what he needed. A hard, fast fuck. No promises. No strings. No recriminations.

  Trace’s cock jerked to attention and seconded the motion when a tiny blonde walked in with three other women a few minutes later.

  “Oh yeah,” muttered Conner. “Jackpot. I’d take any one of those three and leave the well-stacked Officer Storm O’Malley for Miguel.”

  The female officer in question spotted the men and said something to the other women. All three turned to look, but Trace felt like there was a hot wire leading from the blonde straight to his dick. “Who is she?”

  Dylan laughed. “Here we go, men, The Pro is locked on to a target! Which one do you want?”

  Trace shifted in his seat and ignored the question. The last thing he needed was for the guys to think they heard him panting. He’d never live that one down. Christ, he couldn’t remember a time since he was a teenager when his cock had felt like this—like it was going to explode just from looking and fantasizing. And right now his fantasies were kicking into overdrive and they all involved him having the little blonde any way he wanted her.

  He almost groaned out loud when the women headed for a booth. Great. They were going to have to do the “let’s pretend we’re not here to hook up with someone” bullshit before they could get to the actual fucking.

  “Carumba,” Miguel muttered. “Nothing is simple with her.”

  Dylan laughed and clapped Miguel on the shoulde
r. “Yeah, I can see she’s hot for you.” He stood up. “I’ll go and suggest they join us.”

  Conner snickered. “Ten bucks says it’s going to take more firepower than you have to get them over here.”

  “You’re on. Anyone else in?”

  Trace said, “I’ll back you.”

  Miguel grinned. “My money’s with Conner.”

  Dylan stood up and swaggered over to the booth. Trace’s attention never left the blonde’s face. His gut tightened when she smiled at his partner and extended a small, graceful hand. He couldn’t stop the low growl from escaping. Until he got his fill, there was only going to be one man riding her. The blonde was in for a disappointment if she thought she was leaving tonight with anyone but him.

  His partner’s attention turned to the redhead and Trace felt some of the tightness leave his chest. The blonde was talking to one of the other women, not focusing on Dylan.

  “I’ll be goddamned,” Conner muttered as he reached for his wallet and extracted a ten-dollar bill.

  Trace watched the women leave their booth. Anticipation streaked through him along with another round of cock-jerking lust. Jesus, he couldn’t remember being so turned-on, so fast.

  Up until now he’d always considered himself a regular meat and potatoes kind of guy, a red-blooded man who liked his women with big boobs, a nice ass, and legs that didn’t stop. He was flexible when it came to hair color and the ability to hold an intelligent conversation. And since he was a big guy—in every way—his women were usually tall, like the redhead Dylan seemed to be making a play for.

  Trace grimaced. The blonde that had his dick aching was a whole different type than what he usually went for, and he wasn’t convinced she could even take all of him, much less take him in all the ways he wanted to put it to her.