Page 66 of Deadly Blooms (Psychic Unraveled #1)

AGAINST EVERY INSTINCT

Maggie

It’d been about an hour since I had hung up with Graham, and I still couldn’t get him out of my head. Not in a giddy high school crush way—more like a steady hum under my skin. It was unsettling how easy everything felt with him. Like I didn’t have to armor up before I spoke.

I’d had hook-ups, we knew this. But none of them cracked me open like he did. None of them made me feel… safe enough to want to be seen.

And maybe that was what scared me the most.

I wanted to tell him things. Real things. About my past, about why I flinched when I shouldn’t, why I had nightmares I pretended were just bad dreams. I wanted us to be more than just sex and tension and sarcasm that masked our panic. But he didn’t do relationships. He’d made that pretty clear.

So what was the point?

Technically, I didn’t need a label. I’d done enough begging for affection in my life to know not to ask for more than someone could give. But still— God, I was tired. Tired of acting like a couple of orgasms were enough to fill the gaping hole where connection should be.

Maybe it was time to try something else. Get to know him. Be his friend. Try something real.

But how could you be “just friends” with someone when your whole body lit up like a frickin' Christmas tree every time he looked at you?

Ding.

Derek:

Graham is sending me over to set up some stuff. I should be there around 2. Does the attic have electrical outlets?

I blinked at the message.

Ok. I think so… I’ll find Uncle Silas and get back to you.

Derek sent a thumbs-up emoji, and I made my way to the attic door.

“Uncle Silas?” I yelled. “You up there?”

As soon as I touched the crystal knob, a puff of green smoke erupted in my face, thick with the scent of grape cigars. Uncle Silas materialized mid-sigh.

“Do I look like your butler, my dear?” His tone was bone-dry, but I was beginning to learn the sound of affection buried under all the theatrics.

“How would you like me to summon you? I’d do it like this if you were alive, so…”

He narrowed his eyes. “Of course you would.”

“Derek is on his way over to set something up in the attic. Are there outlets up there?”

He glared at me like I just insulted the family lineage. “What do you think this is—a shack? Of course there are outlets, we aren’t primitive.”

I texted Derek the all-clear, but Uncle Silas wasn’t done.

“And where, pray tell, am I supposed to go for privacy , if you and your merry band of ectoplasm seeking mortals are planning on infiltrating the attic?”

I blinked. That… was a fair point.

He couldn’t leave the house. He was stuck here, while the rest of us barge through like it was a free-for-all. I hadn’t thought about that.

“Do you want the suite back?” I asked, hoping to God he didn’t say yes. I’ve grown attached to that bathtub.

“Heavens no. But perhaps… the cubby, or maybe the study. I rather liked it when I was alive.”

I hesitated. “Uncle Silas, this house is still yours. I don’t want you shoved into a crawl space like a ghost on time-out.”

“Maggie, the cubby shall be fine.” His expression softened just a little. “This manor has served me well. It’s time it serves someone else. I only ask for one thing.”

“Name it.”

He leveled a look at me.

“Stop yelling my name like I’m some sort of disobedient hound.”

I bit back a grin. “Then what should I do instead?”

“I don’t know. Invent something. You’re clever.” He waved his hand and floating up the stairs. “Until then, I’ll be in my cubby attempting to get a little shut eye. Kindly refrain from screaming.”

Derek rolled up right on time, his hatchback crammed to the brim with boxes of computer equipment that must have cost a fortune.

“Derek, what exactly are we doing here?” I asked, tapping my nails against the roof of his car. Inside was a top-of-the-line gaming laptop, extra monitors, hard drives, and what looked suspiciously like a small office supply store.

He wrestled a portable generator free from the tangled cords. “Graham asked me to set a few things up,” he grunted, as the machine thudded to the ground.

“O-kay? Well, let me help you.” I grabbed a box stuffed with paper reams and sticky notes, hustling to the front door before it slammed shut on him.

“Don’t the police usually take care of this sort of thing at the precinct?”

“Normally, yes. But you’ll just have to ask Graham about it. I really don’t know much.”

Something was off. Derek wasn’t just quiet—he was too quiet. Cagey. Like a teenager hiding porn under his mattress, only the porn was apparently network cables.

We made our way up both flights of stairs and into the darkened space.

“What on earth is going on here, dear girl?” Uncle Silas’s voice filled the air before his plume even appeared.

“We’re hosting the Geek Squad now, I guess.” I muttered, setting the box down on the couch.

Uncle Silas floated toward Derek and peered into the box. The moment his eyes landed on a long black device half-buried under packing peanuts, he recoiled with a gasp.

“Oh no. Absolutely not. You’re not doing that here!”

“Look, Silas,” Derek set another box on the couch. “We just need it for a little while. Graham can explain when he gets here.”

“No. No! NO! You will not be performing more of your hacking games in my attic! Absolutely not!” Uncle Silas flew over by the stained glass windows. “It is completely out of the question.”

“Hacking? Derek, what is he talking about?” I asked, examining the contents again. “What is this thing?” I pointed to the device that made Uncle Silas go crazy.

Derek sighed. “It’s a manual transfer switch for the generator.” He smeared his hand down his face. “Look, Maggie, I honestly can’t tell you. If I do, it would set you up for time behind bars, so please… just wait… wait until Graham gets here.”

I really didn’t like what was going on. Whenever a man went through such lengths to hide something, it was bad—very bad.

“Fine.” My voice was calm, but my chest buzzed. I headed back to the car and scooped up whatever I could carry—boxes, wires, newly developing trust issues.

I didn’t like secrets. I’d lived through enough of them to know they rot you from the inside.

“Ugh! I can’t stand being lied to…” I muttered under my breath. “It makes a person?—”

“Paranoid? Vindictive? Drop-dead sexy when pissed?” Graham whispered into my ear as he slid his hand around my sides, scaring the absolute shit out of me.

“Goddamn it, Graham!” I jumped, smacking my head on the hatch. “Are you trying to give me a heart attack?”

He laughed, but quickly realized I had a lump forming and apologized. “I’m sorry, are you alright?”

“What the hell are you hiding?” I narrowed my eyes, still rubbing the back of my skull. “Why is Derek setting up some kind of command center in the attic?”

Graham sighed. “Can’t get anything past you, can I?”

It was hard to stay mad at him when he looked like that.

He was in a cream cable knit sweater, dark jeans, and brown logger boots like he just stepped out of a winter fashion spread.

His hair was slicked back, stubble faded into clean edges like he’d gone to a damn barber. He looked so good, I was offended.

I met his steel-blue gaze head-on. “What is going on?”

He kissed my forehead like that was supposed to pacify me. “Nothing for you to worry your pretty little head about.”

He tossed my box into another like it was settled. “Get the door, would you?”

Oh, hell no.

“I deserve to know what’s going on.”

My feet didn’t move. Neither did my stare.

“And you will.” He elbowed the hatch shut and walked right past me like that was the end of it.

“Graham. Stop.” My voice cut sharper now. “I’m not in the mood for games.”

He set the box down and pulled me into his arms—like a distraction would work. The sweater’s sleeves were rolled, showing off the tattoos I’d lost my damn mind over last night.

Did he always have to smell like both sin and sanctuary? Now he wore a warm, spicy cologne laced with jasmine and cedar and the scent of my shampoo still lingering. Goddamn it. He smelled like he’d been tangled up in me all night. Which—he was.

I could have melted into him.

But no.

Not today.

I shoved the heat down and pulled up my armor. If I could just forget about his scent, the sex, and the fact that this man should have been on the cover of GQ, I might’ve actually gotten to the bottom of this.

“No one’s playing games, pretty girl.” He pressed both hands into my shoulders, grounding me like he thought I was about to bolt. “You can’t tell anyone. Especially the captain.”

My brow knitted together. That was the kind of thing criminals said right before a fan became covered in shit.

“They’re handing it off to the county. Same M.O. popped up in neighboring towns. Copycat or the killer moved on—they don’t know. But they’re cutting your protection. I’m not.”

“What?!” My heart sank and galloped at the same time. “What about Morty Planchette? What about the fucking crystal? What about?—”

“Derek’s more than a ghost hunter,” he said. “He’s one of the best damn computer minds this side of New York.”

“You’re risking your badge for this?”

“Like I said, don’t worry that pretty little head.”

Then he patted my head. Actually patted my fucking head. Like I was a toddler. Or a pet. Sure as hell not like someone he just jerked off to.

And just like that, I wanted to throw the box he was carrying down the goddamn stairs.

If there was a secret op about to go down in my attic, and I was clearly the bait, shouldn’t I have been the first to know?

“Why don’t you get dressed for tonight, and I’ll help Derek.”

That was all he said. No explanation. No apology. Just orders, like I was some sex doll he could plop in the corner and put on silent when he didn’t want to deal with me anymore.

I stared at him. Not a blink. Not even a breath.

No yes.

No no.

Just what the actual fuck echoing behind my eyes.

“Oh, Max—I almost forgot.”