Paranormals (Book 2): We Are Not Alone by Christopher Andrews Read Free Book Online Page B

again .
    Christine White was that damn waitress who Michael hooked up with a year ago. Turned out she was a mole or whatever for that asshole Richard McLane. Michael personally arrested her ass, and Christine got locked away like the rest of those terrorists. Good riddance ... except that she had written to Michael at least a dozen times, addressing her letters to the PCA headquarters since he had moved apartments.
    As far as Mark knew, his partner had only opened one of them, the first one — when Mark expressed his “morbid curiosity” about what she had to say, Michael had tossed the letter onto Mark’s desk without a word. The girl wrote about how she had made a mistake, she was paying for her crime, she really cared for him, blah, blah, blah. Mark had openly scoffed at the notion, badmouthing the backstabbing bitch in top “bros-before-hoes” form.
    But as the months passed and Michael withdrew, stewing about the whole ordeal almost nonstop, or so it seemed ... now Mark wasn’t so sure that had been the right approach anymore.
    I guess maybe it’s time for a Plan B.
    Mark stepped out of the office and looked around for any available agent, but who he found instead was way more pleasing to the eye.
    “Hey, Density!” he called.
    The dark and beautiful woman turned at the sound of his voice. Density was another paranormal agent who could alter the solidity of matter upon contact, increasing wood until it was tougher than diamond or decreasing steel until it could be crushed like aluminum.
    “Hello, Shockwave,” she replied with an attractive smile. She was holding a cartonful of office supplies that she was hefting pretty easily for such a petite woman.
    “Have you seen my partner around this afternoon? He ain’t in our office.”
    She thought for a moment. “You know, I think he might be in the gym — he was carrying his bag when I saw him. It wasn’t that long ago, he’s probably still there.”
    “Thanks.” Mark moved in that direction, walking backward as he asked, “The Captain got you chasin’ any rogues today?”
    Captain Brunn was the late Captain Jarrah’s replacement as regional commander; Mark was indifferent to him for the most part, as he was neither a nice guy nor an asshole, just a typical penpusher who got drafted over from the CIA.
    “Not today,” Density said with a smile. “Captain Brunn’s been over in the testing vault with Powerhouse.”
    The way her voice went all dreamy when she mentioned the PCA’s new golden boy turned Mark’s stomach; the rumor mill suggested that Density had a crush on him — as if enough people around here didn’t already have their heads up Lincoln Roberts’ butt. Still ... Mark bit his tongue against any smartass remarks, and settled for a friendly nod and a wave before turning back around and going about his business.
    See? He really had picked up some of Michael’s good habits.
     
    PCA
     
    True to Density’s word, Mark found his partner in the PCA gym, but Michael had already finished with the weights, treadmill, and Taekwondo practice. Instead, Mark found him sitting on a bench by the locker rooms, working a pair of heavy-duty handgrips — he didn’t just squeeze them, but also curled his wrists inward toward his body with each compression. Judging by the tension on Michael’s face, Mark guessed the handgrips were built for maximum resistance.
    Deciding to put a spin on his lost porn joke from before, Mark commented as he approached his partner, “Huh. You sure you should be doin’ that in here? Looks like an exercise for better masturbation.”
    Sounding neither offended nor amused, Michael replied, “It’s part of my never-ending physical therapy for my burn scars. If I don’t keep it up, the tissue hardens.”
    Mark glanced down at Michael’s hands again — he had gotten so used to the scars that covered them past the wrists, he didn’t really see them anymore. Michael had gotten them trying to save a friend; he’d failed,