Ghost Whisperer (Foolshope #4)

Chapter 1

April

Franklin Cyng looked out over the crowd in the dim light and restlessly shifted his weight from one foot to the other.

He didn't do restless. He couldn't say what was wrong.

He'd been in the office, doing admin work like most days, when a heated wave had washed over him.

A pull inside his chest had urged him to leave the office and step into the bar.

He couldn't explain why he'd allowed it to dictate his actions. He had more paperwork he needed to deal with.

When he'd become alpha of the Ulledo werewolf pack, he hadn't thought he'd spend most of his waking hours working in a run-down bar tucked away in a dirty back alley, but it was his reality.

"Eh, boss."

He slowly turned to look at Elvin, his second in command and best friend since childhood. "Yes?"

"There's some trouble in the corner."

Franklin looked toward the corner, then back at Elvin while slowly raising one eyebrow. Trouble was Elvin's second name. There were few things he liked more than trouble. He enjoyed causing it, and, fortunately, he also enjoyed solving it.

"What kind?" Maybe his subconscious had known something was going on. Maybe it was why he stood here instead of being seated in his chair.

"A psychic."

Franklin swallowed a growl. He didn't want any trouble with psychics. Ulledo was only half an hour's drive away from Foolshope, a psychic community. Only a week ago, some of his men had drugged and kidnapped a psychic in an attempt to blackmail his family. Stupid fuckers.

Luckily, the man had escaped and run off with a vampire before Franklin found out what they'd done.

The vampire in question was a friend of Averett's, the Foolshope alpha, who had called to inform him--not a good look for the pack.

Especially not when two of Franklin's men had gone there to recapture the psychic, and one of them had ended up dead. Attacking a vampire was stupid.

It had been embarrassing as hell to have to admit he didn't have a clue what was going on, but all he had to do was apologize and hand back the psychic's belongings.

Then he'd made those of his men involved apologize--to him, not to the psychic.

He wasn't a fan of psychics, stuck-up bastards who believed they were better than wolves, but for the most part, they stayed away. So what had made one of them wander in here?

"How are they causing a problem?"

Elvin frowned. "He's already been here for some time." He pointed through the crowd to the darkest corner of the establishment, tucked away between the emergency exit and the door leading into the corridor with the restrooms. "The guy in the Christmas sweater."

Franklin leaned to the side to be able to see better. There was a slim guy with tousled dark hair and a thick dark green sweater with Santa on the front and the text: I do it for the Ho's.

He snorted. Then he realized three people were surrounding the man, one woman in her early sixties, perhaps, and two men in their thirties or forties. It was hard to tell.

Either way, they were arguing. Anger bubbled up inside of Franklin for some inexplicable reason. People argued all the time, it was nothing new, but despite not hearing a word, the argument made his hands curl into fists. "What are they doing?"

He had to force himself not to storm over there.

The man looked at him as if he'd heard him speak--he couldn't have. His lips parted and a flush painted his cheeks.

Elvin shrugged. "The guy's been there for a while, sipping on a drink and talking to himself, then the rest came rushing in and started nagging at him. They want him to leave."

Franklin looked at the man again. He was an adult. At first glance, Franklin would say in his twenties, but the more he looked, the more certain he got that he was older. In his thirties. "Maybe he has a drinking problem." Something twinged in Franklin's chest. He hoped not.

"Nah." Elvin shrugged. "I got the feeling he doesn't frequent bars often and has little experience with drinks."

"You talked to him?"

"I figured after last time, I'd better serve the bastard instead of giving someone any ideas.

" Elvin glared in Chann's direction. Chann was the one who'd served a spiked shot to the last psychic who'd dared come in here.

Franklin believed he'd learned his lesson, but he appreciated Elvin stepping in all the same.

"And?"

"And he didn't have a clue what to order."

Franklin nodded and watched as one of the men grabbed the guy's arm. A stillness fell over him, and he got to his feet without protest. Franklin had to fight himself not to intercept when they walked in formation toward the door.

Something was wrong.

Right before they stepped outside, the man looked over his shoulder and met Franklin's gaze. The plea in his eyes made Franklin take a step forward. What the hell?

His heart was beating fast, and tingling rushed over his skin. Next to him, Elvin shrugged again before walking toward the bar without another word.

The man was gone, and pain spread in Franklin's soul.

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