The Protected (Fbi Psychics) (13 page)

Through his lashes, he studied her. “I don’t need to. The boy does.” Gus could
feel
it when their kind used their abilities, but no. He didn’t recognize them. It wasn’t an issue, though. Not with Alex. The boy could see them well enough. He always had before.

“
Again
, he didn’t recognize me—if I can hide, what’s to stop somebody else from doing the same thing?” she said quietly. She glanced at her gun and then sighed. “I’m putting this away, but if you come at me again, you and me will go another round. But I’ll pull the gloves off this time.”

There was something so sexy about the way she glared at him that he was tempted to do just that . . . go at her again. But he was already a raging, aching mess of want, and he suspected that if he kept putting his hands on her, his control was going to snap. Masking everything he felt, he brushed by her and moved deeper into the room, pausing to linger by the bed. He reached down to touch Alex’s shoulder, intending to wake him up.

“We can’t . . .”
stay
. The word was on the tip of his tongue. They couldn’t stay.

Somehow, someway, he’d get the boy to a doctor, even if he had to kidnap one, but they couldn’t stay—

Except Alex seemed even hotter now.

So hot he nearly burned Gus’s hands.

Closing his eyes, he went to his knees by the bed.
Please . . .

That was the only thought clear in his mind.

Just . . .
please
 . . .

A hand touched his shoulder.

Woodenly, he said, “The fever seems to be getting higher. I have no way to check.”

“Let me call my boss,” Vaughnne said quietly. “You know he’s ill. He’s half out of his mind with his fever at this point. If you don’t get him help now, it could be too late by the time you
do
try.”

The absolute last thing he could do was say yes.

The absolute last thing.

But then Alex groaned and rolled over onto his side, shuddering, shaking a little as he doubled over.
“Tío . . .”
he whispered, opening his eyes. But his gaze was glassy, and Gus had the oddest feeling the boy didn’t even see him.

“I’m here,
m’hijo
,” he murmured, brushing Alex’s hair back from his face and fighting back the fear that crowded up his throat at the hot, dry feel of fevered flesh under his hand.

“
¿
Mamá?
¿
Dónde está mi mamá?”

Gus closed his eyes while a howl built inside his throat. His mother. Son of a
bitch
—the boy was asking for a woman who had been dead for years. Stroking a hand across Alex’s brow, Gus said softly, “Get some rest, Alex.” He didn’t know what else to say.

Alex blinked and then shook his head.
“Tío . . .”
When he looked at Gus again, there seemed to be a little more focus in his eyes. “I hurt. My back. My stomach.”

“I know . . . I’ll get you a doctor,
Ale . . .
I’ll get you a doctor.” He caught himself just before the name slipped out, but he realized he’d already lapsed, calling the boy an endearment that just wasn’t one he should have used. Shoving his cap back, he rubbed his hand over his hair and then resettled it on his head before rising and meeting Vaughnne’s eyes. Nodding to the door, he waited until she had followed him, playing out the words he needed to say. Praying. Planning. Hoping.

He hadn’t trusted
anybody
in years. Not since Alex’s mother had died. He didn’t want to change that now, but he had to get the boy help. The fever was bad enough, but if Alex was so sick that he was asking for his mother . . . he couldn’t wait any longer.

Hearing the soft fall of Vaughnne’s footsteps behind him, he turned and studied her face. Her dark gold eyes met his and he stared at her, hard. He’d never guessed, he realized. Not once had he guessed that the sleek, sexy woman living across the street from him was FBI. He’d thought it was
possible
she might have been there to watch them. And he’d been prepared. Had even mentally gone through the steps he’d take to kill her and dispose of her body, if it came to that. He’d been prepared for the wrong sort of bad guy, he realized.

Not the cops. Not the FBI. He hadn’t seen this coming.

“How does the FBI know about us?” he asked quietly.

Vaughnne inclined her head. “Now that’s a question you’d have to ask my boss. But I imagine one of the others picked up on something from the kid.”

“Others?”

She hooked her thumbs in her pockets and rocked back on her heels. “Oh, come on now, Gus . . . you’ve done some research on this, I’m sure. Psychic skill isn’t like homogenized milk. You’ve got a whole variety of flavors . . . abilities. Some of us
see
things . . . things from the past, bits and pieces of the future. Some of us can talk into another’s mind.” A faint grin curled her lips and he didn’t have time to brace himself before her voice, low and smooth and potent as whiskey, curled through his mind.

And he realized he’d been wrong . . . yet again. He’d
thought
he’d feel it when a psychic was doing his thing because he always felt it from Alex. But he didn’t feel a thing from Vaughnne—he felt nothing, but he heard something . . . her voice, rolling through his mind, as low and sexy as if she’d been whispering naughty little nothings in his ear.

That would be me, by the way, as you probably figured out,
she told him. Then she shrugged. “There are others who have the ability to track missing people. We usually call them bloodhounds. Some key into . . . ghosts.”

He curled his lip. “Ghosts.”

“Yes.” She smirked at him. “Don’t tell me you believe in psychic skill, but not ghosts.”

He shrugged dismissively. Ghosts weren’t real. That was all there was to it. If they weren’t real, then he didn’t have to think about the one ghost who
should
be haunting him, every day, for the rest of his life.

“Well, that’s an answer.” She shoved her hair back and sighed. “And that’s neither here nor there. You’ve got a sick kid over there. Sick and getting sicker. Are you going to deal with it, or stand there and brood and worry and breathe your paranoia all over us until he needs to be hospitalized just to fix whatever is wrong with him?”

Closing the distance between them, he bent down until he was nose to nose with her. Then, holding her defiant gaze with his, he said quietly, “There is nobody, and I mean this with every bit of strength I have in me, absolutely nobody who means as much to me as that boy. I can, and have, killed for him. I will do it again, without blinking. Am I understood?”

“You’re quite understood.” Her eyes flashed. If they could have burned, he suspected he would have been singed all over.

But that didn’t stop him from reaching up and catching one of her wild, soft curls and twining it around his finger. He half expected her to pull away. She simply stood there, though, as he rubbed his thumb along the thick, silken curl, holding his gaze levelly. “You can call your boss . . . Vaughnne. I want a doctor here. If there isn’t one here within the next few hours, I’ll take the boy and I’ll go find one.” If he had to kidnap one, that was just fine with him. “But understand me, nobody will take that boy from me. Not while I breathe.”

He let go of her hair, watched as she swallowed. Then, as she went to turn away, he caught the back of her neck and hauled her against him.
Show me that you’re afraid, damn it
, he thought, staring down into those wide, dark eyes. Her lashes swept down low, shielding her gaze from his. If she would just be
afraid
, he could maybe throttle this painful need down. He would continue to scare her. He had no issue with using fear on anybody if it kept Alex safe. Alex was
all
that mattered, and in the end, when he had to pay for all the sins he’d committed just to keep that child safe, he would simply offer that up and hope it was enough. He’d been protecting the boy.

But he couldn’t do this . . . couldn’t want this. Couldn’t want her.

The fear he needed to see wasn’t there, though.

She lifted her lashes and met his gaze, straight on. “I’ve already told you, and the promise stands. Nobody is going to hurt him, not if I have anything to say about it. And we don’t want him
taken away
. I was sent down here to watch
over
him. Not steal him from you.”

“Hmmm.” He dipped his head and caught her lower lip between his teeth. The need to do more, to take more . . . take
everything
was so strong he could hardly stand it. If it wasn’t for Alex, wasn’t for the fact that the boy was ill, he’d be buried inside her already, Gus knew it. He bit her, still staring into her eyes, and he felt the shudder as it wracked her body. Stroking his tongue along the area he’d nipped, he resisted the urge to do more. Instead, he held there, his mouth pressed to hers. “So you say. But fuck me over on this, Vaughnne, and every nightmare you’ve ever had will look like a sweet memory by the time I am done with you.”

TEN

L
ISTENING
to the police scanner, Esteban leaned back and crossed his hands over his belly.

He hadn’t expected anything to come of this. Still, he’d flown to Florida and checked into the Peabody, just in case. As an added bonus, he was away from the señor and it gave him some breathing room as he planned what to do next, where to go next.

If the boy and his uncle were there, he had to take care of it personally. But he hadn’t expected anything to happen so soon.

It had, and he hadn’t been there in time.

Now the boy and his uncle were on the move, and the man he’d hired was in the hospital. So far, the señor hadn’t called and he hadn’t had to explain anything. That was good. He’d already bumped up the offer on the website, and another had accepted and was on the move.

This could all be fixed.

So simple. After all this time and all it had taken was that website.

It was too bad the initial man he’d hired had been inept. He should have sent more than one. Esteban realized the error of his ways now. The second offer had come from a man who outlined a plan of attack that included working in teams. He had a partner he worked with and they’d both move in on the child and the reward would be split. A much smarter approach. The first one had just hired some muscle and that hadn’t been enough.

He was paying for his lack of foresight now. In the hospital. The boy’s handiwork? Esteban didn’t know and he hadn’t been able to get much information out of the hospital. He’d claimed to be Watkins’s next of kin, but the nursing staff hadn’t given him anything useful.

For a moment, he eyed the phone and then he shifted his attention to the police scanner. The other one was likely still sitting in a jail cell. Had he talked? Not that he could have said much. Watkins wouldn’t have told the muscle why he was needed. It was good, over all, that they hadn’t told him why his services had been required, and even better that he’d only been paid five hundred up front. Esteban had agreed to that added expense and he was glad it had been a minimal one.

Whoever would have thought that such a pretty little man-whore would turn out to be such a pain in the ass?

That was all he had ever been. He’d done a stint in the military, but it hadn’t lasted—they booted him out, after some disciplinary measures. Since then, he’d drifted through life, fucked his way into some money, and put that pretty face to use. He excelled at whoring around, gambling. He could hold his own in a fight, but he had no real use in life as a man. Esteban had done his research over the years. Eliminating this one man should never have been this complicated. Tracking him
down
should never have been this complicated.

But it had been.

And if he didn’t find those two soon . . .

The phone rang.

Part of him didn’t want to answer. Closing his eyes, he said a quick prayer that his voice wouldn’t shake.

Then he answered. His bowels almost turned to water as nothing but dead air greeted him.

Seconds of silence ticked away, and unable to handle it another moment, he said, “I have promising news. I tracked them down to their most recent location. They’ve been living here for a while, I believe.”

“And do you have my son?”

Squeezing his eyes closed, he clenched one hand into a fist. “No, señor. I don’t. But we’re getting closer and I have found more useful tools to help locate them. Now that I have, it shouldn’t be long.”

“It had better not be. I’ve been far more lenient with you than with your predecessor. Do not make me regret that, Esteban.”

Esteban swallowed the spit pooling in his mouth. “Of course not. Thank you for your trust. For this opportunity. I will—”

The phone went dead.

* * *

REYES
stared outside.

Turquoise waters glistened under the sun. Carefully tended gardens with vivid bursts of flowers stretched out in all directions.

His domain.

His property.

He’d worked hard for this.

He was respected. Feared.

People knew his name and knew to stay out of his way. Some of the most powerful men and women in the world owed him. He had secrets of those powerful people tucked away that could be used to destroy so many lives.

He had more money than he could ever hope to spend in his lifetime.

But the things he wanted the
most
eluded him. He wanted his son back in his home, and he wanted that
pendejo
dead.

Simple. It should really be simple.

There was a knock at the door.

He ignored it, rage still churning inside him.

“Ignacio, may I come in?”

Despite his anger, the woman’s low voice pricked at something inside him. She . . . she was like a drug to him. He’d never touched any of the products he sold. They were the fall of too many men, he knew, and he wouldn’t be like them. But this woman . . . she was a safe addiction. And only his. Turning, he called out her name and watched as she entered.

Her long hair, pale and thick, fell to her hips. A bikini, lush and red, barely covered her curves, and he brooded as she came to him.

He had money.

He had power.

He had this beautiful woman.

And yet he couldn’t get his hands on the child. That child . . . the absolute
pinnacle
of his power. But was he here? Where he belonged? No.

Reaching out, he touched his finger to her lower lip.

She closed her hand around his wrist and smiled at him.

“You’re not happy,” she said softly. “Is it the same problem bothering you?”

“Yes.” He hooked an arm around her waist and pulled her against him. “The man I’ve hired to solve it isn’t working out. I think I need to remove him from the equation and find somebody else.”

She pushed her fingers into his hair. “Maybe you can worry about all of that later . . .” She arched against him and pressed her lips to his jaw. “Worry about me for now.”

* * *

IT
was a lousy, long-ass forty-five minutes and Vaughnne felt like she was going to come out of her skin.

Her very hot, tight, itchy skin.

She just felt that much worse, every time she looked over at the bed and saw Alex huddling in on himself, clutching at his belly as he slept fitfully. His dusky skin was flushed, and the few times she’d touched him, he’d felt hot enough to burn her hand.

Each time she’d touched him, she’d felt the weight of Gus’s gaze slamming into the back of her head, like he was ready to snap her neck if she so much as moved wrong around the boy. She had no doubt he was ready to do just that.

His words echoed through her mind, over and over.

There is nobody, and I mean this with every bit of strength I have in me, absolutely nobody who means as much to me as that boy. I can, and have, killed for him. I will do it again, without blinking. Am I understood?

He’d been trying to scare her, she knew. Yeah, some part of her had been a bit thrown by his intensity, but he obviously had no idea just how far
she
would go to protect somebody she loved. She’d been ready to throw her badge away, her life away. Everything, if it would have saved her sister.

She hadn’t been able to save her.

So she’d been ready to do the same thing just to avenge her.

Daylin . . .

Her heart ached as an image of her sister’s smiling little face flashed through her mind.

Daylin had been just four the last time Vaughnne had seen her. Four years old. Vaughnne had been fifteen years old the day her father threw her out into the streets, when he realized he hadn’t been going crazy, that Vaughnne really was able to whisper into people’s minds. He’d thought it was the devil’s work. That was what he’d claimed. She knew better now.

Psychic ability tended to stick to families. If one person was psychic, chances were there was somebody else in the same gene pool who had abilities, too. It could range from just being very, very astute with an insight that just seemed way too sharp to be natural, to abilities like Vaughnne’s. To freaky-ass shit like Tucker could compel, and everything in between.

She’d gotten her abilities from her father. She realized that now, with the wisdom that came from distance and age. She’d often wondered why he’d hated her so much, and now she knew. It wasn’t hate . . . it was fear. Fear of something he hadn’t understood, fear of something inside himself that he’d never been able to control.

She had no idea what his ability had been, but she knew she wasn’t wrong.

He’d chased her away, while her mother stood there, wringing her hands and crying. They’d just . . . thrown her away, and Vaughnne had never seen her sister again. She never would have known her baby sister was missing if she hadn’t been watching things on her own. He hadn’t once tried to call her. She’d found out nearly a week later, when she’d been doing one of her infrequent stops by his Facebook page, one he’d never bothered to make private. There had been a plea to help find his baby girl.

And Vaughnne’s first look at her sister in more than a year had been on a
missing
poster.

The grief still hit her hard.

“Why the FBI?”

Pulled out of the pit of grief and memory, Vaughnne looked up and found Gus watching her from his position by the window. Abruptly, she realized there was something . . . practiced . . . about the way he stood. Too practiced. Not like he was posing, although she’d seen enough of that, too. No, this was the carriage of a man who knew how to . . . protect. How to fight. How to hunt. Attack.

Fighter
. That much, she knew. She’d seen the clues and already pieced them together, but it went deeper than that. There were fighters, like cops. And then there were those who were modern-day berserkers, warriors without any real equal. Navy Seals, Airborne Rangers . . . but she didn’t think he was from here. Where had he learned . . . whatever he did, she wondered.

He’d turned all the lights off save for a dim one by the bed, enough so that the boy could see. He stood lost in the shadows, his hands empty . . . empty, and ready.

“Well?”

Swallowing, she looked away from him and shrugged. “Why not?”

He snorted. “I can think of a thousand reasons. Why work for the government? I don’t imagine it’s for the money, or the glory.”

“All about the glory,” she said soberly, shooting him a quick glance. “I get up every damn morning and do my workout and my mantra is
for the glory of the FBI
.”

Gus just stared at her.

Obviously, her sense of humor wasn’t appealing. Rolling her eyes, she rose from her chair and started to pace. “It just fit. I was a kid in trouble . . . a lot of trouble. The man who heads up my unit has a knack for finding the people who’ll fit best into his unit. I’d just come off a stint in juvie and—”

“Juvie?”

She lifted a brow. “Juvenile detention center. I was something of a problem child.” That last trip in, she’d stolen some food, and when she’d gotten caught by the store owner, she’d beaten the shit out of him. Not because he’d
caught
her. But when he did catch her, he’d decided he’d take it out of her in a rather inappropriate manner. Of course, nobody had believed her.

The story was a little different when he was arrested for sexual exploitation of a minor two years later, but by then, she was out of the system and busting her ass to get her GED so she could get into college. Still, it had been a pleasure to see that man going to jail.

“Anyway, it was right before I was eighteen and I was reading in the paper about this woman who’d found a kid down south. She was one of the bloodhounds in the unit, although I didn’t really know about them. I headed down there—my gut told me that was what I needed to do. I wanted to talk to her. I hadn’t realized there were others like me until then and I . . . hell, I don’t know. I wanted to talk to her. She was in the hospital—I never did talk to
her
, but her boss? I did talk to him. He told me I wasn’t ready. Had to get my GED, had to go to college. Had to get myself together and under control—in other words, I had to stay out of trouble. He helped me get my life together, and he was there walking me through the mess while I did just that.” She shrugged self-consciously and looked away. “When I got out of college, I told him I was ready. He didn’t have much to say to that, but a few days later, the paperwork showed up at my place.”

“Paperwork?”

She lifted a brow. “You don’t just walk into the FBI and say,
Hey . . . I want a job
, Gus.”

Swiping her palms down her jeans, she moved over by the bed and touched her palm to Alex’s brow again. “He’s still so damned hot,” she muttered.

“We should put him in a cool bath.”

Vaughnne shook her head. “Bad idea. I’ve taken basic first aid courses . . . sometimes it comes in handy. Doctors don’t always think that’s the wisest thing these days. Sometimes the body reacts by the fever shooting even higher.”

Rising, she checked the time. “The doctor will be here soon.”

Gus looked like he wanted to argue, but after a moment, he just went back to staring out the window. “You never really answered. Why the FBI?”

“Because it fit. I’ve seen too many monsters, too many assholes in my life. I know what it’s like to be victimized and I hate it. With the Bureau, I have a chance to use what I can do to help people. I don’t have to hide what I am all the time and I can actually use it to make a living.” She shrugged and then suppressed a wince as the movement sent pain streaking up her neck to echo through her skull. She was too damn tight, too damn tense. Somehow, she didn’t think she’d have time to work in a massage or anything in the next few days, next few weeks, either. “Nothing else is going to come up in my life that lets me use what I can do the way this does.”

“And how can you use it?” Gus continued to stare at her. “How does your . . . talking . . . thing make you at all useful?”

“Pair me with a telepath who can receive as well as send and the two of us can go infiltrate damn near anything without having to worry about being spied on or caught because we had to reach out and make contact with the unit. For that matter, I can
always
be in contact with my unit. My range is pretty much limitless.” She smirked at him and added, “Just in case you’re thinking you can use me for hostage purposes or something. It’s a bad idea. I can reach out and touch somebody, so to speak, anytime I want.”