She wouldn’t know if it closed or not because she had no way of seeing inside the damn house.
Well, she hadn’t.
She did now. It was possible she’d be able to see the tape from her setup back at her place.
She’d check.
But until she got there . . .
It was a few more breath-stealing, soul-eating minutes before she made it to the alley running between the two houses. Once she was there, she settled back into a jog. The minute she reached the street, she put everything she had into it and ran hell-bent for leather, determined to get home.
* * *
“NO.”
Nalini stared at the screen. She was almost obsessively refreshing her screen. No takers. Yet. Some bites, yes, but nothing solid. Just stay that way, she thought.
She had a real live psychic in Orlando she wanted on that job. Assuming she could get him to do it. If he took it, she could get him to grab the kid and get him someplace safe. She even had a good idea of where safe was.
She just had to convince him.
“Come on, Tucker,” she said, smiling a little as she leaned forward and scrolled down the page to check out some of the other posts on the forum. Sooner or later, she thought. Sooner or later, those thugs were going to come out to play. “What have you got to lose? You already live there.”
He grunted in response. A few seconds ticked by. “What’s this about?”
He would ask that question.
She stroked a finger down her brow. “I’m trying to figure that out, but when I look at this post, I hear screams. My gut goes tight. Somebody hurts if this happens, Tucker. You know enough about hurting, I imagine.”
“I don’t know what your poison is, blondie, but stay out of my head.”
She chuckled. “My poison?”
“Yeah. Whatever voodoo you do . . . keep your powers out of my head, keep your paws to yourself, whatever you want to call it. I don’t want you screwing around in my head,” he said sourly.
“Tucker, sugar . . . if I decide to screw around with you, it’s going to involve you, me, and a bed. That’s all. Well, if you’re into kink, we can maybe play around with that, but trust me, if and when I decide to screw around with you, it’s going to involve actual physical contact . . . it’s more fun that way.” There was no if, though. At least not on her part.
Silence stretched out. Hot, heavy, and tense.
Then, finally, in a voice thick with regret, he said, “Now, darlin’, that sounds absolutely perfect, but it’s not about to happen. Me and bare skin aren’t a good combination. But it’s a nice thought, nonetheless.”
You and bare skin, huh . . . she thought about the way he’d looked the few times she’d met him. Black gloves on his hands. Wicked sexy tattoos twining up his arms. That fiery red hair and his face set in unyielding lines. She thought about seeing him naked and stretched out on her bed, and the image was so clear, so vivid, she realized with startling clarity that it would happen.
She wasn’t sure just how that was going to come to pass, but it was going to happen.
“You sound awful certain of this.”
“Because I have to be.” His voice flat, the kind of voice that said, We’re done discussing this.
She’d let it go. For now. But the other thing—
“Just what is it I need to find in Orlando?” he asked, catching her off guard.
* * *
AN item.
Tucker stared at the website, running his tongue over his teeth and scratching Heywood’s head. The feline purred and butted her head harder against Tucker’s hand, but Tucker didn’t pick her up. “Yeah, yeah, you purr away.”
Item. The wording on it was enough to make his skin crawl. Something he’d figured out over the past few years . . . many psychics had only one gift, but some did have one stronger gift, and a second weaker one.
Just about all of them, though, had a hyperaware set of instincts, and right then, his were on red alert.
There was something seriously wrong with that message.
An item.
Finally, he dialed Nalini’s number back. She answered so fast, he suspected she’d been waiting for his call. “Two questions . . . is this tied into what we were doing with Dru and Crawford? Because if it is, she could still be in trouble.”
“No.” Nalini paused for a moment and then added, “At least, I don’t think it’s tied in. I’ve been watching these people a very long time and I don’t believe there’s a connection at all. If there is, it’s peripheral.”
He grunted and read the message again. “Okay. And what’s this ‘item’?”
“Well . . .” She laughed a little. “If you promise not to get frustrated, I’ll be honest with you. I’m not entirely certain, but I think it might be a child.”
* * *
ROCKING back on the hind legs of her chair, Vaughnne stared at the back door.
She’d magnified the screen and gone as close on it as she could.
And the tape was clearly visible.
It was only barely clinging to the doorjamb. It was touching, but it wasn’t a smooth fit at all.
If she’d had any time, she would have tried to figure out a better plan, but she’d checked the tracker app and Gus had been on his way back. This was the best she could do. The trained FBI agent. Outwitted by a piece of scotch tape.
When the truck appeared in the driveway, she almost groaned. She covered eyes. “Let this work.”
From where she’d positioned herself, she could see the truck. And she watched as Gus went through his normal routine. Backpack, check, jacket, check. Gun, check. Kid, check.
Study the yard under the pretense of stretching that long lean body . . . check.
Her belly did a mad little flutter and she tried to ignore it. A bag from a local hardware store came out after all that was said and done, and Alex leaned backed against the truck, nose all but buried in a book.
As Gus reached up to shove his ball cap back, she slid her gaze to the boy. He had his head bent and was caught up in the book he was reading. Even after Gus said his name—at least that’s what Vaughnne assumed he was doing, the boy just continued to focus on the book.
For a minute, Gus just stood there, staring at the kid’s bent head, and something about his posture, the way his shoulders went tense, the way he tipped his head back . . . all of it, every last movement he made, and every one he didn’t make, made her realize something.
The man was tired.
She didn’t know what was going on, didn’t know what he was running from. But whatever it was, it had him so worn out, and so tired.
Then, even as her heart ached a little for him, he shook his head, like he was just shaking it off. Then he said something. Judging by the way Alex reacted, the boy heard him and lifted his head, his mouth moving as he responded. Something angry and defiant danced across his features, but Vaughnne had no idea what was being said. She could have adjusted the volume and found out, but she wasn’t doing this to invade their privacy. She just wanted to make sure they stayed safe.
Gus reached up and hooked a hand over the boy’s neck, hauled him close. The boy went and they stood there like that a moment, the kid’s face pressed against Gus’s chest while the man looked around, as though he was seeing monsters in every corner, behind every tree.
Then, finally, they broke apart and headed across the street to Mrs. Werner’s.
* * *
THEY’D finished the damn plumbing thing over at the old lady’s house. Alex sometimes got tired of going over there, but anything was better than being stuck in this little house with just him and Gus. Even if the old lady did sit there and think about how much she wished she were thirty years younger. Sometimes, he had to hide his face because of her thoughts, too. She wasn’t quiet with them at all, and those were the sort o
f thoughts that were hard to block out. Like ignoring the music from a radio blasting at full volume in the middle of the night.
Still, she was nice to both of them, and when Gus was done, she always made them dinner, and then she’d pay Gus. Gus didn’t like to take the money, but he did it anyway, because the more money they had for when they had to run again, the better.
Everything was for when they had to run again and Alex hated it.
Just like he hated what he had to do when they went home. Each and every time.
While Gus checked every stupid thing in the main part of the house, it was Alex’s job to check the windows and doors, make sure nobody had come in while they weren’t there. Alex did it because while Gus could handle anybody that was actually in the house, Alex would be able to sense if anybody had been in.
It had happened before, back when they were in Oklahoma. Alex didn’t like to think of that day. The man who had broken in hadn’t been trying to hurt them—he’d been looking for cash and drugs, but he’d hit the wrong house.
No, Alex didn’t like to think about that. Instead, he focused on what he had to do here. Check the stupid windows, make sure nothing felt off. That wasn’t hard.
Everything felt fine. Tape there. Tape here. Tape everywhere. Coins where they needed to be.
His heart jumped into his chest, though, as he found the tape in the kitchen. That piece by the door. It wasn’t sealed . . . well. It was. But it wasn’t pressed down tight the way it usually was.
Swallowing, he glanced around.
Everything looked fine. He dropped the mental wall he kept around his mind and looked . . . harder. It wasn’t easy to explain the difference, but he felt the difference. His heart was racing by the time he finished, but everything felt fine.
It was all fine, damn it. He didn’t want to run again, didn’t want to leave again. He was so tired of having to run . . .
Hands sweating, he reached out and smoothed his finger down the strip of tape, flattening it into place as he heard the solid, sturdy sound of Gus’s boots.
“Everything clear in here?” he asked from the doorway.
Alex turned around and stared at him. “Why wouldn’t it be?”
And his stomach twisted inside, guilt rising and making him feel more than a little sick. But nobody had been in there. If they had, he’d know, right? He’d feel it. He was so tired of running. He probably hadn’t smoothed the tape down when he put it on last night right before bed. That was all.
No big deal.
Feeling Gus’s eyes on him, he looked up.
The man was watching him solemnly, quietly.
And the guilt just got worse.
A big hand came out and hooked him over the back of the neck, tugged him close. As Gus wrapped an arm around his shoulders, Alex sniffled and blinked back the tears that suddenly decided to choke him. “I know this is not easy,” Gus said quietly. “I know this is not what your mother had planned for you. It is not the life I would have wanted for you, either. It’s not the life I want for you. But you’re alive . . . and you’re safe.”
Alex pulled away and stormed over to the fridge. “I’ve heard this before. It’s not what we planned. But it’s a life. Right?” He pulled out the pitcher of water and poured himself a glass. “Yeah. It’s a life. A shitty one.”
“Watch how you speak,” Gus warned him.
Jerking his chin up, Alex said, “Or what? You going to spank me?”
Gus stroked his chin, studying him. “I think you can go to your room now. You want to act like a petulant child, then do it elsewhere.”
* * *
AS Alex disappeared down the hall, Gus dumped the bag on the table and dropped down into the chair. With a sigh, he covered his face with his hands.
There were days when he swore that this was some hell that had been dropped on him because of the life he’d led. The lives he’d taken, the lies he’d told. He hadn’t intended to go down that road, but it had just . . . fit. And some roads, once you started that walk, you couldn’t turn back.
Too bad Gus hadn’t realized it until it was too late. By the time he had, his hands were bloody, his soul was gone, and the life he’d thought would be his was just . . . a dream. So he distanced himself from his family. The world saw a scheming, womanizing bastard who’d had a few runs of good luck and he’d used it all to his advantage. His pretty face got him in doors and he played with the rich and famous, made connections—and while they weren’t looking, he slid a stiletto into the heart of a man who’d been planning to kill el presidente.
A few years later, he’d been some rich woman’s man-whore—that was the story she told everybody, including her husband. When she whispered to him one night about a ménage à trois at a pretty, private little villa, he agreed. And then he arrived thirty minutes sooner than planned, slit her throat, broke the husband’s neck, and set the stage to make it look like a robbery. He wasn’t even questioned and they were mourned by many at their funeral. He often wondered how the world would react if they knew the husband and wife had been in control of a child slavery ring, selling runaways or indigent children they found on the streets of Mexico into the sex trade.
Deeper and deeper into that life he fell.
And now, he was out of it and all he could do was hope he was fast enough, strong enough to keep Alex alive if trouble found them.
Because it would.
Whether it was karma or just shitty luck, he didn’t know, but they wouldn’t be able to run forever.
Sometimes he wondered if this was God’s way of punishing him. He’d taken lives . . . but if this was a punishment, then he would have been the one who had died that night.
Not Consuelo. She’d been the one who had made that ultimate sacrifice, and here he was, trying to make sure he honored her wishes.
Please . . . you must promise . . .
“I’m trying, love.” He tried every single day, and every single day, he was so very certain he was screwing this up. Keeping one step ahead of people who had endless resources, the money to buy and sell more than a few small countries, people who would just as soon kill you as argue with you.
And the boy was angry.
So very angry.
Sighing, he stood up and tugged off his cap, leaving it on a peg near the door before he retreated into his bedroom. He’d give Alex a while to calm down, then they could tackle his schoolwork. They’d eaten over at Mrs. Werner’s after he’d repaired the fill valve on her toilet, while she ogled his ass . . . again.
Inside his room, he stripped out of his dirty, sweaty clothes and pulled on a pair of worn cotton pants before dropping to the floor. Sit-ups. Push-ups. He had a few weights that he kept with him and he did the most thorough workout he could with them. He moved on to conditioning, although he was limited in how much he could train there. Without a partner, again he was limited.
He was working on teaching Alex. Alex was still a child, though, and his sessions with the boy were all about training Alex to defend himself more than anything else.
More than an hour passed before he was done and he was dripping with sweat, tired and sore.
And still frustrated. Still angry.
Judging by the silence of the house, Alex was still unhappy with him as well.
He moved out into the hall, passed by the boy’s narrow, small room, and saw the kid lying on his cot, staring up at the ceiling with no expression on his face.
Gus turned away.
There was nothing, he knew, that could be said or done.
Nothing.
* * *
“WELL . . . THE cameras work.” Vaughnne stared at Gus’s naked, muscled back.
His very nice naked, muscled back.
As the bathroom door shut behind him, she groaned and leaned back in her seat, covering her face with her hands.
The
cameras worked. The audio feed worked.
The motion sensors she’d placed at the doors and windows worked. The cameras were tucked snug inside the smoke alarms, and she’d been watching him through the tiny little slats and feeling like a pervert.
She’d also had a front row seat to what the boy had done.
He’d seen the tape. Her mistake. That fatal little flaw.
Her heart had dropped like a stone when he moved over to it, but then she’d realized what he was doing.
Fixing it.
And then he lied.
When Gus asked him if everything was okay, he’d turned around, looked the man in the eye, and lied.
She didn’t know what was up with that. Part of her wanted to continue with her own little lies, insisting to herself that she didn’t care. But she couldn’t. She needed to know everything about these two males and she needed to know it now. And it was already for reasons that went beyond the job. It had been from the very beginning. For Alex, it was because she understood that fear in his eyes. With Gus . . . hell. She couldn’t even explain that mess, although it might have something to do with the way her heart skipped up a few beats when he looked at her and it might have something to do with the way he watched over that kid.
It got to her. She couldn’t deny that. Her father had tossed her out like she was nothing more than trash. But this guy . . . there was no denying that he would tear down mountains to protect that kid. It got her, right square in the heart.
Maybe that’s all it was. Admiration for him. A little bit of lust.
“Yeah, right,” she muttered.
Swearing, she skimmed her hands back over her hair and tried to focus her brain on the job. The job. These two males were the job. That was what they were and what they had to be. She couldn’t do her job if she kept letting other things get in the way.
“Just the job.” She shoved back from the computer and rose to pace.
She’d done the main thing she needed to do—she had eyes inside the house now, and so far, they hadn’t been discovered. The first few minutes, she knew, were critical. That was when somebody was going to sense something was off. That was when their instincts would scream the loudest, if it was going to happen, and at this point, nothing had happened.
The Protected (Fbi Psychics) Page 8
