The Protected (Fbi Psychics)

by Walker, Shiloh

  Forcing herself to focus, she made her way over to the truck and studied the dead bodies there. The sirens wailed, closer now, and she knew she was missing out on her chance to grab anything from the scene.

  Bracing herself, she made her way over to the body and touched the man who lay on the ground.

  Images slammed into her.

  Tucker.

  Vaughnne.

  Memories piling into her head, too hard and fast, fractured and burning hot in her brain. That was normal. She shoved them to the back of her mind, where she could pick through them when she had time to breathe . . . and time to not worry about local law enforcement.

  What she needed was buried deeper and it was fading. The human body wasn’t exactly like an inanimate object. Inanimate objects held imprints longer. Human bodies were like the sand on the beach. One good, hard wave was all it took to wipe the slate clean and death was one hell of a wave. But it was there . . . just . . . there—

  She grabbed it, took it.

  Memories of the promise of money. The boy. It all circled back to the boy. She should have headed straight back to Mexico, she realized. None of this would stop until that damn listing went off-line. She severed the connection and sucked in a gasp of blood-drenched air. The night was thick with death and she closed her eyes, tried to process everything she’d just taken in.

  It was too much.

  This wasn’t her strongest ability, and she’d never perfected it as much as she should have. But a few things were clear.

  They had been hunting the boy.

  That wouldn’t stop until somebody made it stop. That was actually one thing she could probably do, all on her own. That one listing wasn’t going to rock the boat too much, she didn’t think.

  The crunch of gravel was as loud as the crack of a weapon fired in the night, and Nalini was glad she’d had all those years of practice, all those years dealing with shock and fear and surprise. All those years had given her another gift, one that had nothing to do with psychic skill. She wiped every emotion she felt off her face and then replaced those emotions with the emotions she suspected she should feel. Horror, nerves, a bit of anxiety.

  Keeping her breathing level, she lifted her gaze and summoned up the saddest expression she could, let tears fill her eyes as she looked up at the sheriff coming her way. “I . . . I think he’s dead.”

  * * *

  NOT long now, Gus thought, brooding, as he stared into the rearview mirror. They’d just passed a slow-moving old farm truck, loaded down with four people in the cab and four in the truck bed. As it passed around a bend in the road, he glanced over at Alex. The boy was fiddling with his seat belt, tugging at it where it rode over his chest. “Leave the belt alone, Alex,” he said quietly. His muscles were tense, and deliberately, he relaxed them. “What do you feel?”

  “They’ll be doing something soon,” Alex said, his voice reed-thin, his skin pale.

  Reaching over, he checked the boy’s forehead. No fever. He felt clammy, actually, and Gus wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or not. “We’ll do this and you’ll be safe.”

  Miserable, Alex stared at him. “If Vaughnne’s right and they can feel me or track me, how can I ever be safe? I don’t know how to stop . . . doing whatever I do.”

  “I’ll find a way to keep you safe,” Gus said, his voice flat and level. He didn’t know how, but he’d do it. Vaughnne’s face flashed through his mind. The way her gaze had bored into his.

  And how many times had she told him that she’d help keep Alex safe?

  I’m here to help keep him safe . . .

  Carajo. He should have trusted her. It was too late now—

  Abruptly, Alex’s hand, small but strong, reached over and clamped down on Gus’s forearm. His mouth opened, but no sound emerged.

  He didn’t have to say a word. Lifting his gaze to the rearview mirror, Gus saw that the car behind them was closing the distance and fast.

  “Block them out, Alex. Hurt them if you can.” He checked the Sig Sauer. It was loaded. Ready. He knew how to kill; had done it more times than he could even count, really. There was blood on his hands, and it didn’t even bother him for the most part. He could do it again and it wouldn’t haunt him at night. Not any more than anything else, at least.

  As the car came bearing down on them, faster and faster, he slammed on the brakes. Tires squealed. “Hold on, m’hijo,” he ordered. He whipped the car around and found himself staring at a surprised face. The driver slammed on his brakes, watching them.

  A moment later, he felt a pressure shoving against his mind—familiar, that, but nothing he hadn’t felt from Alex—and he ignored it as he aimed, squeezed . . . the pressure disappeared as the man’s head exploded in a mess of blood, bone, and brain matter.

  Without waiting another second, he hit the gas and took off barreling down the highway.

  He’d made it maybe five hundred yards before the car went airborne.

  * * *

  “WHAT in the hell . . .”

  Vaughnne watched as the car a few hundred yards ahead went flying, up and backward, flipping over the dark blue sedan parked in the middle of the road.

  Tucker jerked the steering wheel to the side to avoid having the car plow into theirs, and for the second time that day, she had the pleasure of having her body flung about. This time, the seat belt stopped her, but it wasn’t really that much of an improvement. It still hurt.

  The car flipped upside down, landing in almost the exact spot where Tucker’s car had been three seconds earlier.

  Neither of them took a second to breathe a sigh of relief, although Vaughnne did say a quick prayer of thanks as she fumbled for her seat belt. She was out of the car, weapon in hand, before Tucker even had his car at a complete stop. Every muscle in her body screamed and she suspected she was going to crash, and hard, sometime soon. For now, adrenaline, determination, and fear were the only things keeping her going.

  “Stop,” she said, positioning her body as a man climbed out of the passenger side of the dark blue sedan still sitting in the middle of the road. He had blood splatter on his face, she noticed. Blood splatter, and either he didn’t notice, or it didn’t bother him.

  She peered around his body and saw the driver, slumped over the steering wheel, and although she couldn’t see him well enough to be certain, she had a bad feeling she knew where the blood had come from.

  The man took another step toward her, hands lifted in the classic pose . . . Hey, I surrender, don’t shoot me . . .

  It might have worked, if he hadn’t been walking toward her, if he hadn’t had blood all over him, if she hadn’t recognized his vibe. Psychic as all get-out, and since something had sent Gus’s car flying through the air, she was going to assume this bastard had something to do with it.

  “Hey, I just wanted to help . . . I saw the accident,” he said, smiling a little.

  “Yeah. Sure.” She braced her weapon with both hands and hoped he couldn’t see the fact that she was swaying a little. “Stay where you are, man.”

  Something nudged her. Hard.

  She couldn’t see it, but she damn sure felt it.

  His eyes tightened when she didn’t react.

  The push came again, harder, and this time, she stumbled a little.

  “Sir, you are going to desist,” she warned him. “Now.”

  “I’m just standing right here,” he said mildly.

  “And I’m Santa Claus,” she snapped.

  “Ho, ho, ho . . .”

  This time, when he pushed, she went down and he lunged.

  “Do I get to play, too?”

  * * *

  TUCKER moved between them just as the man would have grabbed Vaughnne. Intercepting them, he smiled a little as the man fell back. Apparently he hadn’t realized there was a third party lurking around. Tucker decided
he liked that . . . being the third party.

  Stripping off one of his gloves, he tucked it in his back pocket. Something shoved at his chest. He didn’t know what it was, but he figured it was the guy. Telekinetic, he decided, able to move things with his mind. Tucker wasn’t impressed.

  Snaking out a hand, he caught the man by his throat, using his still-gloved left hand. “I want to play, too. Let’s start with twenty questions. Who is after the kid?”

  Something gripped at his hand—it was like he could feel something trying to pry his fingers off. “Stop it,” he warned.

  “Fuck off or I’m gonna fuck you up,” the man gasped out.

  “Oh, really?” He laid his bare hand on the man’s face and did a quick discharge.

  A scream split the air, and when Tucker lifted his hand, there was a red imprint of his palm left on the man’s face. “Electrical burns . . . such a bitch. You know, I think I’d do the most damage. Want to have a pissing contest or are you going to tell me what I want to know?”

  “I don’t know who is after him . . . but it’s a lot of money.” Eyes wide, the man stared up at him. “A shitload of it, and if we don’t take him in, somebody else will.”

  “Oh, it won’t be you.” Tucker slammed everything he had into the man and watched as the life faded from his eyes.

  Nobody who hunted kids deserved to live.

  As he rose, he watched Vaughnne steady herself as she got back to her feet. “Please tell me you did not just do what I think you did.”

  “Hey, his heart gave out. That’s all.”

  “Damn it.”

  “What was I supposed to do? Just let him walk?” Tucker shrugged as he tugged his glove back on. “You think you can arrest him and tell the judge . . . Hey, Judge . . . he wrecked that car with the power of his mind. Yes, sir. He really and truly did. And they’ll believe you and lock him up until . . . oh, wait, it won’t happen.”

  She glared at him.

  He just shrugged and headed over to the car. He was five feet away when the driver door budged. He heard somebody grunting and then there was another smash as whoever it was kicked it again. Determined son of a bitch.

  He surveyed the damage to the door and glanced over at Vaughnne. “That door isn’t opening without some serious assistance.”

  She grimaced and went to one knee, peering down.

  A gun was shoved in her face.

  Tucker swore and went to kick it away, but she lifted a hand to stop him.

  Sighing, he turned his back and stared off into the distance.

  * * *

  THE battered face staring in at him was the very last one he’d expected to see. For a minute, he thought perhaps he hadn’t lived through the crash. But then Vaughnne stared at the gun he held for a long, long minute before shifting her dark eyes to his. “You know . . . I don’t think I’ve ever had a man spend as much time threatening me as much as you do without me doing him serious bodily harm. I’m contemplating just how much I’m going to make you suffer for it once this is all said and done, Gus,” she said, her voice tired, husky.

  He just glared at her. Alex was behind him, his breath coming in harsh, panicky little stops and starts, and the one thing that Gus knew . . . they were trapped. They were completely trapped and he was out of options. The only chance he had was the woman in front of him.

  And Vaughnne knew it.

  “Don’t you think it’s about time you start trusting me?”

  He gripped the Sig Sauer, staring into her eyes.

  You must promise me . . .

  That voice danced through his mind, teasing, taunting.

  Promises.

  Trust.

  Behind him, Alex sobbed softly.

  His gaze locked on Vaughnne’s, he laid the gun down. Her hand caught his, and gently, she squeezed.

  Gus closed his eyes.

  FOURTEEN

  “A SIMPLE babysitting job, you said.”

  She had to give him credit, SAC Taylor Jones had the grace to look the slightest bit shamefaced as he joined her at the door. A doctor had cajoled her into being treated, but not until somebody else had shown up to stand guard over the kid.

  Somebody was Taige Morgan. She freelanced for the unit. Taige now spent more of her days playing mama to her own gifted child, but Vaughnne knew she could trust the woman to guard that kid while she was poked and prodded by the doctor.

  Taige was currently sitting by the boy’s bed, and although the doctors had told him to rest, she was holding his hand and going over some of the basics that Vaughnne had tried to explain to him. Taige would get further. She had a limited telepathic ability, not as strong as Vaughnne’s, but her overall psychic skills were a lot stronger. If anybody could get that kid on the right path to shielding, it was Taige. She’d trained herself, and her abilities had come on her young as well.

  “He needs to be resting,” Vaughnne said tiredly. “Instead, he’s being taught shielding.”

  “He needs to survive,” Jones said bluntly. “So he’s being given the tools he needs to do it.” He looked over at her, and although his eyes were expressionless, she knew he wasn’t the cold bastard he seemed to be. It was just better if he came off that way, she guessed. “If he keeps broadcasting the way you seem to think he is, he’s a walking target. Best way for him to get any rest is for him to learn how to lock it down. Morgan can do this without scaring him or pushing him too far, and while she’s at it, she can build some passive shields around him that will last for a little while, even when she’s out of contact.”

  She nodded and glanced at her watch. Gus was out, getting his turn with the doctor. Now that he’d finally taken it. He’d been gone only twenty-eight minutes. If he made it thirty—

  A shiver raced down her spine and she angled her head around, looking out the door to see him striding down the corridor toward her. Grim-eyed, stone-faced, and so damned beautiful. She suspected he’d given them hell every second he’d been gone—given them hell, or terrified them. He had made her look like a little pussycat when it came to stubbornness.

  She shot a glance at his arm as he came through the door, and she studied what she could see under his sleeve. A few stitches were visible.

  “Wow. You were generous,” she drawled. “You gave them almost a half hour.”

  Gus flicked her a look. There was a bruise forming along his right cheekbone. It made him look even darker, more dangerous. Deadlier. Sexy as hell.

  Shit. Everything the guy did was sexy as hell.

  He looked away from her to stare daggers at Taige’s skull, although Taige didn’t spare him even a glance, focused intently on Alex.

  She needed to let the kid get some rest. They were all damn tired.

  By the time they’d gotten both Gus and Alex out of the car and the emergency medical personnel had gotten the two to the hospital, it had been nearly six. Then Jones had arrived on the scene, and Vaughnne hadn’t been surprised when he’d decided to relocate the two to a different hospital—in Atlanta. A more secure one, a bigger one. More anonymous. By the time they’d been transferred to Atlanta, both Gus and Alex had been assigned new aliases.

  How long they’d stick, Vaughnne didn’t know. How long Gus would hang around, she didn’t know.

  But for now, the kid was getting something he desperately needed . . . some teaching. For now, he was safe, and he was getting some much-needed rest, too. Or he would, once he stopped talking to Taige.

  Or rather, when Taige decided he’d had enough, Vaughnne amended a few minutes later.

  “That’s enough for now,” Taige said quietly.

  “But—”

  “No.” She shook her head and stood up. “You’ve had enough for the day and you’re already making some progress. Get some rest and I’ll do some more tomorrow, but for now, you need some sleep. You’re not going to be able to
do your best anyway if you’re not resting.”

  “But—”

  “Alex.” Gus spoke from the shadows of the room, standing in the corner. All he said was his name, his voice soft, almost gentle, but that was all it took.

  Alex closed his eyes and turned his head, muttering under his breath.

  Taige grinned wryly and flashed Vaughnne a look. “Man, I wish I could command instant obedience like that from my kid,” she said. She rose from the chair and came over to stand at the door. “I’ll see if I can hunt down a chair and I’ll be at the door . . . in case I’m needed.”

  She didn’t say anything else as she passed between them.

  But as she passed by Vaughnne, she slid her a narrow look. She hadn’t even gone five feet when Vaughnne felt the press against her mind. She let the other woman in.

  That kid has more fear in him than I’ve seen in a long, long while, Taige said, her mental voice as strong and steady as her normal one, and just as clear.

  I know. I don’t know what they are running from, but I’m going to find out.

  There was a pause and then softly, Taige said, It has something to do with his father. I caught that much. I can try to look deeper tomorrow, but he’s got a lot of talent. No skill . . . yet, but a lot of talent, and he’s been living on wit and instinct a long time. If I try too hard, he might pick up on it and that’s going to make him shut down and it might freak him out. As strong as he is, I’d rather not have him freaked out. It could get ugly.

  Vaughnne kept her face blank, but she was hard-pressed not to snort as she recalled the headache from hell the boy had blessed her with. Ugly. Yes, it could get really ugly. Do me a favor, if you can, because he won’t quit doing it when he feels the need. He somehow uses his ability to read others and he comes down like a sledgehammer. Show him the right way.

  There was a soft sort of sound, almost like a sigh, and from the corner of her eye, Vaughnne saw Taige shake her head. Reading people. He’s too young to have to be using himself as a weapon, Vaughnne. You know that.

  Yeah. She did. I think it’s been the only way they could keep him alive. What were they supposed to do?