The Protected tfp-4

by Shiloh Walker

  She screamed right inside his head, with all the force of her ability.

  * * *

  IT was a vicious, brutal shock to his system—it was like somebody had taken the power of a sonic boom and combined it with the loudest wail of a siren, and found a way to make the noise loud enough to cause physical harm. Except it wasn’t happening audibly. It was all inside his skull and he couldn’t block it out.

  Shuddering under the shock of it, Tucker sucked in a breath as his control faltered. He had to either break his connection or risk hurting her. It was a hard-ass thing, interfering with all those little electrical connections that happened inside the human brain. Too much and he’d kill her. Too little, and it wouldn’t be enough.

  As the screaming in his brain continued, he groaned and hit the heel of his hand against his temple, spinning away as he severed the link.

  And still the screaming continued.

  “Enough,” he snarled.

  Seconds ticked by before it slowly faded away.

  Silence, sweet, sweet silence fell between them and he shuddered as the raw power inside leaped and burned, clawing to get out.

  Anger triggered it all, and having a gun leveled at him, having anybody threaten him . . . well. It pissed him off. He’d had it happen too many times, and most of the time, it had been because certain people from his past had been trying to drag him back to places he’d never go.

  “You might be able to shut my brain down, but if you do, I’ll damn well make sure you suffer every second,” Vaughnne said from behind him, her voice harsh. “Are you and I going to sit and talk, or do we try to kill each other?”

  “If I’d wanted to shut your brain down, I could have done that on the street,” he snapped. Without looking at her, he stormed over to the small dining room table and flung himself into one of the chairs. “But I’m not here to chat and I’m not here to make friends with the FBI. I’m here because I’ve got a job to do and that kid across the street is a hazard.”

  Vaughnne kept her distance from him. It had just occurred to her that her table was one of those vintage sorts of dinette sets . . . shiny top, chrome plating. It looked like something you’d find in a fifties diner. Too much metal, especially considering she didn’t know just what this guy could do with electricity. Electricity and metal were a bad mix.

  Instead of sitting down, she tucked her gun back into place and adjusted the holster. The damn thing was rubbing her skin raw, but there were only so many places she could carry a weapon when she was out jogging unless she wanted somebody to know she was armed.

  She studied him through her lashes. “You think I don’t see how much of a hazard that kid is?”

  “Then why aren’t you doing something?”

  “I am.” She angled her chin up. “I’m babysitting. That’s my job for now. That’s all.”

  “That’s not—”

  The shrill ring of her phone cut him off and she grabbed it, swearing. That ring tone would go off for only one reason. She took off running down the hall even as she checked the display.

  Somebody had activated the motion sensor she’d set up in Gus . . . stop. You’re here for the kid. Think about the kid.

  “Time’s up,” she said quietly as she moved to crouch in front of her laptop, staring at the monitors.

  “You bugged his house?”

  She shot Tucker a dark look. “Unless I’m expected to never sleep? Yeah. I bugged his house.”

  They watched for a moment as two men prowled through the back, lingering the longest outside the window to Gus’s bedroom.

  “They’re looking for the kid.” Something sick spread through her.

  “That’s why I’m here,” Tucker snapped.

  “You knew they were coming?” She continued to watch them, eyeing the time. Keeping an eye on the monitor, she checked the location of the GPS tracker she’d planted on Gus’s truck. Crap. Leaving the store. A few minutes away at best.

  “Yes.”

  Tucker’s low, intense voice shattered her concentration and she glanced up at him, puzzled for a split second before she remembered. “You knew somebody would be here today.”

  “Not today.” He shrugged and moved to the window, staring across the street. “One of them is psychic. I feel it. Not strong. But it’s enough. Used it to locate the kid.”

  “They didn’t locate the kid. They located his house.”

  Tucker shot her a dark look. “Same thing. They pull back, they wait until the kid shows up, and then they move in. That boy has no clue how to protect himself, does he?”

  She rubbed her temple, thinking of how her head had felt, like somebody had reached inside and just helped themselves to her brain matter and sanity. “He might have a better handle on it than we think, but it would be purely instinctive.”

  “If you’re supposed to be babysitting, why are you here?” he asked. “Isn’t part of bodyguard detail just that . . . guarding the body?”

  “I’m listening to my instincts,” she said, curling her lip at him. “My gut said stay here today. If I’d followed, I wouldn’t have been here to see this happening.”

  Ignoring the guilt tugging at her, she stared at the camera for another moment, debating.

  Did she go over there?

  If she did, her cover was blown.

  Shit, it was about to get blown anyway. She shot another look at the phone and then started to swear viciously as she saw how very close that little dot was getting to the house. That dot—Gus’s truck was on the move.

  “Can you sense the kid, Tucker?” she asked quietly.

  He turned his head, stared at her.

  After a long moment, he nodded.

  She shoved upright and headed into her room. In under a minute, she emerged, wearing jeans and strapping her weapon into place where it belonged. “I need your help,” she said as she pulled her boots on. “The kid and his guardian are on their way here . . . now. And if I’m going to get them out of this place and on the road safely, I don’t have time for chatting up our boys over there, playing B and E.”

  A muscle ticked in his jaw, and she pushed past him to grab her bag and shove the laptop and cords inside, pausing only long enough to check once more to make sure she had her Bureau ID, her wallet, and her keys. The other things she needed the most were tucked inside the cleverly disguised piece of shit car in her driveway. It looked like a piece of shit, but it would move and it would move fast.

  She climbed inside, checking the location of Gus’s truck once more.

  Couple streets away. They had a few minutes at best. She headed outside.

  A hand came down on her roof.

  She barely managed to resist jumping.

  Turning her head, she stared into Tucker’s glittering eyes. “I can hold them up. But don’t be surprised if I show up to keep you company, darlin’. I said I’d take care of the kid. Didn’t say shit about putting him in the hands of the FBI.”

  It was good enough.

  It was going to have to be.

  Gus’s truck had just turned down the street.

  EIGHT

  THE absolute last thing he needed after the day he’d had was to see some big bastard bent over Vaughnne as she sat in her car. Alex had been sick all damn day and he had gotten worse as the day progressed. He’d hoped it would improve once he got him home, but halfway there, he’d remembered they were out of Tylenol, so he’d had to backtrack and go get the medicine.

  Gus knew how to handle a sick boy. He’d been taking care of Alex for years now and had nursed him through strep throat and the flu several times. But this seemed worse. He was so hot and he had that look—that sick look. It gave Gus a terrible feeling, but he couldn’t let himself panic.

  This was one of his fears, that the boy would take ill and he’d need medical care and they’d have to expose themselves at the hospital.

  Shit.

  Gus didn’t fear much. He had no room for it in his life. But for Alex, he felt fear, and it was crowding
through him now, churning in his gut. He slowed at the stop sign and glanced over at the boy for a minute and then looked back up, eyeing the big bastard hovering over Vaughnne.

  Idly, he thought about ripping the man’s balls off. Strangling him with them, for daring to even be near her.

  The man was big. Red hair, a deep, dark red, the kind of color that would be remembered. And as he straightened and smacked a fist on the roof, Gus caught the sight of black ink twining around his arms.

  The man’s eyes cut his way.

  Alex groaned.

  “Tío . . . I’m going to be sick . . .”

  “It’s Gus, Alex, remember.” He reached over and touched the boy’s brow, and the fever-hot feel of it had him biting back another curse. The Tylenol wasn’t helping. “We’re almost home, okay?”

  No time to worry about the man over there at Vaughnne’s.

  Man. With Vaughnne.

  No time to worry about how much that infuriated him. Or why . . .

  His truck sputtered just a block down from his house, and this time, he wasn’t able to keep the stream of curses inside as the car came to a stop right in the dead middle of the road.

  “¿Qué carajo clase de mierda jodida es ésta?” He glared at the engine, as though it might answer him back.

  * * *

  “FIGURED it would be better if you had him a little stuck,” Tucker said as Vaughnne stared at the unmoving truck. “Away from the house and all.”

  “This isn’t going to help his frame of mind any,” she said sourly as she threw the car into drive. “Deal with the others. Hold them. As long as you can.”

  He canted his head to the side. “Well, that might be problematic. If I’m here, I can hold them forever and that won’t happen. I’ll give you a head start, though.”

  As she gunned the engine, Tucker eased back into the shadows. For a big, red-haired bastard, he actually did a better job at avoiding notice than she would have expected.

  She slammed on the brakes just as Gus had managed to shove up the hood of his truck, glaring at it like that would magically fix it.

  She pulled out her ID and slammed it down next to him. “Now if I had to pick a movie to go with this moment, I’d go with The Terminator,” she said as his gaze flicked to the ID and then up to her face. She saw him bracing, preparing to move. “The line would be . . . Come with me if you want to live.”

  He backed away and she saw the gun in his hands. Double-handed grip, braced and ready, like he could stand there forever. So fast. He was so damn fast. Yet again, she had to wonder, just who in the hell was he . . . and what in the hell had he done before he gave up that life to go on the run with that kid? A kid he’d die to protect. Always so ready to fight, she thought. To defend.

  “I don’t care who you are,” he said quietly. “Get away. Give me your keys, or I’m going to shoot.”

  “You can shoot me.” She held his gaze. “But it won’t stop the ones who are chasing you. You know that. And if you shoot me, instead of just running from them, you’re running from the FBI, too.”

  “Unless I kill you, they won’t be too worried about me,” he said, shrugging. “I don’t need to kill you, just slow you down.”

  She smiled at him. “Gus, unless you kill me, you won’t stop me. I’ll track you down again.”

  Somebody shouted, and she slid a look past him, watched as the two men who’d broken into his house came boiling out on the porch. Gus swung around, shifting his attention between her and the house, his grip on that weapon all too competent, all too ready.

  “They broke into your house ten minutes ago. I don’t think they are here to talk about baseball or discuss Alex’s homeschooling life.”

  Tension slammed into the air as one of the men lifted a gun. It all but sucked the life out of her, although it didn’t look like it hit Gus very hard. His lashes flickered but that was it.

  The men went down, though.

  Hard. Wow. Tucker really packed a punch.

  As soon as they did, Gus shifted the gun back to her. Oh, lovely. She just loved being the center of attention. He thought she had done that?

  “What in the fuck did you do to them?” he demanded.

  Yep. That was exactly what he thought.

  She lifted her hands. “I’m just here to make sure your kid stays okay,” she said quietly. “And I’m going to do whatever it takes to make sure that happens.”

  Okay, so a little lie thrown in there . . . she accepted it and let it settle into place. Wasn’t her favorite thing to do, but if it helped get the job done, then she’d do it. And it wouldn’t hurt her cause for him to think she was capable of that, she figured.

  He plowed his left fist down against his truck, still holding the weapon with his right. It was a Sig Sauer P250 and it remained pointed at her, steady and level. She had no doubt he could put a hole through her. Maybe he’d regret it, maybe he wouldn’t. But he could still do it and that wouldn’t help any of them.

  “Get out of my way, Vaughnne,” he growled.

  “I can’t,” she said quietly.

  “I’ll shoot,” he warned.

  Time to get him to focus on the one thing she knew he cared about. Glancing toward the car, she said softly, “And if you do, you condemn that boy to running even more.”

  “He’s going to be doing that anyway,” Gus whispered.

  “Is that what you want?”

  His lashes flickered over his eyes. “No.”

  “Then get in the car.”

  Off in the distance, sirens wailed and she gestured to the car. “The cops are coming . . . you can’t get away from them without endangering him now. I can get you away. Trust me, Gus. I’m not going to let anybody hurt him. I promise you that.”

  * * *

  PLEASE . . . YOU must promise . . .

  Trust was painful, he realized. For so many years, he’d trusted no one. Trusted nothing but his instincts. The problem was that now those instincts screamed that he trust something else. Someone else. Staring into Vaughnne’s whiskey gold eyes, with the ghostly voice of a dead woman dancing through his mind, he made a decision.

  “If you fuck me over, I’ll hunt you down. I’ll hurt you. I’ll make you pay so badly, you’ll wish you’d never been born.”

  “Understood.”

  Without wasting another second, he moved around and jerked open the passenger-side door. There were only three things he needed. His weapon, the bag he never went without, and Alex. Slinging the bag over his shoulder, he kept the weapon ready and then headed around the truck and jerked open the door. Alex moaned as he lifted him out. “Tío—”

  “Shhhh,” Gus murmured. “It’s time to move on, Alex. We have to go now.”

  “I’m going to be sick,” Alex whispered, his eyes glazed, like he didn’t even hear what Gus had said.

  The kid’s weight pulled at him. They’d found a few months of peace and quiet here, something that almost resembled safety. In those months, Alex had shot up several inches and gained some weight.

  Shifting the boy in his arms, he turned to face Vaughnne, not bothering to shut the door to the truck or grab anything else. There were things back at the house that might have been useful—more money, their clothes, weapons. But he had everything that was vital with him. Alex, and the bag.

  He was always ready for this—ready to run at a moment’s notice. Vaughnne had the back door open and was eyeing Alex narrowly. “He’s sick,” he said sourly.

  She just nodded.

  In just seconds, they were heading down the street. A nice, sedate speed and he was burning inside with the need to tear out of there. They found him. They found him . . . I failed. “Can’t you go any faster?”

  “Sure. The best way to avoid the notice of the police,” she said drolly.

  “You’re the FBI.” Warning flickered inside him.

  She sighed and tossed her ID into his lap. “Yes, I am. But unless I want to get into a jurisdictional pissing contest, it’s better to avoid th
em noticing us. I don’t exactly know what you’re running from, so I figure it’s best to play this nice and quiet like.”

  Picking up her ID, he rubbed his thumb over it, studying it for signs that it was a fake. He knew what to look for. But then again, he’d carried one of these himself, and had convinced more than one or two agents that he was a federal agent. They’d believed him, too. If he could get fake credentials that looked real, others could as well.

  “Tío . . .”

  He closed his eyes, both at the pitiful sound of Alex’s voice, and at the connection he’d tried to hide for the past few years. “Close your eyes, Alex,” he said, his voice gentle. “Try to rest.”

  “I’m going to be sick,” he said again, and this time, the conviction in his voice was even stronger.

  A collapsible blue bag was shoved into Gus’s hands, and he shot Vaughnne a look. She shrugged. “I believe in being prepared.”

  He turned around in the seat and pushed the bag into Alex’s hands just as the boy lost control.

  As the sour stench of vomit filled the air, Gus hooked a hand over the boy’s neck and rubbed. “I’m sorry,” Alex whispered. “I . . .”

  Another spasm ripped through him.

  “It’s okay, kid,” he said. “You’re sick. Nothing to be sorry for.”

  A few seconds passed and then Alex slumped back against the back of the seat. Gus caught the bag and fisted his hand around it to close it. “Any better?”

  Alex nodded, his head rolling over as he huddled against the seat cushions.

  “There are plastic bags beneath the seat,” Vaughnne said softly. “Just tie it up in that. We’ll dump it when we stop. You can put the windows down.”

  A few moments of strained silence passed while he did that, and not only did he discover bags, but he found a small pack of hand wipes and hand sanitizer. “You often expect people to vomit in your car?” he asked tightly.

  “It’s happened a time or two.” Then she shot him a look and shrugged. “Sometimes with me. I used to get carsick a lot when I was younger. It’s better now, but for a while, even up until my twenties, I got sick almost every time I climbed into a car.”