The Protected

by Shiloh Walker

  “I see. Very well, Mr. Collins. I did enjoy Florida, though. Now . . . why don’t you see about burning off those excesses?”

  The phone went dead.

  He scowled and muttered something that likely would have had her punching him if she’d been here.

  If Lucia Frazier was twenty years younger, he might risk the fact that touching her was a hazard to both her and him. Assuming he wasn’t afraid she’d break him in bed. The woman was scary as hell.

  Burn off the excesses.

  Shoving to his feet, he grabbed a clean stack of clothes, his gloves. He’d stopped to rest, thinking he might be able to get a better lock on the boy. But that hadn’t happened.

  Might as well shower and get back on the road. Maybe he’d get lucky and find some relatively therapeutic way of burning off those excesses.

  * * *

  NALINI had no trouble tracking Tucker Collins down.

  But she did have trouble getting out of her current mess for two days. The people she’d buried herself with weren’t exactly the kind who thought it was okay for her to just . . . waltz out. Even though she’d done just that off and on for several years, hoping to intrigue a madman.

  It had worked.

  Now she had the madman good and hooked, which was the bad news. He was a possessive, jealous piece of work, that was for certain. Another bit of bad news—she was working the job solo, and if she got jammed up, she was screwed. This wasn’t a contract case with the FBI or anything. This baby was all hers. The one bright spot was that she knew a phone call would get her out of said jam. Assuming she had time. But she was good at reading that sort of thing.

  Somehow, she thought Jones might be really, really interested in what she’d uncovered over the past few days.

  It went pretty damn deep, too, and she’d just scraped the tip of the iceberg.

  If she knew anything about Jones and his unit, they’d just love to bust that iceberg apart. Blow it straight to hell.

  But her job, first. All of that had to be done because once Jones brought his people in, the man she was looking for would either bury himself or Jones’s people would bury him.

  She wanted to be the one to do that.

  “So close,” she muttered. Pulling all those little threads, weaving a careful web, drawing closer and closer to the man she’d been hunting for so long.

  And now she was at a standstill, because she couldn’t concentrate. The boy. Screaming. A dying woman . . . no. Dead now. Nalini had connected with her in the moments of death, and there was no way that woman had survived. She’d been hurting so much, and death had almost been a sweet release. Almost. Nalini would never go gladly into that good night, that was for damn sure. She couldn’t do anything to help the woman, but she could focus on the boy. Maybe help him.

  That was why she was here. Sighing, she tugged the jeweler’s box from her pocket and flipped it open to study the necklace. It had been given to her a few weeks ago. It was a pretty piece of work, she had to admit. Flawless rubies, diamonds, and gold. Nalini knew her stones and this was worth a lot. It should be worn, admired . . . locked away in a safe when somebody wasn’t wearing it, not shoved into a pocket.

  But she couldn’t stand to have it on her skin. When she wore it, the sound of screaming was that much louder. So she kept it in a jeweler’s box and the box was tucked inside the inner pocket of her light jacket. Heaven help her if she was mugged . . .

  Then she smirked a little, just thinking of it. Not that it was likely. She could make any man who touched her do just about anything she wanted for short periods of time.

  When he’d put this necklace on her, she’d almost made him put a bullet through his own brain. It had taken most of the night to bring herself down off that ledge.

  Killing him wouldn’t be a bad thing.

  But she had to do her job first.

  And she couldn’t do it while she was so worried about what was going on with the boy. So she was here . . . all because she’d touched a necklace.

  Her main skill was the ability to influence people through touch, to take their energy and . . . work with it. Jones had called it impressions. She could get inside a person’s head, in their soul, and leave an impression. While she was there, she could manipulate a person’s energy, their will. Nalini could channel that person’s energy, if she put her mind to it, and drive people to do either very bad things, or very good things. Since she tended to hunt down scum, she was usually driven to make them want to do bad things . . . to themselves. When she wanted to, though, she could do useful things. When she pulled back, she could filter away some of the negative shit. She didn’t do that much. But then again, when you worked with the scum of the earth, you didn’t have much of a chance to want to do nice things.

  The impression/emotional manipulation shit was her main ability, but there was another one, a weaker one that sometimes got in the way. That ability was the reason she was here now and it hadn’t just gotten in the way this time.

  It had almost tripped her up in the middle of the job, and if she wasn’t careful, it would get her killed.

  A woman crying.

  A boy screaming.

  A man, almost brutally handsome, staring at the woman, and the woman had known her life . . . and death . . . were in his hands.

  Then there was just death.

  And the knowledge that the boy was still alive.

  She’d gotten a glimpse of him, just that one flash.

  She’d lied to Tucker. Lies were, sadly, something she dealt in. She told them, sold them, used them. Half the time, she didn’t know what was truth and what was reality, in part because she sold people another reality entirely, depending on what she needed to accomplish to get her job done.

  To accomplish her goal.

  Her goal . . . finding one man, one who’d proven to be very, very hard to find. But she had to find him if she ever wanted her life back. It was one of the reasons she wasn’t ever going to officially work for Taylor Jones. He claimed he could help with all of that, but she wasn’t about to let her name into the system, or her prints, or anything else. It was easier to just push some information his way and take the money he’d give her when he was in the mood.

  She wasn’t going to barter money or info this time. What she wanted was to point Jones and his group toward that kid. In her gut, she knew why the boy was wanted. Why his mother—and the woman had to be his mother—had been murdered. If anybody could care for a damaged kid, it would be Jones. And if the kid had psychic skill, even better that Jones be the one taking care of him. But first they had to find him.

  Narrow things down a bit. That’s where Tucker came in.

  Then she’d just give Jones a nudge and sit back, watch while Jones worked.

  He might deny any psychic ability, but she’d never seen anybody who could locate their kind the way he could. It was like he had some inborn compass that pointed only to psychics and trouble. She’d once called him Professor X, just to get a rise out of him.

  He hadn’t been amused.

  She’d almost think he didn’t have a sense of humor. Except she’d gotten that glimpse into him. He had humor. He had heat. He even had a heart, surprisingly enough. He also had a wife, a fact that Nalini had found a damn shame, right up until she’d laid eyes on one Tucker Collins.

  There weren’t too many men she’d be willing to drop her guard around. Jones had been one, but he’d never noticed her interest.

  Collins, though . . . he was aware of her interest.

  And he was interested in return.

  She realized they had a complication or two, but that was nothing she couldn’t work with. She’d dealt with volatile types before. She was almost certain she could handle him.

  Except instead of walking up to the hotel where she knew he’d rented a room, after more than twenty minutes, Nalini was still standing outside, leaning against her car and staring up at the dark night sky.

  A slice of light came spilling out of one of the
rooms, and she turned her head. He was too far away and it was too dark out for her to see his face as clearly as she’d like.

  But she didn’t need to see him. Tucker’s face was all but imprinted on her memory.

  As beautiful as he could possibly be, with those high, arched cheekbones, a jawline that looked like he could take a punch or ten . . . and had, a mouth that would have made her sigh with want if she was disposed to such things. As it was, she just thought about sighing over that mouth. Most people would look at him and think that his hair was the most memorable feature. Deep, dark red . . . completely beautiful. It wasn’t the hair, though. Nor was it the tattoos that crept up over his arms, winding around them and disappearing under the sleeves of his T-shirt. Dressed, she thought, shoving off the car. Even this late at night. Or early in the morning.

  What a pity.

  No, it wasn’t the hair. Wasn’t the tattoos. Wasn’t even his size and Tucker Collins was a big guy. She’d never been much into that until she’d laid eyes on him.

  The thing that made Tucker stand out were the eyes.

  A person looked into those eyes and realized very clearly that this was a man who’d clawed his way through life and was going to keep on doing it. He’d killed. She knew it just by looking at him. Death stained the soul and she knew the soul. He’d killed and he didn’t regret it. Nalini was fine with that. She’d killed a few times herself, and she didn’t regret those deaths, either.

  His eyes told a story. One of a man who’d caused, and solved, a helluva a lot of trouble.

  If Nalini was smart, she’d steer very, very clear of him.

  With a slow, lazy smile that felt entirely fake, she shoved off the car and headed toward the open door. The wedge of light framed Tucker too damn well. She stopped just a few feet away, close enough that she could feel the soft buzz that was another psychic’s energy against her skin. Far enough away that she didn’t have to tip her head back to see his face.

  She really did like his face.

  If it wasn’t for a boy who was in trouble. If it wasn’t for everything that was so damned complicated . . .

  If it wasn’t for the screams that echoed in her mind every time she let her thoughts drift for even a minute . . .

  “How did you find me?” Tucker bit off even as she let another if it wasn’t . . . dance through her mind.

  Smiling a little, she reached out, thinking only that she was curious to see how he’d feel under her hand. That was all she wanted.

  A gloved hand caught her right wrist.

  The black leather covered his hands from the wrists down, and being the deviant that she was, she had an image of those leather-covered hands covering her. Gliding over her skin, while she straddled him.

  “What’s with the leather?” she asked, not bothering to disguise the soft rasp in her voice. “You planning on playing cat burglar or something?”

  “Bad things happen when I touch people without them,” he said. He squeezed her wrist once in warning and then let go. “Bad things can happen when people touch me. Just something to keep in mind.”

  “Just how bad?” She stared into his eyes. “’Cuz I think it might be worth it.”

  * * *

  THE woman was a menace.

  He’d been in the shower when he felt somebody approach and he’d lowered his shields just enough to figure out who it was. Everybody had a different feel, and nobody felt like her.

  He’d spent the last few minutes in the shower with a raging hard-on and it had yet to subside.

  He had more wild energy sparking inside him than he normally had to deal with and there she was taunting him. She had a smirk on her beautiful face and the mole by the corner of her mouth was just driving him nuts.

  He was tempted. He thought he could touch her without hurting her. He doubted he’d ever be able to sleep with her. He’d lose control and that was one thing he couldn’t do during sex.

  But he could touch her . . . just to see what happened.

  Except if he touched her, even once, he suspected he’d need more. And more. And more—which couldn’t happen.

  Still, she needed to get an idea of what she was doing. It wasn’t even fire she was playing with. It was lightning and that was way worse. Holding her gaze, he reached up and tugged off one of his gloves. “Worth it, huh?” Still staring into her eyes, he reached out and caught one of her narrow dreads. Fire licked inside his veins, jolted out of his skin, and he smiled a little as she swayed closer. He flooded the air with electricity. The lights flared. In the room behind him, out in the parking lot. Lights halfway down the strip of rooms went out, and he shoved out as much of the power as he could without it going into her.

  Behind him, the light bulbs exploded as he shoved more voltage in them than they could handle. Took a lot to do that, but Tucker manipulated energy as easy as he breathed.

  As the room was blanketed in darkness, he cut off the current.

  The only sound Nalini made was a harsh intake of breath.

  And then he felt her hand on his chest.

  “Wow. That’s quite a demonstration . . . got any other parlor tricks you can show me?”

  He backed away, glaring at her as his eyes adjusted to the absence of light.

  She was still smiling, although he thought maybe it was a little more strained this time around. “Parlor tricks?”

  “Hmmm. I’d love to see them . . . just not tonight. I need to know where the boy is. He’s in a hell of a lot of trouble.”

  He snorted. “You bet your ass he is. He’s got an FBI agent with him. If I was the kid’s guardian, I’d get my ass as far away from her as I could.”

  Nalini tensed. “FBI agent?”

  “Yeah.” He shoved a hand through his hair and stared at her. “You work with them. Don’t you all ever talk?”

  ELEVEN

  MORNING brought better news.

  Marginally.

  Alex’s fever was down.

  And when Vaughnne came out of the bathroom, the small hotel room was empty.

  That was the marginal part of the better news.

  Sighing, she gathered up her stuff. Fortunately, she’d been smart enough to pack everything before she disappeared into the bathroom. She was going to have to learn how to go without little things like toilet breaks if he tried this again.

  On her way out of the hotel, she paused in the little alcove where the vending machines waited.

  Reaching up on top of the ice maker, she pulled off the distributor cap.

  She’d asked the doctor to hide it the night before. Good thing she was prepared.

  She came out into the parking lot just in time to see Gus slip behind the wheel of a small, pale gold sedan that had seen better days. It wasn’t theirs. He caught sight of her and slammed his head back against the seat. She pointed a finger at the tires, gunman style, and cocked her thumb.

  He got the point without her saying a word.

  He climbed back out, and a second later, a tired, wan-looking Alex did the same. As she crossed the distance between them, she asked, “Did you even bother to take the medicine Dr. Grady left for him?”

  “Yes.” He inclined his head. “I can make him take a pill as easily as you could. Easier, as he is my child.”

  “Your nephew, you mean?” She displayed the distributor cap in her palm. “You’ll get farther with this.”

  He went to grab it.

  She jerked it out of his reach. “You can have it when I’m behind the steering wheel, and the kid is in the backseat.”

  “He’s my responsibility,” Gus said, forcing the words out through clenched teeth.

  “I get that. And I’m trying to help you.” Shaking her head, she gestured around her and then looked at the boy. “You’ve got a kid there that’s going to just get more out of control. He’s going to hurt himself, or somebody—”

  “He’s not a danger!”

  Vaughnne arched her brows. “Tell that to the migraine he sucker-punched me with. Or the nose
bleed he walloped me with. And he wasn’t even trying to hurt me. What happens when he gets frustrated with some kid who picks on him and he really hurts him?”

  “He wouldn’t,” Gus said.

  “You don’t know that. Not for sure.” She saw the doubt in his eyes, hated herself for playing on it. But he had to realize the danger he was messing with. “Or what about when he gets mad at you and just loses control? He’s a kid, Gus, and you don’t know how to train a psychically gifted child. How are you going to keep everybody safe from him if he is getting stronger? Keep him away from anybody and everybody for the rest of his life?”

  “If that is how to keep him safe, then yes.”

  “And if there’s a better option?”

  “There isn’t one!” He closed the distance between them and fisted his hand in her shirt, jerking her up onto her toes, hauling her up until they were nose to nose. “Don’t you get it, you stupid little fool? There is no option. He is hunted by men who would kill anything and anybody just to be able to use him.”

  She curled a hand over his wrist. “Then you find people who know how to fight back. And you have to do it soon . . . he’s going to get stronger and he needs to learn control before that happens. Before he hurts people who’ve done nothing wrong. You want him to live with that?”

  “He . . .” Gus clenched his jaw and looked away. “Why are you so certain he’s going to get stronger?”

  “Puberty.” Vaughnne shrugged and gave him a wry smile. “It usually manifests then, but for those who already show a gift? It just amps it up and he’s hitting puberty, hard, I’d say. He’s going to have to start shaving soon, I bet. He’s already got that long, skinny look of a kid who can’t eat enough to keep up with the growth spurts. If he’s not hitting it now, it’s going to be soon.”

  He stared at her, his eyes dark, menacing. “You’re certain of this.”

  “There’s no guarantee, but roughly ninety-five percent of those who are already showing the ability before puberty? Yeah. It jumps up. And it gets harder to control then, too. The theory is that the hormonal swings and shifts that come with puberty play into it.” She sighed and shook her head. “Trust me, Gus . . . he needs help and he needs it from somebody who has been there. He’s not the only one of his kind. There are others, and they’d be willing to die to protect a child.” She reached up and touched his cheek. “You asked why I did the FBI . . . this is why. Because this way, I can help. I know what it’s like to lose somebody. I won’t let them take him away from you.”