The Protected

by Shiloh Walker

  It already has. The boy lost his mother. He has no home. No friends. Let him be angry, he told himself when he finally took time to stop for lunch. It was just fast food. He was so tired of fast food. He missed real meals. A pile of hot tacos, some fresh salsa. A steak and a potato . . . anything but fast food.

  As Alex bit listlessly into a chicken nugget, Gus pulled the amber bottle of pills from his pocket and shook one out. “It’s time for the medicine.”

  Alex took it without comment and washed it down with his soft drink.

  “How are you feeling?”

  The only response was a shrug.

  “Alex, I already apologized,” he said, sighing. “How much longer are you going to be angry with me?”

  Alex turned his head, staring at him with dark, miserable eyes. “I’m not angry. I’m scared.”

  Gus felt his heart break. He went to reach out, but Alex shrank away, leaning against the door of the stolen car. Gus had stopped at a busy outlet mall thirty minutes earlier and swapped out the plates. Hopefully, it would buy them more time, but by nightfall, he’d have to steal another car.

  Sooner or later . . .

  No. We will not be caught, he thought darkly. It wasn’t a thought that he could risk thinking about. He knew how to evade such things and he would. He’d never had to do it with a boy in tow, but Alex was smart and he knew how to listen.

  Watching as Alex started to tear his food apart and drop it down without eating it, Gus tried to figure out what to say. In the end, he just went with the same lie he’d been telling himself for years. “You don’t have to be afraid. I can take care of you. I will take care of you. He will never get his hands on you . . . I swear that.”

  Of all the things he said, the one promise he could be sure of was the very last. Because he’d do anything and everything to make sure the monster who had fathered Alex would never touch him. No matter what it took, no matter what it cost.

  “You won’t be around forever.” Alex stared at him, fear in his eyes. “And I won’t be a kid forever. What happens then? When I’m grown up? Do I live my life running?”

  It was a question that haunted Gus. It bothered him that the boy had already started to ask it, though. “Let me worry about that, m’hijo,” he said gruffly, tossing the rest of his uneaten sandwich in the bag and starting the car. “We need to go.”

  “What if she was right? What if they can find me just because of what . . . what I am?” Alex asked, his voice shaking and nervous, but there was an underlying thread of steel inside it. “I felt something. When she was in my head . . . and when I hurt her that day, I felt something in her head. Like a wall. It’s different from what is in my head. That’s what she was showing me. If she was right about the wall, about shielding, then maybe she’s right about the rest of it.”

  Gus didn’t want to think about that.

  Couldn’t.

  Because if she was, if she hadn’t lied, and if there were psychic bloodhounds on their tail . . .

  Dread twisted his gut and he did the same thing he’d done with his terrors over the years. He shut them down and blocked them out. He’d get Alex and him through this. That was just all there was to it. There was no other option, really.

  * * *

  IT could have been ten seconds since Vaughnne had closed her eyes. It could have been ten minutes. She doubted it was ten hours, because it was still early in the day, judging by the angle of the sun in the sky. What small glimpse she had of it when the door was jerked open out from under her and she was grabbed by a big, smelly-ass man who looked like it had been years since he’d seen the inside of a shower.

  It might have even been his stink that woke her up.

  Adrenaline cleared the rest of the fog from her brain, but it was another few minutes before she could get the rest of her body working.

  By that time, Vaughnne was the unhappy occupant of the big, black SUV she’d glimpsed earlier. With a gun shoved against the underside of her chin. The man leaning in and glaring at her didn’t look happy.

  He was about to get even more unhappy, she decided.

  Once she knew she could move. And fight.

  She’d bloody him.

  Then she’d find Gus and bloody him for leaving her drugged and helpless.

  “Where’s the boy?” the man asked, his voice low and soft.

  Vaughnne arched her brows. “Boy? What boy?”

  A second later, that gun that was digging against her chin came flying through the air and she tasted blood. She swallowed it down, along with any sound she might have made, and focused on breathing. Then she tried to wiggle her toes. Ah . . . perfect. They moved. So did her ankles.

  “The boy,” he said again. “Where is he?”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about!” she said.

  He went to hit her again and she pretended to flinch, using her hands to protect her face; she could move. Thank God. She could move almost close to normal. Eyeing the man in the driver’s seat, she used her arms to protect her head and give her cover as she looked around. They were on the highway. Driving. Driving fast.

  “Listen, you stupid bitch. I saw you earlier and I know what you are. Don’t lie to me because it don’t work,” he said, grinning at her and revealing a pair of teeth that badly needed brushing. He leaned in close and she decided he could also use some mouthwash. “So don’t lie to me again. Where is the kid?”

  “Look, I don’t know which kid . . . I was hired to grab a couple of them for my boss, okay? He likes them young.” She swallowed and darted him another look, wondering if he was buying this. He wasn’t all that strong, she suspected. Something about him just felt . . . off. Chaotic, like he was struggling to use his gift even at the level he was using it. So he was probably self-taught and not all that well. Good. That was good. Taking a deep breath, she said, “You have to help me a little. Which kid? I grabbed a bunch of them.”

  Silence stretched out.

  “Your boss. What are you talking about, bitch?”

  She licked the blood from her lip and then darted a look up, pretended to be nervous. “Ah . . . yeah. Um. Well, he . . . you know. He doesn’t dig girls. He likes boys. Young ones. So I was—”

  A hand gripped her throat. “The one from this morning. I saw you in the parking lot. You would have had a boy with you. I know it.”

  Did she go with mock innocence here?

  If she decided to let loose with the screams considering how fast they were driving, then they were going to be hurt. Maybe she could get them to stop the car . . .

  “Listen to me, bitch.” He squeezed harder. “If one of the others get to him first, I’m going to rip your throat out and fuck your dead corpse. You hear me?”

  Vaughnne lifted her lashes and stared at him. Others . . . Letting a tremor of fear enter her voice, she whispered, “I can’t tell you. But . . .” Shit. If this didn’t work, they were so screwed.

  The gun, a big-ass Desert Eagle 357, returned to press into her neck. If he pulled that trigger, it wouldn’t matter if they were driving or not. She was dead. But on the flipside, if he pulled that trigger, he wasn’t going to get whatever information he wanted, and he had to know that. He didn’t care if he killed her, but he wanted that money so he’d wait to kill until he had the information he needed.

  She hated dealing with unknowns like this.

  “But what, sweetheart?” he asked, cupping her face with his free hand. “Come on. Just tell me where to find the kid and you walk away from this. It’s not your mess.”

  Walk away. Like hell. She gathered up her strength, because regardless, Jones had to get his ass down here and she only had this one shot. She started to jabber out, randomly, anything and everything but the truth—that was the key when stringing somebody along. Keep it as close to believable as possible, but don’t throw the truth in there. If he started to hurt her and the truth slipped out at some point, he’d have a hard-ass time telling truth from fiction by the time she was done, especiall
y considering his damned faulty control.

  She gathered up her strength, started to focus her mind. When she had to put out a call over a long distance, it wasn’t like making a damn phone call. Took a bit more juice and this was going to take everything she had.

  But as she started to reach out and touch someone, she felt the air go tight and heavy, wrapping around her. At the same time, the hairs on the back of her neck stood on end.

  She recognized that feeling. And just in time, too. She let loose with the scream building inside her—the call she’d intended to send out to Jones—she split her focus, a mindless shriek at the foul-breathed thug even as she called for Jones.

  Distantly, she was aware that the thug in front of her had flinched away, swearing as he clapped his ears. He was pale, his eyes rolling back in his head.

  Desperately, she fumbled with the Glock at her back. She’d like to use it and put a bullet between the bastard’s eyes, but those instincts of hers were screaming—

  Hurry, hurry, hurry—

  She dropped the weapon on the floor and it hadn’t been out of her hand for more than a second before all that crackling energy in the air seemed to . . . contract. All around her. Her ears popped, something cracked, and the stink of scorched air flooded her nose, even as she realized something was burning.

  And then somebody screamed.

  That was the last thing she knew before the SUV jolted, then swerved off the road. She smashed into the door and everthing went dark.

  * * *

  TUCKER jerked open the door and stared inside.

  Vaughnne’s limp body all but fell into his arms and he swore. Even as he caught her, though, she moaned a little. “Thank God.” Okay. Okay. This was good.

  She was alive.

  He’d hoped for that much, at least. Spying a familiar-looking weapon on the floor, he grabbed it and jammed it in the back of his jeans before he slid his arms under her.

  But before he could pick her up, the man across from him spoke.

  “Don’t . . . she’s mine.”

  Considering the man could barely move, Tucker wasn’t overly concerned at the moment. First, get Vaughnne out of there.

  Then, he’d deal with this. He carried her a few feet away from the car, painfully aware of the few cars driving by, slowing down. One of them almost looked like she was going to stop. But then, at the last second, she sped on by. Good thinking, lady. As he reached the car, he saw that the occupant in the backseat had managed to get himself moving, more or less.

  The guy in the front was dead.

  Cardiac arrest, probably. Happened sometimes when a serious amount of voltage was directed into the body. Tucker didn’t entirely blame himself for the guy’s death. After all, nobody had made him kidnap Vaughnne. Tucker was just the tool used to help alleviate that situation; that was his story.

  The other guy, well, whether he lived or died, it was his own choice.

  And his odds lowered as he lifted his gun. Tucker really hated it when people pointed guns at him. The bastard held it at his side, partially blocking it with his body so those on the highway wouldn’t see. Tucker saw it, though, and that was the big problem.

  “You should put that down before you get hurt,” he said, smiling a little.

  “Are you here for the boy, too?” the man asked, his eyes bleary, but focusing more and more with every second.

  Alarm flickered in the back of Tucker’s head. “No. I’m just here for her,” he replied easily. “I got her. I’m good.”

  “Can’t have her. She’s our ticket to the kid . . . put her back in the car, shithead. Then walk away.”

  “Can’t do that.” He eyed the man as he stepped out of the SUV, swaying a little. Blood spilled down his face from a cut on his forehead, and he slammed a hand against the vehicle to brace himself.

  “You will do that,” the man said. His face folded in what Tucker assumed was supposed to be a menacing snarl, but as he continued to sway there, so close to that big pile of metal . . .

  “You know, you’ve got about five seconds to decide if you want to live or die,” Tucker said. “If you want to live, get back in the truck. Otherwise . . .”

  He let his words die off.

  The guy laughed. “Dumb-ass. I am the one with the gun.”

  “Yeah. But that gun can’t do this . . .” He emptied himself of the remnant energy boiling inside him. First on the man, forcing his way into the man’s mind and shutting down the electrical impulses, holding that until he saw the man stagger. The arm holding the gun lowered as the strain on his brain weakened him. Once the gun was no longer pointing at Tucker, he said one more time, “Last chance. If you want to live, you’re better off in the SUV.”

  “Stu . . . stupid fuck.”

  Tucker gave up holding himself in check.

  It was almost like an orgasm, just letting go like that.

  It would have been a beautiful thing, except he was painfully aware of the stink of burned flesh, painfully aware of the foul miasma as the man’s bowels and bladder released as he died, painfully aware of the gun as it hit the ground. Most modern weapons were equipped with safety features to keep them from accidental discharge, but still, Tucker wasn’t relying on that as he jerked to the side. Just in case. He didn’t trust safety features. He didn’t trust jack shit. Not even himself, most of the time.

  With two dead bodies and no visible sign of what had killed them, he headed back to get Vaughnne. The entire exchange had happened in under two minutes. He knew this area. It would only take county cops five minutes, maximum, to get here. He had to move.

  He was taking a chance moving her without knowing if she’d been injured, but he had to do it. They had to get to that kid.

  That jackass back there, he hadn’t been at all surprised that somebody else might be looking for the kid. Which meant . . . what? He’d been expecting it?

  Not good.

  THIRTEEN

  IT was an innocuous, dark blue sedan following them.

  Gus had noticed it nearly thirty minutes earlier, and in those thirty minutes, it hadn’t once gotten any closer than it was now. Staying about a good fifty feet back, usually more. Sometimes two or three cars would get between them. Sometimes it would veer over into another lane, keeping that easy, casual distance, but there was no mistaking it . . . the car was following them.

  And Alex was scared. It didn’t help that his fever had come back, either. Some Tylenol knocked the fever down, but nothing took the fear from his eyes. Sweat that had nothing to do with illness beaded on the boy’s forehead, and he sat there with his hands clenched in his lap, his entire body trembling.

  Terrified.

  “They found us again, Tío,” Alex said softly.

  He didn’t respond. Fear spread through him, but giving voice to it wasn’t going to help Alex. It curdled in his belly, a twisted knot, but he accepted that fear, swallowing it down and welcoming it. He’d channel it. Make it his own, and use it.

  They’d moved back onto the highway halfway through the afternoon and had made good time, leaving Florida behind nearly thirty minutes ago. But now, driving up I-65, speeding through Georgia, he felt like he was bashing his head against a brick wall.

  He didn’t know where to go.

  He’d been so sure if they just hit the road and got some distance between them, they’d be okay. Every other time somebody had tracked them down, all it had taken was a few hours and some distance and they’d lost them. Gus knew how to lose people.

  You’ve never had to run from people who can track a psychic child, though, the dark, ugly voice of self-recrimination whispered from deep inside him.

  No. He hadn’t had to do that before, had never realized it would be a concern. Even when Vaughnne—

  Stop. Looking back wouldn’t help now. He hadn’t trusted her, and in all honesty, there had been no reason to trust her. He didn’t know her, had no reason to trust a total stranger. His experience with Alex over the years had served him well en
ough.

  Things had changed and he’d fucked up.

  Now he had to fix it. First, he had to get the hell away from the people trailing them.

  He couldn’t take the boy on a high-speed chase. Not in the car he’d stolen.

  And he had to ditch the car soon.

  There was no way around that.

  But if he stopped . . .

  “They are going to hit us soon.” Alex’s voice was low, thin.

  Gus swore.

  Gripping the steering wheel, he looked back in the mirror and then at the cars all around them. “How are you feeling, m’hijo? How is your stomach? Your back?”

  “I feel better with . . . um . . . that.” He shrugged, a restless jerky motion, and his cheeks were a dull, ruddy red. “I guess the medicine stuff is helping.”

  Gus nodded shortly. “Good.”

  “My head hurts . . . I’m . . .” Alex swallowed and looked away. “I’m trying to do what Vaughnne was showing me. It’s giving me a headache, but I don’t feel like I did yesterday.”

  Vaughnne—

  Mierda. He’d been trying not to think about her. She’d been right. He’d been wrong. There was no other explanation for how they’d been tracked down.

  Psychic bloodhounds.

  They’d tracked them down. Somehow. Gus didn’t know if it was because of something they’d done or what, but somehow they’d tracked them down. Maybe it was really as simple as she’d said and it was something Alex was unintentionally doing.

  And it was something that did him no good to worry about now. They were hours away from where he’d left her and no telling where she was now. He had no way of finding her, which was exactly how he had thought he’d wanted it.

  For now, he had to figure out the best way to take care of Alex.