The Protected

by Shiloh Walker

  “Come here, Nala,” Reyes said, his voice low and heated. “I can make you happy.”

  She made a face. The only way he’d make her happy was when she left him far, far behind her. She didn’t know if she’d be able to do that without killing him or not. The option was looking less and less likely, too. This fixation he had on the boy wasn’t going to end unless he died, but that would bring about a whole other mess of problems. When men like Reyes died, people noticed, and she hadn’t come in equipped for that. This should have been a simple information-gathering operation. It was proving to be the most screwed-up disaster ever.

  But she couldn’t walk away . . . not from that boy.

  As she checked the progress on the psychic site, she glanced up at him. “Why the boy, Reyes?”

  Something else she’d like while he was feeling cooperative—answers.

  “The boy?” he echoed.

  Something flickered in his mind. Her hold was slipping. Already. Son of a bitch.

  It should have lasted longer than that. Instead of looking at the computer, she remained where she was, staring at Reyes. “Yeah. What’s the deal with the boy?”

  “He’s my son,” Reyes said, his voice thick, the words coming reluctantly. “He’s mine.”

  “Yours?” she echoed. “So you miss him, then? You love him? Want to bring him home and . . .”

  His lip curled. “Love him. No. Until I knew what he could do, he was just useful to keep his cunt-mother happy. A man in my position needs a beautiful woman at his side. She served her purpose. But then I realized what he could do. And he’s my son. He will come home.”

  Useful . . .

  Nalini gathered up her hair, securing it at her nape as she settled back behind the computer. Well, that solved that riddle. The images of the night the woman died still weren’t clear. This wasn’t the man who killed her, but he was behind the attacks on the boy, was hunting him down like a wild animal. Not out of love, but because the boy was useful.

  She tapped at a few keys and finally—she had the information she needed. What she really wanted to do was take the entire website down, see it crash and burn, but Jones might need the information on it to track people down. Too much vigilante shit taking place on it, and that was just bad, bad news. Somebody needed to blow that thing wide open.

  But she’d hacked in a mod’s ID with enough clearance to delete that profile. She already knew where it had originated from . . . here. Esteban. The missing Esteban. She’d heard Ignacio ordering his men to find the cabrón and bring him in, but she had a funny feeling they wouldn’t be finding the man. He’d had a desperate look about him when he’d left here . . . how long ago had it been? Almost two weeks ago? She couldn’t even remember. Maybe three? Closer to three, she thought. All the days were running together. But Esteban’s eyes, yeah. That she remembered. He’d had the look of a desperate man, and since he hadn’t found the boy, she had a feeling he’d be doing almost anything to avoid coming back here.

  Still, while she was on the inside, she collected as much information as she could. There were others here that had caught her interest. Nobody wanted to catch Nalini’s interest. Ignacio had, and look where it had landed him.

  First, screen shots of everything and she saved them, e-mailed them to a personal account. She’d access it later and start researching. Once she was away from here. Then she deleted the job listing, wiping it off the server, as well as any and all responses to it. She couldn’t do anything if it had been cached anywhere on the Net, but if it wasn’t an active job posting, maybe some of the people on his ass would stop. The pragmatic sorts, at least.

  After she’d done that, she took care of the protective measures to make sure nobody could get on the computer and find out what she’d been doing. Reyes was no computer genius but he had plenty of them around.

  By the time she was done removing all traces from the computer, so much time had passed that Reyes had thrown off all signs of the compulsion, and when she looked up, he was watching her with the soulless, dead eyes of a killer. “Why are you asking about Alejandro?” he asked gently.

  “Who?” She smiled at him, the coy, promising smile that had suckered him into bringing her here. Of course, it hadn’t just been a smile. She’d thrown in a few casual touches, a few whispered innuendos, basically getting him all hot and bothered.

  Now he was icy and cold, like he was already planning the ways he wanted to kill her.

  “My son.”

  She blinked at him. “You have a kid?”

  “Don’t play the stupid puta with me, Nala. I know what you are, what you can do. Is that why you hunt him? You want him for yourself?”

  She studied him for a minute. “You would think something like that, wouldn’t you?”

  She shut down her computer and stood up. She needed to find anything and everything she could that had belonged to the boy, or to his mother. Once she had those things, she had to destroy them. He had already figured out what she was, so he’d figure out there were more. Ignacio hadn’t been the brains behind The Psychic Portal move, but since he knew there were others out there, she didn’t want him to have any decent tools within his grasp if he decided to reach out to others to help look for his son.

  “How do you know about my son?”

  She smiled at him. “Madame Nala sees all, knows all.”

  The look in his eyes told her he didn’t know if he believed her or not. She managed not to laugh in his face. If he thought she was some all-seeing, all-knowing thing, it might work to her benefit.

  He wasn’t just going to buy it, though. “You don’t think I will just believe that, do you?”

  “I don’t care what you believe, Reyes.” Nalini shrugged. “Doesn’t matter jack to me. Why don’t you sit there and mentally jack off as you think about the way his mama cried when you hit her because she said she’d leave?”

  Direct hit.

  She saw his lashes flicker, the only sign that she’d been right on target. But she knew she had. She’d been living in this hell for too long and she’d picked up enough impressions. From the house. From the jewelry he’d given her. From him.

  “You don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said after just a few seconds too long.

  “No?” She shrugged and started to gather up her things. After she went over the house, she had to get out of here. She had to do this fast, too.

  As she strode past him, he jerked against the chair. “Let me loose, Nala. Now. If you don’t . . .”

  She paused and looked over at him, smiling a little. “You’ll what? Put your hands on me? Haven’t you seen what happens when you do that?”

  His mouth spasmed. “I don’t need to touch you to make you pay. A bullet in the back of your head will suffice.”

  “You have to catch up with me first.” She shrugged and left the room. The clock was running. She had to gather up anything that could be used to find Alex. She had to gather up anything and everything of hers, but she’d already taken care of most of that. A few other pieces of information.

  So much to do . . . so little time.

  * * *

  GUS expected to sleep lightly, or not at all.

  He was in bed with somebody else, and that shouldn’t be conducive to restfulness.

  It was something of a surprise when he found himself drifting to slow awareness. Slow . . . pleasant . . . awareness.

  He took stock of his surroundings, mentally taking note. Had anything changed? Dirty, smoke-stained ceiling overhead—all of that had been the same as last night. Ugly art on the walls—it had been just as ugly the night before. Thick, blackout curtains on the windows—the only change there was the thin stream of light filtering in through the narrow gap. Hotel room—a piss-poor excuse of a room.

  Damn, what he wouldn’t give to take Vaughnne to a place of luxury, where crystal and gold glinted, where the bed was as soft as a cloud and the cotton sheets felt as smooth and soft as silk against her skin as he lay her down to ma
ke love to her.

  Instead, they were in this old, run-down pile of bricks that had seen better days.

  His brain processed everything else, even as he dwelled a little longer on the fantasy. He still had his weapon, gripped in his right hand. And his left hand . . . he closed his eyes and let himself linger in the moment. A few more seconds, he decided, couldn’t really hurt anything, could it? If this was all they’d ever have, why not enjoy what he could?

  Vaughnne muttered in her sleep and snuggled in closer, her face tucked against his neck, her arm slung over his waist. She was as close to him as she could be without crawling on top of him, and if she decided to do that, he wouldn’t mind.

  He’d actually enjoy it. He’d love to see her riding him, freeing his hands to touch that strong, limber body.

  Heat spread through him as he thought of it, and he had to fight the urge to bring that hot fantasy to life, right then, right there. His dick insisted that he’d warned her. He’d told her he planned on having her again, and if she wanted that not to happen, she should have gone to the other bed.

  But the other part of him remembered how she had looked at him with sad, somber eyes the previous day when she’d pulled a gun on him.

  Saving me. It was a lovely, naïve thing that she thought he could actually be saved at this point in his life. He’d killed. He’d stolen. He’d long since grown immune to the wet sound a bone made as he broke it. He’d done so many awful things, and up until Alex had come into his life, he’d been about ready to go down in a blaze of glory, too. Tired of it all.

  Now he was still tired, but mostly, he was tired of running. Tired of being afraid of what would happen. He didn’t fear for himself, but for Alex. Now for her.

  She thought she was saving him.

  So he could let himself be a little less of a monster and not be the greedy bastard he truly was.

  If she wanted him—

  She woke up.

  * * *

  SHE’D expected to get maybe an hour of sleep. Two, if she was lucky.

  That was how life had been going ever since she’d hit Orlando, after all. Nothing went the way she’d hoped.

  But when she woke up, her head wasn’t muzzy with exhaustion, and her body wasn’t raging in fury at the thought of getting out of bed. It was just growling a little.

  And Gus lay in the bed next to her.

  His long, lean form, so strong, so warm. His hand curved over the swell of her hip, and as she lay there, his fingers spread wide, for just a minute, as though he was learning the feel of her. She wanted to do the very same thing to him, spread her hands open and learn every damn inch of his body.

  She caught her breath, remembering what he’d told her.

  But instead of him rolling her onto her back, when he moved, it was to pull away.

  “We need to get on the road,” he said, his voice level. Emotionless.

  She sat up, staring at his naked back. “The road?” she echoed. What had happened to all his talk about getting her naked? Getting inside her again?

  “Yes. I have to make a few calls about getting us across the border.” He glanced over his shoulder at her. “I take it you didn’t bring your passport?”

  “Actually, I do have it.” Although illegally entering a country was probably going to be the least of her crimes by the time this was all said and done. And just what had happened to getting her naked? She stared at him a minute longer, but all he did was shift off the bed, crouching by the bag he’d left on the floor.

  And that was it. Watching his bowed head, she realized his mind was already on other things. Fine. I’m not going to let him see I’m put out over this. I’m not. And I’m not put out by it. I’m . . .

  Climbing out of bed, she headed to the minuscule bathroom and locked herself inside.

  Oh, the hell I’m not.

  Emotion tangled inside her, too complicated to really put her finger on. Hurt? Yeah. There was some of that, for certain. Bruised pride? Maybe a little. Okay, more than a little. It was arousing, knowing somebody wanted you. Really wanted you . . . and then to have him not want you? It was a punch in the gut. The hurt and bruised pride twisted in her, but it went deeper than that. She couldn’t even figure out everything she felt, either.

  Disappointment seemed like such a minor word for the empty ache she felt inside. It went too deep for just mere disappointment.

  “I don’t have time for this,” she muttered. Squaring her shoulders, she made herself stare at her reflection. She looked sad and miserable and lost, like a girl who’d been stood up by the cute guy in high school.

  That wasn’t going to cut it. She had a job to do, and it was going to get ugly before it got better. Hell, it might not get better for her. She’d already acknowledged that fact. But if she walked into this looking like a whipped puppy, then it was just going to snowball into one hell of a bad mess, and that, she did not need.

  Taking a deep breath, she shoved everything aside. So Gus didn’t seem to want her the way he’d made her think. In the end, that didn’t matter. Not to the job, at least, and the job was why she was here. The job and only the job. Having the hot and sexy Gus along the wayside had been both a bonus and a complication, but in the end, he wasn’t the focus.

  Alex was.

  She’d been sent to Orlando to watch over a kid.

  Somebody else was taking point on that job now, but that didn’t mean she was done. Her current objective was to keep that kid safe, and the threat to him had grown exponentially. She had to get her game on and stay focused.

  With that in mind, she turned away from the mirror and stripped out of her clothes. She needed to shower and clear her head. She needed coffee, but they’d grab that on the road.

  Game on, she told herself as she climbed under the miserable, stingy spray. Game on.

  * * *

  THE woman who ducked into the bathroom had been quiet, somber, and he couldn’t help but think he’d hurt her. He wouldn’t let that get to him. He was used to hurting women. Not physically, but when the job included assignments like seduction and espionage, people did end up with their feelings bruised, their pride.

  It wasn’t so easy to shrug it off when the woman was Vaughnne, and he told himself that maybe he’d misunderstood her. After all, she’d told him he was arrogant, had mouthed off to him before they fell asleep. He was just respecting her wishes, really.

  The door to the bathroom opened and the woman came striding out, wearing nothing but a bath towel, her hair pulled back and away from her face. Her eyes cut to his, and any sign of sadness or pain was completely gone.

  She looked arrogant now. Arrogant, aloof, and the light in her eyes was one of warning.

  He stood by the door, waiting, watching.

  And damn near swallowed his tongue as she stood in front of the neat little stack of clothes and dropped her towel.

  Beads of water still clung to her shoulders, rolled down the slope of her breast as she grabbed a pair of panties. Black. It seemed black and white were her preferred colors in wardrobe choices, so that was all he’d grabbed for her, but he would love to see her in red silk. Blue satin. Emerald green. Anything. Everything. Nothing.

  His heart slammed against his ribs as she pulled the panties up over the taut, round curve of her ass. Then she shot him a dark look. “If we need to get on the road, don’t you think you should get ready?”

  Ready? If he were any readier, he might die of a heart attack.

  She stared at him for a moment and then looked away, that disdainful expression still on her face. She reached for her bra and he locked his gaze on her breasts, memorized those curves for the few brief moments he had left to him. Perfect, he decided. Just about perfect. Full enough for his hands, nothing more and nothing less, her skin that soft, warm brown, and her nipples were a deeper, darker shade. Puckered, and tight, too.

  ¿Qué carajo? What was he doing? She wanted him. He wanted her. Saving her . . . from what? Himself? She’d said a hundred time
s if she’d wanted to leave, she’d do just that. And if she tried, he’d let her. He’d already decided that. Because he didn’t need the assurance that she’d look after Alejandro. She would already do it. That was just who she was.

  So what or who was he trying to save her from?

  He dropped the bag he was holding.

  Vaughnne shot him another dark look as she reached for a shirt. “You know, if you’d wanted to stare at my tits, you should have done something about it earlier. We need to get going, right?”

  Closing the distance between them, he caught the lapels of the black shirt before she could start to button it up. “It can wait,” he said gruffly. Dipping his head, he pressed his mouth to the curve between her neck and shoulder.

  Vaughnne stiffened.

  He breathed in the scent of her skin, warm and soft, smelling of the lousy soap the hotel had provided, and something else . . . female, unique to her. The lotion she slicked on her skin, maybe. He didn’t know, but the scent was enough to drive him mad. Raking his teeth along her skin, he caught the collar of her shirt and dragged it down.

  She shoved her hands between them. “Hold on there, pal,” she said, her lip curling.

  He lifted a hand and cupped her face, dragging his thumb across her mouth, watching as hunger danced in her gaze even as she edged backward.

  “I’m not a plaything.” She glared at him. “Hot little pillow talk last night, and then this morning, it’s all serious shit, but five seconds later, you want to put your hands on me again? I don’t do this hot and cold stuff, Gus.”

  “Gustavo.” He leaned in, flicking his tongue across her lower lip.

  She tensed. “What?”

  “My name. It’s Gustavo. And I always want to put my hands on you, Vaughnne,” he whispered, teasing the entrance to her mouth, but she still wouldn’t open for him. “But last night, you talked as though that wasn’t what you wanted. I thought perhaps I’d respect your wishes . . . for once.”

  If he wasn’t mistaken, some of the tension eased from her body. “You were trying to play the nice guy?”