The Protected

TWENTY-ONE

“WE walk from here.”

From where he’d stopped the car, he could see Reyes’s villa.

His gut was tight and every sense was on red alert.

It was too quiet.

Too quiet and the skin on the back of his neck was crawling, like something or somebody was breathing down on him.

But there was nobody there.

He wanted to ask Vaughnne if she felt something, but she was focused on the big house, sprawling out under the silvery sheen of the moon. It was as though something had enchanted her, and she just couldn’t pull herself away. Even as he went about readying himself, checking his Kevlar vest, knives, the Sig Sauer, slipping the strap of the Heckler & Koch MP5 over his shoulder, Vaughnne was moving toward the house.

“Vaughnne.”

She didn’t even slow down.

“Esta chingadera,” he muttered, grabbing the vest he’d found among her belongings and heading off after her. He caught her arm right before she started down the hill. The scraggly, low-lying bushes would offer them some concealment, but she was not barreling toward that house without some sort of protection. What had he been thinking, bringing her here . . .

Abruptly, Vaughnne stopped and looked at him. “Whatever happens, you didn’t make me come, got it?” She caught the vest from his fist and pulled it on.

“I thought you didn’t read minds.”

She shrugged. “I don’t. But what you’re thinking, for once, is actually written all over your face. I’m here because I gave my word I’d watch over that boy. And I know too much about Ignacio Reyes. People have been chasing after him, trying to shut him down for years, and they are no closer to doing it now than they were a decade ago. If we’re going to make Alex safe, then we have to do it the hard way.”

He lifted a hand and touched her face. “It’s my problem, Vaughnne. My responsibility, and I’ll accept the risks. If you cross this line, there may be no turning back for you. You don’t need to do this.”

A sharp scream, female and full of pain, rang out from the house.

Vaughnne swore and turned. “Yeah. I do.”

FEAR was a strange thing.

Sometimes it was like an icy tickle down the spine.

Other times, it was a dragon screaming inside her brain.

And it could hit on so many things in between.

Right now, her fear was a nasty little twist in her gut, and in the back of her mind, there was a voice, almost like she was talking to herself. Hurry, Vaughnne. Have to hurry. Have to hurry!

There was another scream and everything in her wanted to run, barrel into that house.

But she couldn’t. Had to be smart. Had to creep across the ground, following Gus’s oddly reluctant lead. All along, he’d been warning her, making her very aware of just how far he’d go, what lines he’d be willing to cross—just about all of them. And now they were here, and he wanted her to . . . what? Leave? Let it go?

While he went on ahead and probably got himself killed, she knew.

He was ready for it. She wasn’t stupid. She knew the look on a man’s face when he was ready to face down death. She’d seen it more than once. There had been a time or two when she had worn that look.

But she hadn’t come down here to walk away now.

Another scream rang out, and they were close enough now that she could hear a voice as the scream faded—it had come from the building ahead, set apart from the big house. So close. It was so close.

Where is everybody? she asked, searching the perimeter.

He’d already done a check for the guards and hadn’t seen a damn soul. That bothered her. A lot.

He looked at her and shook his head minutely, but she didn’t know how to take that. Did that mean he didn’t know? There wasn’t anybody? What?

They inched forward another few feet, following the sound of that voice.

Low and smooth, it sounded like the voice of an educated male, the accent all but gone. “Come now, Nala . . . there’s no reason for this. If you answer my questions, I will not hurt you . . .”

Nala—

That name sounded an alarm in Vaughnne’s mind.

But then she heard the voice. A woman’s. Ragged and hoarse, but familiar, all the same. “Why . . . don’t . . . you go fuck . . . yourself?” she panted.

Nalini—

Shit . . .

She looked at Gus. He’s got one of the agents in there, Gus. I know her.

Gus didn’t respond.

At all.

The sound of Nalini’s next scream was almost enough to freeze the blood in Vaughnne’s veins.

Desperate and so full of pain.

Her muscles bunched, tensed. Gus must have sensed what she wanted to do, because his hand came up and gripped her arm, his fingers squeezing with deliberate strength.

She let him guide her over to the building, all but hugging it as she listened to Nalini inside. Begging now . . . She was begging, whimpering, and crying.

Where the hell is everybody? You acted like he’d have a small army here, Vaughnne said, searching the night-dark terrain, but she saw nothing. The buildings were there, but there were no people. Save for those they could hear behind them.

The screaming had stopped, dying away into low, soft sobs.

“Do I start cutting off fingers now, señor? Cutting up her pretty face didn’t do much,” somebody said.

Reyes? Vaughnne wondered. She had to see him. If she saw him, she could get a link in on his mind. That was all it would take.

“Nala, you are so foolishly stubborn. Talk to me, and this can end. Here, we can do something easy; it will not hurt the boy. Just tell me this. How did you manage to send my men away?”

Next to her, Vaughnne felt Gus tense. She was terrified now. Nalini had monsters in there with her, but if Gus thought she’d endanger that boy . . . She won’t say anything, Gus. She won’t.

His long, lean body vibrated next to hers and she could feel him readying himself.

I have to see inside, damn it. I can’t work if I can’t see in there. Her ability was limited that way; the first time she used it, she had to see somebody. And once she saw whoever was torturing Nalini, the bastard was going to hurt.

Slowly, Gus’s fingers uncurled from her arm and she crept forward. Mentally, she reached out to the other woman. Man, Nalini, you landed yourself in a shitload of trouble. How did you manage that?

She didn’t know if Nalini recognized her, and she wouldn’t get much of a response, either. Nalini’s gifts didn’t work like that.

But she couldn’t let the woman think she was in there, alone and left to die, either.

A harsh, low groan left the woman, still hidden by the walls that separated them. The window was a few feet ahead and Vaughnne had to inch forward every damn millimeter, watching where she placed her feet, watching everything around her. Her skin crawled.

Nalini, where is everybody?

“You . . . moron,” Nalini said. There was so much pain crowding her voice it hurt to even hear it. “Haven’t you . . . figured out what I do? I made you send them away. They wouldn’t . . . listen to me.” She broke off for a minute, panting.

There was a whisper of sound and then the man’s voice. “Hold off, Jorge. I want to hear this. This . . . this could be useful.”

Nalini laughed. “Oh, I’m not going to be useful . . . to you. At all. Trust me. Anybody who touches me does it . . . at his own risk. You had your hands . . . all over . . . me. I made you . . . send . . . them all away. They are too scared not to listen. Except Jorge, apparently. He came running . . . back, the jackass. Like a little . . . puppy. I bet . . . if you asked him to suck you off, he’d . . . do it.”

“Puta.”

Ah. That must be Jorge . . . Vaughnne eyed the distance to the window. A foot. She was going to be in range soon. Very soon.

Did you hear?

She glanced back over her shoulder, saw the slow dip of Gus’s head. But something told her that he didn’t buy anything out of Nalini’s mouth; he didn’t trust her. He didn’t trust anybody but he’d never trust something coming from Nalini now. She was being tortured and Reyes thought she knew something about Alex. To Gus, that made her suspect.

NALINI was almost numb as Ignacio waved Jorge away. “Now, now . . . I’d promised we wouldn’t hurt her if she answered the question. Although, Nala, I do not care for your foul mouth.”

“Yeah?” She sneered at him. “Too fucking bad.”

“This really is your last chance. The injury to your face can be . . . well, it may or may not heal well. If I start cutting off fingers, Nala, you’ll never be able to use that beauty of yours to blind a man again.”

She smiled, the cut on her lower lip splitting wide. He planned on killing her—did he really think she was that naïve? “Did I blind you, Iggy?”

Damn it, Nalini. Shut up. The voice . . . Nalini frowned as it came to her mind again and she almost believed it wasn’t wishful thinking. Maybe . . .

Something danced just out of the corner of her eye. A flit of movement, a dark shadow lost to darker ones outside the window.

“Iggy . . .” She sucked in a breath. “Maybe I can help. A little.”

A pleased smile curved his face.

I’ve got a line in now, Nalini. Get ready.

She closed her eyes and wondered just how in hell she was supposed to get ready? “Yeah. Whatever . . .”

In the next second, Ignacio jerked upright like a marionette yanked on his strings.

His eyes rolled back in his head and he clamped his hands over his ears. A rapid-fire spate of Spanish exploded from him, and her pain-flooded mind took a few seconds to translate.

What is that terrible noise? Shut it up, Jorge!

She thought that was what he said.

Jorge answered back, shaking his head. “No, no oigo nada.”

“You . . .” Ignacio whispered, his eyes wide and glazed while he continued to cover his ears. “You are . . .”

He went white.

Jorge fisted his hand in her dreads. “Whatever you are doing, puta, stop it, now.” He pressed the edge of his knife against her neck.

And then, a muffled pop sounded.

It was followed by a thud.

Nalini was only vaguely aware of the fact that Jorge’s hand had fallen from her neck. All she could see was the man—long, lean, and lethal—coming through the window with death in his eyes.

Death . . . in his eyes, in his hands. On his soul.

You . . . she thought, dazed.

THE woman was drenched with her own blood. Restrained for now, cable ties holding her in place. He didn’t spare her more than a glance because she didn’t matter.

All that mattered was Ignacio Reyes, and the man was all but clawing at his ears. An attempt to silence Vaughnne’s voice, Gus supposed.

“Vaughnne.”

“I’m done,” she said, edging around him.

He stared at Reyes, waiting until the man lowered his hands, until he looked around. His gaze sought out Jorge. When he saw the corpse on the floor behind the other agent, there was only a flicker of his lashes to betray his emotions. No sign of fear showed on his face, in his eyes.

Nothing.

“So.” Reyes kept his body averted.

The man was a fool, thinking that would hide what he was doing.

“You finally return, Gustavo,” Reyes said as he drew the gun out.

“For you.” Gus smiled. “I always did want to come back for you.”

“And where is my son?”

“Where you’ll never get him.”

Reyes laughed, the malicious chuckle echoing through the room for a long, lingering moment. He spun around, already lifting the Derringer he’d been using his body to conceal. It didn’t bring Gus as much pleasure as he’d like to aim, squeeze.

The man went down with a scream, the weapon falling from his hand, his arm rendered useless.

“A useful piece of advice, cabrón,” Gus said, striding over to him and kicking the Derringer away. “Hide the weapon better. Don’t let me see it until you’re ready to pull the trigger.”

He pressed the muzzle of his Sig Sauer to Reyes’s temple. “You have no idea how many times I’ve thought of this moment.”

“Go ahead, hijo de la chingada. Kill me. Just like you killed my wife.”

THOSE words froze the very heart of her. Vaughnne lifted her head and looked at Gus’s profile.

She never should have looked.

He must have felt her stare because he turned his head, glanced at her for just a second. Less.

And the bastard bleeding on the floor moved, shoving back and swiping out with his uninjured arm.

When he moved again, he had a knife in his hand.

Time slowed down to a crawl and she saw Gus jerk back, saw him lifting his weapon even as Ignacio Reyes shoved the blade into Gus’s side.

“Die, you stupid cabrón.”

Two shots rang out.

Vaughnne had no idea which one killed him.

The one she put through his head, or the one Gus put through his heart.

But Ignacio Reyes was down, his eyes sightless and fixed on the ceiling. Blood oozed from the wound to his right forearm. All of it spilled on the floor, turning it a deep, deep red.

Looking up, she stared at Gus.

But he’d already turned his back.

“He killed the boy’s mother,” Nalini said, her voice tight and low. “I saw it, Vaughnne.”

Picking up the pocket knife she’d been using to cut Nalini free, she focused on just that task. Just that.

“Did you hear me?”

“I heard you,” she said quietly.

She’d heard her. She even believed it was true. Not so much because Nalini insisted.

But because of the very plain and simple fact that Gus wouldn’t look at her.