The Protected

TWENTY-TWO

“YOU must promise me, Gustavo.”

“Consuelo, stop this foolishness. Come now. Put your arms around my neck.” Urgency was a constant alarm in his head. The boy was safe—he’d called in so many favors to get here, and Jimmy Doucet was at the door, clutching a terrified Alejandro in his arms. There weren’t many he’d trust with his family, but the old Cajun was one, and he had come without asking a single question.

Gustavo went to pick up his sister, fury twisting in him as he felt the odd, almost pulpy feel along her right side. So many ribs, broken. “No,” she said, flinching away and then gasping as even the pain from that tore through her. “I cannot go with you, ’mano. Listen to me, you have to get him away. I will slow you down and he’ll get Alejandro. He can never do that. Never. You must promise me he’ll never touch him again. Never find him.”

“He won’t,” he said, trying to calm her. “Now let’s go before they realize we are here.”

“I can’t walk,” she said, shaking her head. “I can’t run.”

She started to cough and there was blood trickling from her mouth when the fit finally passed.

“Gus, if we’re going, son, we gotta go now,” Doucet said, his voice low and urgent.

“Have him and Alejandro wait outside,” she said, her voice softer, weaker.

Once the door closed behind him, Consuelo closed her eyes. “I’ll never make it to the border. And if you take me, all of you die.”

He froze at the look in her eyes. Despite the pain she was in, despite the blood and the bruises, she watched him with an eerie sort of calm. “Listen to me, ’mano,” she said, her voice getting weaker. “I know you do not understand, but please try. I know what will happen if you take me. He’ll catch us. I . . . I’ve seen it, Gustavo. He’ll catch us. He’ll kill you . . . I’m dead already. And he’ll do as he wishes with Alejandro. You have to protect him now.”

“No,” Gustavo said, shaking his head even as denial roared inside him. He brushed her hair back. “Come now. Hold on to me.”

“I’ve seen it,” she whispered. And then she told him just what she’d seen.

He froze. And then, defeated, he dropped his head onto the bed next to her, closer to sobbing than he’d ever been in his adult life. There was no room for tears, he knew, but they wanted to come nonetheless.

Back when she’d been a child, Consuelo had been a child whom many had mocked. She did see things. Mamá had believed her, had insisted their grandmother had been the same. Neither Mamá nor Gus had the ability, but Consuelo . . .

“You can save my son, Gustavo. But you cannot save me. I cannot even move. It hurts to breathe, hurts to even lie here. Please . . . you must promise me. Take him, keep him safe. And don’t . . . please don’t let Ignacio hurt me anymore. If he tries to make me talk, I . . .” She shook her head and reached for his hand. “I can’t keep fighting him.”

Unwittingly, he lifted his weapon hand, the one still clutching the Sig Sauer to stroke her brow. She caught his wrist and lifted it, guiding the weapon to her temple.

He jerked away. “Consuelo!”

“If he finds me alive, he will try to make me talk. I am not as strong as you. Please, Gustavo. You must protect my son . . . you must do this for me.”

HIS gut roiled, even now.

The guilt he’d kept buried raged to the surface as he moved out of the dark, dank little building.

It had been there that he’d found his sister. She, too, had been tied up. But she’d been tied to a cot, left naked and uncovered, so every violation had been there. For all the world to see.

And because he had made her a promise, to save Alejandro, he’d left her. Just like that, after he’d put a bullet through her heart.

There was a soft whisper of sound and he turned, saw Vaughnne standing in the doorway, her friend’s arm slung over her shoulder.

Vaughnne stared at him.

He returned that gaze without blinking, letting her see every ugly truth on his face.

“If you are going to ask if it is true,” he said, schooling his voice into a bored, flat tone. “Don’t bother, Vaughnne.”

“I won’t. I can already tell it is. I just want to know why.”

The other woman was pale, so deathly pale, and she stared at Gus with eyes that were an odd mix of horror and fury. And in her hand, she clutched the Derringer that Reyes had tried to use on him. It was, yet again, leveled at him. “Vaughnne, we need to go. It doesn’t matter why. We have to get out of here before the rest of Reyes’s men show up. I don’t want to die here, not just because you need to know why he killed his own sister.”

The look in her eyes was scathing and cold, but it didn’t affect him. He didn’t care what that woman said.

Vaughnne, though . . . the look on her face . . . it cut something deep inside him. It left a wound he wouldn’t have imagined possible. Still, he didn’t let it show as he looked from one woman to the other. “You should go. Get out while you can.”

“Are you going to answer me?”

He resumed his study of the night sky. And when she walked away, he closed his eyes. Blood dripped from the wound in his side, but he ignored it.

It was done, then.

Alejandro was safe.

He’d kept his promise.

He’d always thought it would kill him in the end.

This, he thought, was actually worse.

“YOU have no idea how much trouble you could have caused.”

There were only four of them in the room at the moment. Vaughnne and Nalini, along with Joss Crawford and Dr. Melissande Grady. Grady was settling Nalini into a chair that had been dug up from somewhere—an armchair, not one of those hard-ass chairs the rest of them would be in. Nalini looked like hell. She’d lost a decent amount of blood by the time Vaughnne was able to get her to a hospital, and the long, narrow line of sutures on her face stood out in stark relief against her pale skin. Grady murmured to her softly and Nalini nodded, and even that careful movement hurt like hell. Grady touched her shoulder and then moved away.

While Grady was playing doctor, Joss was busy ripping Vaughnne a new asshole.

“Were you trying to get yourself thrown in jail?” he demanded. “Trying to cost yourself your job? Cause an international incident or what?”

She gave him a sweet smile. “Well, if those were my intentions, I obviously failed, right? After all, I’m not in jail, there was no international incident.”

He waited a beat. “But do you still have a job?”

“Well, that’s not really up to you.” She settled back in her seat and stared outside. They’d just gotten out of Mexico early that morning, and although it was damn late and she was damn tired, she hadn’t been given the option to go home and rest.

No, she was at headquarters, getting debriefed. Well, waiting to get debriefed.

It had taken every last bit of Grady’s considerable diplomatic skills to get them out of Mexico so quickly. She’d lied through her teeth, too, while Joss stood in the background, looking brooding and menacing, which he did rather well.

Now they were waiting for the boss. It struck her as kind of odd that he wasn’t already there, but it was one of those random little thoughts that passed through her mind and then faded.

Just like every other thought of the past few days.

She couldn’t think.

Couldn’t focus.

Couldn’t sleep.

Couldn’t eat.

Nothing seemed to matter anymore, not since the moment she’d turned her back and walked away from Gus.

If you are going to ask if it is true . . . Don’t bother, Vaughnne.

Don’t bother. Like it didn’t matter at all if he’d killed his sister.

Don’t ask? Screw that. She knew it was true, she’d seen it on his face. Just as she’d seen the misery hidden in the back of his eyes. The misery, the pain. The grief. There had to be a reason, she told herself. She could feel it, in the very bottom of her soul. The man she’d come to know might be a killer, but he wasn’t a cold-blooded monster.

She damn well should have asked. Should have pushed. Yeah, there were reasons, all right. And fuck him to hell and back if he thought she just shouldn’t bother to ask.

Her gut churned as she continued to stare outside at the streets. It was late, but the streets were still crowded with cars and buses, people moving along the sidewalks.

What had happened?

Her mind spun, twisted with the possibilities. Had his sister been hurt? Sick? Maybe—

Before she could finish that thought, the door opened and she turned her head, watching as Jones came striding through the doors. He had a man with him, a man that Vaughnne was pretty damn certain she didn’t know.

She was equally certain that he could cause all kinds of problems. He stood solid, straight as a soldier, shoulders back, and even though he wasn’t obvious with it, she had a feeling he’d already looked and judged everybody in the room. Looked, marked the weaknesses, the strengths.

She didn’t much care for that.

“I’d like everybody to meet Antonio Moran. He’s in from Mexico . . . he has a few questions about a fire that took place at a private home, an hour west of Monterrey.”

A fire—

West of Monterrey.

Just like that, and her heart almost stopped. She kept her face blank, though, even as her pulse started to race, as her skin went cold and clammy and all the air squeezed out of her lungs.

A fire—

The world stopped spinning. She’d almost swear to it.

She’d taken Nalini to a hospital in Monterrey. They’d driven east. The home hadn’t been burning when she left. Jones wouldn’t have the guy in here if it was just some random house.

Gus—

Her heart went tight and cold, and there was a scream lodged in her throat.

“I’m attempting to locate a person of interest. I think he might have answers about the fire.” Moran studied her face. “You might have met him while you were in Mexico.”

“I was just there to help a fellow agent, Señor Moran,” she said, moving forward to take a seat. Despite her best attempts, her voice came out a little rougher than she liked. “She needed backup, so I was down there for that, and only that.”

That was the story they’d decided to go with. Nalini had been on an assignment; things had gone to hell. It wasn’t too terribly far from the truth. Except for the fact that Vaughnne hadn’t been sent to help Nalini, and she hadn’t been in Mexico on any sort of job . . . but . . . well. If Jones decided to come clean and let her fend for herself, she’d deal with it then. She’d made her choice.

“The house belonged to a man who has been under intense scrutiny by both my government and yours . . . Ignacio Reyes.”

“Reyes.” A knot swelled in her throat, so large and hard, she could barely talk. Her hands were sweaty and she swiped them down her jeans before reaching for the bottle of water waiting on the table. “Ignacio Reyes. Yeah, I’m familiar with the name. Were there any fatalities?”

“We are still investigating at this point.”

When he didn’t elaborate, she shot Jones a glance, struggling to keep her face blank even though all she wanted to do was jump over the table and demand that he tell her what in the hell was going on. Anything. Everything.

The calm look on his face shattered every last nerve she had and she knew he knew something. Hell, he might know everything. This was Taylor Jones, damn it.

Instead of attacking him, she looked back at Moran. “Exactly what can I do for you, then, señor?”

“I just had a few questions.”

Vaughnne leaned back in her chair and laced her hands over her belly. Maybe that would keep them from shaking so much. “Well, I’m not sure how much help I can be, señor. Reyes was a bastard, but we focus more on missing persons and crimes against children in this unit.” She paused then added, “It wouldn’t hurt my feelings, though, if I heard he’d died in the fire.”

A faint smile came and went on Moran’s face. “I imagine a great many feel the same way, Agent . . .”

“MacMeans. Vaughnne MacMeans.” All the bureaucratic games she had to play. What the hell was going on? “So were there fatalities? Reyes or anybody else?”

Moran studied her face for a long, long moment, and she had a feeling the question hadn’t been quite as subtle as she’d hoped. Hard to be subtle, though, when her heart felt like it was bleeding inside her chest. Gus . . . damn it, Gus. What did you do?

“We’re still in the process of investigating, Agent MacMeans,” he said, inclining his head. “I’m actually not here for information on Reyes, though. I’m looking for information on somebody else. A man, about your age, perhaps a few years older.”

“This would be your . . . person of interest?” She made herself smile.

Gus.

As he placed his briefcase on the conference table, Vaughnne tried to breathe around the ache in her chest. Tried, but it was so damn hard. Her heart felt like it was broken and she wanted to demand answers but she had already messed things up so bad and she knew it.

Then Moran pulled out a slim file from the briefcase and opened it. A second later, she saw a picture. Her heart jumped into her throat and she was so very glad she’d had years to learn how to hide her reaction. When she saw Gus’s averted profile, everything inside her felt frozen. Ready to shatter at just one blow.

Unblinking, she stared at the grainy image. Oh, it was him. There was no denying it, even though it was a lousy picture. All she could see was his profile, the carved line of his jaw, the ball cap turned backward.

“Does he look at all familiar to you?”

She made herself sigh and lean forward, studying the picture under a pretense of trying to see it better. Gus . . . “Hell, that could be anybody, Señor Moran. Well. Not anybody.” She jerked her chin toward Jones. “It’s probably not him. It’s not Crawford.” She flicked a glance at the quiet, brooding agent by the wall. “Not too many people have a mug like his. I don’t think it’s you or me. But it could be a million men.”

No. Just one. One who’d proven to be rather good at blending in.

She wanted to reach out and snag the picture from Moran, clutch it close, and ask if he had more. Ask if he had news about Gus.

But she didn’t.

Something big was going on, and although fear curdled inside her heart, she wasn’t going to say a damn thing until she knew more. Not a damn thing. Too many things could make a bad situation even worse. For her . . . and worse, for Gus.

Moran held her gaze for a long moment. “Does that mean you do not know him?”

“It means I don’t know if I know him.” She hoped the ache in her heart wouldn’t show on her face. Why . . . those had been her last words to him.

Had he set the fire?

That was a stupid question, she realized. Of course he had. The real question was, had he gotten out?

Her heart lurched, just thinking about it. Gus had always acted like he wouldn’t be surprised if the trip to Mexico turned out to be a one-way thing. But Alex, what about Alex?

What about me . . .

If Gus was dead . . . no! She shoved the thought aside before it could even settle. No.

She’d get answers. Somehow. Once she had them, then she’d deal . . . somehow.

She peered at the image, head cocked. Tears burned inside her throat, in her chest. Gus . . .

“It could be almost anybody, sir,” she said softly.

“Yes.” He stared at her, his gaze unreadable. “I suppose it could.”

JONES returned nearly thirty minutes after he’d escorted Moran out.

He spoke to Nalini, and although Vaughnne was right there, she couldn’t recall much of anything he said. It was like he was speaking another language.

But then Nalini left, Grady following along behind her. Joss lingered a few more minutes and then he left as well.

The door shut and the tension in the room almost shattered her, and she was hovering on the brink as it was, about to come out of her skin. She’d spent every second of the past half hour on her iPhone, trying to unearth details about the fire, but she hadn’t learned anything. The boys down in Mexico were keeping that little mess locked down tight. There wasn’t even any information about Reyes’s death, and that should be front-page news.

Feeling the weight of Jones’s stare, she made herself look away from the phone and focus on her boss.

His steely blue eyes should have made her nervous.

But she was already sick with fear, pain. What the hell did it matter if her job was in jeopardy just then?

“The man you lied to is one of the higher-ranking diplomats,” Jones said, his voice a cold slice in the room.

She lifted a brow, refusing to let herself react. “Hey, did you see that picture? Shit, I can find you five men in this damn building now who could probably pass for that guy in the picture.”

“You could,” he agreed. “Give me twenty minutes and some hair dye, and I could pass for the guy in the picture. But you knew who it was. I saw it in your eyes, Vaughnne, and if that man knew you at all, he would have seen it, too.”

Spinning away, she paced over to the window and stared outside. “What do you want me to say, Jones?” she asked softly. “I can’t help him. I don’t know where Gus is. Where he was going. What he is planning.”

“Did you know he was going to blow the house up?”

She closed her eyes. “No.”

But maybe she should have thought that through. Gus wouldn’t have risked leaving any sign that might lead to Alex. If Reyes had left anything behind that could point the way to the kid, then Gus would have razed an entire country to the ground to protect his nephew.

Blowing up a house? He wouldn’t even think twice.

“Was there any word about him?” she asked.

A heavy, taut silence weighed between them, and finally, a soft sigh drifted from Taylor. “That’s why he was here, Vaughnne—looking for information. He didn’t say it in as many words, but that was my take on it.”

“He could have been in the house,” she said, and a lance of pain went through her, so deep, so crippling, it almost drove her to her knees. Not Gus. No. It hurt even to think about it. But the thought was there, settling in her mind and growing roots. She couldn’t knock it.

“If . . .” She had to stop and clear her throat before she could continue. “If he was, then that means Alex has nobody, Taylor. Nobody. He’s a gifted kid who has had a life of hell. If he’s lost his uncle . . .”

“Maybe his uncle should have thought of that,” Taylor bit off. Then he swore.

She turned around to look at him, watched as he reached up to tug at his tie. She had to focus, see this through, even if her heart was bleeding inside. “But that’s not Alex’s fault.”

He gave her a dark look. “I know that.”

“So what happens to him?” She’d promised. And no matter what, no matter how much she hurt, she’d see that promise through. “You can’t just send him back to Mexico. He has nobody. Has nothing. And—”

He lifted a hand, staring at the wall. “You know I’m not going to do that, Vaughnne, so just stop.” He tugged his askew tie off, glanced at it, and then sighed, draping it around his neck so that the ends hung free. “Even if it wasn’t for his . . . circumstances, he’s a victim of the situation. But he’s got months ahead of him before he’ll have his gift under control. We have to make sure he’s trained before he ends up another target. And we have to keep him safe. Assuming, of course, his uncle doesn’t show up.” His lip curled. “It just might be easier if his uncle never showed his face again.”

“Shut the hell up, Jones,” she said, the words flying out of her mouth before she could silence them.

When Taylor shifted his gaze to her, she stared right back at him. She’d already jacked this job up. What did it matter if she said what she thought now?

His steely eyes bored into hers and she lifted her chin. “What?” she demanded.

“You might want to check the attitude, Vaughnne,” he said softly. “You have caused so much trouble, I don’t even know if I can begin to fix all of this, so cut the bullshit.”

“Cut the bullshit?” She gaped at him. “That man was willing to do whatever it took to protect his nephew. Whatever it took. All they had was each other and Gus might be—”

Her voice cracked and she spun away, lifting her hands to hide her face. She couldn’t do this. Not here. Not now.

Behind her, she heard a sigh. A moment later, Taylor tugged on her shoulder. She jerked away, but he just pulled again, and a moment later, she found herself caught in Taylor’s arms, her face pressed against his chest. The terrified tears were still trapped inside, though. She couldn’t let them out. Not here. Not now.

Taylor was more than just her boss. He might be a straitlaced bastard and the world saw a cold piece of work, but he was the closest thing to family she had. But she wasn’t ready to break around him. She closed her eyes, clenched her hands into fists, and made herself breathe. She had to breathe, had to function and focus so she could ask him what she needed to know.

One minute after another slowly passed, but finally, she thought she could manage. “Do you know anything?”

His chest rose and fell on a sigh. He squeezed her gently and then eased back, studying her face. He still looked pissed, she decided. But his eyes were a little less icy. “Some, yes.” He moved away and took up a position at the window, staring outside. “Moran is mostly on a fishing expedition, Vaughnne. If he knew where Gus was, he wouldn’t be fishing.”

A few seconds of silence passed and the ache that might have hope swelled inside her. Taylor flicked her a glance. “Dead bodies are usually pretty easy to locate in a fire, you know. If you weren’t so . . . close to this, you’d have already come to that conclusion, I guess. If Gus was one of his, he would have already done what was necessary to ID him.”

“One of his . . .”

A faint smile came and went on Taylor’s face. “Give me some credit, Vaughnne. I’ve pieced some things together about him, you know. And I know what kind of operation Moran runs. Although if I’d had any clue who Gus was before this . . .” His voice trailed off and he shook his head.

“You would have done exactly what you did,” she finished. “A kid was involved. You and I both know . . . kids are worth it.” She closed her eyes. “One of his. Why didn’t he go to Moran back then?”

“Too many corrupt people,” he murmured. “Reyes had a very, very long reach. I imagine he didn’t want to risk the boy.”

“No. He wouldn’t have taken the chance.” She rubbed her eyes. She pushed all thought of Gus out of her head. She’d think about him later. When she could actually do it and not worry about others seeing her fall apart. “What’s going to happen with Alex now?”

“For now, he stays where he is,” Taylor said, his voice flat. “Until we know more, there’s nothing else that can be done.”

Until we know more—

She started to tremble. The need to break weighed heavily on her.

“Vaughnne.” Taylor looked over at her. “Go home. Come back tomorrow. We’ll start cleaning things up then.”

She nodded and tried a weak smile. “Should I bring a box to clean out my desk?”

“No.” He folded his arms across his chest and resumed his study of the parking lot. “I might need one by the time this is over, but we’ll cross that bridge when we come to it.”

GUS had planned to do . . . something.

He didn’t know what.

But he’d planned to do . . . something when she came inside.

She came inside, a dazed, almost drugged look on her face, like she didn’t know where she was. Who she was. Part of him wanted to grab her and shake her, scold her for her carelessness, because she didn’t even look around.

He wasn’t hiding. The room was dim, but he stood in the corner, leaning against the wall, and all she had to do was look around and she’d see him.

But all she did was shut the door and flip the locks.

Then . . . she stood there.

Her back to him. Her shoulders rose and fell rapidly, and distantly, he was aware of the harsh sounds of her breathing filling the room. She leaned forward and pressed her forehead to the door. A sob ripped out of her. She slammed a fist against the door and the sound of it caught him off guard.

Anger and grief rolled from her, and he felt frozen there. Guilt flooded him and part of him wanted to slip out of the room, disappear, and leave her alone with whatever hurt her.

The other part of him wanted to go to her and haul her against him, make her tell him what had hurt her . . . so he could kill it. Fix it. Whatever. He didn’t know which one he was supposed to do. He was good at killing things, but fixing them? Not so much.

This wasn’t supposed to happen.

He wasn’t supposed to care . . . not for anything or anybody.

She wasn’t supposed to matter, yet she did. More than anybody or anything, save for Alex.

He didn’t want this inside him, but there it was.

She slammed her fist against the door and screamed, and he just couldn’t take it anymore. Shoving off the wall, he crossed the floor. He didn’t know what he was going to do, what he was going to say—

“Damn you, Gus.” The words came out in a ragged sob.

His heart jumped into his throat.

She was crying . . . over him.

He almost tripped over his feet, his shoes scuffing on the hardwood floors.

She gasped and whirled around.

He saw her hand go to the weapon strapped to her waist, and he moved, catching her wrist and pinning it to the wall.

Her eyes went wide, damp and glinting with tears, as she stared at him.

“Gus . . .”

“Damning me finally?” he whispered.

She sucked in a breath and reached up, fisting her hand in his shirt. “You . . . you’re okay.”

Reaching over, he caught the weapon and tugged until she let go of her Glock. He laid it down on the small table to his left. “I wouldn’t go that far.” He cupped her face in his hands. “Why are you crying, Vaughnne?”

She sniffed and reached up, swiping the tears from her face. “I’m not.” She lifted her chin and glared at him.

“Of course you’re not.” Unable to resist another moment, he lowered his head and pressed his mouth to hers. She tasted of tears and her and he was starved for her. He lifted his head a fraction. “If you don’t want this, then you better stop me . . . now.”

Her response was to reach for his shirt and strip it off.

If he were any sort of decent, he’d slow this down. Talk to her. He’d be lying if he tried to tell himself he hadn’t come for this. He hadn’t come only for this. He’d wanted to touch her, feel her underneath one more time . . . to take her in a bed and take his time with her.

One night. One night when he didn’t have to worry about all the burdens he’d carried for so long. One night when all that mattered was the two of them.

But Gus had stopped worrying about being decent a long, long time ago. So as his shirt fell to the floor, he reached for the neat little line of buttons marching up the center of her prim white shirt. “You look so neat and put together, Vaughnne,” he murmured, freeing first one button, then another, watching as he bared one inch of skin at a time. “I’m going to enjoy watching you come apart for me.”

She leaned back against the door, her hands falling to hang loose at her sides. “I’ve been doing that almost since the first second I laid eyes on you, sugar.” A smile curved her wide, sexy mouth, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes, and if he’d let himself look, he knew what he would have seen.

She knew, he realized. Had some idea of just why he was there.

And it just made him that much more of a bastard. But he didn’t care.

When he reached the final button, instead of pushing the shirt off her shoulders, he let it hang open, revealing the narrow line of her sleek torso, the lace edging of her bra. He traced one finger down the midline of her body, stopping when he reached the waist of her trousers, the sturdy leather of her holster. Still holding her gaze, he unbuckled it, unbuttoned her trousers.

Vaughnne stood there, silent and watching him with solemn eyes. He leaned in and nipped her lower lip, pressed a kiss to her neck, moving in a line straight downward until he was kneeling in front of her.

She wore a pair of low-heel ankle boots and he tugged them off, setting them neatly by the door. Vaughnne kept a tidy little nest, something he’d noticed when he let himself inside. He wouldn’t leave any sign of himself when he left . . . other than what he was doing to her now. Glancing up at her, he saw her lashes were closed, her head was tipped back, and her hands were braced against the door, curled into tight fists that left her knuckles bloodless.

He wanted her clutching at him that tightly.

Wanted to hear that smart mouth, the cocky attitude that had driven him insane the past few weeks.

But when he tried to reach for the words to say something, anything to tease it out of her, he couldn’t find them. So instead of saying anything, he leaned in and pressed his mouth to her belly as he caught the waist of her trousers and dragged them down over the swell of her hips, her thighs, down until she could step out of the puddle of material.

Rising, he stood in front of her, arms braced on the door by either side of her head, waiting for her to look at him.

Seconds ticked away, and finally, she lifted her lids, staring at him with dark, unreadable eyes.

He opened his mouth, determined to find something to say. Something. Anything. It shouldn’t be this hard to find a handful of words. He’d lived most of his life by them. Glib lies, charming little half-truths . . . all of them said to people who meant less than nothing. And here he stood with a woman who meant everything and he couldn’t find anything to ease the pain he sensed was inside her.

Before he managed to find even one damn thing to say, Vaughnne reached up and laid her hand on his cheek. “Take me to bed, Gus,” she said quietly. “We can have that one night now, right?”