The Protected

THREE

THE cookies smelled too damned good.

Vaughnne helped herself to two of them as they cooled, and she knew if she didn’t get them out of there, she would eat more of them. Which meant she’d have to tack another mile onto her run when she hit the pavement later that day.

But with the scent of chocolate, both white and dark, filling the air, and her belly still demanding another cookie, she almost gave in.

If Gus didn’t leave the old lady’s house next door soon, she would give in.

It was turning into a bitch, keeping an eye on him. She’d set up exterior cameras over the past few nights, planted around his property, but not on it. He was too . . . cautious. Yeah, that was it. Jones still wasn’t having any luck turning up information on either of them, and that in itself was a puzzle, but the guy was so cautious. So watchful. He held himself in a way that normal people didn’t. Like he was ready to fight, ready to run, ready to react to any damn thing.

If she planted cameras on his property, she knew he’d find them in a heartbeat.

Still, around the perimeter, a few here and there, and they weren’t exactly watching him. They were watching for anybody that might be trying to get to him. A nice 360 view of the place. Ideally, she’d wanted one inside the house, but she was reconsidering that plan every time she saw him.

Tipping him off that somebody was watching him just wasn’t going to go over well.

Sighing, she checked the window again. The truck was still in front of the house, and nope, he still hadn’t left the house next door.

She’d been biding her time, watching the house at night and getting by on catnaps during the day because she couldn’t rest as heavily at night as she’d like to. She was on edge, sleeping with one eye open, and this was so not the ideal way to get all the way back up to full speed.

Babysitting, my ass, she thought, grabbing a cookie and nipping another bite. She’d like to take the entire plate and dump them over Taylor Jones’s head.

The cookies were her way in.

But if Gus didn’t get home soon . . .

Her phone rang.

It was an unknown number and that wasn’t a surprise. Picking it up, she continued to stare outside, keeping her body positioned so nobody could see her. “Hello?”

“Mac.”

Jones didn’t introduce himself, but he didn’t need to.

“Figures.” She took another bite of cookie, but the explosion of chocolate on her tongue didn’t help.

“How are things going?”

“Quiet as the proverbial grave,” she admitted. “Nothing happens. At all. They get up. They leave. I watch them while he works . . . he keeps the kid with him and nothing happens there. They come back. I haven’t seen hide nor hair of anybody. Have you learned anything new about them?”

“Some. Get me some better visuals on the man and I can do more. I have my suspicions, but I need clearer images to confirm. He moves like a man who knows how to avoid being caught on camera, and for the facial recognition software to work, we actually need to see his face.”

“So . . .” She drew the word out. “You have nothing really to tell me.”

“I have some things I could tell you; I’m just electing not to until I confirm the information. Just be careful.”

“Wonderful. Be careful. Information noted.” She grunted, shifting to stare down the street, watching for them. Any minute now and they’d be at the house. She thought. She hoped. “Just what had you sending me down here anyway?”

“I listened to somebody I trust,” Jones said simply. “I trust my sources, Mac. In our line of work, we have to.”

“And what did your source say?” She rubbed the back of her neck, irritated. He usually wasn’t so closemouthed about these things. None of them liked operating in the dark, he knew that.

A moment of silence passed, and then Jones sighed. “There was very little my source could say. Just that the boy was going to have trouble . . . and we didn’t want anything bad happening to him. I think there are things I’m not being told, but I’ve learned to trust this person.”

“So we’re taking a lot of things on blind faith here.” She rubbed her temple, going back to watching the house while her gut twisted round and round.

“Do you think my source was wrong?” he asked. “If you think we’re off base and there’s nothing wrong, fine. I’ll call you back.”

“Shit, I hate you sometimes,” she said. “No, your source isn’t off base. The kid has a gift that’s waiting to explode, and they both have trouble written all over them.”

“What else can you tell me?”

She made a face. “That’s my line. You’re supposed to be the one with the info here, boss, but you won’t tell me shit. The guy . . .” She paused, blew out a breath. “The guy isn’t your average Joe, if you get what I’m saying. Military, cop. Something. He watches things. Sees things. He’s got moves on him, if you know what I mean.”

Jones was silent.

She twirled a lock of hair around her finger. “And the kid . . . shit, Jones. Did you know what you were sending me into?”

“I told you the boy was gifted.”

She snorted. “Gifted doesn’t touch it. He makes my teeth hurt, he’s so strong. If anybody with the wrong sort of mind grabbed him, Jones?” Shaking her head, she sighed. “And he’s got no idea how strong he is, how much he’s casting it out there, either. It’s like nobody ever worked with him to tone it down.”

“Not everybody has somebody around to teach them,” Jones said softly. “You didn’t.”

“Yeah, but I learned fast how to shut things down.” It was that or just suffer more for it. “What about the guy? The kid calls him his dad, but he’s not.”

“How can you tell?”

“I just can.” Some of the others in the unit could read that sort of thing. Read the mind and read the lies. Read the emotions and feel the lie. Vaughnne couldn’t. She had to rely on the more mundane abilities, and she’d brushed them up as much as could be expected. When people lied, there were just tiny little cues.

Vaughnne had learned to look for them.

The boy, as skilled as he was at it, all but screamed “liar” to her. He’d probably convince just about everybody else, including teachers, neighbors, and friends. Probably even a lot of law enforcement, if they had a reason to talk to him. It wasn’t even that stupid shit that people thought you might see when talking to a liar. He had no problem meeting her gaze, and there wasn’t any of the constant fidgeting some people thought you’d see when talking to somebody who was hiding the truth. And he was a fidgeter. She’d seen that much when they were moving. He had a problem being still, which was normal for a kid. But when she asked him anything remotely personal, he went oddly still.

And he lied . . . like a dog. With easy, polite smiles and practiced, natural responses, he lied. And he did it all while looking her right in the eye.

Gus was harder, though. If she didn’t know better, she’d almost believe everything he told her. That bothered her, because she didn’t like it when she couldn’t see through somebody’s story. And it was just a story.

They weren’t a dad and a son just trying to make it on their own after the mom decided she’d rather go out and party than help raise a kid.

Not an unusual story. She’d heard it before, had seen it, but that wasn’t the case here.

“I think you’re probably right, by the way,” Jones said, interrupting her mental train of thought and successfully derailing it. “About the man. I believe he does have a background we’d find interesting . . . and that’s after we get through the false layers that I’m just now uncovering. I can’t confirm until I get better images of him, but I don’t think I’m wrong. Also, I’m just about certain he’s not the dad.”

Spying a familiar form striding down the sidewalk next door, Vaughnne edged back from the window. “I’m surprised you don’t have everything from their social security numbers to their shoe sizes already.”

“I was hoping you’d fill me in on the shoe sizes. Because that’s so important to the case,” Jones replied, his voice neutral.

So very neutral, it took her a second to realize what had just happened. “Oh, shit, Jones. I don’t believe it, but I think you might have just made a joke.”

“I don’t joke. They removed my sense of humor when I took the job.” She heard him pause, speak to somebody, and then he was back on the phone. “I have to go. I’ll stay in touch, Mac.”

The line went dead and she went in, cleared it from her list of recent calls before sliding the phone back into her pocket. Standing in the middle of the living room, she continued to stare out the window. She’d bought a wispy set of curtains for a reason. If the blinds weren’t drawn, she could see through them just fine, and since the lights were off, unless somebody was looking right at her, they wouldn’t be able to see her easily. Considering the white-hot brightness of the sun, it would be pretty damn hard to make her out, standing in her darkened living room.

Gus and the kid were standing in front of the house. To anybody else, it might look like they were talking. Gus had the backpack slung over his left shoulder, a jacket draped over his right hand. Weapon hand, she thought. Something skittered along her senses and she knew, as sure as she was standing there, they were not talking.

Alex stood there, while Gus looked down at him. And the boy looked up at the house. Just watching, kind of like she was watching him.

Then, the next thing he did had her rubbing her temple as the headache flared.

Psychic energy flared, crackled. And it wasn’t until the mad energy faded that the tension she sensed in both man and boy eased. Once it passed, the two of them headed into the house.

“What kind of trouble are you two in?” she muttered.

Then she glanced over at the plate of cookies she’d put together. She needed to reach out to them, try to get some sort of relationship with the kid going, but everything in her screamed caution, caution, caution—

It was just a plate of cookies.

They could take the cookies or not, invite her inside or not.

It might take more than one or two visits to get in the door, and she was more than aware of that fact. She knew she’d have to take her time getting closer to the boy and that was the easier part of the job.

The scary part . . .

Her heart jumped into her throat as she thought about the other thing she needed to do. She slid a hand into her pocket, touched the microscopic little camera, and sighed. She really did need to get eyes on the inside and not just because it would be nice to be able to do more than catnap at night. Her instincts were good, damn good, and they’d kept her alive, sane, and healthy for a long, long time—part of the reason she made a good babysitter, she figured, but part of a babysitting job . . . or bodyguard job? Knowing where in the hell the body was. Watching the damn body. Hard to do if she was catching up on sleep. No matter how badly she needed it.

The lack of solid sleep wasn’t going to help her get back to fighting form any quicker, that was certain.

She went to pick up the cookies and then she stopped. Although Vaughnne absolutely wanted to kick herself in the ass, she headed to the bathroom. She wasn’t vain. Back when she would have been learning all that shit about hair and makeup, she’d been struggling just to scrape by after her parents had kicked her out on her ass.

Once she’d managed to haul herself out of the hole where she’d found herself, she’d then been busy busting her ass to get up to speed, because she’d figured out just what she wanted to do. What she needed to do. It had been right about the time she read about a psychic in the newspaper.

Taige Branch. Taige Morgan now. But Vaughnne had figured out then and there, she wasn’t alone. So she’d hitchhiked and walked and made her way down to Alabama, determined to talk to the woman who had been helping others out. She hadn’t ever gotten to talk to Taige that day, but she had talked to somebody else.

Taylor Jones, who had been playing guard dog at the hospital where Taige was hospitalized. Apparently that happened a lot with her. Taylor had taken one look at her and told her she wasn’t ready.

He was right. She hadn’t been. Getting her GED, college, all of that shit had eaten up more of her time. But for the past six years, she’d been a part of his unit. She finally had a place where she belonged, and she’d worked damn hard to get here. Not much time to worry about some of the vanities that came with being a girl, not much time to worry about hair, makeup, any of that shit.

But she knew when a guy was interested and she’d seen the look in Gus’s eyes more than once the other day. Flipping the light, she stared at her reflection for a long moment. A black woman with a hell of a lot of hair, a hell of a lot of attitude, and grim eyes stared back at her.

“You are not going to be charming anybody’s pants off with that look on your face, honey.” Blowing out a breath, she skimmed a hand back over her hair, but there wasn’t a whole hell of a lot to do with it. She planned on washing it that night, but unless she wanted to delay everything else she had to do until she had it washed and taken care of, then she’d just have to leave her hair as it was for now.

Maybe she should have gotten it plaited or something before she came down here, but it was too late to worry about it right now.

Resting her hands on the cool porcelain of the sink, she tried to see herself the way he might. Pretty enough, but nothing to write home about. The freckles were something she’d hated for her entire life, odd, dark little dots that danced across her nose and cheeks. She didn’t mind her mouth, though. Or her eyes.

She had a unique face, if nothing else, which wasn’t always good considering the life she lived. Sometimes she needed to blend, and Vaughnne’s looks didn’t lead to blending. Neither did her attitude. When she bothered with makeup, she played up the mouth and the eyes, but she didn’t think it was a good idea to go for the makeup just then. Anything that might make their instincts sound an alarm was going to cause problems.

Okay, so no makeup and she wasn’t about to go put on any come-hither clothes.

The red tank top and denim shorts were just going to have to work.

One thing she could do . . . wipe away the attitude. Get rid of the frustration and make sure everything was all locked down nice and tight behind her shields. Working around other psychics with stronger abilities had taught her everything she ever needed to know about hiding her thoughts, controlling them. Generally, psychics would only skim surface thoughts, and if they wanted more, they had to establish a deeper connection. She kept everything she didn’t want known hidden under strong, solid shields. The kid didn’t have the finesse needed to power through those shields without her realizing it, and if he started trying to pull that trick, it would be time to start doing some fast talking and even faster phone calling.

So . . . tone down the attitude. Smooth away some of the rough edges she hadn’t bothered to cover, since she was in here by her lonesome. Closing her eyes, she gave herself a minute to do that, and when she looked in the mirror, she saw herself again. But the woman looking back was just a little less . . . rough. A little less ready to go for the throat, she guessed.

Blowing out a breath, she went through a few of the mental exercises she needed to calm her thoughts and relax.

Finally, though, she felt a little less jagged, a little less ragged. And about as ready to face Gus as she was going to be. Gus. And Alex. Really, Alex should be the one to worry her. But who was she spazzing about? The hot guy.

Hell. She needed to have her head examined. Or maybe she just needed to get laid. Or have an orgasm. Something. Sighing, she hunted down the plate of cookies and headed outside.

Thinking about Gus and orgasm was not good. It undid the past thirty minutes of mental relaxation.

He was bad—very, very bad, she decided. Very bad for the female parts of her, very bad for her peace of mind, and if she couldn’t keep her mind on the job, he was going to be very bad for her life in general.

VAUGHNNE was bad for his peace of mind, but Gus had successfully convinced himself that all he needed to do was stay the hell away from her. If he did that, everything would go back to the way it had been.

“It’s her,” Alex said, an odd tone in his voice. He was at the table working on the day’s assignment and he spoke seconds before the knock came. Gus reached for the towel to wipe his hands off as they listened to the next knock, twenty seconds later.

“I know,” Gus said. He wasn’t psychic, but this was just his luck. He’d decided he needed to stay away from her, so naturally, life had thrown her back in his path.

Alex continued to sit at the table. “Are you going to answer it?”

He really shouldn’t.

But the truck was in the drive, and if he didn’t, he figured it would only make her more curious. It was a perfectly logical, perfectly plausible explanation.

And it had nothing to do with the simple fact that he wanted to see her again.

“I’ll be there in a minute,” he called out as he slid Alex a look.

Alex stood up and went into the room off the back of the house. They’d rehearsed it all a hundred times. Probably more. And even though they both knew who was at the door, it didn’t matter. Alex did his part. Gus did his, reaching for the Sig Sauer on the kitchen counter and tucking it into place at the small of his back.

“Do you need that?” Alex asked softly, even as he tucked himself against the wall and got ready. Always ready. The backpack was hanging on the back of a chair, and Gus could grab it in a moment. In two minutes, they could be out of this house. Out of the house, and running. Again.

Fury tore into Gus with hot, greedy claws, so abrupt and so all-consuming. It all but leveled him and caught him completely off guard. He’d thought, after all this time, he had dealt with this. Nobody understood the reasons behind this as well as he did. Why get angry over something he couldn’t control?

But the anger was there, bubbling, burning inside him.

He shoved it down, buried it deep as he looked at Alex. He’d never fully deal with it, perhaps.

This was no life for that boy. None at all. He knew it and he hated it. They lived every day by a set schedule. Up at dawn where they went through a routine, what to do if somebody tried to break in, what to do if somebody did break in and managed to get ahold of Gus, where Alex was supposed to go, what he was supposed to do. Gus went to work at his shitty job where the kid sat in the car and did his schoolwork because he couldn’t go to school. They lied through their teeth that Gus was homeschooling him because they didn’t need the mess it would bring down on them if somebody suspected the boy wasn’t getting an education, although that was actually the least of Alex’s concerns.

If they managed to find him—Stop it. He couldn’t do this now.

The resigned look on Alex’s face was another blow. It didn’t cut at him the way the fear did, but it was a blow nonetheless. Like Alex had already accepted this was his life. This was all his life was, would ever be.

Gus didn’t want that for him.

He wanted to promise Alex that things would get better, that he’d have . . . something. A life, somehow. But he didn’t do that. Instead of offering promises he couldn’t keep, he stood there and stared back at the boy until Alex looked away. Casually, he adjusted his shirt, made sure it covered the gun. “You know it’s necessary.”

“But—”

He cut the boy off, speaking softly, in a low voice, and watched as Alex tucked his chin against his chest.

“Yes, sir.”

And as Gus turned away and started down the hall, he heard her voice again.

You must do this for me.

Yeah. He knew that. He knew what he had to do. He just wondered if he and the boy would get through it without the boy hating him.

“HAVE you found them?”

Esteban eyed the boss from under his lashes for a moment before he lowered his gaze back to the floor.

The boss did have a name, but he didn’t dare speak it. He didn’t even want to be here. The last man assigned to this job had failed. And he hadn’t been seen since.

He didn’t want to end up the same way.

But he knew it was likely. He had another idea, but whether or not the boss would go for it . . . Swallowing the spit that pooled in his mouth, he managed to keep his voice level as he responded, “No, sir. We haven’t found him. Not the boy or the man.”

“Why not?”

He had no answer.

After a few seconds, the boss said, “It’s been years. You realize this, don’t you? Years. And a pendejo whose claim to fame in life is looking pretty and fucking females has managed to keep that child away from us. It’s pathetic. You were supposed to be reliable. To have resources. And what have you done but fail?”

“I have a new plan lined up,” he said, swallowing the nasty, metallic taste of fear that rose up his throat. He resisted, just barely, the urge to swipe his hands down the sides of his trousers, but that would wrinkle them and the boss wasn’t overly impressed by a man in a wrinkled suit.

The boss wasn’t impressed by much, to be honest. He never should have taken this job. If he failed this time, his best bet was to get as far away as possible. At least he’d lined up an escape route.

Skepticism dashed through the boss’s eyes, carefully concealed, there and then gone.

But he knew what he’d seen in the other man’s eyes. Doubt. Anger. He made a study of recognizing such things. It kept him alive, made him money. Sometimes, one was equally as important as the other.

“Oh?” The boss leaned back and crossed his hands over a belly that had just now started to go soft even though he was almost sixty. “What is this plan?”

Floundering, he wracked his brain for a decent lie. “I am still working to get it together. Once I have more concrete data to present you with, I’d be happy to go into detail with you, sir.” He didn’t plan on giving him any detail, if he could avoid it. Because if this didn’t work out, he needed to disappear. No point in making it any easier for the man to find him, right?

The boss continued to watch him, his eyes flat, black . . . soulless. “I would suggest, my boy, that you get that information together. Quickly.”

He bowed his head and turned to the door. He had to get back to the search. And he planned on leaving quickly. He was running out of time, he knew. But this new development . . .

Yes. It was the best break he’d had in the past seven months, ever since he’d started hunting for the missing child. As long as it was legit, he might stand a chance.

And he thought it was.

He had a knack for discerning codes, and this website was nothing but code. The subtext and innuendos that people used to get across hidden meanings. It was little wonder they didn’t want people stumbling across the site, little wonder they used code and subtext.

Psychics.

These people were for real. They were legit, not just a bunch of lunatics or New Agers who thought they were psychic. He knew it in his gut. Now he just had to get one of them out in the open. And if that didn’t work, he’d just keep going until he succeeded.

The boss called out his name just as he reached the door.

Pausing, he stood there. Waiting.

The next words sent a shiver across his spine. “I hope you realize . . . my patience isn’t endless. You are quite running out of time. Very much so.”

AS the door shut, Reyes turned and stared out the window.

Four years.

It had been four years.

He hadn’t lost hope, though.

Losing hope too easily led to lost focus, and when one lost focus, it was too easy to stray from the path. He would find the boy.

Find the boy, and kill the man who had taken him away.

It was as simple as that.

But he was losing faith in the man he’d hired. Supposedly this one could find the unfindable, do the undoable, finish the unfinishable. That was what all his previous clients had said. His job record was impressive, to say the least.

A record was shit without results, though.

And they had no results. Nothing.

It infuriated him.

It took an effort to keep that fury under control, but he finally managed, and when he reached for the phone, his hand was steady.

Perhaps he wouldn’t pull his current man off the job until he saw the results from his latest endeavor, but it was time to start exploring other options, he decided.

But before he could dial the number, there was a knock at his door and a low, throaty voice called out his name.

“Come in,” he called out. He could make the call while she was in here, he supposed. It wouldn’t hurt.

The blonde came inside, a smile on her mouth, her lips slicked with red, her curves barely covered by a scrap of a bikini the same shade as her eyes. She came around the desk and leaned against it, reached out to trail a finger down his arm. “You’ve been working all day,” she murmured.

Inexplicably, he found himself unable to look away from her mouth. His limbs felt heavy and his blood pumped hotter, slower. Yes . . . he had been working all day, hadn’t he?

VAUGHNNE sighed and glanced out over the yard. She’d knocked almost two minutes ago. If she hadn’t heard Gus’s voice, she would have worried a little. But she heard movement inside, and none of those movements were the sorts that set her instincts on edge, either.

As the footsteps drew nearer to the door, she ignored the butterflies jumping in her belly and braced herself. She hadn’t brought her weapon. She still didn’t trust how things would go if Gus saw it, but she suspected things would go . . . badly. And he’d peg it from a mile away, the same way she’d known he was carrying.

When he opened the door, she was doubly glad she hadn’t brought her Glock. The look on his face wasn’t quite the one she’d been hoping for, although it didn’t really surprise her.

Each step was going to be a struggle, there was no denying that.

His eyes, that sultry gray, rested on her face, and although that inviting, sexy warmth was there, she sensed a distance. I’m sorry, but you’re not welcome here. That was the message he was sending out, loud and clear. It was like his eyes said, I’ll take you to bed in a second . . . but . . . and the but spoke louder than everything else.

Well. It was a good thing Vaughnne had always ignored those messages she didn’t want to acknowledge.

“Hey.” Smiling at him, she pulled the foil back off the plate of cookies and held it up. “I wanted to say thanks for the help. I made you and Alex some cookies.”

He glanced down and something flickered in his eyes. It might have been surprise. Might have been caution. She didn’t know. But he wasn’t going to take the cookies, not just like that. Tugging the foil off, she took one at random and nipped a bite off. “Come on, you have to take them,” she said, rolling her eyes. “I already ate three or four of them, and if you don’t take them for you and your boy, I’ll eat them and then I’ll have to run double what I usually run. Then I’ll be cranky and it will be all your fault.”

“My fault.”

She licked a crumb off her lips and nodded. “Yes. I made you cookies and you won’t eat them . . . I can’t let them go to waste, right? But if I eat them, I have to work them off. And running seven or eight miles instead of three or four will make me a bitch . . .” She grimaced and peered around him. “Sorry. Um. It won’t make me very nice. See how this is your fault if you don’t take them?”

She took another bite from the cookie and then held it up to him. “Try a bite,” she offered. “I make damn good cookies, if I do say so myself.”

He caught her wrist in one hand and plucked the cookie out, eyeing it narrowly before taking a quick bite. “You could have finished it,” he pointed out.

His eyes dropped to the plate. Then something shifted in his gaze. And he reached out. She didn’t look down. She’d been tested enough in her life to know when it was happening again. “Here, since you enjoy them so much that you ate three or four . . .”

She wondered if he had some inkling in his head to make her taste-test every one before he let the kid have a damn cookie. And abruptly, her heart hurt. It just hurt, standing there staring at him as he pushed a cookie at her and watched her with that sleepy, sexy look in his eyes and his hand now hanging loose at his side.

And maybe she didn’t have any ability to read minds, but Vaughnne knew one thing damn well. If she balked about taking that cookie, they would have a problem.

Not only did he not trust people, he expected every damn soul around him to try and hurt him.

Why?

She polished off the cookie in two bites, and even though it was like sawdust on her tongue, she leaned forward and studied the plate, poking through them until she found one of the white chocolate macadamia cookies. “I’ve got to be balanced,” she said. “You made me eat a chocolate chip, now I have to have the white chocolate.”

She nibbled on it as she eyed him. “You going to share any of those with Alex, or am I going to stand here and be a glutton and eat all the cookies?”

She felt a ripple roll across her skin just then, but it wasn’t from Gus. He didn’t have a lick of talent in him, unless it was the way he could look at her and make her want.

A minute later, he glanced back behind him. “There he is. He probably smelled the chocolate.”

“Chocolate.” Alex wedged himself in the door, and for a second, the look on his face was that of just any ordinary kid. “Where is there . . .”

Then the words trailed off as he saw the plate. “Cookies.” He swallowed and then looked up at Gus. “She made cookies.”

“She did.” He nodded to Vaughnne. “You should thank her.”

Vaughnne was already a little tired of this, and if she didn’t already have an inkling about the kind of life these two had been living, she could probably find herself rather pissed off with Gus. But as the kid hurriedly stuck out his hand, she went to shake his, letting some of her puzzled smile show on her face.

Then she stopped and frowned, swiping her hand down the side of her shorts. “I’ve got cookie crumbs on me,” she mumbled. After she’d dusted them off, she shook the kid’s hand and felt his mental fingers rooting through her mind yet again. He wasn’t as neat that time, and pain ripped through her mind.

She barely managed to keep a grimace from showing as he broke the connection with absolutely no finesse and no care. The pain increased, and she could feel it rippling through her, growing, and growing . . .

Dayyum, he was strong.

Distantly, she made a mental note. This kid needed training and he needed it fast.

Even though she’d been braced for him to do something, his blunt probe through her mind left her off balance. She felt like he’d jammed his hands inside her skull, scraped them through her gray matter like it was muck, and then just shoved her to the side. Stumbling, she tried to catch her balance on the doorjamb.

A hand caught her arm.

Gus—

Trying to breathe through the pain, trying to keep her own mental shields in place, she sucked in a desperate breath before she swung her head around to look at him.

“Are you okay?” he asked, his voice low and tense.

“Headache,” she said absently, forcing herself to smile. She needed to leave. Get back to the house and sit down. Maybe lie down. Right inside the door would be fine. Shit. The pounding in her head increased, and she thought she just might puke.

But he was eyeing her oddly, and her instincts were screaming. Cover, she reminded herself. Don’t break your cover. “Probably from all the sugar I’ve been sucking in today.”

Then, because she figured they both needed to be aware of the kid’s lack of finesse, she reached up and pressed the heel of her hand to her head. It wasn’t like she was acting, either. It felt like a freight train was trying to rip through her skull, and the nausea churned through her harder and harder with every passing second. She was going to hurl cookies in a second if she wasn’t careful. “Damn, it hit me hard, like somebody just punched me.”

Alex’s hand froze over the plate.

Any guilt she might have felt died as the pain just continued to grow.

“Maybe you should sit down,” Gus said quietly. “Are you well enough to go home?”

“Sure.” She smiled at them both and pushed the cookies into Alex’s hands. The pounding in her head was getting worse, though, and she felt something wet on her face.

“What . . .” She went to wipe at her nose.

But before she could, she swayed. The world went dark.

GUS swore as he caught her.

He’d seen the trickle of blood, but it went from a trickle to a flood in a matter of seconds.

Under his breath, a litany of curses ripped out of him as he caught her against him.

From the corner of his eye, he saw Alex, his mouth stuffed full of cookie and his gaze big and round. “Don’t eat them, damn it. What if that’s what made her sick?”

Alex looked miserable.

But he shook his head and swallowed. As he followed Gus into the house, he clutched the plate against him. “It was me.”

“What?” Then he shook his head. “No. Not now. Get me a towel.” He laid Vaughnne’s still form on the couch and tried not to think about what a very nice form it was . . . lean muscle, lush curves. He could spend hours learning all the secrets of her body and never get tired, he suspected. But even if he could let himself take that pleasure, now wasn’t the time.

That smooth brown skin had gone ashen on him, and as he shifted to kneel closer to her head, he saw that the bleeding was getting worse.

“Alex, hurry up!”

“Here . . .” The boy’s voice was soft and sad as he pushed a towel into Gus’s hand, but Gus didn’t linger to look at the kid.

Not then. Anger pulsed inside him and he needed to get a grip on it before he spoke. He’d thought they had this under control. But . . . No. No buts. We just start again. And if it happens again, we start over . . . again. He focused on that as he pressed the towel to Vaughnne’s face, pinching her nose lightly just below where the bony area ended to help stem the bleeding.

More than two minutes in silence. He’d give it five before he pulled the towel away, but each second was an eternity and she was so still—

There was no warning.

One second she was lying there, motionless.

Then next, he had a fist flying toward him and his arms full of a woman he very much wanted to hold. He took the punch. It was off center and barely clipped his jaw, but if Alex was responsible, he figured she was more than owed that one hit.

She all but tumbled on top of him, still off balance, and the lush body was a temptation he could barely resist.

But Alex was only a few feet away.

And he had no time in his life for luxuries like this.

“What the hell . . .”

She blinked down at him and then pushed away, moving all too easily considering she’d been flat on her back just seconds ago. That had him concerned. But even as he started to puzzle through that, she stumbled, swaying above him. Rising to his feet, he caught her arms and stared down at her. The bleeding had stopped. That was good.

Her eyes were still cloudy.

That wasn’t good.

“What the hell . . .” she muttered again, shaking her head like she was trying to clear it. She pressed the heel of her hand against her temple like that might help lessen the pain he knew she was feeling—and he knew she was hurting. Knew it from experience.

Nothing would help except time. He’d thought they had this under control.

He couldn’t think about that, though. He’d think about it later. Once he had her out of here and away from Alex.

Focusing on her face, he said quietly, “You passed out.” That is all. Nothing else to it.

She’d believe it. They all did.

Her gaze rested on his face for a second, and then she looked down, studying the towel in his hand.

He just barely managed to resist clenching his hand in a fist. “Your nose started to bleed,” he said, lifting it up. “There’s a bathroom down the hall if you’d like to wash up.”

She lifted a hand and touched her nose, grimacing a little before looking back at him. With a sigh, she nodded, and as he turned around, he glanced at Alex.

The boy was staring at his shoes.

Wonderful. Like that didn’t look guilty as hell.