The Protected

NINE

LYING to the cops came easy to him.

Maybe it was a sign of how screwed up Tucker Collins was, but he could sit there on Vaughnne’s porch, sucking on a beer he’d swiped from her fridge, and lie to the cops without blinking an eye.

And that was exactly what he did, all while keeping his hold on the two assholes across the street.

One of them was a pretty damaging hold, too. Tucker wasn’t too beat up over it, even when he’d heard somebody shout, “Tell the paramedics to hurry it up—this guy is seizing on me!”

He’d squeezed too hard. He didn’t care. The guy had that dark, malevolent feel to him that told Tucker one thing . . . the man had murder on the mind. It was amazing the things a guy like him could pick up just from reading the vibes in the air.

Like now.

The cop standing in front of him knew that Tucker was lying. His name was Officer R. Rand.

R. Rand, Tucker thought. Well, Officer R. Rand had a good poker face and Tucker couldn’t read his mind. Thoughts and emotions were closed to him, but he could read the vibrations in the air . . . all of that crackled around the cop, hovered in the air around him, snapping like microcurrents, and those? Tucker read those things like they were the morning news.

And the cop knew Tucker was lying.

Tucker lifted the bottle to his lips and took another sip. Coors. Cheapest shit beer around, if you asked him. He hated it, but it would do in a pinch. Just then, all he wanted to do was look nice and laid-back. Uninvolved. He’d go for harmless if he thought he could pull it off, but that wasn’t going to happen.

“You want to tell me again, Mr. . . .”

Tucker smiled. “It’s Curtis. Rick Curtis,” he said, tossing out the fake name he’d decided to use for this job. He’d already turned over the fake ID and he was well aware he’d have to kiss it good-bye, both the ID and the persona, because the scrutiny he was getting from the cop was just not good. The ID would pass muster, for a while, he knew, but he had a feeling he just might have some problems on his hands. Shit. He hated that. He’d been here for years and he liked it. Liked his house, liked Lucia. Liked the work he did.

It was over now, though.

It wasn’t like he’d expected any of this to last forever, right?

Bastards like him were remembered. It wasn’t the height, it wasn’t even the tattoos. It was the hair. Sometimes he thought about shaving it all off or dying it, but that required upkeep, and since he rarely got involved like this . . . why bother?

Now he was wishing he’d bothered.

“So.” Rand smiled. “Mr. Curtis. Can you tell me again what happened?”

“Sure.” He slumped deeper in the seat, resting his chin on his chest as he eyed the house across the street. “I was hanging around here waiting for my girlfriend to get back. She was just heading out to pick up some food, maybe a movie, some beer that’s actually drinkable.” He shrugged and eyed the bottle he held with acute dislike. “Anyway, I heard a noise—people shouting. So I come out, see those guys on the porch, and you all are there.”

“Your girlfriend supposedly had the guy across the street hop in the car with her.”

Tucker heaved out a sigh. “Yeah? I’m out of town half the time and she’s out running around on me.” He gave the cop a dark look. “Women suck.”

The cop didn’t even bat an eyelash. “Nobody around here recalls seeing you before.”

“She just moved in.” Tucker shrugged. “I’m only here about a week out of the month because of my job. I live in Louisiana, actually . . . as you can see by my license. Work keeps me traveling a lot.”

“And what exactly is it that you do?”

“I’m a field service engineer.” He watched as the guy’s brows arched up into his hairline and he started to ramble on about how he spent nearly seventy percent of his time either taking QA calls or traveling to fix this, and that, which he had to do because the stupid motherfuckers who called the main office couldn’t handle the troubleshooting steps that he always outlined to them on the phone.

Halfway through his little rant, Rand’s eyes started to glaze over, and once he launched into a detailed breakdown of his last “job,” the cop abruptly lifted a hand and nodded.

“Okay, so you’re on the road a lot.”

Hiding his smile behind his beer, Tucker drawled, “Oh, yeah. A damned shame I worked out a few days to come visit my lady and then I hear she’s out running around with some dumb-ass. When I get ahold of that guy . . .”

The cop flicked him a look.

Tucker gave him a shamefaced look. “Shit, I’m sorry. Vaughnne and I . . . well. Never mind. I’ll work that out when I see her.”

“And that will be . . .”

He frowned and pulled out his phone. He eyed the messages like he was waiting for one to magically appear, and damn it, it would have to be magical, because he didn’t think he’d given her his number.

“I don’t know. I’m going to have to call her.”

“Would you mind giving me her number?”

Tucker straightened up. “Why?”

Gesturing across the street, Rand said, “Well, we do have a bit of a problem across the way. The neighbor’s house was broken into. She was last seen with the neighbors, not that long ago, if you’d recall. It seems we should get to the bottom of it.” He gave Tucker a friendly smile.

Tucker smiled back as he settled comfortably into the seat. “It seems you should. But, you see . . . Vaughnne didn’t really do anything except drive away. I don’t really feel comfortable giving you her phone number.”

“Maybe you’d feel more comfortable down at the station.”

Tucker lifted a brow and dropped the shucks, Southern boy charm. “Maybe you’d better produce a reason for taking me there first.” He shrugged and stood up, eyeing the mess going on across the street. The paramedics were there now, working on the men, calling out terms and phrases that Tucker was more familiar with than he cared to be. One of them would be fine, once Tucker dropped his hold.

The other one, though . . . nah. That man’s mind was toast.

He kept having seizures and Tucker didn’t give a damn. That son of a bitch had gone after a kid.

“Do I need to look for a reason?” Officer Rand glared up at him, looking unperturbed by the fact that Tucker had a good eight inches on him, and unperturbed by the fact that Tucker was still on the porch while the officer was on the ground.

“If you want me to go to the station, I’d suggest you find one,” Tucker said. He hooked his thumbs in his pockets and decided when he ran into Nalini, he just might paddle her ass. And not just because she had such a nice one, either.

If he got hauled in over this, there were going to be problems. A lot of them. There just might be . . .

The sight of the black car pulling up in front of him didn’t do a whole hell of a lot to settle his mind. It didn’t do his temper much good when the door opened and a rough-looking bastard climbed out.

The guy was even bigger than he was.

Their eyes met over the distance and Tucker tipped back his head and sighed, staring up at the white painted roof over his head. He didn’t bother looking away from it even when the newcomer approached Rand, no doubt flashing his shiny little FBI credentials.

“Special Agent Joss Crawford.”

As Rand introduced himself, Tucker figured he’d studied the ceiling boards long enough and he lowered his gaze, staring at Joss Crawford from under the veil of his lashes. A little while back, he’d sort of worked with this guy . . . sort of . . . without really realizing it. Crawford had been working the FBI side of things, while Tucker did what he did best—work his side of things.

Their sides had collided because one of Tucker’s few friends, Dru Chapman, had ended up right in the middle of the mess. Dru and Joss were shacking up now. Tucker thought she should get her head examined, but what did he know?

“I’m afraid I’m going to have to take this man into custody,” Joss said, slipping Tucker a narrow look.

Well, now. Tucker might not be able to read minds, but he could read that look easily enough. It clearly read . . . keep your damned mouth shut.

Rand rested a hand on his gun. “And just why is that?”

“I’m afraid I can’t discuss that, Officer, but it’s regarding an ongoing, sensitive federal investigation. This man has information on my case and he’s going to have to come with me.”

“I am, huh?” Tucker stared Joss down. Yeah, he read the look, all right, but he didn’t do the whole do-what-you’re-told thing well.

Yes, a voice snarled into his mind. Or would you rather go to the police station? Keep your trap shut and you can walk away with me and I’ll get you out of this. Otherwise, you’re on your own and I don’t care if Dru gets upset.

As that voice, strong and powerful, echoed through his mind, Joss just smiled and said to the cop, “I have the warrant, if you need to see it. Unless he’s under arrest here?”

Tucker curled his lip. “They can’t arrest me for not ponying up a phone number.” He slid Joss a narrow look and thought hard. Stay out of my head.

Joss didn’t bat a lash. “Let’s not make this any harder than it has to be, son.”

Son. Tucker snorted. Well, at least he hadn’t given up his real name. Sighing, he headed down the steps and fell into place at Joss’s side. Once they were halfway down the walk, Joss shot him a dark look. “Behave, dickhead. Where the hell is Vaughnne?”

“Fuck off.”

Joss laughed.

“The sentiment is mutual, buddy. Now get in the car. I was in the middle of something when the boss called and I’d like to get back to it.”

Once they were in the car, with the windows rolled up, blocking out the sound, Tucker stopped behaving. He gathered up the remnant energy rolling through him as he shot Joss a look. “You don’t even want to think about trying to take me to the FBI, Crawford. You hear me?”

“Oh, suck my dick,” Crawford said, looking unperturbed.

Tucker snarled and went to claw off one of his gloves. Even as the red of rage rolled through him, a gun jammed into his ribs. “You want to think long and hard about doing anything else. I know what you can do, Collins—in great detail. The only way you can stop me is if you kill me. I know killers. You’re not one. So either we call a truce or you cross a line you don’t want to cross. Which is it?”

“You don’t get the gun away from me, you’re going to find out.”

The air in the car all but crawled with tension as Tucker turned his head, stared into Joss’s eyes.

A mean grin slanted Joss’s mouth. “I think I could almost like you.” Then he withdrew the gun.

Tucker slumped low in the seat. “If you try to take me anywhere, I’m going to cause you more grief than you can possibly imagine, Crawford. Keep that in mind.”

“I don’t plan on doing anything but getting you out of the way so Agent MacMeans can do her job.”

“Well, then, that is a problem.” Tucker closed his eyes. “You see, I made a promise that I’d make sure the kid she has with her was safe and I can’t do that if I’m out of the way.”

He cracked one eye open and looked at Crawford. “I don’t break promises.”

“You might have to break this one,” Joss muttered.

As they neared the end of the block, Tucker had just one thought in mind. He wanted him to turn left. That was all he needed. A left turn. And then he’d take it from there.

And sometimes, he actually got what he wanted.

Crawford turned left, driving right past the little alley where Tucker had parked his car. Satisfied, Tucker focused and reached out. The car sputtered to a stop and died.

He was out of the car in a heartbeat, Crawford reaching for him a split second later. He slammed the door and focused again, listening as the locks snicked shut. All the electronics in cars these days . . . it made some things so interesting.

Crawford swore and drove his fist against the window, and Tucker flashed him a grin before spinning on his heel.

The big, mean black muscle car was still waiting behind Vaughnne’s house and he climbed inside. He could feel his hold on Crawford’s car lessening, bit by bit, but that was okay. Once he was out of sight, the man would have a hard time tracking him down.

He supposed he could have blown the engine, not just killed it.

But in the end, antagonizing the FBI wasn’t going to do him any good. All he wanted to do was make good on his promise to Nalini. Then he’d relocate. Get a new phone number. Get lost in the world so that the frustrating little work of sexual art could never find him again and make him wish that for once, just once, he could actually lose himself inside a woman.

“WHAT’S the status?”

“Beats the hell out of me.” Joss shot the phone he’d dropped in his cup holder a dirty look and wished like hell he’d actually finished his job here on time. He was wrapping up the loose ends from the assignment from hell. And it had been the assignment from hell. Somehow, it was one that had Joss both thanking God and cursing fate, all in one breath. He’d met Dru . . . found Dru, because of that job.

And he’d almost lost her, almost died because of that job.

Assignment from hell, in a nutshell.

“Crawford . . . I need to know what is going on in Orlando,” Jones snapped, his voice about as close to pissed as Joss had ever heard him. “There’s a kid’s safety at stake, you understand me?”

“Yep.” He cut left on the street up from where Vaughnne had been staying and did another drive by but he already knew he wasn’t going to find anything. Tucker Collins had kept him locked in his car, like he’d been trapped inside a damned tuna can, for a good three minutes, and by the time Joss had been able to get the car to turn over or the doors to unlock, the man had already vacated the premises.

And his phone hadn’t come on for a good hour afterward.

He was debating on whether or not to fill the boss in on all of that. They hadn’t ever had anybody in the unit that could play with electricity like that. He’d almost bet Jones would get a hard-on at the idea. Figuratively speaking, of course.

But he also knew, even if he hadn’t picked it up from Collins’s mind, there was no way that guy wanted in the fold.

And thanks to the gift he had riding hard inside him, he had more than a few blips from the other psychic. Up until a few minutes ago, Joss had been convinced he was the freak show of all freak shows. The label he’d been stuck with was mirroring. He could pick up the psychic gifts of anybody he’d been imprinted with and the gift would stick until he synched with another psychic and was imprinted with another gift.

It was a weird-ass gift, he knew.

But Tucker made him look almost normal.

The man had shut down his car. Locked him in his car. And he’d shut down his phone.

He’s like a walking electrical rod, basically, Dru had told him. He can do crazy shit, and I don’t know just how much crazy shit he can do, Joss.

That had been a few months ago, back when he and Dru had been piecing together everything that had happened, both while they were working together, and when they’d been working toward the same end without realizing it. Tucker had been at her back, all along. It was one of the few things that made the nightmare of those months just a little more palatable. As in, he no longer woke up about to choke on his vomit as he thought about the hell that Dru had been living in. She’d had a way out. Tucker had been the way out. One scary-ass way out, but Dru trusted the guy and that meant something.

That meant, basically, that Joss was going to trust him, too. Dru’s ability wasn’t one that he was going to discount. Not now. Not again.

“Listen, Jones,” he said as the silence stretched on. “Vaughnne isn’t here. There are cops all over the place and I saw an ambulance. I don’t know what the deal is, but unless you want them being alerted to the fact that we are nosing around, we might have to stay in the dark for now.” He elected, on the side of wisdom, not to bring Tucker into the picture. Sooner or later, he might have to, especially if he got pulled into this job, but he wasn’t sure if that was going to happen.

He had his own mess, one that he was specially suited to, and Vaughnne was already handling this one. They were spread pretty thin as it was. If Jones had wanted him on this assignment, he would have been put on it from the get-go.

“You hooked up with Taige Morgan before you headed back to Orlando, Crawford. You can find things out without talking to anybody if you try,” Jones said.

Joss rolled his eyes and headed back for the street where the cops were camped out. He’d been out of his mind hoping that maybe the boss wouldn’t think about that. Definitely out of his mind.

The second ambulance was pulling away. He only knew it was the second, because the first had gone blowing past him on the way in and he was pretty positive there wasn’t another emergency going on anywhere in the neighborhood just then.

Reaching for the police scanner, he turned it on.

Yeah, he had a telepathic gift crammed into his mind.

But maybe he could just use good, old-fashioned investigative skills on some of this.

THE little hotel room was one tucked on the bottom floor in the corner of a Red Roof Inn that had seen better years. Better decades. But it was clean and that was all that counted.

After Gus had laid the sick boy on the bed, Vaughnne knelt at his side and touched his forehead, wincing at how hot he felt. He mumbled a little and batted at her hand before curling in around himself and clutching at his belly.

“How long has he been feeling bad?”

Gus was quiet.

Sighing, she tipped her head back and stared at him. “I need to call my boss and give him an update, let him know where we are so he can get somebody here to treat the kid. It would be helpful if I could give him some background on the kid’s condition.”

Long, tense moments passed and then Gus nodded slowly.

He held out a hand, and although she didn’t trust him any farther than she could throw him, she placed her hand in his, let him offer her assistance she didn’t need to rise to her feet.

He kept hold of her hand as he guided her across the room and toward the one area where they might have a modicum of privacy. Out of habit, she checked the bolt on the door. The latch was secured. The door was locked. Nobody had followed them and Vaughnne wasn’t about to let anybody near that kid. If they tried, she’d blow a hole through them or scramble their brains—whichever seemed to work best at the time.

Still . . . she checked.

Seconds later, the bathroom door closed at her back.

And then, she seemed to be the one who needed protection.

Gus went from the quiet protector to the warrior who’d leveled a gun at her, fully prepared to kill her. Before she could even catch her breath, he slammed her against the door, his forearm at her throat, pressing hard enough that she couldn’t draw her breath to scream.

She could have fought back.

She knew that.

And she knew how.

But as his misty eyes stared into hers, her heart slammed against her chest and she couldn’t breathe, could barely even think.

It wasn’t fear that seemed to crowd out all of her thoughts, though. Fear she could have handled.

This was so, so much worse.

“You need to understand something.” He leaned in, pressing his mouth to her ear. “And I want you to listen to me, very, very closely . . . Vaughnne. Is that even your name?”

She was pleased that her voice was almost steady as she said, “Yes. It’s my name. I gave you a false last name, but my first name is Vaughnne.”

“Hmmm.” He nuzzled her neck and little licks of pleasure shot all the way through her. “And FBI . . . are you really FBI?”

“Yes.” She closed her eyes as he pushed his thigh between hers. Oh, hell. What the hell was this? “You can call D.C. They can verify.”

“They routinely give out names of their agents, Vaughnne?”

He licked her. What . . . the . . . hell? She shuddered as he crowded in closer. His forearm was still wedged against her throat, preventing her from moving, but it was no longer pressing against her so tight that it was a chore just to breathe. Well, it was, but that was because of the sheer, burning weight of lust. He traced his tongue down the line of her neck. “You did not answer me.”

Accent, she noticed dimly. He had an accent—she hadn’t ever heard it before. And she would have noticed, too, which meant the man’s skills just went from Category 4 straight to Category 5. At least.

Swallowing, she focused on his question. “Generally, no. But if you call and ask for the man I tell you to ask for, he will verify.”

“And isn’t that convenient?” He laughed a little, resting his free hand on her hip. His fingers flexed and she felt the imprint everywhere he touched. Every single place, from his thumb, to his little finger, curving over her flesh, kneading back and forth . . . “You give me a false number. A false name. So easy to fool me, you think?”

As his mouth came to cover hers, she averted her head. Finally, her brain was engaging.

Sex as a weapon. Not something she’d ever had directed at her, but whoa. Damn. That’s what this was and he was potent as hell. “You can look the damn number up on Google. I’m pretty sure I can’t control Google, although if I can get them to give me some major shares in the stock, hey, I’m game to try. You call that number, I’ll tell you how to get connected to the man who can vouch for me.”

His knee pushed between her thighs, and this time, no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t keep from shuddering. Couldn’t keep from whimpering as he drew her in until she was all but riding his thigh. Oh. Hell.

“And what will he tell me when he vouches for you? What happens then? Somebody comes in here to take the child from me? I don’t think so, Vaughnne.”

“Nobody wants to take him away,” she snapped. And then she curled her hands into fists to keep from reaching for him as he shifted and settled his hips squarely between her own. She felt him now. All of him, the ridge of his cock, hot and thick, and damn it, if he hadn’t been aroused, this would have been easier, so much easier.

But sex as a weapon wasn’t really useful if the weapon wasn’t primed and ready to fire, she supposed.

Summoning up what little strength she had, she closed her eyes. She went through her options and discarded all but a few. As she was busy with that, he shifted the forearm he had wedged across her upper body. Cooler air kissed her flesh and she hissed as she realized he had freed the top button of her shirt.

No. Absolutely no.

As he reached for the second one, she opened her eyes and stared at him.

He stared right back at her.

She didn’t have a lot of room to maneuver, she had next to no leverage, and she’d rather not wake up Alex. The kid had already been through hell and was sick on top of everything else in his life.

She didn’t really want to hurt Gus. Assuming she could. She might want to bloody him in that very second, but he was trying to protect the kid. She thought maybe she could understand that drive. Maybe.

As pissed off as she was, she understood the basic need to protect.

When he leaned in, she slid a hand around the back of his neck, careful to keep her expression blank. As he covered her mouth, she held herself still. And as he went to sweep his tongue across hers, she bit him. At the same time, she tangled a hand in his hair and jerked. He muffled his response, doing exactly what she’d expected—trying to avoid waking Alex, scaring him. He went to grab her and she jammed her fist into his throat. He had to breathe, right?

Even as he was struggling to do that, though, he was already reaching for her. He was too well equipped for this, she thought. She evaded his hand and lashed out with one weapon he couldn’t prepare for. Blasting her voice into his mind, she watched as he stumbled and slammed a hand against his temple, caught off guard.

She jerked the door open, taking advantage of the few precious seconds she had. The second she was out the door, she cut the scream off, pulling her weapon as she set her stance.

He came for her, pausing only at the sight of her weapon. She held his gaze.

“We’re not doing this, Casanova,” she said quietly. She licked her lips and hated the fact that she could still taste him. Her entire body throbbed, ached. Burned for him. And if he hadn’t been trying to pull . . . whatever he’d been pulling? She might have been just fine with letting him do anything he wanted to with her. Even with a kid sleeping a few feet away. They’d been in a bathroom, right? She knew how to be quiet.

But he had been up to something and she wasn’t going to be used. Wasn’t going to have any man use sex against her. No matter what the goal was.

“Nobody is going to hurt him,” she said as he edged out of the bathroom, moving closer and closer.

She backed away. And still he kept coming. Eventually, she ran out of room and he stood there with his chest pressed to the muzzle of her Glock and no emotion on his face.

“Nobody is going to hurt him. Nobody is going to take him. I’m here to help keep him safe,” she said.

“Nobody can keep him safe,” Gus said, his voice a monotone. “You don’t even know what is after him.”

“No,” she said, shaking her head. “I don’t. Because you haven’t told me. But I do know that I work for the FBI, and if anybody stands a chance of protecting that kid, it’s the people I work for.”

“THE people you work for.” Gus stared at her. Stupid woman. She didn’t come off that way, but she had no idea what she was dealing with, when it came to protecting Alex. Up until the past few years, Gus hadn’t even had a clue. And he’d thought he had. Considering the life he lived, he should have been damned well aware.

Holding her gaze with his, he reached up and went to grab her wrist. She spun away, but he’d already noticed the fact that she was determined to be quiet. Taking care not to bother Alex. Considerate . . . he had to appreciate that. Maybe she was being honest. But she was still naïve. Naïve, foolish . . . and she fit against him better than anything he could ever imagine outside of a wet dream. That strong, limber body had vibrated as he’d leaned into her, all but ready to kill her if it came down to it. But had she stared at him with fear?

No. It had been desire he’d seen in her face. Maybe the fear had been there, but the desire had been stronger.

Damn him straight to hell, but he wanted her. More than he wanted his next breath.

“Crazy woman,” he whispered as she shifted to give herself more room to maneuver. He shot a look over her back, saw that Alex had rolled over onto his belly and had his face buried against the mattress. Concern warred inside him. It was a different sort of battle raging within him then. They had to move, had to run, had to hide and remake themselves all over again. But Alex was ill . . .

“You know, I’m getting a little tired of this,” Vaughnne said. “Back off. Sit down. Chill out. We can talk.”

“Better idea,” Gus suggested. “Get out of my way. I take my boy and we leave. You tell your . . . boss . . . that you lost us and everybody is happy.”

“And when the people chasing you finally catch you?” She lifted a brow at him. “Don’t you get it, you big dumb idiot? Those men waiting outside your house tracked you down . . . by tracking him. You can’t hide him. He’s not trained, he’s hitting puberty, which means he’s going to get stronger. He’s a hazard to himself and everybody around him until he learns how to control that gift of his.”

Something cold lodged in his heart. He wanted to brush it aside. She was wrong. She had to be. “We have done well enough for several years. They were lucky.”

“No. They were smart. One of them was psychic, you jackass.” Her eyes narrowed on his face. “You don’t have any idea what to look for when it comes to people like us, do you?”

Through his lashes, he studied her. “I don’t need to. The boy does.” Gus could feel it when their kind used their abilities, but no. He didn’t recognize them. It wasn’t an issue, though. Not with Alex. The boy could see them well enough. He always had before.

“Again, he didn’t recognize me—if I can hide, what’s to stop somebody else from doing the same thing?” she said quietly. She glanced at her gun and then sighed. “I’m putting this away, but if you come at me again, you and me will go another round. But I’ll pull the gloves off this time.”

There was something so sexy about the way she glared at him that he was tempted to do just that . . . go at her again. But he was already a raging, aching mess of want, and he suspected that if he kept putting his hands on her, his control was going to snap. Masking everything he felt, he brushed by her and moved deeper into the room, pausing to linger by the bed. He reached down to touch Alex’s shoulder, intending to wake him up.

“We can’t . . .” stay. The word was on the tip of his tongue. They couldn’t stay.

Somehow, someway, he’d get the boy to a doctor, even if he had to kidnap one, but they couldn’t stay—

Except Alex seemed even hotter now.

So hot he nearly burned Gus’s hands.

Closing his eyes, he went to his knees by the bed. Please . . .

That was the only thought clear in his mind.

Just . . . please . . .

A hand touched his shoulder.

Woodenly, he said, “The fever seems to be getting higher. I have no way to check.”

“Let me call my boss,” Vaughnne said quietly. “You know he’s ill. He’s half out of his mind with his fever at this point. If you don’t get him help now, it could be too late by the time you do try.”

The absolute last thing he could do was say yes.

The absolute last thing.

But then Alex groaned and rolled over onto his side, shuddering, shaking a little as he doubled over. “Tío . . .” he whispered, opening his eyes. But his gaze was glassy, and Gus had the oddest feeling the boy didn’t even see him.

“I’m here, m’hijo,” he murmured, brushing Alex’s hair back from his face and fighting back the fear that crowded up his throat at the hot, dry feel of fevered flesh under his hand.

“¿Mamá? ¿Dónde está mi mamá?”

Gus closed his eyes while a howl built inside his throat. His mother. Son of a bitch—the boy was asking for a woman who had been dead for years. Stroking a hand across Alex’s brow, Gus said softly, “Get some rest, Alex.” He didn’t know what else to say.

Alex blinked and then shook his head. “Tío . . .” When he looked at Gus again, there seemed to be a little more focus in his eyes. “I hurt. My back. My stomach.”

“I know . . . I’ll get you a doctor, Ale . . . I’ll get you a doctor.” He caught himself just before the name slipped out, but he realized he’d already lapsed, calling the boy an endearment that just wasn’t one he should have used. Shoving his cap back, he rubbed his hand over his hair and then resettled it on his head before rising and meeting Vaughnne’s eyes. Nodding to the door, he waited until she had followed him, playing out the words he needed to say. Praying. Planning. Hoping.

He hadn’t trusted anybody in years. Not since Alex’s mother had died. He didn’t want to change that now, but he had to get the boy help. The fever was bad enough, but if Alex was so sick that he was asking for his mother . . . he couldn’t wait any longer.

Hearing the soft fall of Vaughnne’s footsteps behind him, he turned and studied her face. Her dark gold eyes met his and he stared at her, hard. He’d never guessed, he realized. Not once had he guessed that the sleek, sexy woman living across the street from him was FBI. He’d thought it was possible she might have been there to watch them. And he’d been prepared. Had even mentally gone through the steps he’d take to kill her and dispose of her body, if it came to that. He’d been prepared for the wrong sort of bad guy, he realized.

Not the cops. Not the FBI. He hadn’t seen this coming.

“How does the FBI know about us?” he asked quietly.

Vaughnne inclined her head. “Now that’s a question you’d have to ask my boss. But I imagine one of the others picked up on something from the kid.”

“Others?”

She hooked her thumbs in her pockets and rocked back on her heels. “Oh, come on now, Gus . . . you’ve done some research on this, I’m sure. Psychic skill isn’t like homogenized milk. You’ve got a whole variety of flavors . . . abilities. Some of us see things . . . things from the past, bits and pieces of the future. Some of us can talk into another’s mind.” A faint grin curled her lips and he didn’t have time to brace himself before her voice, low and smooth and potent as whiskey, curled through his mind.

And he realized he’d been wrong . . . yet again. He’d thought he’d feel it when a psychic was doing his thing because he always felt it from Alex. But he didn’t feel a thing from Vaughnne—he felt nothing, but he heard something . . . her voice, rolling through his mind, as low and sexy as if she’d been whispering naughty little nothings in his ear.

That would be me, by the way, as you probably figured out, she told him. Then she shrugged. “There are others who have the ability to track missing people. We usually call them bloodhounds. Some key into . . . ghosts.”

He curled his lip. “Ghosts.”

“Yes.” She smirked at him. “Don’t tell me you believe in psychic skill, but not ghosts.”

He shrugged dismissively. Ghosts weren’t real. That was all there was to it. If they weren’t real, then he didn’t have to think about the one ghost who should be haunting him, every day, for the rest of his life.

“Well, that’s an answer.” She shoved her hair back and sighed. “And that’s neither here nor there. You’ve got a sick kid over there. Sick and getting sicker. Are you going to deal with it, or stand there and brood and worry and breathe your paranoia all over us until he needs to be hospitalized just to fix whatever is wrong with him?”

Closing the distance between them, he bent down until he was nose to nose with her. Then, holding her defiant gaze with his, he said quietly, “There is nobody, and I mean this with every bit of strength I have in me, absolutely nobody who means as much to me as that boy. I can, and have, killed for him. I will do it again, without blinking. Am I understood?”

“You’re quite understood.” Her eyes flashed. If they could have burned, he suspected he would have been singed all over.

But that didn’t stop him from reaching up and catching one of her wild, soft curls and twining it around his finger. He half expected her to pull away. She simply stood there, though, as he rubbed his thumb along the thick, silken curl, holding his gaze levelly. “You can call your boss . . . Vaughnne. I want a doctor here. If there isn’t one here within the next few hours, I’ll take the boy and I’ll go find one.” If he had to kidnap one, that was just fine with him. “But understand me, nobody will take that boy from me. Not while I breathe.”

He let go of her hair, watched as she swallowed. Then, as she went to turn away, he caught the back of her neck and hauled her against him. Show me that you’re afraid, damn it, he thought, staring down into those wide, dark eyes. Her lashes swept down low, shielding her gaze from his. If she would just be afraid, he could maybe throttle this painful need down. He would continue to scare her. He had no issue with using fear on anybody if it kept Alex safe. Alex was all that mattered, and in the end, when he had to pay for all the sins he’d committed just to keep that child safe, he would simply offer that up and hope it was enough. He’d been protecting the boy.

But he couldn’t do this . . . couldn’t want this. Couldn’t want her.

The fear he needed to see wasn’t there, though.

She lifted her lashes and met his gaze, straight on. “I’ve already told you, and the promise stands. Nobody is going to hurt him, not if I have anything to say about it. And we don’t want him taken away. I was sent down here to watch over him. Not steal him from you.”

“Hmmm.” He dipped his head and caught her lower lip between his teeth. The need to do more, to take more . . . take everything was so strong he could hardly stand it. If it wasn’t for Alex, wasn’t for the fact that the boy was ill, he’d be buried inside her already, Gus knew it. He bit her, still staring into her eyes, and he felt the shudder as it wracked her body. Stroking his tongue along the area he’d nipped, he resisted the urge to do more. Instead, he held there, his mouth pressed to hers. “So you say. But fuck me over on this, Vaughnne, and every nightmare you’ve ever had will look like a sweet memory by the time I am done with you.”