The Protected (Fbi Psychics)

by Walker, Shiloh

  He glanced back at her just in time to see her finishing off the lemonade, and he watched as a bead of sweat rolled down the soft brown of her neck. Desire, vicious and painful, twisted inside him. He needed to get laid.

  Vaughnne lowered the bottle and then tossed it into a little bin off to the side of the yard. It was a good twenty feet away and it landed squarely inside. “Nice shot.”

  She smiled blandly. “Thanks. Come on,” she said as she turned around. She paused halfway up the walk to bend over and hoist up a box. The faded denim shorts she wore stretched tight over her butt and Gus had to drag his eyes away. “I’ll show you all around. The boxes are all marked, so it won’t be hard to figure out what goes where.”

  Gus dragged a hand down his face and then shifted the pack he carried so he had one strap over each shoulder. The logical thing to do was put it down, he knew. But he’d do that, maybe, after he’d gotten the lay of the land.

  After he’d adjusted his shirt, making sure the weapon at his back was covered, he grabbed a couple of the boxes that were stacked haphazardly on top of one another. Alex glanced at him and he saw, again, there was none of that blind fear, none of the nerves. Everything was cool.

  He should be able to relax now, right?

  Technically, they could even leave because, no matter what he’d said, he hadn’t come over to help her move her stuff in. They could leave and he didn’t care if it made him look like an ass. He’d come to make sure she was safe. But leaving was the very last thing he wanted to do.

  * * *

  THEY muscled the bed frame into place, and Vaughnne all but groaned as the headache throbbing behind her eyes grew to nauseating proportions. She’d meant to take her time, get half the stuff done today and then work on the rest of it tomorrow, but when the gift horse—or gift stud—had arrived, what was she going to do, say no?

  Especially as it would have been interesting trying to figure out how to move it all in on her own.

  She would have figured something out, maybe calmly worked out a meeting and offered to pay them some money if they helped her unload. Either that, or just found somebody else living nearby. Something would have turned up.

  Now she felt like her head was going to explode.

  “You know how to put this together?”

  The warm, dark velvet of his voice rolled over her skin, and she lifted her lashes to stare at him as she sagged back against the wall. He was enough to make her mouth go dry, especially with the way his shirt had gone a little damp with sweat now, making it cling to muscles that were way too defined for just the typical average Joe.

  He’d dropped the backpack earlier, tucking it behind the front door, and although he was casual about it, she’d noticed that there hadn’t been a single time when they’d walked through the room and he hadn’t checked on that bag.

  “Well?”

  She blinked and then glanced over at the bed frame. Yeah. He’d asked her a question, hadn’t he? Sighing, she studied it for a minute and then glanced over at the mattress propped against the opposite wall.

  If she had her way, she’d just knock it down, crawl onto the bed, curl into a ball, and pass out. But that wasn’t an option.

  “Staring at it isn’t going to do the job.” He gestured at it. “You know how to put it together?”

  There was something about the way he talked, she decided. Something besides the fact that his voice was sexy as hell. Low and smooth as silk, rich as melted chocolate and just as sinful. Down, girl, she told herself absently as she pushed her sore body away from the wall and studied the bed frame. Yeah, yeah, staring at it wasn’t going to help, but she was hoping she’d remember how it had been put together.

  It had been bought at a thrift store and it was pretty. Vaughnne had a weakness for pretty things and she had no problem admitting it. But the pale green patina of the metal looked like a mind-bending puzzle just then. Propping her hands on her hips, she tried to remember the way everything had gone together and then she just sighed. “I have absolutely no fu . . .” Then she clamped her mouth shut and shot a look toward the hall. The kid. She wasn’t used to being around kids. “Ah . . . sorry. I have absolutely no idea.”

  Gus nodded. “I’ll go home and grab my tools. But that’s about all we can do.”

  She should tell him it wasn’t necessary. She knew that. But he’d offered. She needed to do what was necessary to get them to like her, trust her . . . and if he decided to offer a hand here and there? Why not accept it?

  Wiping her forearm over her brow, she gave him a smile. Even though the headache pounding inside her head was about ready to kill her, she didn’t let it show. “I appreciate it. Hey, I don’t know if y’all ate anything, but I am starving so I’m going to order a pizza.”

  “We had dinner, thanks.”

  She arched a brow. “You sure? I’ve never seen a teenaged boy say no to pizza.”

  * * *

  “ANOTHER box of books?” Alex lugged it over and dumped it on the floor next to the bookshelves she’d picked up. The bookshelves had also come from a thrift store. But the books were hers. Since she didn’t know just how long she’d have to be babysitting, Vaughnne planned to keep herself entertained.

  And she’d only brought four boxes.

  Grinning at him, she sauntered over and peered inside the box. “Yeah. And that’s the last of them, too.”

  He wrinkled his nose and said, “Is it a bunch more of those stupid girly books?”

  “I’ll have you know those girly books are awesome,” she said loftily. “You’d be amazed at what a guy can learn from reading girly books.”

  “Girly books?”

  That voice. It was too damned appealing. Shooting Gus a look from over her shoulder, she shrugged. “That’s what he calls romance.”

  “Girly books.” Gus smirked. “Well, I would likely call them girly books as well. A man won’t learn much from them.”

  “Shows what you know, pal.” She sank to the floor and started pulling the books from the box. Once she had some books on the shelves, she’d feel a little more at ease, she thought. Whether she was in Orlando or not. Having something of hers around would just make her feel better. “For one, a smart guy learns it’s not a wise move to go and knock what a lady enjoys reading. If it makes her happy and it’s not hurting anything? What’s the issue?”

  “Books like those are unrealistic,” Gus said. He shrugged and reached into his back pocket, pulling out a pristine white handkerchief that looked out of place with his battered clothes, the faded jeans.

  He had elegant hands, she thought. Very elegant hands.

  And she was getting distracted. “Unrealistic,” she drawled. Snorting, she pulled her knees to her chest and rested her chin on them. “Riiiggggghhhht . . . like Star Wars isn’t. Lord of the Rings. Lord of the Flies. Bunnicula. Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone.”

  “None of those books promise that love will conquer over all.”

  Vaughnne snorted. “Neither does romance make those promises. They are just books. Reading them doesn’t mean I’m looking for a space pirate to solve all my problems. I can handle my problems just fine on my own.”

  “Space pirates?” Alex asked, his eyes rounding.

  “Yeah . . .” She slid him a sly smile. “And that one got caught by a bounty hunter. Who was a chick.”

  Gus snorted. Then he shoved off the wall and gestured down the hall. “Milady, your bower awaits. But you’ll need to help me get the mattress onto the bed frame.”

  * * *

  HE probably should have tried to do it himself. He could have, but he wanted to make sure the bed was where she wanted it before he bothered. But now, in addition to having images of tasting her mouth, he wanted to see her stretched out on the bed, all that long, wild hair spread out around her as he stripped her clothes away.

  He was too i
ntimately acquainted with that body after three hours of helping her drag and move and push furniture, boxes, and every other damn thing she’d had crammed into that truck. Too familiar with those long, lean muscles and the way she moved with more confidence and control than any woman should have a right to.

  He had more than a passing acquaintance with females. He’d had lovers whose bodies were honed to an athletic tightness, and others who were so soft and lushly female. Lovers whose bodies had been sculpted by the finest plastic surgeons around, and he appreciated every damned last one.

  But Vaughnne . . . his hands itched to strip her naked already and he had no idea just why. It had been years since he’d had time to indulge in such a thing, but he hadn’t had any trouble ignoring it until today. Until her.

  She was a powerhouse of curves and sleek muscles, the kind of muscles that came from a dedication to fitness, yet none of it had affected the sheer female beauty of her. Her hips and ass were still lush and round, her breasts soft and full under the tank top she wore. Every once in a while, her bra strap had peeked out from under the edge of the shirt, simple and black, and it was driving him out of his mind.

  “I think this will do.”

  As she stroked a hand down the mattress, he tracked the motion of her hand for a moment before he schooled his features into blankness and lifted his gaze to study her face. Her features had to be the most unique he’d ever seen. She was pretty, yes. Not beautiful, but pretty.

  And unique, with those dark freckles dancing across her nose, a top-heavy mouth, and her smooth, warm brown skin.

  “Is the bed where you want it?” he asked. He thought it would do better under the window. Where the morning light would come in and dance across that perfect body of hers.

  Vaughnne heaved out a sigh and lifted her arms. She dragged the bandanna off her hair with one hand and used the other to gather her hair into a tail. “At this point, you could have glued the stupid thing to the ceiling and I wouldn’t care. I just want it done. I’ll take a better look around tomorrow, and if it’s not where I want it, I can get it moved on my own.”

  She fished around in her pocket and pulled out a little black band, snapping it around her hair before shooting a look at her watch. “Now if that damn pizza would get here—”

  The doorbell rang.

  Alex appeared in the doorway, and although he knew Vaughnne wouldn’t see it, the boy’s face was taut, tense with nerves.

  With that easy smile on her face, Vaughnne said, “It’s about damn time. You two sure you don’t want some? There are plates and stuff in the kitchen.”

  As Alex crossed to stand by him, Gus mentally ran through the layout of the house. The kitchen was just up the hall. They could stay out of sight of the front door. Although the backpack was by the front door. Careless . . . he’d gotten careless. A look at Alex’s face had him thinking it through again. Alex was nervous . . . nervous, not scared.

  This would work. They’d stay out of sight in the kitchen, and if he had to go through bodies to get the bag, then he’d do it. He had the Sig Sauer tucked into place at his back, regardless.

  “I don’t know . . . you hungry, Alex?”

  * * *

  VAUGHNNE wondered if that pizza delivery kid would have been so obnoxious if he knew there was a man with a very loaded, very dangerous weapon lurking just about twenty feet away from him.

  Granted, she had her own weapons, although she’d wisely left them out of sight, and off her body, as much as she hated it. The man saw too clearly, though, and if he’d seen a weapon on her, he would have been gone.

  Hard to guard a body when the body was hauling ass to the state line.

  As she sauntered into the kitchen, one large pie in her hands and a box of wings on top, she kept her focus on the kid. Wasn’t hard, since Gus wasn’t in the kitchen just yet. The first thing he’d done once the front door shut was move out of the kitchen. All lazy, easy moves, from the way he looked, but he’d wasted no time getting the bag he’d tucked behind the front door.

  Whatever he carried in that thing, it must be important. As he came back into the kitchen, his gaze sought out Alex. The kid gave him a wan smile and she could all but feel a pop in the air as some of the tension drained away.

  Pretending not to notice their preoccupation, she dumped the pizza on the table. “I kept it basic,” she said, flipping the lid up. “I was kind of figuring you might want something—I hear about how boys your age always have room for food and I figured it was the least I could do to say thanks. I doubted you’d want the garbage truck approach I take to my food.”

  Alex wrinkled his nose, relaxing a little more as he leaned in and eyed the pizza. “Garbage truck?”

  “Yeah.” She grinned at him. “I get it loaded with just about everything.”

  She found the cabinet where she’d already put the plates. One thing about moving in—if you didn’t get the basic stuff out, toiletries, dishes, books—books were very basic—then it just made it that much more annoying. She grabbed three of them and passed them out before moving to the fridge. “All I have is sugary stuff,” she said, shooting Gus a wry smile. “I’ve got the appetite of a six-year-old boy. Coke, Big Red, some root beer. I do have milk, but it’s chocolate.”

  “I’ll take a Big Red,” Alex said.

  She glanced at Gus. He shrugged. “That’s fine. I’ll have water.”

  “I have beer,” she offered. She snagged a Big Red for Alex, another Mike’s Hard Lemonade for herself. “And these?”

  He snorted and shook his head. “I’ll pass.”

  * * *

  SHE shouldn’t have had the second lemonade.

  Vaughnne could admit that nearly two hours after they left as she emerged from a deep, deep sleep to the sound of her alarm.

  She’d set her phone to go off because she wanted to take a good look around and get a feel for things when she wasn’t going to be seen. So that meant . . . at night.

  But she was exhausted. If she didn’t plan on trying to get some more sleep, she might have gone and chugged a few of the Monsters she had stashed in the fridge, but she was damned well going to get sleep unless all hell broke loose.

  She didn’t think that was going to happen.

  Everything inside her body was just screaming for bed, and if there were problems, adrenaline would be crashing through her and clearing away the clouds. That only made it harder to drag her tired ass out the door once she’d donned a black tank top and some black jogging shorts. She’d thought about going for something a little more concealing, but that kid already had her reevaluating things.

  She’d come up with something if they woke up and saw her snooping around. Vaughnne was nothing if not clever and quick on her feet, but if she was dressed up all ninja-like, that was not going to set the oh-so-sexy Gus or the oh-so-scared Alex at ease.

  Why are you so scared, anyway, kid? she wondered as she started down the street. Right now, the plan was to get the lay of the land. Nothing like a midnight jog for that. Even had an excuse. She couldn’t sleep. They didn’t have to know she was lying.

  It was a quiet neighborhood, she decided. Run-down and tired, but trying to cling to nice, and it looked like everybody here still tried to take care of what they owned.

  And . . . each other, she figured out not even eight minutes into her run.

  A cop car came around the corner and she grimaced, slowing to a stop, keeping her hands at her sides. She’d put her license in her pocket before she left—not her license, but one of the fakes she carried for working so she was in the clear there. Even as the two cops climbed out of the car, she figured it wasn’t a total irritation that they’d been called.

  She had another piece of the puzzle. The people around here did watch things. Would make it harder for her to do what she needed to do. Harder. But not impossible. Also made it safer for the kid. A litt
le, at least.

  As the younger cop loitered off to the side, she focused on the older one. A tall guy, his skin nearly as black as the night, smiled at her, a nice, professional smile. “Ma’am.”

  “Evening.” Then she grimaced and looked around. “I guess I should say night.”

  “Guess so.” He smiled a little more naturally. “It’s kind of late for a jog. Had a call about a strange woman prowling around.”

  Damn. Glad I didn’t go for the prowling method, Vaughnne thought. Even as she thought, she gave a disgruntled sigh and swiped a hand over the back of her brow. “Do I really look like I’m prowling around, Officer? I’m running.”

  “At one in the morning?” his partner asked.

  Younger. Rookie, Vaughnne decided. Still had the shine on him, and the stupid.

  “I had a hard time getting to sleep,” she said mildly. “I just moved into my new place today and I don’t know where a gym or anything is around here. The only thing that helps me sleep when I’m having insomnia is a workout. So I went for a run.”

  “Where did you move into?”

  The response that leaped to mind was, None of your damned business. But instead of going with that, she shrugged and waved off to the east. “Westbrook Avenue, a few blocks over.”

  Somebody who had never had trouble with the law, or didn’t work in law enforcement, was just going to answer that sort of question, because they automatically thought cooperating made everything better. Sometimes it did. Sometimes it didn’t. Right then, it didn’t hurt her to cooperate. Vaughnne was an old hand at dealing with law enforcement . . . from both sides. She carried a badge of her own now, but there had been a time when she was the one having trouble with the law. Lessons that had served her well more than once.