The Protected (Fbi Psychics)

by Walker, Shiloh

  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 Vau
ghnne 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.”