He closed his eyes. He didn’t know if he could answer that without lying, without worrying her. Lucia worried was a bad thing. People had died because Lucia worried. Not often, and he couldn’t say the people hadn’t deserved to die. He’d been flat on his back, dealing with one of the attempts to . . . return him. It had also been the last attempt. Something about the fact that he’d fried a half dozen of the men who’d been involved and Lucia had gone after the others . . .
There was something to be said about having a former mercenary as your housekeeper, he guessed.
Not to mention the fact that she was a killer cook.
“I’m not sure, Luce,” he finally said. “I’m doing a job. Involves a kid.”
The silence between them went strained. Seconds ticked by and finally Lucia said softly, “You didn’t agree to harm a child, Mr. Collins.”
He suspected if he answered in a way that displeased her, she might decide to come hunting his ass. Lucia had lived by few rules in her life as a hired killer, but one of them had been hard and fast. No children harmed. Ever. The reason she’d gotten out was because her handler had decided to try and push that line. When she’d refused, he’d sent people after her.
That was when Tucker and Lucia had met up.
She’d been bleeding out in an alley while he’d been working his own job-collecting information on a drug runner that he’d planned to sell to whoever wanted to pay the most money for it.
He could have walked by. Probably should have.
But when he’d paused by the older woman and looked into those defiant eyes, he’d been sunk.
That had been fifteen years ago. She’d moved out of the life and for a while had acted as a “security” specialist and she and Tucker had often exchanged information, or sold it, depending on the job. But problems from her past life had continued to emerge, and after one of them had landed her in a bloody heap at Tucker’s door, she’d confessed to him that she was tired. All she wanted was a quiet, normal life.
She’d never have one, but Tucker could hide like nobody’s business when he had to. He didn’t mind having somebody around to watch his back, either.
They were a good pair, all in all.
As long as he didn’t cross her lines, and she didn’t cross his.
Her lines were kids.
He smiled a little. “You know me better than that, Luce.”
“Naturally.” Her voice had thawed and Tucker slumped back on the bed, staring up at the cracked, water-stained ceiling over his head. The bed was miserably hard but he’d slept on worse. Hell, he’d spent more than a few years without a bed. This was almost paradise.
“So what is this situation that may or may not be a problem?”
“People after the kid. I stopped the immediate problem, but . . .”
Again, he lapsed into silence. Lucia picked up the ball. “You don’t know if the problem will return.”
“Oh, no. I’m positive it will. Right now, I need to find the kid and my brain feels like it’s been hot-wired.”
“Then perhaps instead of waking me up, you should go find a way to burn the excesses off and clear your mind, focus. So you can do your job.”
“If it was that simple, I’d do it,” he muttered.
“It’s only complicated if you choose to let it be complicated, Mr. Collins,” she said, her voice unconcerned. “Is there anything you need me to do, or may I go back to sleep?”
He blew out a breath. “I think we need to plan on shutting up things here locally and moving on. You think you can handle it?”
There was a long, tense pause. Then, Lucia said, “Do we have . . . past issues aggravating matters, Mr. Collins?”
“No.” Lights flickered. He couldn’t think of those past issues and stay calm, but the flicker was quick. He only saw red for a second. “But I had to give a fake ID to a cop and you know how that goes. So once this is done, we’ll have to move on anyway. You might as well head on out and set things up at the new place.”
“I see. Very well, Mr. Collins. I did enjoy Florida, though. Now . . . why don’t you see about burning off those excesses?”
The phone went dead.
He scowled and muttered something that likely would have had her punching him if she’d been here.
If Lucia Frazier was twenty years younger, he might risk the fact that touching her was a hazard to both her and him. Assuming he wasn’t afraid she’d break him in bed. The woman was scary as hell.
Burn off the excesses.
Shoving to his feet, he grabbed a clean stack of clothes, his gloves. He’d stopped to rest, thinking he might be able to get a better lock on the boy. But that hadn’t happened.
Might as well shower and get back on the road. Maybe he’d get lucky and find some relatively therapeutic way of burning off those excesses.
* * *
NALINI had no trouble tracking Tucker Collins down.
But she did have trouble getting out of her current mess for two days. The people she’d buried herself with weren’t exactly the kind who thought it was okay for her to just . . . waltz out. Even though she’d done just that off and on for several years, hoping to intrigue a madman.
It had worked.
Now she had the madman good and hooked, which was the bad news. He was a possessive, jealous piece of work, that was for certain. Another bit of bad news—she was working the job solo, and if she got jammed up, she was screwed. This wasn’t a contract case with the FBI or anything. This baby was all hers. The one bright spot was that she knew a phone call would get her out of said jam. Assuming she had time. But she was good at reading that sort of thing.
Somehow, she thought Jones might be really, really interested in what she’d uncovered over the past few days.
It went pretty damn deep, too, and she’d just scraped the tip of the iceberg.
If she knew anything about Jones and his unit, they’d just love to bust that iceberg apart. Blow it straight to hell.
But her job, first. All of that had to be done because once Jones brought his people in, the man she was looking for would either bury himself or Jones’s people would bury him.
She wanted to be the one to do that.
“So close,” she muttered. Pulling all those little threads, weaving a careful web, drawing closer and closer to the man she’d been hunting for so long.
And now she was at a standstill, because she couldn’t concentrate. The boy. Screaming. A dying woman . . . no. Dead now. Nalini had connected with her in the moments of death, and there was no way that woman had survived. She’d been hurting so much, and death had almost been a sweet release. Almost. Nalini would never go gladly into that good night, that was for damn sure. She couldn’t do anything to help the woman, but she could focus on the boy. Maybe help him.
That was why she was here. Sighing, she tugged the jeweler’s box from her pocket and flipped it open to study the necklace. It had been given to her a few weeks ago. It was a pretty piece of work, she had to admit. Flawless rubies, diamonds, and gold. Nalini knew her stones and this was worth a lot. It should be worn, admired . . . locked away in a safe when somebody wasn’t wearing it, not shoved into a pocket.
But she couldn’t stand to have it on her skin. When she wore it, the sound of screaming was that much louder. So she kept it in a jeweler’s box and the box was tucked inside the inner pocket of her light jacket. Heaven help her if she was mugged . . .
Then she smirked a little, just thinking of it. Not that it was likely. She could make any man who touched her do just about anything she wanted for short periods of time.
When he’d put this necklace on her, she’d almost made him put a bullet through his own brain. It had taken most of the night to bring herself down off that ledge.
Killing him wouldn’t be a bad thing.
But she had to do her job first.
>
And she couldn’t do it while she was so worried about what was going on with the boy. So she was here . . . all because she’d touched a necklace.
Her main skill was the ability to influence people through touch, to take their energy and . . . work with it. Jones had called it impressions. She could get inside a person’s head, in their soul, and leave an impression. While she was there, she could manipulate a person’s energy, their will. Nalini could channel that person’s energy, if she put her mind to it, and drive people to do either very bad things, or very good things. Since she tended to hunt down scum, she was usually driven to make them want to do bad things . . . to themselves. When she wanted to, though, she could do useful things. When she pulled back, she could filter away some of the negative shit. She didn’t do that much. But then again, when you worked with the scum of the earth, you didn’t have much of a chance to want to do nice things.
The impression/emotional manipulation shit was her main ability, but there was another one, a weaker one that sometimes got in the way. That ability was the reason she was here now and it hadn’t just gotten in the way this time.
It had almost tripped her up in the middle of the job, and if she wasn’t careful, it would get her killed.
A woman crying.
A boy screaming.
A man, almost brutally handsome, staring at the woman, and the woman had known her life . . . and death . . . were in his hands.
Then there was just death.
And the knowledge that the boy was still alive.
She’d gotten a glimpse of him, just that one flash.
She’d lied to Tucker. Lies were, sadly, something she dealt in. She told them, sold them, used them. Half the time, she didn’t know what was truth and what was reality, in part because she sold people another reality entirely, depending on what she needed to accomplish to get her job done.
To accomplish her goal.
Her goal . . . finding one man, one who’d proven to be very, very hard to find. But she had to find him if she ever wanted her life back. It was one of the reasons she wasn’t ever going to officially work for Taylor Jones. He claimed he could help with all of that, but she wasn’t about to let her name into the system, or her prints, or anything else. It was easier to just push some information his way and take the money he’d give her when he was in the mood.
She wasn’t going to barter money or info this time. What she wanted was to point Jones and his group toward that kid. In her gut, she knew why the boy was wanted. Why his mother—and the woman had to be his mother—had been murdered. If anybody could care for a damaged kid, it would be Jones. And if the kid had psychic skill, even better that Jones be the one taking care of him. But first they had to find him.
Narrow things down a bit. That’s where Tucker came in.
Then she’d just give Jones a nudge and sit back, watch while Jones worked.
He might deny any psychic ability, but she’d never seen anybody who could locate their kind the way he could. It was like he had some inborn compass that pointed only to psychics and trouble. She’d once called him Professor X, just to get a rise out of him.
He hadn’t been amused.
She’d almost think he didn’t have a sense of humor. Except she’d gotten that glimpse into him. He had humor. He had heat. He even had a heart, surprisingly enough. He also had a wife, a fact that Nalini had found a damn shame, right up until she’d laid eyes on one Tucker Collins.
There weren’t too many men she’d be willing to drop her guard around. Jones had been one, but he’d never noticed her interest.
Collins, though . . . he was aware of her interest.
And he was interested in return.
She realized they had a complication or two, but that was nothing she couldn’t work with. She’d dealt with volatile types before. She was almost certain she could handle him.
Except instead of walking up to the hotel where she knew he’d rented a room, after more than twenty minutes, Nalini was still standing outside, leaning against her car and staring up at the dark night sky.
A slice of light came spilling out of one of the rooms, and she turned her head. He was too far away and it was too dark out for her to see his face as clearly as she’d like.
But she didn’t need to see him. Tucker’s face was all but imprinted on her memory.
As beautiful as he could possibly be, with those high, arched cheekbones, a jawline that looked like he could take a punch or ten . . . and had, a mouth that would have made her sigh with want if she was disposed to such things. As it was, she just thought about sighing over that mouth. Most people would look at him and think that his hair was the most memorable feature. Deep, dark red . . . completely beautiful. It wasn’t the hair, though. Nor was it the tattoos that crept up over his arms, winding around them and disappearing under the sleeves of his T-shirt. Dressed, she thought, shoving off the car. Even this late at night. Or early in the morning.
What a pity.
No, it wasn’t the hair. Wasn’t the tattoos. Wasn’t even his size and Tucker Collins was a big guy. She’d never been much into that until she’d laid eyes on him.
The thing that made Tucker stand out were the eyes.
A person looked into those eyes and realized very clearly that this was a man who’d clawed his way through life and was going to keep on doing it. He’d killed. She knew it just by looking at him. Death stained the soul and she knew the soul. He’d killed and he didn’t regret it. Nalini was fine with that. She’d killed a few times herself, and she didn’t regret those deaths, either.
His eyes told a story. One of a man who’d caused, and solved, a helluva a lot of trouble.
If Nalini was smart, she’d steer very, very clear of him.
With a slow, lazy smile that felt entirely fake, she shoved off the car and headed toward the open door. The wedge of light framed Tucker too damn well. She stopped just a few feet away, close enough that she could feel the soft buzz that was another psychic’s energy against her skin. Far enough away that she didn’t have to tip her head back to see his face.
She really did like his face.
If it wasn’t for a boy who was in trouble. If it wasn’t for everything that was so damned complicated . . .
If it wasn’t for the screams that echoed in her mind every time she let her thoughts drift for even a minute . . .
“How did you find me?” Tucker bit off even as she let another if it wasn’t . . . dance through her mind.
Smiling a little, she reached out, thinking only that she was curious to see how he’d feel under her hand. That was all she wanted.
A gloved hand caught her right wrist.
The black leather covered his hands from the wrists down, and being the deviant that she was, she had an image of those leather-covered hands covering her. Gliding over her skin, while she straddled him.
“What’s with the leather?” she asked, not bothering to disguise the soft rasp in her voice. “You planning on playing cat burglar or something?”
“Bad things happen when I touch people without them,” he said. He squeezed her wrist once in warning and then let go. “Bad things can happen when people touch me. Just something to keep in mind.”
“Just how bad?” She stared into his eyes. “’Cuz I think it might be worth it.”
* * *
THE woman was a menace.
He’d been in the shower when he felt somebody approach and he’d lowered his shields just enough to figure out who it was. Everybody had a different feel, and nobody felt like her.
He’d spent the last few minutes in the shower with a raging hard-on and it had yet to subside.
He had more wild energy sparking inside him than he normally had to deal with and there she was taunting him. She had a smirk on her beautiful face and the mole by the corner of her mouth was just driving him nut
s.
He was tempted. He thought he could touch her without hurting her. He doubted he’d ever be able to sleep with her. He’d lose control and that was one thing he couldn’t do during sex.
But he could touch her . . . just to see what happened.
Except if he touched her, even once, he suspected he’d need more. And more. And more—which couldn’t happen.
Still, she needed to get an idea of what she was doing. It wasn’t even fire she was playing with. It was lightning and that was way worse. Holding her gaze, he reached up and tugged off one of his gloves. “Worth it, huh?” Still staring into her eyes, he reached out and caught one of her narrow dreads. Fire licked inside his veins, jolted out of his skin, and he smiled a little as she swayed closer. He flooded the air with electricity. The lights flared. In the room behind him, out in the parking lot. Lights halfway down the strip of rooms went out, and he shoved out as much of the power as he could without it going into her.
Behind him, the light bulbs exploded as he shoved more voltage in them than they could handle. Took a lot to do that, but Tucker manipulated energy as easy as he breathed.
As the room was blanketed in darkness, he cut off the current.
The only sound Nalini made was a harsh intake of breath.
And then he felt her hand on his chest.
“Wow. That’s quite a demonstration . . . got any other parlor tricks you can show me?”
He backed away, glaring at her as his eyes adjusted to the absence of light.
She was still smiling, although he thought maybe it was a little more strained this time around. “Parlor tricks?”
“Hmmm. I’d love to see them . . . just not tonight. I need to know where the boy is. He’s in a hell of a lot of trouble.”
He snorted. “You bet your ass he is. He’s got an FBI agent with him. If I was the kid’s guardian, I’d get my ass as far away from her as I could.”
Nalini tensed. “FBI agent?”
“Yeah.” He shoved a hand through his hair and stared at her. “You work with them. Don’t you all ever talk?”
The Protected (Fbi Psychics) Page 16