The Protected (Fbi Psychics)

by Walker, Shiloh

  “We going inside?” she asked, trying to act like she wasn’t desperate to touch him. Desperate to see him, be near him. How had he hit her like this? A few weeks ago, she’d been stuck behind a desk, dealing with bitching headaches and wondering when she could get back out in the field.

  And now, here she was, still dealing with bitching headaches, back out in the field . . . and standing in front of a man who had come to mean way too much to her, especially considering how very little she really knew about him.

  He lifted a hand and brushed a stray curl back from her face, tucking it behind her ear. “If you were smart, you’d try to lose me once you were inside the store. Take off, steal a car, and get away from here. Before it’s too late. Once they connect you to me, do you understand you may never be able to go back to your life?”

  “I’ve never been much on doing the smart thing. Just the thing that felt right.” She shrugged and tried not to react as he shifted his attention from her hair to her mouth. He cupped her chin in his hand, stroked his thumb along her lower lip. The light touch sent all sorts of sparks and heat dancing down her spine and she wanted to shudder. Shiver. Quiver. She was quivering. And hungry, so damn hungry for him, but this wasn’t the time, wasn’t the place. Not that they were likely to have that anytime soon. “Besides, how likely am I to get away if I tried?”

  Lashes swept low. “If you ran now, I might let you go. You never should have gotten caught up in this. I’ve got enough blood on my hands. I . . .”

  His voice trailed off and then he shook his head. “Come on. We’re wasting time.”

  “Yeah, and there’s none of that,” she said, sighing. Edging around him, trying to ignore the ache spreading through her, she started to the store. “I’ll call Jones once we’re done with the pit stop and grabbing up some food for the road. I’ve got cash if you don’t.”

  There was no answer. She couldn’t hear him behind her as she headed into the store.

  But he was following her. She was excruciatingly aware of that fact.

  * * *

  THEY bought some throwaway cell phones.

  Gus had several of them stashed in his bag, but he didn’t want to use them until he had to, so before they left, he peeled off a few twenties and bought two more, added a few cards to their purchases so they would have airtime. Vaughnne stood next to him, her right hand hanging loose, her left thumb hitched in her pocket as she stood there, a bored expression on her face.

  She might look bored to anybody else, but he recognized that look.

  She was watching. Noticing everything.

  The door opened and a gust of hot air blew in, and even though her expression never changed, he imagined she could tell him everything about the person who’d just walked in.

  Of course, he’d also noticed.

  A trucker. Big guy, nearly six foot five, black, his beard going gray and his head smooth and bald, shiny in the bright light. He wore a faded T-shirt with Mr. T on it, and although it hung loosely on him, it couldn’t disguise the muscular build. Automatically, Gus cataloged how the man moved, decided the guy knew how to move and probably knew how to fight, as well.

  But he was older and he looked tired, like he’d spent the entire day on the road.

  He also had a direct look about him, and if Gus had to kill him, he’d do it quick and easy.

  It was normal, for him, to note everything about everybody and decide how he’d kill somebody. Some people would die slow, because if he made it slow, he could get information out of them. Others, he’d kill fast because they’d never talk, or if they did talk, it would take too much time, and time was one thing Gus never wasted.

  The man looked like one who knew how to take pain.

  Stop it, a soft voice murmured into his mind. Shifting his eyes to the side, he eyed Vaughnne narrowly.

  She lifted a brow at him, and once more, her voice rolled through him. Stop. He’s just a trucker. If he was more, I’d know. He’s not.

  He wondered how she was so certain, when she had been the one to point out to him that there were psychics who could hide themselves very, very well—she hadn’t sensed the two earlier. And Alex hadn’t ever sensed a thing from her.

  But then again, Vaughnne and Alex were two very different creatures. Even he could see that.

  Alex might be a wildfire, deadly and strong, but Vaughnne was forged steel. Equally deadly, equally strong. And she had control.

  Control . . . questions, demands, burned inside him, and abruptly, he was tired of not having those answers. Especially when there was somebody who could answer them.

  As they paid for their purchases, he decided, then and there, he’d get the questions.

  “You want us to get these activated for you?” the kid behind the counter asked.

  “No.” Gus looked away before the kid could offer anything else, and in another few minutes, they were out of the store. He took a slow look around the parking lot even as they headed for the car, his mind already focused on those questions.

  “How am I calling Jones?” Vaughnne asked softly.

  He pulled his phone from his back pocket and pushed it into her hand. “We’ll toss it once the call is done. I assume you know the number.”

  “You assume correctly.”

  As she went to open the driver’s door, he stopped her, gesturing to the other side of the car. As Vaughnne went to climb into the car, she paused, her body tensing. The expression on her face had the hair on the back of his neck standing on end.

  “I don’t think I’m making that call yet,” she said softly, tension threaded through her voice.

  He just nodded as they slid into the car. Those answers he wanted would have to wait. From the corner of his eye, he could see her muscles tighten, then relax, like she was readying herself.

  “A couple of people,” she murmured. “I feel something.”

  “A white Explorer just pulled into the far side of the parking lot. Do I stay here or pull out?” he asked, jamming the key into the ignition. Asking for advice on which move to make felt foreign, but this was her territory. He should have listened to her before this. It was high time he did so.

  Vaughnne looked around and then gestured as a large group of people came pouring out of the travel plaza, heading for a couple of cars parking a few spaces down. “Pull out when they do. Enough commotion will distract them for a minute.”

  “Once we’re on the road, we have to move,” he said grimly. He kept his gaze on the white SUV, watched as it disappeared out of his line of sight.

  She gave him a lazy smile. “Yeah. That would be wise.” That lazy smile remained firmly in place even as he placed his bag in her lap and it didn’t even wobble as she lifted a brow and unzipped it. “Damn, Gus. You believe in coming prepared, don’t you?”

  He didn’t respond as he backed the car up, moving with the others she’d pointed out.

  She slid him a look. “Do us both a favor and keep pace with them for a few minutes. Trust me, even if they notice us, they aren’t going to want the attention of the cops, so they are not going to be speeding or any crazy shit.”

  He didn’t give a damn if the cops noticed him or not, but even as he went to tell her that, she cut him off. “If we end up in a high-speed chase heading through southern Mississippi, it’s not going to help either of us. And while I can probably help with things as long as you don’t piss off the locals, if they see these?” She gestured to the bag in her lap and shook her head. “All bets are off. I may be FBI, but I still have to follow the law. And none of these look terribly legal to me.”

  He shot a look in the rearview mirror while the skin on the back of his neck continued to crawl. “I’m not worried about the legalities, Vaughnne.” The white Explorer wasn’t behind them. Yet.

  “I get that. I suspect you think you’ve crossed the point of no return, and I understand. B
ut don’t you think it would serve your purpose to at least get to him before we both go down in fiery crash?”

  He curled his lip. “None of the cops around here would be able to stop me.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Your arrogance is so appealing, really. But how about this . . . none of the cops around here have done a damn thing to you, and if this ends up in a high-speed chase because you won’t pull over for them, people will get hurt. Think about that . . . for five seconds. I’m probably throwing my career away as it is, but I’d rather not let anybody innocent get hurt while I’m at it.”

  He clenched his jaw as he stared out the window, too aware of the long, mostly empty expanse of highway wrapping around them. The cars they’d followed out of the travel plaza had just headed east.

  But so far, the white Explorer was still back at the plaza. “I’ll try to behave,” he said.

  Try.

  “Why aren’t they following us?”

  “They might not have known we were there.” She shrugged and glanced back at the plaza as the road curved around. A few seconds later, it was gone from their sight. “Sometimes a psychic just gets a blip, a flash of some place or thing. It could have been that. They could have somebody who gets visions and they were looking for us because of that. Who knows? It doesn’t matter as long as we avoid them.”

  “That’s going to make this fun,” he muttered, pushing his baseball cap off. He tossed it into the backseat and shoved his fingers through his hair while various plans of attack ran through his mind.

  “Is that website still up?” he asked.

  “I don’t know.” She pulled her phone out. A few seconds later, she angled the display toward him. “Yes. And the fucking ad.”

  “Mierda.” The damn website. Alex . . . was he safe?

  He didn’t know that one crucial thing.

  But he did know somebody was chasing after them.

  “If they’ve found us, could they have found him?” he asked softly.

  Long, painfully quiet seconds stretched out before she finally answered, “It’s a vague possibility, but unless they’ve got an army, they’ll have a hard time getting him away from Jones. It’s not just one man he’s got watching him now, Gus. It’s an entire unit who’ll take care of him. And they are all very, very good at what they do.”

  EIGHTEEN

  WHEN they split up at the hospital, Tucker had to make a choice. It wasn’t an easy one and it wasn’t a fun one, but it was necessary.

  Jones and the kid went one way, with a woman Tucker didn’t know trailing along behind them in a sleek little convertible Jaguar. He wasn’t much for modern cars, but he had to admit, that was one nice-looking car and he had no idea how she afforded it on an FBI agent’s salary. And she had to be with Jones. Even though she had it all wrapped up nice and neat, Tucker felt the power of her mind even from a block away.

  While those three headed north, Vaughnne remained at the hospital.

  Since he’d promised Nalini he’d watch over the kid, he headed north, too.

  And all through the night, he followed them. Bit by bit, in a rhythm so subtle he barely noticed, he realized the “glow” of the boy’s mind was ebbing away.

  Not in a dangerous way, exactly. He could still feel the kid, the same way he could sense the pretty psychic in the Jag. But he wasn’t radiating so bright. Some weird shit. Made it harder to track him, really, because that wild power was the one thing guiding him, and eventually, he had to move in closer to keep them all where he could sense them.

  When they pulled over for dinner at a fast-food place, he pulled in for gas at the station across the street, filling up and adding a few gallons to the gas cans he kept in the back for emergencies. All the while, he watched the cars across the way, ready to take off, and grateful Lucia had convinced him to keep emergency supplies in his car. Emergency supplies including water . . . and food. The energy bars tasted like shit, but since he couldn’t exactly hop over to McDonald’s—

  “Hey!”

  He jerked his head up and looked across the street.

  Hell.

  It was the woman.

  She held a bag in one hand, the other was propped on her hip, and she stared at him with a grin.

  * * *

  “WELL, well, well . . .”

  Taylor had met more than a few men and women who had made it clear they’d rather die than join his merry little band of misfits. He was looking at another, he suspected.

  It was a damn shame, because he’d managed to get a little bit of information out of Joss Crawford about this guy.

  Tucker was the only name he’d been given, but he’d unearthed more on his own.

  He went by Tucker Collins . . . now.

  Up until he’d disappeared at the age of fifteen, he’d been known as James Tucker Friend, son of Meredith Friend, adopted by the late Senator Bartholomew Friend.

  Old Bart had been a man that Taylor didn’t think he’d like, judging by some of the information he’d come across. Taylor made his living on information, after all. And he suspected his information was more than . . . accurate. Bart had been found dead the night of his fiftieth birthday and his stepson missing. Foul play was suspected, of course, but everybody believed the stepson was kidnapped. Meredith still routinely made very passionate pleas on the anniversary of her husband’s death, pretty little pleas for information on the whereabouts of her only child.

  She had red hair, like Tucker did.

  Dark eyes. Cold eyes.

  He didn’t have to wonder what she’d do to find her kid. He had heard all about the body trail that had followed Tucker over the years, but that wasn’t a problem for him. Not when he had an idea just what old Bart had been doing only moments before he was found dead in Tucker’s room by a maid. One who was new in the household and had panicked, calling the police instead of running to the missus, who had been outside with her guests.

  Police and private investigators had searched far and wide for the boy. None of them had found him. Taylor didn’t have to wonder just how a boy of fifteen had evaded law enforcement officials. The man in front of him looked to be the type who could do almost anything he needed to. Hide, flee, steal, kill.

  As Tucker came striding toward him, the air around them went hot and tight, and although there wasn’t a cloud in the sky, it seemed like there was a storm dancing on the horizon.

  Alex leaned in closer to him, and absently, Taylor reached up, rested a hand on the boy’s shoulder.

  “He thinks you’re taking me away,” Alex said softly.

  “Don’t worry about it,” Taylor promised even as he shifted his body to guard the boy a little better.

  Taige was just two feet away. If he had to have this confrontation here and now, he figured Taige was a decent person to have with him. She was one of his bloodhounds, but she also had a decent telekinetic gift and one she’d honed into a weapon. Hopefully they wouldn’t have to do anything out in the open, but Tucker Collins was a wild card. Taylor could read people pretty damn well, and he suspected Tucker was willing to do anything and everything to accomplish his goals.

  “I’m not going with him,” Alex said softly. “He wants to take me back to Florida . . . or somewhere. There’s a woman. It has something to do with a woman. I don’t know her. She can’t help me.”

  Abruptly, Tucker stopped in his tracks, and even though he was ten feet away, Taylor suspected he’d heard the kid. Alex gulped and Taylor squeezed his shoulder. He wanted to tell the kid not to worry, but it was a waste of breath. At this point, he was a little worried. He had some level of control over his agents—usually—but Tucker wasn’t one of his and control was out the window and screaming on its way down to earth.

  “Kid . . . stay out of my head,” Tucker said, his voice quiet, despite the fact that it managed to carry over the distance that separated them.

&n
bsp; Alex flinched.

  Taige snorted. “Oh, take a flying leap, pal. He’s not in your head. He’s still trying to learn some control and all those random thoughts are out there like bits and pieces of a song. You don’t want him hearing anything? Then you better just stop thinking until he knows how to close all those doors.”

  Tucker cut a glance her way and his eyes narrowed.

  She just smiled serenely at him.

  As he went to take a step in her direction, she angled her head to the side. “Nah. I think I like you better there, pal.”

  Taylor felt that. That odd twist when she was using her abilities. He wasn’t psychic, but as much time as he spent around them, he knew how to recognize when they were using their gifts, and he suspected the reason Tucker had stopped was because he had no choice.

  “I don’t like it when people pull shit like that,” Tucker said. His voice was neutral. But that odd, heavy feeling, like a storm surging closer and closer, increased.

  “Promise me you’ll be a good boy and I won’t.” Taige shrugged, looking unconcerned. “I heard about what went down in Orlando, you know. Word travels. We heard reports of somebody fitting your description on the scene there and I have an idea of what happened with the slave ring, too. I have my own theories on what you can do, so unless you plan on behaving? You can keep your distance.”

  The lights in the parking lot all flashed on, burning hot and bright—so hot, they exploded. People screamed in surprise. Alex flinched. Taylor clenched his jaw as he watched the display play out between Taige and Tucker. Taige just smirked. “You think that is going to freak me out, buddy?”

  “Nah. I think you’re too stupid to be freaked out. But you can take it as a warning . . . I don’t need to be close—”

  He didn’t get another word out, and Taylor sighed. If anybody else had been standing close, they’d see what he saw. The way Tucker’s throat went in, like an invisible hand was squeezing it. In a way, that’s exactly what it was. Taige’s gift . . . the way she’d honed her telekinesis into an offensive skill. He’d actually been at the receiving end of it a time or two and it wasn’t pleasant.