He waited a beat. “But do you still have a job?”
“Well, that’s not really up to you.” She settled back in her seat and stared outside. They’d just gotten out of Mexico early that morning, and although it was damn late and she was damn tired, she hadn’t been given the option to go home and rest.
No, she was at headquarters, getting debriefed. Well, waiting to get debriefed.
It had taken every last bit of Grady’s considerable diplomatic skills to get them out of Mexico so quickly. She’d lied through her teeth, too, while Joss stood in the background, looking brooding and menacing, which he did rather well.
Now they were waiting for the boss. It struck her as kind of odd that he wasn’t already there, but it was one of those random little thoughts that passed through her mind and then faded.
Just like every other thought of the past few days.
She couldn’t think.
Couldn’t focus.
Couldn’t sleep.
Couldn’t eat.
Nothing seemed to matter anymore, not since the moment she’d turned her back and walked away from Gus.
If you are going to ask if it is true . . . Don’t bother, Vaughnne.
Don’t bother. Like it didn’t matter at all if he’d killed his sister.
Don’t ask? Screw that. She knew it was true, she’d seen it on his face. Just as she’d seen the misery hidden in the back of his eyes. The misery, the pain. The grief. There had to be a reason, she told herself. She could feel it, in the very bottom of her soul. The man she’d come to know might be a killer, but he wasn’t a cold-blooded monster.
She damn well should have asked. Should have pushed. Yeah, there were reasons, all right. And fuck him to hell and back if he thought she just shouldn’t bother to ask.
Her gut churned as she continued to stare outside at the streets. It was late, but the streets were still crowded with cars and buses, people moving along the sidewalks.
What had happened?
Her mind spun, twisted with the possibilities. Had his sister been hurt? Sick? Maybe—
Before she could finish that thought, the door opened and she turned her head, watching as Jones came striding through the doors. He had a man with him, a man that Vaughnne was pretty damn certain she didn’t know.
She was equally certain that he could cause all kinds of problems. He stood solid, straight as a soldier, shoulders back, and even though he wasn’t obvious with it, she had a feeling he’d already looked and judged everybody in the room. Looked, marked the weaknesses, the strengths.
She didn’t much care for that.
“I’d like everybody to meet Antonio Moran. He’s in from Mexico . . . he has a few questions about a fire that took place at a private home, an hour west of Monterrey.”
A fire—
West of Monterrey.
Just like that, and her heart almost stopped. She kept her face blank, though, even as her pulse started to race, as her skin went cold and clammy and all the air squeezed out of her lungs.
A fire—
The world stopped spinning. She’d almost swear to it.
She’d taken Nalini to a hospital in Monterrey. They’d driven east. The home hadn’t been burning when she left. Jones wouldn’t have the guy in here if it was just some random house.
Gus—
Her heart went tight and cold, and there was a scream lodged in her throat.
“I’m attempting to locate a person of interest. I think he might have answers about the fire.” Moran studied her face. “You might have met him while you were in Mexico.”
“I was just there to help a fellow agent, Señor Moran,” she said, moving forward to take a seat. Despite her best attempts, her voice came out a little rougher than she liked. “She needed backup, so I was down there for that, and only that.”
That was the story they’d decided to go with. Nalini had been on an assignment; things had gone to hell. It wasn’t too terribly far from the truth. Except for the fact that Vaughnne hadn’t been sent to help Nalini, and she hadn’t been in Mexico on any sort of job . . . but . . . well. If Jones decided to come clean and let her fend for herself, she’d deal with it then. She’d made her choice.
“The house belonged to a man who has been under intense scrutiny by both my government and yours . . . Ignacio Reyes.”
“Reyes.” A knot swelled in her throat, so large and hard, she could barely talk. Her hands were sweaty and she swiped them down her jeans before reaching for the bottle of water waiting on the table. “Ignacio Reyes. Yeah, I’m familiar with the name. Were there any fatalities?”
“We are still investigating at this point.”
When he didn’t elaborate, she shot Jones a glance, struggling to keep her face blank even though all she wanted to do was jump over the table and demand that he tell her what in the hell was going on. Anything. Everything.
The calm look on his face shattered every last nerve she had and she knew he knew something. Hell, he might know everything. This was Taylor Jones, damn it.
Instead of attacking him, she looked back at Moran. “Exactly what can I do for you, then, señor?”
“I just had a few questions.”
Vaughnne leaned back in her chair and laced her hands over her belly. Maybe that would keep them from shaking so much. “Well, I’m not sure how much help I can be, señor. Reyes was a bastard, but we focus more on missing persons and crimes against children in this unit.” She paused then added, “It wouldn’t hurt my feelings, though, if I heard he’d died in the fire.”
A faint smile came and went on Moran’s face. “I imagine a great many feel the same way, Agent . . .”
“MacMeans. Vaughnne MacMeans.” All the bureaucratic games she had to play. What the hell was going on? “So were there fatalities? Reyes or anybody else?”
Moran studied her face for a long, long moment, and she had a feeling the question hadn’t been quite as subtle as she’d hoped. Hard to be subtle, though, when her heart felt like it was bleeding inside her chest. Gus . . . damn it, Gus. What did you do?
“We’re still in the process of investigating, Agent MacMeans,” he said, inclining his head. “I’m actually not here for information on Reyes, though. I’m looking for information on somebody else. A man, about your age, perhaps a few years older.”
“This would be your . . . person of interest?” She made herself smile.
Gus.
As he placed his briefcase on the conference table, Vaughnne tried to breathe around the ache in her chest. Tried, but it was so damn hard. Her heart felt like it was broken and she wanted to demand answers but she had already messed things up so bad and she knew it.
Then Moran pulled out a slim file from the briefcase and opened it. A second later, she saw a picture. Her heart jumped into her throat and she was so very glad she’d had years to learn how to hide her reaction. When she saw Gus’s averted profile, everything inside her felt frozen. Ready to shatter at just one blow.
Unblinking, she stared at the grainy image. Oh, it was him. There was no denying it, even though it was a lousy picture. All she could see was his profile, the carved line of his jaw, the ball cap turned backward.
“Does he look at all familiar to you?”
She made herself sigh and lean forward, studying the picture under a pretense of trying to see it better. Gus . . . “Hell, that could be anybody, Señor Moran. Well. Not anybody.” She jerked her chin toward Jones. “It’s probably not him. It’s not Crawford.” She flicked a glance at the quiet, brooding agent by the wall. “Not too many people have a mug like his. I don’t think it’s you or me. But it could be a million men.”
No. Just one. One who’d proven to be rather good at blending in.
She wanted to reach out and snag the picture from Moran, clutch it close, and ask if he had more. Ask if he had news a
bout Gus.
But she didn’t.
Something big was going on, and although fear curdled inside her heart, she wasn’t going to say a damn thing until she knew more. Not a damn thing. Too many things could make a bad situation even worse. For her . . . and worse, for Gus.
Moran held her gaze for a long moment. “Does that mean you do not know him?”
“It means I don’t know if I know him.” She hoped the ache in her heart wouldn’t show on her face. Why . . . those had been her last words to him.
Had he set the fire?
That was a stupid question, she realized. Of course he had. The real question was, had he gotten out?
Her heart lurched, just thinking about it. Gus had always acted like he wouldn’t be surprised if the trip to Mexico turned out to be a one-way thing. But Alex, what about Alex?
What about me . . .
If Gus was dead . . . no! She shoved the thought aside before it could even settle. No.
She’d get answers. Somehow. Once she had them, then she’d deal . . . somehow.
She peered at the image, head cocked. Tears burned inside her throat, in her chest. Gus . . .
“It could be almost anybody, sir,” she said softly.
“Yes.” He stared at her, his gaze unreadable. “I suppose it could.”
* * *
JONES returned nearly thirty minutes after he’d escorted Moran out.
He spoke to Nalini, and although Vaughnne was right there, she couldn’t recall much of anything he said. It was like he was speaking another language.
But then Nalini left, Grady following along behind her. Joss lingered a few more minutes and then he left as well.
The door shut and the tension in the room almost shattered her, and she was hovering on the brink as it was, about to come out of her skin. She’d spent every second of the past half hour on her iPhone, trying to unearth details about the fire, but she hadn’t learned anything. The boys down in Mexico were keeping that little mess locked down tight. There wasn’t even any information about Reyes’s death, and that should be front-page news.
Feeling the weight of Jones’s stare, she made herself look away from the phone and focus on her boss.
His steely blue eyes should have made her nervous.
But she was already sick with fear, pain. What the hell did it matter if her job was in jeopardy just then?
“The man you lied to is one of the higher-ranking diplomats,” Jones said, his voice a cold slice in the room.
She lifted a brow, refusing to let herself react. “Hey, did you see that picture? Shit, I can find you five men in this damn building now who could probably pass for that guy in the picture.”
“You could,” he agreed. “Give me twenty minutes and some hair dye, and I could pass for the guy in the picture. But you knew who it was. I saw it in your eyes, Vaughnne, and if that man knew you at all, he would have seen it, too.”
Spinning away, she paced over to the window and stared outside. “What do you want me to say, Jones?” she asked softly. “I can’t help him. I don’t know where Gus is. Where he was going. What he is planning.”
“Did you know he was going to blow the house up?”
She closed her eyes. “No.”
But maybe she should have thought that through. Gus wouldn’t have risked leaving any sign that might lead to Alex. If Reyes had left anything behind that could point the way to the kid, then Gus would have razed an entire country to the ground to protect his nephew.
Blowing up a house? He wouldn’t even think twice.
“Was there any word about him?” she asked.
A heavy, taut silence weighed between them, and finally, a soft sigh drifted from Taylor. “That’s why he was here, Vaughnne—looking for information. He didn’t say it in as many words, but that was my take on it.”
“He could have been in the house,” she said, and a lance of pain went through her, so deep, so crippling, it almost drove her to her knees. Not Gus. No. It hurt even to think about it. But the thought was there, settling in her mind and growing roots. She couldn’t knock it.
“If . . .” She had to stop and clear her throat before she could continue. “If he was, then that means Alex has nobody, Taylor. Nobody. He’s a gifted kid who has had a life of hell. If he’s lost his uncle . . .”
“Maybe his uncle should have thought of that,” Taylor bit off. Then he swore.
She turned around to look at him, watched as he reached up to tug at his tie. She had to focus, see this through, even if her heart was bleeding inside. “But that’s not Alex’s fault.”
He gave her a dark look. “I know that.”
“So what happens to him?” She’d promised. And no matter what, no matter how much she hurt, she’d see that promise through. “You can’t just send him back to Mexico. He has nobody. Has nothing. And—”
He lifted a hand, staring at the wall. “You know I’m not going to do that, Vaughnne, so just stop.” He tugged his askew tie off, glanced at it, and then sighed, draping it around his neck so that the ends hung free. “Even if it wasn’t for his . . . circumstances, he’s a victim of the situation. But he’s got months ahead of him before he’ll have his gift under control. We have to make sure he’s trained before he ends up another target. And we have to keep him safe. Assuming, of course, his uncle doesn’t show up.” His lip curled. “It just might be easier if his uncle never showed his face again.”
“Shut the hell up, Jones,” she said, the words flying out of her mouth before she could silence them.
When Taylor shifted his gaze to her, she stared right back at him. She’d already jacked this job up. What did it matter if she said what she thought now?
His steely eyes bored into hers and she lifted her chin. “What?” she demanded.
“You might want to check the attitude, Vaughnne,” he said softly. “You have caused so much trouble, I don’t even know if I can begin to fix all of this, so cut the bullshit.”
“Cut the bullshit?” She gaped at him. “That man was willing to do whatever it took to protect his nephew. Whatever it took. All they had was each other and Gus might be—”
Her voice cracked and she spun away, lifting her hands to hide her face. She couldn’t do this. Not here. Not now.
Behind her, she heard a sigh. A moment later, Taylor tugged on her shoulder. She jerked away, but he just pulled again, and a moment later, she found herself caught in Taylor’s arms, her face pressed against his chest. The terrified tears were still trapped inside, though. She couldn’t let them out. Not here. Not now.
Taylor was more than just her boss. He might be a straitlaced bastard and the world saw a cold piece of work, but he was the closest thing to family she had. But she wasn’t ready to break around him. She closed her eyes, clenched her hands into fists, and made herself breathe. She had to breathe, had to function and focus so she could ask him what she needed to know.
One minute after another slowly passed, but finally, she thought she could manage. “Do you know anything?”
His chest rose and fell on a sigh. He squeezed her gently and then eased back, studying her face. He still looked pissed, she decided. But his eyes were a little less icy. “Some, yes.” He moved away and took up a position at the window, staring outside. “Moran is mostly on a fishing expedition, Vaughnne. If he knew where Gus was, he wouldn’t be fishing.”
A few seconds of silence passed and the ache that might have hope swelled inside her. Taylor flicked her a glance. “Dead bodies are usually pretty easy to locate in a fire, you know. If you weren’t so . . . close to this, you’d have already come to that conclusion, I guess. If Gus was one of his, he would have already done what was necessary to ID him.”
“One of his . . .”
A faint smile came and went on Taylor’s face. “Give me some credit, Vaughnne. I’ve pieced some thi
ngs together about him, you know. And I know what kind of operation Moran runs. Although if I’d had any clue who Gus was before this . . .” His voice trailed off and he shook his head.
“You would have done exactly what you did,” she finished. “A kid was involved. You and I both know . . . kids are worth it.” She closed her eyes. “One of his. Why didn’t he go to Moran back then?”
“Too many corrupt people,” he murmured. “Reyes had a very, very long reach. I imagine he didn’t want to risk the boy.”
“No. He wouldn’t have taken the chance.” She rubbed her eyes. She pushed all thought of Gus out of her head. She’d think about him later. When she could actually do it and not worry about others seeing her fall apart. “What’s going to happen with Alex now?”
“For now, he stays where he is,” Taylor said, his voice flat. “Until we know more, there’s nothing else that can be done.”
Until we know more—
She started to tremble. The need to break weighed heavily on her.
“Vaughnne.” Taylor looked over at her. “Go home. Come back tomorrow. We’ll start cleaning things up then.”
She nodded and tried a weak smile. “Should I bring a box to clean out my desk?”
“No.” He folded his arms across his chest and resumed his study of the parking lot. “I might need one by the time this is over, but we’ll cross that bridge when we come to it.”
* * *
GUS had planned to do . . . something.
He didn’t know what.
But he’d planned to do . . . something when she came inside.
She came inside, a dazed, almost drugged look on her face, like she didn’t know where she was. Who she was. Part of him wanted to grab her and shake her, scold her for her carelessness, because she didn’t even look around.
He wasn’t hiding. The room was dim, but he stood in the corner, leaning against the wall, and all she had to do was look around and she’d see him.
But all she did was shut the door and flip the locks.
Then . . . she stood there.
Her back to him. Her shoulders rose and fell rapidly, and distantly, he was aware of the harsh sounds of her breathing filling the room. She leaned forward and pressed her forehead to the door. A sob ripped out of her. She slammed a fist against the door and the sound of it caught him off guard.
The Protected (Fbi Psychics) Page 33