The Protected (Fbi Psychics)

by Walker, Shiloh

  “I’m lousy at it,” he said. But there was a bit of a smile on his face. “Jillian is good at it. I could get better. But . . .” Then he shrugged. “Gus will be coming for me soon and we won’t have the money for things like this. It’s fun, though.”

  “Actually . . .” She blew out a breath and opened the folder. Gus hadn’t just left the legal documents. Taylor was already doing what he could; he’d started that ball rolling once Vaughnne had talked to him. Still, all in all, this was just a nightmare in the making.

  The good news, Alex was underage and hadn’t had any say in what the adults in his life had done. His mother was dead, his father was dead. Taylor would go to the wall to keep the boy from going back to a place where he’d be in danger and the man had a lot of pull, knew a lot of people who owed him favors.

  The bad news . . . it was going to be a rough road before this all settled down, and she had to break Alex’s heart.

  Withdrawing the letter Gus had written for the boy, she held it out. “He isn’t coming back,” she said gently. “I’m sorry.”

  * * *

  GUS didn’t set the house on fire, although part of him wanted to see another piece of that hell go up in flames. These men had known about Alex. He was careful, leaving no sign of himself, and unless the authorities there were very, very good, they’d assume exactly what Gus had wanted them to assume. A card game between two friends, gone very, very wrong.

  The last pair had an unfortunate accident while driving.

  There were three more who had been in Reyes’s inner circle.

  They would be the hardest to track down, though. After this, they would all be more cautious. And the others were smarter, had taken more care.

  It was going to be harder, from here on out.

  Still, once he had eliminated the final few, he’d . . .

  He’d what?

  Gus really didn’t know the answer to that.

  He stopped on the beach, staring out at the almost painful blue of the Pacific while that question echoed inside him. He’d what?

  “Killing your way through Mexico, Gustavo?”

  He tensed at the sound of that voice. He had his weapon, tucked under his shirt at his back. But it was a question, really. Could he draw it before the man behind him shot him?

  Antonio Moran had made him who he was. What he was. The older man was in his late fifties, but he was still one deadly son of a bitch. Slowly, he turned and eyed the man who’d held his leash for almost fifteen years. Up until Gus had slipped that leash to go rescue his sister.

  He’d failed there.

  But he wasn’t going back on that leash, either. If he hadn’t been so afraid of the hell he could bring to Consuelo’s door, perhaps he could have saved her and Alejandro.

  “Nothing to say?”

  He just stood there as Moran crossed the sand to stop just a few feet away.

  “I’ve got a number of dead bodies that I can track back to you, and you’re just going to stand there and stare at me like you’d rather see me dead than speak,” Moran said, sighing a little.

  “There’s not much reason to speak, is there?”

  Moran inclined his head. Then he shifted his gaze and looked out over the water. “I am sorry for your sister. For the problems you’ve had these past few years. If you had come to me . . .” He stopped and shrugged. “But there is no reason why you would have.”

  “Reyes would have done anything to bring his son home. The man was an abusive monster and he had contacts everywhere. He even had men on your payroll, and we both know it. Now . . . why would I have come to you?”

  “I would have protected anybody you brought to me,” Moran said softly. “Surely you know that.”

  “I believe you would have tried.” Gus did believe that much. “But you cannot control all of those under you, not when you knowingly allow rats to exist under your thumb, just to see what crumbs they’ll leave.”

  “I’d never put an innocent child in harm’s way,” Moran said.

  Gus laughed humorlessly. “I wasn’t much more than a child when you dragged me into this.”

  “But you were never innocent.” Moran shrugged as if that made all the difference.

  “I’m not coming back,” Gus said. “If that is why you are here, you waste your time. You might as well kill me now.”

  Moran made a tsking sound under his breath. “And here we were, having such a nice conversation. Have I threatened you at all? Insisted that you come back?”

  “There is no other reason for you to be here.”

  Moran tipped his face back to the sun. “Perhaps I just wanted to see for my own eyes that you were still alive. You stayed hidden for a long time, Gustavo. And you went after a very dangerous man.”

  “You made me for just that purpose.”

  Silence fell and then Moran nodded. “Yes. Indeed I did.”

  He reached into his pocket and held something out.

  Gus ignored it.

  Moran just let it fall to the sand. “You feared staying close to your family because of the life men like us lead, Gustavo. I can respect that. I understand it. I even pushed you to do just that. But you don’t have to continue this life . . . you got lost in the world once. Do it again, mi amigo. Get lost and take care of that boy. Give him a real life.”

  Gus bit back his response and stayed where he was, ignoring whatever it was on the sand as he stared out over the water. He could never fully escape the past he had here. It would always find him, he thought. He couldn’t create a new life out of nothing.

  Moments passed. He didn’t know how much time passed. He was alone on the beach. Moran had left, leaving behind nothing but a sealed envelope. Scowling, Gus knelt down and tore it open. The letter inside, the documents, all they did was make him scowl. A new birth certificate, a new passport . . . the promise of a new life. What . . . what was this?

  A new life. Meaningless, now. Alex was gone. Vaughnne . . .

  Mierda.

  Even as he thought of the futile, fanciful impossibility of it, something brushed against his mind. It was faint at first. Then harder, and louder, like something was slamming against his skull—from the inside.

  Vaughnne . . . her voice an echo, like it was coming to him through a tunnel. Or maybe over thousands of miles.

  I’m getting ready to break this kid’s heart, you son of a bitch. Wherever you are, I hope you’re having fun.

  Don’t suppose it ever occurred to you to try this with me together? This kid could use two people in his life who love him. We could have both given him a home . . . I would have been happy to have you in my life, Gus. But you’re too much a coward to try it.

  He tensed, holding his breath as he waited for more.

  “Vaughnne.” He closed his eyes and whispered her name again.

  But she couldn’t hear him. That wasn’t her gift.

  And he didn’t have any.

  * * *

  ALEX was a quiet shadow at her side as she led him into her apartment.

  It wasn’t much.

  The second bedroom was mostly used as an office, but she’d already figured that problem out. She could move her desk into her room. It would be cramped, but that wasn’t a problem. The bookshelves would go into the living room. Problem solved.

  She flicked on the light and automatically checked the room, wishing she’d sense some dark, quiet shadow hiding in wait.

  He’d changed his mind.

  He’d realized he was wrong.

  Something.

  Anything.

  But they were alone.

  She knew it.

  So did Alex.

  “He’s not coming back.” It was the first time Alex had spoken in over three hours.

  She locked the door and then looked over at him. His eyes, so like his uncle’s,
met hers, and the pain there all but broke her heart all over again. She’d known this would happen, she thought absently. The very first time she’d seen that kid, she’d had a feeling he’d break her heart, and she’d been right.

  “No, Alex,” she said softly. “I don’t think he is.”

  He nodded, his eyes taking on a dull, lost look.

  Unable to stop herself, she crossed to him and caught him in her arms.

  Slowly, he wrapped his arms around her waist and rested his head on her shoulder as he started to cry. “I’m sorry, kid,” she whispered. “I’m so sorry.”

  “Why did he leave?”

  Closing her eyes, she wished she could figure out the right way to answer that. But there was no right answer when a boy’s world had just been shattered . . . again. “I think he believes he’s doing the right thing. He’s a smart guy, your uncle. But he’s not very bright sometimes, huh?”

  A hard sob shook him. “He left me. He really left me.”

  It was a pain that she understood. No, her parents hadn’t left her. They’d thrown her away like she was nothing more than trash. Worse . . . they’d thrown her out, in fear and hatred. Hugging him tighter, she said softly, “I know, Alex. I know. You’ll get through this, I swear. And I can promise you this, as long as God lets me, I will be here. I won’t leave you, I won’t throw you out. I’ll be here for you . . . I’ll love you and take care of you and I’ll fight for you and with you. I’m not your mom and I’m not Gus, but I’ll do my best for you, I swear.”

  Whether it was the right thing to say or not, she didn’t know.

  But it was all she had.

  TWENTY-FIVE

  IT was a rare thing for her to wake up and smell food cooking.

  Very rare. As in it never happened. Not even in the past two months since she’d starting sharing her home with somebody else. Sharing . . . as in making somebody else part of her life.

  It was a weird adjustment to make; making somebody else part of her life.

  But as weird as that was, she still couldn’t quite accept what her senses were telling her.

  Breakfast. Made by somebody else. Did Alex know how to cook?

  Turning her head, she eyed the clock with a scowl. It was seven. On a Saturday. Alex up early . . . and cooking?

  Scowling, she sat up and tried to figure out how she felt about a kid cooking breakfast in her kitchen. Granted, this was a kid who had more responsibility thrown at him than was really fair, and yeah, he kind of knew his way around a kitchen. Kind of, as in he knew how to make hot dogs and macaroni and cheese. But she’d thought that was it.

  Still, they could discuss that after she had some bacon.

  Her mouth was watering as she paused long enough to put on a bra and something other than the spaghetti tank she usually slept in. She’d gotten used to not being able to sleep in nothing, but all the little adjustments were strange.

  She wasn’t even down the hallway when the door to the room she’d given Alex opened. He stood there and gave her a sleepy smile. “You’re making breakfast?” he said.

  Her heart jumped into her throat even as adrenaline jumped up to high. She stared down the hall toward the stairwell. Go back into your room for a minute, Alex.

  He blinked at her, frowning.

  Then he cocked his head and peered down the steps.

  Something flitted through his eyes, and before she could grab him, he was running downstairs.

  She caught him halfway down. Did you not hear me? she demanded, putting enough volume into her mental voice that she saw him flinch. Wait in your room.

  “But it’s Gus,” he told her. “I can feel it.”

  The strength wanted to drain out of her legs.

  Shaking her head, she pointed up the stairs and hoped he’d listen. Part of her wanted to believe him. Who else would be in her house cooking bacon?

  But she’d taken a kid into her home and that meant she’d protect him. Even against bacon-making intruders who might or might not be his uncle.

  Slowly, Alex pulled back and nodded, trudging back up the stairs. She eased her way down them, although considering how much noise they’d made just now, was there really any point in being quiet?

  Her heart slammed hard against her ribs as she pressed her back against the wall, peering around the corner. There, just there, on the long skinny table behind the sofa, she spied a ball cap. It wasn’t hers. It wasn’t Alex’s. Seeing it made her heart ache even more.

  She took a deep, slow breath and eased forward one more step.

  “One thing I can manage well enough is breakfast.”

  At the sound of his voice, she sagged back against the wall. Not certain she trusted her ears or her eyes, she stood there. Was she awake? Yeah. She was pretty certain she was.

  “It won’t be warm, though, if you two don’t come in here soon.”

  Lifting her head, she focused on the man standing in the doorway.

  He wore a pale blue polo, the closest thing to dress wear that she’d ever seen him in. His eyes rested on her face, and the look in his gaze was cautious.

  Vaughnne didn’t know whether she wanted to throw herself at him, or the nearest heavy object.

  “If you’re going to break that kid’s heart again,” she said, focusing on the most important thing, “I’m going to hurt you in so many ways.”

  He shook his head.

  What that meant, she didn’t know, but she had to hope it meant something. Because just then, she heard a creak on the steps, and when she leaned over to look, she saw Alex there, a look on his face that melted her, even as it infuriated her. “Come on down, Alex.”

  She barely had time to move before he was blasting past her.

  Seconds later, the boy was wrapped in his uncle’s arms. And she had to admit, even if she’d cried herself to sleep a few times over the past couple of months, it was a sight that did her heart good.

  Then Alex jerked back and punched Gus in the arm. “Tell me you’re not leaving again,” the boy demanded. “You . . . you . . . you stupid cabrón. You tell me you won’t leave me again.”

  Gus’s brows arched over his eyes. “I ought to tell you to watch your mouth, but I suspect I deserve that.” Then he sighed and leaned in, pressing his brow to Alex’s. “No. I’m not leaving. We’re family, Alex. We should be together.”

  Alex hugged him, sniffling.

  Over the boy’s head, Gus stared at her.

  She inclined her head. “Took you a while to figure that out. I told him a while ago . . . you’re a smart man, Gus, but you’re not very bright.”

  “No.” His voice was hoarse. “Not very bright at all.”

  Vaughnne padded down the last few stairs and eased around them. “I’ll make sure the food doesn’t burn. You two should probably talk and all, right?”

  She could feel the weight of his gaze burning into her, but she didn’t look back. He’d come back for Alex, and the boy needed him.

  So do I, her heart screamed. But she wasn’t a lonely, scared child. Gus didn’t owe her anything. Maybe she wanted him. Maybe she needed him. Maybe she loved him—

  As she flipped the bacon out of the skillet, she blinked back tears. Okay, no maybe about it. She did love him. Craved him. He was like a drug in her system, and the past couple of months hadn’t gotten him out of her blood at all. But he’d come back for Alex—

  “I think it’s the three of us who need to talk,” Gus said.

  Her hand shook as she turned the burner off. He’d already made eggs, scrambled with salsa and cheese. They smelled good. They would taste like sawdust, but she’d make herself eat. Turning around, she eyed him. “I don’t much see what we have to talk about, Gus.”

  “If we are going to give him a family,” Gus said, moving deeper into the kitchen, “I think there are a number of things to talk about.”
<
br />   We . . .

  Her breath caught as he reached up to cup her face in his hands. “That’s part of why I came back . . . I want us, Vaughnne. All of us. I want Alex. I want you. I want a family. Starting now.”

  Her knees gave out on her, and if she hadn’t been standing next to the counter, if Gus hadn’t been right there, she might have wilted to the floor.

  “Is it too late for me to have a chance with you, Vaughnne?” he whispered, pressing his brow to hers. “Did I mess it all up?”

  She reached up and grabbed his wrists. “The only way you could have messed it up was if you didn’t come back at all.”

  He stared at her, with misty gray eyes that could burn like molten silver. And then, something she’d never experienced happened. A smile, one that knocked the breath right out of her, lit up his face, and changed everything about him. “I’m sorry it took me so long, mi vida,” he murmured, leaning in and pressing his lips to hers.

  She hummed against his lips as he kissed her, soft and light, both of them too aware of Alex standing a few feet away.

  When he pulled back, she reached up, touched his lips. “What does that mean . . . mi vida?”

  “It means ‘my life.’” He pulled her against him with one hand and then turned to Alex and held out his other hand. The boy rushed over to them. “It took me long enough, but I finally found it.”

  Glossary

  carajo fuck

  corazón heart (endearment)

  (ése/éste) cabrón hijo de su puta madre (that/this) fucker son of his bitch/whore of a mother

  esta chingadera this shit

  hijo de la chingada son of a bitch/whore

  ’mano brother

  mi hijo my son (familial term of endearment for a male child)

  mi vida my life (endearment)

  mierda shit

  no, no oigo nada no, I don’t hear anything

  pendejo/cabrón asshole, idiot, moron, fucker

  ¿qué carajo? what the fuck/hell?

  ¿qué carajo clase de mierda jodida es ésta? what manner of fucked-up shit is this?

  tío uncle