The Protected tfp-4

by Shiloh Walker

  According to the information Jones had given her, he was going by the name Gus Hernandez.

  It wasn’t his real name, though. She’d just about bet on that—Gus Hernandez wasn’t too common, but there was Augusto and Gustavo . . . pair those names with Hernandez and you might as well be looking for John Smith.

  Whoever he was, though . . . he was a fine, fine piece of work.

  Leaning back on the porch, she braced her hands on the concrete behind her and pretended to be absorbed in the study of her flip-flops. One thing about this job . . . she could work in flip-flops and shorts. Much better than the skirts and heels, or slacks and heels, she generally wore when she was in D.C. Not that she spent a lot of time in the office, but she wasn’t exactly running at full speed just yet and she knew it.

  Office work would be her mainstay for the next few weeks if she wasn’t doing the babysitting job. Until she could focus her gift for longer than five minutes without a splitting headache, she was useless in the field.

  This, though, this was doable. She didn’t need to actively use her telepathy to use her instincts and that was a lot easier on the gray matter. And even though she hated Orlando, the uniform here was a lot better.

  So she’d just enjoy the uniform, and enjoy the view . . . and pretend she was somewhere else.

  The view was fine. Damn fine. Excellent shoulders. Long, loose-hipped gait. Behind her shades, she studied him, black hair tucked under a battered hat, a pair of cheap sunglasses that shielded his gaze from her. He wore a threadbare T-shirt and jeans so worn, they were practically white at the seams. Damn, he wore those jeans well, too.

  Because the view was making her throat go dry, she reached for the bottle of Mike’s Hard Lemonade at her side and took a long drag off it as she shifted her attention to the other things. Like the backpack he was still carrying. Like the boy.

  Her other target.

  Two males and both of them were too damned pretty. Family, they had to be, although Jones’s information on them was sketchy.

  The boy is gifted. I think the man is protecting him. They are in trouble. Keep an eye on them.

  Yeah, not a lot to go on.

  The boy was already every bit as pretty as the guy walking next to him, although he couldn’t be more than twelve or thirteen. He’d break hearts when he was grown, she suspected. His name was Alex, and he had the angriest, saddest eyes she’d seen on a kid in a long, long while. They were a pale, misty sort of gray—set against his dusky skin, those eyes packed even more of a punch.

  Yeah. He was going to break hearts, she thought. And she had a feeling he’d be breaking hers before this job was out. Babysit. What in the hell was going on here?

  That gaze of his was a punch right to her heart. One that might shatter it, because while she couldn’t read emotions worth shit, she knew what fear looked like. The boy was ripe with it. He had so much fear inside, it hurt to look at him. So much cynicism, she figured she probably would have looked idealistic.

  And even without lowering her shields, she felt the wide-open power of his mind.

  Damn.

  That kid was practically a lighthouse on the shore in the middle of a raging storm.

  All it would take was the wrong person looking for him . . .

  Gifted. Gifted, my ass, she thought sourly. A gift like that would be more like a curse for a good, long while. He didn’t need a babysitter. What he needed was a bodyguard and a teacher. She might be able to handle the bodyguard job as long as there was nothing major going on, but she wasn’t equipped to teach a kid like that.

  Mr. Gus Hernandez pushed his battered cap back and gave her a sleepy smile. “Hi there,” he said.

  Okay. If the boy’s eyes ripped at her, the man’s eyes were going to put her on her knees, but for all the wrong reasons. Wow. If she’d thought the kid’s eyes packed a punch . . . again, wow.

  This guy’s gaze was enough to put her out for the count. The color of the mists that hovered over the river in the morning, that was what his eyes made her think of, a surreal shade of gray and so unbelievably beautiful, shockingly pale against the warmth of his olive-colored skin. But it wasn’t just the unnatural beauty of those eyes . . . the kid had that.

  The man, though, he had a look in his eyes that made her throat go dry.

  Sleepy and sexy, like he’d just tumbled out of bed but he’d be more than happy to tumble right back in. Since he was looking at her, the idea was probably to think that he was going to tumble into bed with her, but she knew better.

  That look was practiced. Way too practiced and she knew it. Still, it was a good look, and she might as well enjoy it. His smile, too. She was a little disturbed to realize that smile of his was making her feel all warm and tingly down in parts that were not supposed to be an issue, considering she was on a job.

  He knew what effect he had, too. She could tell. It wasn’t arrogance or anything, but he knew. Hmmm. A player? That was a harder puzzle, but she’d figured it out.

  He was playing at something, but what was it? That was the question, indeed.

  Taking another sip from her bottle, she tipped it at him. “Hey, back.”

  The boy shot her a look from under his lashes and lowered his head. As he shoved his hands into his pockets, she felt it. A ripple of his gift, rolling across her.

  She didn’t react.

  He was young, and unless he’d encountered a lot of psychics, it was unlikely he’d recognize one if she wasn’t using her ability. Which she didn’t plan to do. Keeping her own thoughts tucked back behind a blank shield, she projected an air of boredom, exhaustion, and because he probably was used to it, she thought a few rather female thoughts about the overall hotness of the long, sexy piece of work standing across from her.

  The kid blushed and darted a look at the long, sexy piece of work before he mumbled, “. . . help you move stuff.”

  Vaughnne reached up and rubbed her ear. “I’m sorry?”

  “I think my kid is saying we wanted to see if you needed help.”

  Those tingling parts started tingling again and she leaned forward, arms crossed over her chest, at the smile he shot her way. Then he glanced over at the boy. “Right, Alex?”

  The kid lifted his head, and for a long, long moment, all he did was stare at her.

  Seconds ticked away, and Vaughnne would have sworn she heard her heart beating, could have sworn she felt their hearts beating as the boy took her measure. And somehow, she suspected if that kid didn’t like what he saw, there were going to be problems.

  She was prepared for that.

  Very prepared, although not quite in the way anybody would think.

  But finally, the boy gave her a nervous smile and ducked his head again, and that odd, tight tension faded away. “Yeah. You . . .” He licked his lips and looked over at the man who claimed to be his father before darting her a look. “You got lots of stuff and no help. We don’t mind.”

  Don’t mind, huh?

  Yeah. She was sure they didn’t. They didn’t mind so much, and if that kid had so much as whispered one bad word about her, she had a feeling she would have had to unload on the two of them just to keep the sexy piece of work from doing . . . whatever he had planned.

  Uncurling from the bench, she let her bottle swing from her left hand as she sauntered off. “Sure. I wouldn’t mind a hand, I reckon.” She laid it on thick with the drawl and kept her smile wide and friendly. “My name’s Vaughnne.”

  They’d decided it would be best to keep things close to the truth with this one, and as the boy flicked her another glance, she felt that odd ripple again. Yeah. Good call. He smiled again and then glanced over at the man with him. “Alex,” the boy said.

  It was weird, the vibe between them, but she’d already figured it out. The kid’s gift . . . the gift inside him, it was so strong, he almost glowed with it. Considering there was some sort of danger chasing them, it seemed the man had made the hard, but wise choice to use the kid’s instincts.

&n
bsp; And there was something after them. Only reason why that kid would be so afraid, she figured. Not an easy choice to make. But death, danger . . . plenty of other things were far less pleasant and a lot less easy.

  “Nice to meet you, Alex,” she said, still keeping her thoughts tucked behind that surface shield of nice and normal. He held out his hand, and once more, that power . . . as their skin touched, she shielded down as tight as she could.

  His hand fell away and he looked over at the man, another smile.

  Signals. She didn’t know what they were communicating with those signals, but they were doing it.

  “Gus.” The man nodded and gave her another one of those lazy smiles as he adjusted his cap. “So, how much more have you got to move in, Vaughnne?”

  She heaved out a sigh. “Too damn much.”

  * * *

  HE’D known beautiful women.

  He’d known women so beautiful, they made the eye all but hurt to look at them.

  The woman standing in front of him wasn’t one of them.

  But there was . . . something about her, and Gus realized he couldn’t look away from her.

  A fine sheen of perspiration gleamed along the warm brown of her skin, and unlike a lot of the women he’d known, it didn’t seem to faze her. Her nose was sprinkled with a few freckles, shades darker than that warm brown, and her eyes, liquid gold, held his with a frank, unblinking stare as she nodded toward the moving van.

  “Vaughnne,” he murmured absently, turning the name over as he studied her.

  Alex had read her. They had a system; it worked. He hated it, hated having to rely on the kid like that, but Gus wasn’t going to risk the boy’s safety when he had a tool that was just undeniable, either.

  Alex didn’t offer his name to anybody that set his internal warning off, and he’d not only offered her his name, he’d let her touch him. Alex let very few people touch him.

  So she had to be safe enough. Maybe that was why he felt his heartbeat kick up a few notches. It had been . . .

  Please. You must do this for me.

  As the voice roused from the depths of his memory, he shoved everything else to the back of his mind. It didn’t matter if she was safe. Alex wasn’t.

  A slim black brow arched and she cocked her head. A bright red bandanna was wrapped around her head, and underneath, thick, crazy black curls fell in long spirals almost halfway down her back. “If we’re going to do this, Gus,” she said lazily, lifting a bottle to her lips, “let’s do it. I dunno about you, but I’m worn out.”

  She took a drink from the bottle, and he had the damnedest desire to pull the bottle away, and take a drink . . . from her. It was a disgusting thing she was drinking, but he suspected he wouldn’t mind a bit, tasting it on her lips, tasting her. Before the temptation settled too deep in his mind, he turned around and studied the various boxes littering the little front yard. “If you want, you can tell Alex where you want the boxes. You and I can work on the bigger stuff.”

  He glanced back at her just in time to see her finishing off the lemonade, and he watched as a bead of sweat rolled down the soft brown of her neck. Desire, vicious and painful, twisted inside him. He needed to get laid.

  Vaughnne lowered the bottle and then tossed it into a little bin off to the side of the yard. It was a good twenty feet away and it landed squarely inside. “Nice shot.”

  She smiled blandly. “Thanks. Come on,” she said as she turned around. She paused halfway up the walk to bend over and hoist up a box. The faded denim shorts she wore stretched tight over her butt and Gus had to drag his eyes away. “I’ll show you all around. The boxes are all marked, so it won’t be hard to figure out what goes where.”

  Gus dragged a hand down his face and then shifted the pack he carried so he had one strap over each shoulder. The logical thing to do was put it down, he knew. But he’d do that, maybe, after he’d gotten the lay of the land.

  After he’d adjusted his shirt, making sure the weapon at his back was covered, he grabbed a couple of the boxes that were stacked haphazardly on top of one another. Alex glanced at him and he saw, again, there was none of that blind fear, none of the nerves. Everything was cool.

  He should be able to relax now, right?

  Technically, they could even leave because, no matter what he’d said, he hadn’t come over to help her move her stuff in. They could leave and he didn’t care if it made him look like an ass. He’d come to make sure she was safe. But leaving was the very last thing he wanted to do.

  * * *

  THEY muscled the bed frame into place, and Vaughnne all but groaned as the headache throbbing behind her eyes grew to nauseating proportions. She’d meant to take her time, get half the stuff done today and then work on the rest of it tomorrow, but when the gift horse—or gift stud—had arrived, what was she going to do, say no?

  Especially as it would have been interesting trying to figure out how to move it all in on her own.

  She would have figured something out, maybe calmly worked out a meeting and offered to pay them some money if they helped her unload. Either that, or just found somebody else living nearby. Something would have turned up.

  Now she felt like her head was going to explode.

  “You know how to put this together?”

  The warm, dark velvet of his voice rolled over her skin, and she lifted her lashes to stare at him as she sagged back against the wall. He was enough to make her mouth go dry, especially with the way his shirt had gone a little damp with sweat now, making it cling to muscles that were way too defined for just the typical average Joe.

  He’d dropped the backpack earlier, tucking it behind the front door, and although he was casual about it, she’d noticed that there hadn’t been a single time when they’d walked through the room and he hadn’t checked on that bag.

  “Well?”

  She blinked and then glanced over at the bed frame. Yeah. He’d asked her a question, hadn’t he? Sighing, she studied it for a minute and then glanced over at the mattress propped against the opposite wall.

  If she had her way, she’d just knock it down, crawl onto the bed, curl into a ball, and pass out. But that wasn’t an option.

  “Staring at it isn’t going to do the job.” He gestured at it. “You know how to put it together?”

  There was something about the way he talked, she decided. Something besides the fact that his voice was sexy as hell. Low and smooth as silk, rich as melted chocolate and just as sinful. Down, girl, she told herself absently as she pushed her sore body away from the wall and studied the bed frame. Yeah, yeah, staring at it wasn’t going to help, but she was hoping she’d remember how it had been put together.

  It had been bought at a thrift store and it was pretty. Vaughnne had a weakness for pretty things and she had no problem admitting it. But the pale green patina of the metal looked like a mind-bending puzzle just then. Propping her hands on her hips, she tried to remember the way everything had gone together and then she just sighed. “I have absolutely no fu . . .” Then she clamped her mouth shut and shot a look toward the hall. The kid. She wasn’t used to being around kids. “Ah . . . sorry. I have absolutely no idea.”

  Gus nodded. “I’ll go home and grab my tools. But that’s about all we can do.”

  She should tell him it wasn’t necessary. She knew that. But he’d offered. She needed to do what was necessary to get them to like her, trust her . . . and if he decided to offer a hand here and there? Why not accept it?

  Wiping her forearm over her brow, she gave him a smile. Even though the headache pounding inside her head was about ready to kill her, she didn’t let it show. “I appreciate it. Hey, I don’t know if y’all ate anything, but I am starving so I’m going to order a pizza.”

  “We had dinner, thanks.”

  She arched a brow. “You sure? I’ve never seen a teenaged boy say no to pizza.”

  * * *

  “ANOTHER box of books?” Alex lugged it over and dumped it on the floor next t
o the bookshelves she’d picked up. The bookshelves had also come from a thrift store. But the books were hers. Since she didn’t know just how long she’d have to be babysitting, Vaughnne planned to keep herself entertained.

  And she’d only brought four boxes.

  Grinning at him, she sauntered over and peered inside the box. “Yeah. And that’s the last of them, too.”

  He wrinkled his nose and said, “Is it a bunch more of those stupid girly books?”

  “I’ll have you know those girly books are awesome,” she said loftily. “You’d be amazed at what a guy can learn from reading girly books.”

  “Girly books?”

  That voice. It was too damned appealing. Shooting Gus a look from over her shoulder, she shrugged. “That’s what he calls romance.”

  “Girly books.” Gus smirked. “Well, I would likely call them girly books as well. A man won’t learn much from them.”

  “Shows what you know, pal.” She sank to the floor and started pulling the books from the box. Once she had some books on the shelves, she’d feel a little more at ease, she thought. Whether she was in Orlando or not. Having something of hers around would just make her feel better. “For one, a smart guy learns it’s not a wise move to go and knock what a lady enjoys reading. If it makes her happy and it’s not hurting anything? What’s the issue?”

  “Books like those are unrealistic,” Gus said. He shrugged and reached into his back pocket, pulling out a pristine white handkerchief that looked out of place with his battered clothes, the faded jeans.

  He had elegant hands, she thought. Very elegant hands.

  And she was getting distracted. “Unrealistic,” she drawled. Snorting, she pulled her knees to her chest and rested her chin on them. “Riiiggggghhhht . . . like Star Wars isn’t. Lord of the Rings. Lord of the Flies. Bunnicula. Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone.”

  “None of those books promise that love will conquer over all.”

  Vaughnne snorted. “Neither does romance make those promises. They are just books. Reading them doesn’t mean I’m looking for a space pirate to solve all my problems. I can handle my problems just fine on my own.”