But this couldn’t be ignored . . . and she was already hip deep in a mess of her own.
Oddly enough, the answer to that particular dilemma was one that made her smile. She pulled her phone from her pocket and dialed a number.
Something told her he wasn’t going to be happy to hear from her.
But that was fine.
She’d been looking for a reason to contact this particular man ever since she’d first laid eyes on him.
* * *
THE gray cat sat in the window, watching him with a calm gaze.
There was something almost regal about the animal, Tucker decided.
As he pulled a can from the cabinet, he read off the label. “Chicken and beef?”
The cat slitted her eyes and just stared at Tucker. Sighing, he tossed the can back into the cabinet. “Sooner or later, you need to suck it up and eat the damned chicken and beef, cat.”
She meowed. It sounded a lot like, I don’t think so.
His phone rang. One glance told him everything he needed to know. He didn’t recognize the number, so he ignored it. If his housekeeper had been there, he might have told her to answer the phone and tell the caller to fuck off—Lucia wouldn’t use exactly those words, but she’d make sure the message was heard. Loud and clear. Sadly, though, Lucia wasn’t around.
Ignoring the phone was the best option. “Okay.” Studying the rest of the cans, he pulled down two more. “Ocean fish?”
Now Her Majesty flicked an ear.
“Salmon.”
The cat lay down. Yes, you peasant. You may feed me now.
“You’re a pain in the ass.” Tucker stared at Heywood. “One would think you’d be a little more appreciative of the home and all.”
As he was in the middle of opening the can, his phone chimed. Tension skittered down his spine, and in response, lights flickered in his house. He clenched his jaw and powered it all down. Shit like that wasn’t acceptable. Not in any way, shape, or form. As he knelt down to put the plate on the floor, Heywood jumped down and rubbed her head against Tucker’s gloved hand. The gloves, lined with a thin, inner layer of rubber, protected the cat. It was probably overkill, and he knew it, but he didn’t care. He’d long since learned how to control himself, but he didn’t like to take chances.
Sighing, he stroked a hand down the cat’s back before rising.
The phone chimed again.
There was a picture on the display.
A woman.
He knew her.
Just the sight of her was like a visceral, one-two punch.
Long, dense hair, the palest blond he’d ever seen, fell more than halfway down her back. It was done in a series of narrow dreadlocks, and until he’d seen Nalini, he had never paid much attention to that style, but it was so damn sexy. Ever since he’d met her, he’d spent way too many nights thinking about how much he’d love to twist that hair around his hands and feast on her mouth. Then feast all the way on down until he reached the heart of her . . . spread those thighs and . . .
His cock jerked in response as that image whipped through his mind and he felt the answering tension spark through him, a devastating need that spoke of storms and power and heat.
Problems lay down that road, he knew. Hard to get too involved in kissing anybody when his very touch could prove fatal.
One slipup, one loss of control . . . yeah. His encounters of the physical kind were few and far between, and usually with somebody he found only minimally attractive. It was a release valve for him, nothing more.
Snagging the phone, he pulled up the messages and spent a long, long moment staring at her picture. Just staring. He gave himself that before he started thinking things through.
Things like . . . how in the hell did she get my number?
As he was puzzling that thought through, he shifted his gaze to the message that had come with the picture.
If you’d like to know how I got your number, you’ll have to answer the phone when I call. If you like, I can send you another picture. I’m thinking about sending one of me naked. Are you interested?
Tucker swore.
FIVE
“HE’S dangerous.”
The second the words left her, Vaughnne felt a little guilty; the boy didn’t intentionally want to harm anybody, she knew. But she needed more information and she didn’t believe this shit that she’d been given everything she needed to know.
“He’s just a kid,” Taylor said.
“Just a kid.” She sighed and stared out the window, pondering the empty driveway. The one thing she had taken a chance on . . . she’d put a tracker on the truck and a mini-transmitter. She’d know when they were heading home, as long as her little toys weren’t discovered. She needed to get a better set of eyes and ears inside that house.
This was one of the few times she could possibly manage to get it done, too. The lovely, wonderful, slightly dodgy Mrs. Werner had another plumbing problem, and Gus had agreed to go pick up the supplies to take care of it for her.
After he’d left, Mrs. Werner had confided to Vaughnne that she actually had a nephew who was a master plumber and could take care of things in a jiffy for her . . . but she’d rather look at Gus than her nephew any old time. Plus, she thought that nice-looking young man could use the extra money.
Vaughnne suspected it was likely equal parts. The lady was lovely, but she spent an inordinate amount of time ogling every halfway attractive male she could. Gus was more than halfway attractive. Vaughnne actually hoped she had that interest in men when she was Mrs. Werner’s age.
Checking Gus’s location again, she told herself she needed to get this done if she was going to do it. Should she warn Taylor to come looking for her body if she didn’t check in soon? Gus was ten minutes from here, getting closer to the hardware store.
“Just a kid.” Then she reached up and massaged her aching temple. Did she lay it out? Or did she bide her time? She didn’t think Jones would do anything that would threaten a kid. She really didn’t. But . . . “Yeah. It’s not the kid I’m worried about,” she lied. She did it with ease and she did it without batting a lash or feeling any bit of guilt. “It’s the dude with him. The guy walks around carrying a Sig Sauer that would put a pretty damn big hole in me. He acts like I’m trying to poison them if I make cookies, Jones. Cookies. Trust me, the kid isn’t the problem. The guy is.”
“So . . . like we’ve already discussed, use caution.”
She glared at the phone and thought about using it to beat the bastard bloody next time she was in D.C. “Use caution,” she drawled. “That sounds like an excellent plan. I’ll get right on it, Jones.”
“You do that.” There was a pause and she heard a shout, followed by a flurry of voices, the rush of excitement. Jones spoke again and some of that excitement actually came through in his voice. He might have even smiled a little. “I have to go. Something is about to come apart at the seams.”
She wanted to say good luck, but he was already off the phone.
Sighing, she hooked up her headphones, checking the tracker once more before shutting the app down. Anybody who looked at the phone wouldn’t know what it was, and it wouldn’t open without her password. She’d do a run around the block . . . and detour around the back of Gus’s house. If he was still far enough away, she’d see about getting the shit planted.
* * *
SHE wasn’t even running long enough to work up a sweat. She hit the back street behind Gus’s place, checked his location. At the hardware store. Perfect. She should have plenty of time to get this done.
What took a damn long time was getting inside the house, setting up the devices, and then letting herself back out.
On her way out, she was just about ready to set the damn lock, too. On her way out.
And she glanced down, saw the tape over the door. Just the smallest piece.
Damn it, Gus. Sourly, she crouched down and peeled it off, rolling it up to tuck inside her waistband before she spent another fi
ve precious minutes scrounging for where he’d tucked the rest of it.
She pressed the tape back into place and then looked around, checking the windows. That was when she saw them, all those little traps. Nothing overt, just something to let the owner of the house know if somebody had been in and out. She spotted strips of tape on the windows, along the fridge. One windowsill held three coins, and she had no doubt they’d been very precisely arranged. Grimacing, she started to look closer and saw other traps. There were three staples placed in what looked like a haphazard manner on the floor in front of one kitchen window. Near the boy’s room, a few bits of paper. She hadn’t gone near his room. She couldn’t have disturbed that.
“Gus, you’re a distrustful bastard,” she muttered. Simple, basic, nothing high-tech. If they were trying to avoid calling attention to themselves, high-tech was not the way to go. It got noticed. Made people ask questions. Cost money, too, and if you plunked down a lot of money, people remembered that. Used plastic? Left a trail.
Storming back into the kitchen, she went to the back door and glared at it for a minute before she peeled the tape away. Then, narrowing her eyes, she shut the door, still on the inside, watching.
It stuck in place. Not tight and snug, but close enough. She tugged the piece of tape off, wadded it up, and fetched another. She smoothed the new piece down, over and over, and then eased the door open, eyeing the piece of tape. Hoping.
She wouldn’t know if it closed or not because she had no way of seeing inside the damn house.
Well, she hadn’t.
She did now. It was possible she’d be able to see the tape from her setup back at her place.
She’d check.
But until she got there . . .
It was a few more breath-stealing, soul-eating minutes before she made it to the alley running between the two houses. Once she was there, she settled back into a jog. The minute she reached the street, she put everything she had into it and ran hell-bent for leather, determined to get home.
* * *
“NO.”
Nalini stared at the screen. She was almost obsessively refreshing her screen. No takers. Yet. Some bites, yes, but nothing solid. Just stay that way, she thought.
She had a real live psychic in Orlando she wanted on that job. Assuming she could get him to do it. If he took it, she could get him to grab the kid and get him someplace safe. She even had a good idea of where safe was.
She just had to convince him.
“Come on, Tucker,” she said, smiling a little as she leaned forward and scrolled down the page to check out some of the other posts on the forum. Sooner or later, she thought. Sooner or later, those thugs were going to come out to play. “What have you got to lose? You already live there.”
He grunted in response. A few seconds ticked by. “What’s this about?”
He would ask that question.
She stroked a finger down her brow. “I’m trying to figure that out, but when I look at this post, I hear screams. My gut goes tight. Somebody hurts if this happens, Tucker. You know enough about hurting, I imagine.”
“I don’t know what your poison is, blondie, but stay out of my head.”
She chuckled. “My poison?”
“Yeah. Whatever voodoo you do . . . keep your powers out of my head, keep your paws to yourself, whatever you want to call it. I don’t want you screwing around in my head,” he said sourly.
“Tucker, sugar . . . if I decide to screw around with you, it’s going to involve you, me, and a bed. That’s all. Well, if you’re into kink, we can maybe play around with that, but trust me, if and when I decide to screw around with you, it’s going to involve actual physical contact . . . it’s more fun that way.” There was no if, though. At least not on her part.
Silence stretched out. Hot, heavy, and tense.
Then, finally, in a voice thick with regret, he said, “Now, darlin’, that sounds absolutely perfect, but it’s not about to happen. Me and bare skin aren’t a good combination. But it’s a nice thought, nonetheless.”
You and bare skin, huh . . . she thought about the way he’d looked the few times she’d met him. Black gloves on his hands. Wicked sexy tattoos twining up his arms. That fiery red hair and his face set in unyielding lines. She thought about seeing him naked and stretched out on her bed, and the image was so clear, so vivid, she realized with startling clarity that it would happen.
She wasn’t sure just how that was going to come to pass, but it was going to happen.
“You sound awful certain of this.”
“Because I have to be.” His voice flat, the kind of voice that said, We’re done discussing this.
She’d let it go. For now. But the other thing—
“Just what is it I need to find in Orlando?” he asked, catching her off guard.
* * *
AN item.
Tucker stared at the website, running his tongue over his teeth and scratching Heywood’s head. The feline purred and butted her head harder against Tucker’s hand, but Tucker didn’t pick her up. “Yeah, yeah, you purr away.”
Item. The wording on it was enough to make his skin crawl. Something he’d figured out over the past few years . . . many psychics had only one gift, but some did have one stronger gift, and a second weaker one.
Just about all of them, though, had a hyperaware set of instincts, and right then, his were on red alert.
There was something seriously wrong with that message.
An item.
Finally, he dialed Nalini’s number back. She answered so fast, he suspected she’d been waiting for his call. “Two questions . . . is this tied into what we were doing with Dru and Crawford? Because if it is, she could still be in trouble.”
“No.” Nalini paused for a moment and then added, “At least, I don’t think it’s tied in. I’ve been watching these people a very long time and I don’t believe there’s a connection at all. If there is, it’s peripheral.”
He grunted and read the message again. “Okay. And what’s this ‘item’?”
“Well . . .” She laughed a little. “If you promise not to get frustrated, I’ll be honest with you. I’m not entirely certain, but I think it might be a child.”
* * *
ROCKING back on the hind legs of her chair, Vaughnne stared at the back door.
She’d magnified the screen and gone as close on it as she could.
And the tape was clearly visible.
It was only barely clinging to the doorjamb. It was touching, but it wasn’t a smooth fit at all.
If she’d had any time, she would have tried to figure out a better plan, but she’d checked the tracker app and Gus had been on his way back. This was the best she could do. The trained FBI agent. Outwitted by a piece of scotch tape.
When the truck appeared in the driveway, she almost groaned. She covered eyes. “Let this work.”
From where she’d positioned herself, she could see the truck. And she watched as Gus went through his normal routine. Backpack, check, jacket, check. Gun, check. Kid, check.
Study the yard under the pretense of stretching that long lean body . . . check.
Her belly did a mad little flutter and she tried to ignore it. A bag from a local hardware store came out after all that was said and done, and Alex leaned backed against the truck, nose all but buried in a book.
As Gus reached up to shove his ball cap back, she slid her gaze to the boy. He had his head bent and was caught up in the book he was reading. Even after Gus said his name—at least that’s what Vaughnne assumed he was doing, the boy just continued to focus on the book.
For a minute, Gus just stood there, staring at the kid’s bent head, and something about his posture, the way his shoulders went tense, the way he tipped his head back . . . all of it, every last movement he made, and every one he didn’t make, made her realize something.
The man was tired.
She didn’t know what was going on, didn’t know what he was running from. But wha
tever it was, it had him so worn out, and so tired.
Then, even as her heart ached a little for him, he shook his head, like he was just shaking it off. Then he said something. Judging by the way Alex reacted, the boy heard him and lifted his head, his mouth moving as he responded. Something angry and defiant danced across his features, but Vaughnne had no idea what was being said. She could have adjusted the volume and found out, but she wasn’t doing this to invade their privacy. She just wanted to make sure they stayed safe.
Gus reached up and hooked a hand over the boy’s neck, hauled him close. The boy went and they stood there like that a moment, the kid’s face pressed against Gus’s chest while the man looked around, as though he was seeing monsters in every corner, behind every tree.
Then, finally, they broke apart and headed across the street to Mrs. Werner’s.
* * *
THEY’D finished the damn plumbing thing over at the old lady’s house. Alex sometimes got tired of going over there, but anything was better than being stuck in this little house with just him and Gus. Even if the old lady did sit there and think about how much she wished she were thirty years younger. Sometimes, he had to hide his face because of her thoughts, too. She wasn’t quiet with them at all, and those were the sort of thoughts that were hard to block out. Like ignoring the music from a radio blasting at full volume in the middle of the night.
Still, she was nice to both of them, and when Gus was done, she always made them dinner, and then she’d pay Gus. Gus didn’t like to take the money, but he did it anyway, because the more money they had for when they had to run again, the better.
Everything was for when they had to run again and Alex hated it.
Just like he hated what he had to do when they went home. Each and every time.
While Gus checked every stupid thing in the main part of the house, it was Alex’s job to check the windows and doors, make sure nobody had come in while they weren’t there. Alex did it because while Gus could handle anybody that was actually in the house, Alex would be able to sense if anybody had been in.
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