They’d have to deal with that embarrassing hygiene thing, too, he realized. Things Consuelo would have handled with grace and calm and ease, and he was all but tongue-tied just trying to figure out how to even approach it.
It took another five minutes to get Alex situated back in the bed. “I’ll bring the doctor back in.” He brushed Alex’s hair back.
Alex’s eyes opened wide and panic flared across his face. “Doctor?”
“Yes.” Sighing, he cupped the boy’s face. “M’hijo, you are sick. She thinks it might be an infection in your . . .” He grimaced. “They call it a UTI. It’s all the parts that lead up to where you make the urine, then empty it out. She thinks there is an infection and they can get serious. Your mother had them a lot as a child.”
It occurred to him, then, perhaps he should have mentioned that to the doctor. Did that run in families? He didn’t know. He wasn’t used to handling sick children. He hadn’t ever been prepared to handle children period.
You must do this . . .
The ghost of that voice danced through his mind and he shoved it out. Bad things to think about when Alex was so ill and likely to be less in control than normal. “You needed a doctor. We have a doctor.”
“But what if—”
There was a knock at the door and the boy went white. So pale and white and scared. Gus’s heart twisted in his chest and he rested a hand on Alex’s shoulder. “It’s okay, m’hijo. I’ll take care of you. You know that.”
He rose and headed to the door.
He was two feet away when the patio door opened.
Vaughnne came inside, sleek, dark, and silent, her eyes moving to linger on the boy. Alex stared at her as she came to kneel by the bed. “You can look in my head again,” she said quietly. “I won’t hide this time.”
The look of shock, shame on the child’s face was another blow to Gus’s heart. He’d put too much pressure on the boy, he knew. But when you were fighting an unwinnable war, fighting to protect a boy, you used whatever weapons you had. Even if the boy was the weapon. “I think we didn’t have you as ready to face things as we thought, Alex,” Gus said quietly. “That is my failing. Not yours. You’re still young.”
“Let the doctor in, Gus,” Vaughnne said softly.
He watched for a moment as she caught Alex’s hand. Then he turned away. He needed to get the boy better. Then he could figure out where to go from here.
* * *
“I gave him an injection. It should help him if it’s a UTI. It was a broad-spectrum antibiotic, so even if it’s not a UTI, it may give some coverage. I’m betting on the UTI, though. I did a finger stick and got enough blood to run a blood count, although I wish I could have talked his guardian into letting me draw enough blood for blood cultures.” Grady sighed, a disgruntled look on her face as she met Vaughnne’s eyes. They stood out on the patio, and through the window, they watched as Gus sat on the bed with the boy. “I’m leaving you some antibiotics, too. If it’s not a UTI, they aren’t going to help much. I’ll run some tests on the urine . . . I’ll have a better idea within a day or so.”
Vaughnne nodded.
“You’ll leave a number?”
“Jones has it.”
“Okay.” Grady nodded, a concerned look on her face. “He needs rest. He’s pretty sick and everything in me tells me that he should be in a hospital, preferably hooked up to an IV for a day or two. He’s getting dehydrated, and if he gets any worse, he’ll have to go into a hospital, Agent MacMeans.” She paused, studying Vaughnne’s face. “Am I understood?”
“Yes.” Rubbing the back of her neck, Vaughnne looked up at the sky. “If I thought it was safe, I’d try to talk them into going now. But I don’t think it is. I can’t risk him, I can’t risk the casualties that might come up if I took him to an unsecured facility. We’ll head north. If he has to go into the hospital for a day or two, I’d rather it be closer to where Jones can provide more protection.”
“Taking him to D.C.?”
Vaughnne snorted. “I don’t think that will go over well, although that might be where he is safest.”
“How much trouble is he in?”
Sliding the doctor a look, she said quietly, “My gut tells me you’re better off to forget you ever saw them. They have that much trouble trailing after them.”
Grady pursed her lips for a moment. Then she nodded and pushed a small plastic bag into Vaughnne’s hands. “I brought the basic meds with me, just in case. An antiemetic in case he starts having issues with nausea, one of the better antibiotics for a UTI. I’m leaving a setup with you to collect another urine specimen in a few days.”
“I don’t know if we will be anywhere to get it tested.”
Grady waved a hand. “I’ll take care of that. But if it’s a UTI, we need to know it’s clearing up. It doesn’t do you any good to keep his neck safe if he ends up with a kidney infection that could kill him, now does it?”
Vaughnne closed her eyes. “Shit.”
“Yes.” The doctor touched her arm. “Head to D.C. Be close to there, if for no other reason than so you can get him medical treatment if he needs it, and if the antibiotics don’t kick in, he’ll need it. Jones has people who owe him favors. If he had to, Jones could put the boy up in his home and I’ll take care of him there. I could use a few days off. But we need to keep him healthy if we want to keep him alive, right?”
* * *
TUCKER’S brain felt too wired.
Trying to lock on the wildfire that was the boy’s erratic ability was almost impossible right now.
Crashing in a hotel five hours north of Orlando, he tossed a ball up in the air over and over, letting the repetitiveness of the motion calm the ragged edges of his mind. Or that was the plan. And the plan was failing.
Swearing, he jacked up into a seated position and grabbed the phone. He jabbed in a number and it wasn’t until Lucia’s tired voice came on the line that he realized how late it was.
“Shit, Luce. I’m sorry. Ah . . . I just wanted to make sure you remember to feed Heywood.”
“Mr. Collins, I’m hardly about to let the cat starve,” she said, sniffing a little. “I might let you starve, but not the cat.”
He laughed a little and then reached up, rubbed the back of his neck. “You’ve got the alarm and everything set, right?”
“Of course.”
She had the alarm set. He’d gotten the notice on his phone. And if he knew Lucia, which he did, she’d also have her weapon handy. He and Lucia understood each other well. She was one of the few people he allowed around him with a weapon, because he knew she’d kill for him. Just like he’d kill for her. She was one of the few people in this world that he actually trusted. He might even almost love her, if he understood how to love anybody. She was definitely one of the few people he’d call a friend. He didn’t like being here and her there, with all of this going on.
“Is everything well, Mr. Collins?” she asked softly.
He closed his eyes. He didn’t know if he could answer that without lying, without worrying her. Lucia worried was a bad thing. People had died because Lucia worried. Not often, and he couldn’t say the people hadn’t deserved to die. He’d been flat on his back, dealing with one of the attempts to . . . return him. It had also been the last attempt. Something about the fact that he’d fried a half dozen of the men who’d been involved and Lucia had gone after the others . . .
There was something to be said about having a former mercenary as your housekeeper, he guessed.
Not to mention the fact that she was a killer cook.
“I’m not sure, Luce,” he finally said. “I’m doing a job. Involves a kid.”
The silence between them went strained. Seconds ticked by and finally Lucia said softly, “You didn’t agree to harm a child, Mr. Collins.”
He suspected if he answered in a way that displeased her, she might decide to come hunting his ass. Lucia had lived by few rules in her life as a hired killer, but one of them had been hard
and fast. No children harmed. Ever. The reason she’d gotten out was because her handler had decided to try and push that line. When she’d refused, he’d sent people after her.
That was when Tucker and Lucia had met up.
She’d been bleeding out in an alley while he’d been working his own job-collecting information on a drug runner that he’d planned to sell to whoever wanted to pay the most money for it.
He could have walked by. Probably should have.
But when he’d paused by the older woman and looked into those defiant eyes, he’d been sunk.
That had been fifteen years ago. She’d moved out of the life and for a while had acted as a “security” specialist and she and Tucker had often exchanged information, or sold it, depending on the job. But problems from her past life had continued to emerge, and after one of them had landed her in a bloody heap at Tucker’s door, she’d confessed to him that she was tired. All she wanted was a quiet, normal life.
She’d never have one, but Tucker could hide like nobody’s business when he had to. He didn’t mind having somebody around to watch his back, either.
They were a good pair, all in all.
As long as he didn’t cross her lines, and she didn’t cross his.
Her lines were kids.
He smiled a little. “You know me better than that, Luce.”
“Naturally.” Her voice had thawed and Tucker slumped back on the bed, staring up at the cracked, water-stained ceiling over his head. The bed was miserably hard but he’d slept on worse. Hell, he’d spent more than a few years without a bed. This was almost paradise.
“So what is this situation that may or may not be a problem?”
“People after the kid. I stopped the immediate problem, but . . .”
Again, he lapsed into silence. Lucia picked up the ball. “You don’t know if the problem will return.”
“Oh, no. I’m positive it will. Right now, I need to find the kid and my brain feels like it’s been hot-wired.”
“Then perhaps instead of waking me up, you should go find a way to burn the excesses off and clear your mind, focus. So you can do your job.”
“If it was that simple, I’d do it,” he muttered.
“It’s only complicated if you choose to let it be complicated, Mr. Collins,” she said, her voice unconcerned. “Is there anything you need me to do, or may I go back to sleep?”
He blew out a breath. “I think we need to plan on shutting up things here locally and moving on. You think you can handle it?”
There was a long, tense pause. Then, Lucia said, “Do we have . . . past issues aggravating matters, Mr. Collins?”
“No.” Lights flickered. He couldn’t think of those past issues and stay calm, but the flicker was quick. He only saw red for a second. “But I had to give a fake ID to a cop and you know how that goes. So once this is done, we’ll have to move on anyway. You might as well head on out and set things up at the new place.”
“I see. Very well, Mr. Collins. I did enjoy Florida, though. Now . . . why don’t you see about burning off those excesses?”
The phone went dead.
He scowled and muttered something that likely would have had her punching him if she’d been here.
If Lucia Frazier was twenty years younger, he might risk the fact that touching her was a hazard to both her and him. Assuming he wasn’t afraid she’d break him in bed. The woman was scary as hell.
Burn off the excesses.
Shoving to his feet, he grabbed a clean stack of clothes, his gloves. He’d stopped to rest, thinking he might be able to get a better lock on the boy. But that hadn’t happened.
Might as well shower and get back on the road. Maybe he’d get lucky and find some relatively therapeutic way of burning off those excesses.
* * *
NALINI had no trouble tracking Tucker Collins down.
But she did have trouble getting out of her current mess for two days. The people she’d buried herself with weren’t exactly the kind who thought it was okay for her to just . . . waltz out. Even though she’d done just that off and on for several years, hoping to intrigue a madman.
It had worked.
Now she had the madman good and hooked, which was the bad news. He was a possessive, jealous piece of work, that was for certain. Another bit of bad news—she was working the job solo, and if she got jammed up, she was screwed. This wasn’t a contract case with the FBI or anything. This baby was all hers. The one bright spot was that she knew a phone call would get her out of said jam. Assuming she had time. But she was good at reading that sort of thing.
Somehow, she thought Jones might be really, really interested in what she’d uncovered over the past few days.
It went pretty damn deep, too, and she’d just scraped the tip of the iceberg.
If she knew anything about Jones and his unit, they’d just love to bust that iceberg apart. Blow it straight to hell.
But her job, first. All of that had to be done because once Jones brought his people in, the man she was looking for would either bury himself or Jones’s people would bury him.
She wanted to be the one to do that.
“So close,” she muttered. Pulling all those little threads, weaving a careful web, drawing closer and closer to the man she’d been hunting for so long.
And now she was at a standstill, because she couldn’t concentrate. The boy. Screaming. A dying woman . . . no. Dead now. Nalini had connected with her in the moments of death, and there was no way that woman had survived. She’d been hurting so much, and death had almost been a sweet release. Almost. Nalini would never go gladly into that good night, that was for damn sure. She couldn’t do anything to help the woman, but she could focus on the boy. Maybe help him.
That was why she was here. Sighing, she tugged the jeweler’s box from her pocket and flipped it open to study the necklace. It had been given to her a few weeks ago. It was a pretty piece of work, she had to admit. Flawless rubies, diamonds, and gold. Nalini knew her stones and this was worth a lot. It should be worn, admired . . . locked away in a safe when somebody wasn’t wearing it, not shoved into a pocket.
But she couldn’t stand to have it on her skin. When she wore it, the sound of screaming was that much louder. So she kept it in a jeweler’s box and the box was tucked inside the inner pocket of her light jacket. Heaven help her if she was mugged . . .
Then she smirked a little, just thinking of it. Not that it was likely. She could make any man who touched her do just about anything she wanted for short periods of time.
When he’d put this necklace on her, she’d almost made him put a bullet through his own brain. It had taken most of the night to bring herself down off that ledge.
Killing him wouldn’t be a bad thing.
But she had to do her job first.
And she couldn’t do it while she was so worried about what was going on with the boy. So she was here . . . all because she’d touched a necklace.
Her main skill was the ability to influence people through touch, to take their energy and . . . work with it. Jones had called it impressions. She could get inside a person’s head, in their soul, and leave an impression. While she was there, she could manipulate a person’s energy, their will. Nalini could channel that person’s energy, if she put her mind to it, and drive people to do either very bad things, or very good things. Since she tended to hunt down scum, she was usually driven to make them want to do bad things . . . to themselves. When she wanted to, though, she could do useful things. When she pulled back, she could filter away some of the negative shit. She didn’t do that much. But then again, when you worked with the scum of the earth, you didn’t have much of a chance to want to do nice things.
The impression/emotional manipulation shit was her main ability, but there was another one, a weaker one that sometimes got in the way. That ability was the reason she was here now and it hadn’t just gotten in the way this time.
It had almost tripped her up in the middle
of the job, and if she wasn’t careful, it would get her killed.
A woman crying.
A boy screaming.
A man, almost brutally handsome, staring at the woman, and the woman had known her life . . . and death . . . were in his hands.
Then there was just death.
And the knowledge that the boy was still alive.
She’d gotten a glimpse of him, just that one flash.
She’d lied to Tucker. Lies were, sadly, something she dealt in. She told them, sold them, used them. Half the time, she didn’t know what was truth and what was reality, in part because she sold people another reality entirely, depending on what she needed to accomplish to get her job done.
To accomplish her goal.
Her goal . . . finding one man, one who’d proven to be very, very hard to find. But she had to find him if she ever wanted her life back. It was one of the reasons she wasn’t ever going to officially work for Taylor Jones. He claimed he could help with all of that, but she wasn’t about to let her name into the system, or her prints, or anything else. It was easier to just push some information his way and take the money he’d give her when he was in the mood.
She wasn’t going to barter money or info this time. What she wanted was to point Jones and his group toward that kid. In her gut, she knew why the boy was wanted. Why his mother—and the woman had to be his mother—had been murdered. If anybody could care for a damaged kid, it would be Jones. And if the kid had psychic skill, even better that Jones be the one taking care of him. But first they had to find him.
Narrow things down a bit. That’s where Tucker came in.
Then she’d just give Jones a nudge and sit back, watch while Jones worked.
He might deny any psychic ability, but she’d never seen anybody who could locate their kind the way he could. It was like he had some inborn compass that pointed only to psychics and trouble. She’d once called him Professor X, just to get a rise out of him.
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