The Protected tfp-4

by Shiloh Walker

  Almost from the beginning, they’d been watching him and the persona he’d worn—the playboy, the brawler, the man who’d played at modeling, fucking, and fighting. It had been planned almost from the time he’d agreed to talk to the men who’d shown up on the base.

  Within a few months, he’d known it was probably a bad choice, but there was no turning back then. Not if he wanted to protect his family.

  He’d sent back money, had thought it would be enough to take care of them. To make sure his mother and Consuelo were cared for.

  This life, it was like he’d been made for it.

  Quick to learn, fast on his feet, good with his fists, good at . . . other things.

  He’d settled into that life, but it was a dangerous one, and the only way to protect his family was to make like he had none.

  Then he’d gotten that simple call.

  I need you . . .

  Consuelo’s voice, a voice he hadn’t heard in years. He hadn’t even recognized her at first. He hadn’t gone home, not when their mother had died, although he would have, if possible. For that, he would have returned home. But he’d been busy recovering from an altercation that had damn near killed him. By the time he’d emerged from surgery, their mother had already been dead, and by the time they had told him about her passing, she had already been buried.

  He’d almost walked away from the life then. Almost.

  But he’d been told, more than once, It will follow you. It will take everything and everyone you love. Why risk them?

  Them? There is no them . . . there is just my sister.

  Except his sister had been pregnant.

  A new life, a new innocent he had to worry about protecting. That had been more than a decade ago. So he’d stayed away . . . again.

  But then she’d called him.

  How could he stay away when his baby sister had called him? Had needed him?

  Please come home, Gustavo. . . I need you. Please. There . . . I can’t tell anybody else. Nobody else will protect him.

  That was all she had said.

  Then she’d hung up and she wouldn’t answer his calls, wouldn’t answer his e-mails.

  Her husband, a bastard if ever there was one, was a man that Gus should have killed the second he had figured out just who his sister had married. He was a drug dealer, but there were worse crimes in Gus’s mind. Still were. But Gus hadn’t thought the bastard was going to go that low.

  He had been wrong.

  And now, every day, he had to live with that knowledge. Every day, he had to live with what his hesitation had cost him. He hadn’t wanted his sister to look at him, or think of him, and wonder.

  Now she wouldn’t because she was gone.

  And her evil, twisted husband lived.

  While Gus and Alex fled for their lives.

  If it had just been Gus involved, he would have gone for the bastard and not blinked twice. It would have been a risk, and the risk was one he would have taken happily. All men died, after all. He doubted he’d live a long life. But it wasn’t a risk he’d take without knowing Alex would be safe.

  Alone . . .

  Hell, yes. He was alone.

  Glaring down at Vaughnne, he opened his mouth to tell her . . . something. Anything. He needed her out of his way. Preferably someplace far away from him, because if she was far away from him, then he wouldn’t be tempted to do just what she seemed to think he should do. Trust her.

  She reached up and closed her hand around his wrist. “If you don’t stop running now . . . you never will,” she said quietly. “Surely, somewhere in that beautiful, thick-as-stone head of yours, you have to realize that, right? Either you take a stand or spend the rest of your life running. The rest of his life running. And it’s likely to be a short one, because those people will not quit hunting you. And we can’t keep chasing after you to protect that kid when you make it clear you don’t want our help.”

  “Why?”

  She blinked, her lashes sweeping down to hide her dark eyes. The scattering of freckles across her cheeks caught his gaze, and before he could stop himself, he lifted a hand, cupped her chin. Stroking one thumb across the silk of her skin, he waited.

  “Why what?” she asked, tugging away and backing out of his reach.

  “Why do you want to help at all?” He shook his head and gestured to Alex. “You don’t know us. We’re not even here legally.”

  She smirked and rolled her eyes. Then she turned her back and crossed over to the chair opposite the bed. “I’m so shocked by that, I think I just might faint, Gus. I really might.” She dropped down in the chair, wincing a little as she stretched out. “I mean, never mind the fact that you’ve pulled a gun—probably an illegal one—on me more than once. Never mind that you’ve drugged me. Threatened me. But you’re here illegally. That’s just over the line there.”

  He glared at her and tried to ignore the nasty crawl of shame rising up the back of his throat. How many times had he threatened her? More than once. More than a half dozen, easily. And yet she sat there, watching him with a level, steady gaze, and no anger in her lovely, dark eyes.

  “You want to know why?” she asked softly.

  “If I didn’t, I would not have asked,” he pointed out.

  “Okay.” She nodded slowly and then shifted around and reached into her pocket. He watched, more than a little curious, as she opened what looked like a wallet. No purse for Vaughnne, it seemed. She tugged something out, and although he couldn’t see it well, it looked to be a picture.

  * * *

  “WHEN I was fifteen, my father threw me out on the streets and my mom just stood by and watched,” Vaughnne said softly, stroking a finger down the ragged edge of the picture. It was one Jones had managed to get for her. She had a bunch of them, thanks to her boss, but this was her favorite. She needed to make some copies of it, but she just hadn’t gotten around to it. The picture had been taken at Christmas, right before all the . . . voices . . . had started. It was her with Daylin. Her little sister. The girl she’d tried so hard to save months ago. And when she couldn’t save her, she’d settled for avenging her.

  Feeling the weight of Gus’s gaze, she looked up. “My dad didn’t believe in psychic ability, you know.” She shrugged and said, “Kind of crazy, because I got it from him. I always felt that . . . buzz around him. Nobody else in the house. And I’d talk to him more. Bad call there, because it made him think he was going crazy. Once he figured out it was me, he threw me out. I never saw him again, never saw my mom . . . or my little sister.”

  She looked back down at Daylin’s picture. “I used to check up on my sister, though. She joined Facebook, and although I didn’t friend her or anything, I’d . . . well. Watch her. Peek in on my dad’s profile even, because he’d post things about her grades and some pictures and stuff. I could see her face every now and then, and it was better than nothing. She didn’t lock her profile, either. I hated that, because that’s so stupid, so unsafe, but at the same time . . .?” She sighed. “It was the one connection I had with her. I could see what was going on in her life. I used to think about how I’d wait until she was eighteen then I wouldn’t have to worry about my dad. I could look her up and see if she wanted to have anything to do with me.”

  The grief rose up, threatened to slam her to the floor, but she fought it back. Now was so not the time. Sucking in a breath, she waited until the pain ebbed before she went on. “Then, last year . . . she disappeared. My father tells the cops she was kidnapped, but I think she was out flirting with the wrong guy, maybe went to meet him—it fits with some of the stuff I saw on her page when I was digging around. She’d been talking about this one guy. Had plans to meet somebody she’d met on-line . . . so, so stupid. I think she met him and he grabbed her. It wasn’t reported for a few days . . .” She rubbed a finger down the edge of the picture again, barely even aware she was doing it. “I didn’t know anything about it—was on a case—and then I got home and see he’d logged into her Facebook and
put up an alert. That’s how I find out my baby sister is missing. An alert on Facebook. He doesn’t call me, even though I found out he knew damn well how to find me, knew what I did. I’d been hurt once, and Jones . . . well, he called them, thought they might want to know. My dad denied even knowing me. But he knew where to find me. Jones had left the contact info and everything. He didn’t even bother trying to get in touch with me. I’m a federal agent and he doesn’t bother to reach out to me when my kid sister is taken.”

  Hearing the soft tread of Gus’s footsteps, she looked up just as he knelt down in front of her.

  He took the picture from her unresisting hands, and she stared at his face as he studied the image.

  “She was seventeen,” she said quietly. “Seventeen years old. Smart as a whip. Wanted to be a doctor. And some scumbag son of a bitch kidnapped her. They wanted to sell her.”

  “Sell . . .”

  “Yeah. They talk about slavery like it’s a thing of the past, but it’s not. A few months ago, we busted open a small ring. It was the monster who organized my sister’s grab. But it wasn’t in time to save her. They killed her because they couldn’t break her. And the only thing I could do was help stop the people who hurt her.”

  Gus looked up at her.

  “You want to know why I’m willing to help that kid?” she asked, glancing over at Alex asleep in the bed. He was so still, so quiet. So vulnerable. “It’s because for every monster I help take out of this world, it’s one sister, one brother, one more set of parents we don’t have to worry about going through what I’m dealing with. And trust me . . . nobody should have to live with this, Gus. Nobody.”

  He sighed, and reached over, laid the picture facedown on the table beside the chair. “I don’t doubt your determination, Vaughnne. Or your willingness. But you don’t even know what we’re running from.”

  “Other than a whole mess of psychics?” she said, taking her picture and tucking it away. “Well, you’re out of Mexico, and I can only imagine the fun there. Drugs and slavery are just the top of the barrel, am I right?” Leaning forward, she caught his gaze. “And I’m going to make a few guesses with you . . . either you’re military or mercenary. You don’t learn to move like you do just from a few years of running. You don’t get the drop on an FBI agent just because you’ve had a couple of bad run-ins with the law. If you weren’t able to handle the problem on your own with whatever your background is? Then it’s bad, I get that.”

  Something moved in the back of his eyes, and if she had any sense at all, she should have backed off.

  But sense had never been her strong suit.

  “It doesn’t matter which one it is,” she said, shrugging. “You made it clear more than once that you can and will kill to protect him. I should make it clear—I’m willing to do the same.”

  “You’re bound by the laws of your government,” he said gently. “By your job.”

  A faint smile curled her lips. “If people are hunting an innocent boy, I’m doing my job . . . protecting him. And I could do it better if you would just tell me who is after him. If we can stop him, we can make this a whole lot easier on all of us.”

  A muscle pulsed in his jaw.

  “You already pointed out he now has a whole mess of psychics after him. What makes you think that’s going to end anytime soon?”

  “Well . . . we’re working on that,” she said quietly. “All we have to do is deal with that website . . . or at least that listing. It goes away if people realize they won’t get paid. At least, he’ll be safer from that threat. But he isn’t safe until we deal with the original threat.”

  Silence fell, interrupted only by the soft sound of Alex’s breathing, and the occasional murmur from out in the hall. Gus stared at her, his gaze watchful and sober. As the seconds ticked by, tension wrapped around them, and when he finally spoke, his words shattered the tension like a hammer against glass. “How can you stop somebody who is feared . . . worshipped . . . by millions?”

  Vaughnne’s heart slammed into her chest. “Millions?”

  Gus reached up and caught one of her curls, wrapping it around one finger. In a soft, casual tone, he said, “When my sister was twenty, she met a very rich man. He swept her off her feet. Wined her, dined her. Made her feel like a princess, and within a few months, they were married. She was . . . naïve. She was from a small village and she was one of those people who saw the best in others. Maybe that was why she didn’t see the evil in him until it was too late. It wasn’t until a few years later that she realized she’d married a man that much of Mexico feared. Those who didn’t fear him worshipped him. His name was Ignacio Reyes—”

  Vaughnne hissed out a breath.

  Gus’s smile did not reach his eyes. “I take it you’ve heard of him.”

  “Ah, yeah. Yeah, I’ve heard of him.” Rich bastard. Drug dealer. Plenty of her counterparts on the more normal side of the FBI had an interest in him. And if he was tied into anything having to do with this kid, Jones was going to take a very avid interest in him. Reyes wouldn’t like Jones taking an interest in him.

  Come to think of it, she didn’t really like the idea of Jones taking an interest in that guy. People who got interested in Reyes disappeared.

  But her job didn’t change, no matter who the target was.

  “That’s Alex’s father,” she said softly.

  “Yes. That’s his father.” Gus continued to stroke her hair, but his hand had moved lower now and the back of his knuckles brushed up against the upper slope of her breast. It could have been an innocent touch. Could have been . . . but it wasn’t. Somehow she suspected nothing this man did was innocent. “When Alex was five years old, he guessed the winner of the Kentucky Derby, then the Belmont, the Preakness. A few months later, he guessed the winner of the Indy 500 and then he told his father that there was going to be a bad wildfire and he thought one of his father’s men was going to die. It all came to pass. After that, his father started having him sit in on business meetings . . . at first, it seemed Reyes just thought he was a lucky boy and Alex loved the attention. Loved the toys and presents he would get when he made a good guess. But then they had a man come to one of their parties who had heard about Alex’s luck.” Gus curled his lip. “Alex tells me the man had planned to kidnap him if he guessed right—so he guessed wrong. And the man . . . Alex still has nightmares about the images he saw in the man’s head. When Alex told his father the wrong information, on purpose, his father beat him. He couldn’t walk for a week.”

  Vaughnne closed her eyes.

  “After that, Alex was unable to see anything for almost six months, and each time he failed, he was beaten . . . again. And when his mother tried to stop it, she was beaten. It all changed when she threatened to kill both herself and the boy. Reyes laughed,” Gus said, his voice still so soft and gentle. “He just laughed at her, and backhanded her. I learned of this years after, when I could do nothing to make it better, that she lay there, bleeding, and he pulled out a gun. And that was when Alex had another vision. He told his father that men were going to come, in three days, a raid. Alex gave him names that he couldn’t possibly know, told him information that no boy of eight could understand. His father stared at him, and that was when he started to realize it was more than just luck. Reyes had always had an interest in the . . . unusual, it seems. All this time, his boy had been seeing things. It wasn’t just luck, wasn’t just perception. He had a walking gold mine . . . and the boy had just saved his ass.”

  Gus let go of her hair and lowered his hand to curve it over her rib cage. “Three months passed. They’d evaded the raid—moving all of the drugs—and my sister thinks Reyes used the names Alex gave him to kill those who turned on him. He used their son . . . to kill. And she knew he’d do it again. That was when she knew it had to stop. She tried to take Alex and run. He beat her.”

  “Why didn’t she just call you?” Vaughnne demanded.

  “That was why she ran,” Gus said. “She ran only to the next
town. She knew she’d never get far enough away. So she ran to someplace where she could make one phone call that wouldn’t be traced.”

  “She had to know how he’d react.” Vaughnne stared at him.

  “Of course she knew,” Gus said, his voice gentle, but his eyes were pure hell. “Killing her would never be a problem for Reyes. He cared nothing for her. She was a pretty toy for him. But Alex . . . he’s everything.” He eased in closer, dipped his head, and pressed his lips to her ear. “He cares nothing for how many die. He cares nothing for who he hurts. He will stop at nothing. Half the government fears him. The others? They either want to fuck him or befriend him. Very few will stand against him. How do you think your FBI will stop him?”

  Then he pressed his lips to her neck. “As much as I’d like to think you can help me protect the boy from his father, it cannot be done. We have to run.”

  He pulled back, and the second he wasn’t pressed to her, she felt cold. It wasn’t just from the temperature in the room, though. It went so much deeper than that.

  He paused by the bed, staring down at the sleeping boy.

  “There’s another option,” she said, barely aware of what she was going to say.

  Gus looked up at her. “As long as Reyes lives, there is no other option for us. We run.”

  What are you doing? She stared at him, hardly able to believe she was saying this. If she took this step, she might as well be swimming into shark-infested waters while bleeding. It was so damned dangerous, it wasn’t even funny. She might not make it out, and if she did, she could end up living out the rest of her life in jail.

  “There is always another option,” she said, forcing the words out through a throat gone tight with nerves.

  “I’m done discussing this.” He turned away. “We run.”