“I tried to tell her I was sorry.”
Closing his eyes, Gus shook his head. “You can’t. She doesn’t know what happened . . . we can’t let her know.”
Alex glared at him for a long, tense moment.
Gus held his stare and waited. Finally, the boy turned his back and stormed out of the living room, and disappeared down the hall. It wasn’t a long walk. The narrow little room he’d claimed as his own was all of four feet down the hall. It seemed like the entire house shook as he slammed the door shut. Closing his eyes, Gus rested his head against the wall.
When is this going to end? It wasn’t the first time he’d wondered it. It wouldn’t be the last.
He knew there wasn’t going to be an easy answer.
At this point, he wasn’t even expecting an answer, period.
The boy had to be protected, and he suspected protection was going to be a problem for them even once Alex was no longer just a boy.
Please . . . you must do this for me . . .
Those words haunted him even now. He’d given his word, and he’d stand by it. With no regrets.
But how much longer . . .
It ends when the threat is gone.
The knowledge didn’t improve his frame of mind. Not at all.
* * *
REYES lowered the phone.
He wasn’t overly pleased with the fact that the man he had on this job had decided he’d do better if he was working it somewhere . . . else.
It made it harder to watch him. Harder. But not impossible.
He’d made a few phone calls about a replacement, but so far, nobody seemed quite right.
One thing that was intriguing . . . the information his man had given him. That other avenue he’d mentioned. Reyes had been prepared to dismiss it as a hoax, except he didn’t think it was. That was promising. So very promising.
“I want to go swimming.”
The woman at his side stroked a hand down his thigh, and despite his decision to focus and make some headway on this problem, he found himself thinking about that idea himself. Her lovely body, cutting through the water. He could join her. Send his men away from the pool. Not too far, of course. Just far enough away to leave them in privacy.
But he really did need to move forward—
A slim hand slid up and cupped his balls. “Come on,” she murmured. Leaning in, she pressed her lips to his cheek. “I’ll be bad for you again.”
He leaned back, thoughts of work not just forgotten, but gone. Like they’d never existed. “Will you, my dear?”
“Hmmm . . .”
* * *
BENT over the computer, Esteban watched as his carefully worded message went live. He’d just gotten off the phone with the boss, and he knew he didn’t have too much time left. He’d heard the impatience in the man’s voice. He was down to weeks now. Maybe even days. Something had to happen, and soon.
This was his best chance . . . a harebrained scheme. His best chance at survival. Maybe he should just end it now.
Once more, he read through the message, his heart slamming hard against his ribs. He’d spent hours on those words. Hours. And he’d thought it through for an entire day before he even sat down to put pen to paper, tucked inside a hotel in the miserable hell that was known as Miami. Away from the boss. Where he might be able to lose himself if he had to.
He’d torn up more than a dozen drafts of the message, carefully burning each shred down to ash. Nothing to trace back to him, nothing to lead the boss to him. Or anybody else, for that matter.
But now . . . now it was done. He had all the right words and there they were, out there in cyberspace, waiting for an answer.
He didn’t know how long he’d have to wait, but something would come of this. It would have to. Because, really, there was no other option.
Leaning back from the desk, he rubbed his hands over his face and stared up at the darkened ceiling as he thought it all through.
No other option. Save for one.
He could run.
It was the last option. The last resort. The thing he’d do only if no other avenue opened up before him, and he’d almost rather put a bullet in his own mouth before he ran. If he ran and he was caught, he knew he’d be better off dead anyway.
But it had always been a faint, almost microscopic possibility.
He knew this, so he’d planned for that eventuality. But he was saving it until there were no other choices.
Right now, this was still a choice.
He just had to wait.
I am trying to locate an item . . .
* * *
THE message made the skin on the back of her neck crawl.
Nalini Cole had been watching this website for a long, long time, but why the hell had this happened now? This couldn’t have come at a worse time. She was in the middle of a job that she had to see through.
And this? It just couldn’t wait. She had a number of cockroaches she wanted to smash, and a whole bunch of them were involved in a nasty little nest that had connections to this website. They weren’t number one on her list, but they were pretty damn close. She’d been watching, waiting for her chance.
One of the problems, though, stayed in the shadows, using the website only in the most circumspect manner, and it made it hard to move in on them. Too many of them had powerful gifts that made it easy for them to pick up on the tactics she’d normally use.
Still, the opportunity would present itself. So she watched. And waited. And worked on finding the number one cockroach on her list.
Still . . .
Locate an item . . . Those words left a bad taste in her mouth and a twist in her gut. Absently, she reached into her pocket and touched the necklace she’d tucked away. She didn’t like to wear it, but she couldn’t let it out of her sight, either.
When she touched it, she heard a boy crying. Sobbing.
It threw her back into a spiral of memories that threatened to drown her. Choke her. She couldn’t go there, not now. She was dancing on a razor’s edge with her current job anyway and now with this mess . . . no. She needed her head in the least screwed-up state possible, not the worst.
Squeezing her eyes closed, she whispered, “Just remember . . . you survived.” She’d said it a thousand times. She’d say it a thousand more.
Gathering her dreads into a tail, she secured them at the nape of her neck and then focused back on the message. Locate an item.
There really was no question about what she was going to do, she realized. There hadn’t been from the moment she’d read those words.
Once upon a time, a man had referred to her as an item.
The item in question was last seen in Florida.
“Florida.” Just thinking about that place made her gut hurt. “Damned, forsaken hellhole of a state.”
She’d left there not too long ago, and if she had her way, she wouldn’t go back.
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 ignor
ed 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 five 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 minu
te 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.”
The Protected Page 7