The Protected tfp-4 Page 4

  She’d been biding her time, watching the house at night and getting by on catnaps during the day because she couldn’t rest as heavily at night as she’d like to. She was on edge, sleeping with one eye open, and this was so not the ideal way to get all the way back up to full speed.

  Babysitting, my ass, she thought, grabbing a cookie and nipping another bite. She’d like to take the entire plate and dump them over Taylor Jones’s head.

  The cookies were her way in.

  But if Gus didn’t get home soon . . .

  Her phone rang.

  It was an unknown number and that wasn’t a surprise. Picking it up, she continued to stare outside, keeping her body positioned so nobody could see her. “Hello?”

  “Mac.”

  Jones didn’t introduce himself, but he didn’t need to.

  “Figures.” She took another bite of cookie, but the explosion of chocolate on her tongue didn’t help.

  “How are things going?”

  “Quiet as the proverbial grave,” she admitted. “Nothing happens. At all. They get up. They leave. I watch them while he works . . . he keeps the kid with him and nothing happens there. They come back. I haven’t seen hide nor hair of anybody. Have you learned anything new about them?”

  “Some. Get me some better visuals on the man and I can do more. I have my suspicions, but I need clearer images to confirm. He moves like a man who knows how to avoid being caught on camera, and for the facial recognition software to work, we actually need to see his face.”

  “So . . .” She drew the word out. “You have nothing really to tell me.”

  “I have some things I could tell you; I’m just electing not to until I confirm the information. Just be careful.”

  “Wonderful. Be careful. Information noted.” She grunted, shifting to stare down the street, watching for them. Any minute now and they’d be at the house. She thought. She hoped. “Just what had you sending me down here anyway?”

  “I listened to somebody I trust,” Jones said simply. “I trust my sources, Mac. In our line of work, we have to.”

  “And what did your source say?” She rubbed the back of her neck, irritated. He usually wasn’t so closemouthed about these things. None of them liked operating in the dark, he knew that.

  A moment of silence passed, and then Jones sighed. “There was very little my source could say. Just that the boy was going to have trouble . . . and we didn’t want anything bad happening to him. I think there are things I’m not being told, but I’ve learned to trust this person.”

  “So we’re taking a lot of things on blind faith here.” She rubbed her temple, going back to watching the house while her gut twisted round and round.

  “Do you think my source was wrong?” he asked. “If you think we’re off base and there’s nothing wrong, fine. I’ll call you back.”

  “Shit, I hate you sometimes,” she said. “No, your source isn’t off base. The kid has a gift that’s waiting to explode, and they both have trouble written all over them.”

  “What else can you tell me?”

  She made a face. “That’s my line. You’re supposed to be the one with the info here, boss, but you won’t tell me shit. The guy . . .” She paused, blew out a breath. “The guy isn’t your average Joe, if you get what I’m saying. Military, cop. Something. He watches things. Sees things. He’s got moves on him, if you know what I mean.”

  Jones was silent.

  She twirled a lock of hair around her finger. “And the kid . . . shit, Jones. Did you know what you were sending me into?”

  “I told you the boy was gifted.”

  She snorted. “Gifted doesn’t touch it. He makes my teeth hurt, he’s so strong. If anybody with the wrong sort of mind grabbed him, Jones?” Shaking her head, she sighed. “And he’s got no idea how strong he is, how much he’s casting it out there, either. It’s like nobody ever worked with him to tone it down.”

  “Not everybody has somebody around to teach them,” Jones said softly. “You didn’t.”

  “Yeah, but I learned fast how to shut things down.” It was that or just suffer more for it. “What about the guy? The kid calls him his dad, but he’s not.”

  “How can you tell?”

  “I just can.” Some of the others in the unit could read that sort of thing. Read the mind and read the lies. Read the emotions and feel the lie. Vaughnne couldn’t. She had to rely on the more mundane abilities, and she’d brushed them up as much as could be expected. When people lied, there were just tiny little cues.

  Vaughnne had learned to look for them.

  The boy, as skilled as he was at it, all but screamed “liar” to her. He’d probably convince just about everybody else, including teachers, neighbors, and friends. Probably even a lot of law enforcement, if they had a reason to talk to him. It wasn’t even that stupid shit that people thought you might see when talking to a liar. He had no problem meeting her gaze, and there wasn’t any of the constant fidgeting some people thought you’d see when talking to somebody who was hiding the truth. And he was a fidgeter. She’d seen that much when they were moving. He had a problem being still, which was normal for a kid. But when she asked him anything remotely personal, he went oddly still.

  And he lied . . . like a dog. With easy, polite smiles and practiced, natural responses, he lied. And he did it all while looking her right in the eye.

  Gus was harder, though. If she didn’t know better, she’d almost believe everything he told her. That bothered her, because she didn’t like it when she couldn’t see through somebody’s story. And it was just a story.

  They weren’t a dad and a son just trying to make it on their own after the mom decided she’d rather go out and party than help raise a kid.

  Not an unusual story. She’d heard it before, had seen it, but that wasn’t the case here.

  “I think you’re probably right, by the way,” Jones said, interrupting her mental train of thought and successfully derailing it. “About the man. I believe he does have a background we’d find interesting . . . and that’s after we get through the false layers that I’m just now uncovering. I can’t confirm until I get better images of him, but I don’t think I’m wrong. Also, I’m just about certain he’s not the dad.”

  Spying a familiar form striding down the sidewalk next door, Vaughnne edged back from the window. “I’m surprised you don’t have everything from their social security numbers to their shoe sizes already.”

  “I was hoping you’d fill me in on the shoe sizes. Because that’s so important to the case,” Jones replied, his voice neutral.

  So very neutral, it took her a second to realize what had just happened. “Oh, shit, Jones. I don’t believe it, but I think you might have just made a joke.”

  “I don’t joke. They removed my sense of humor when I took the job.” She heard him pause, speak to somebody, and then he was back on the phone. “I have to go. I’ll stay in touch, Mac.”

  The line went dead and she went in, cleared it from her list of recent calls before sliding the phone back into her pocket. Standing in the middle of the living room, she continued to stare out the window. She’d bought a wispy set of curtains for a reason. If the blinds weren’t drawn, she could see through them just fine, and since the lights were off, unless somebody was looking right at her, they wouldn’t be able to see her easily. Considering the white-hot brightness of the sun, it would be pretty damn hard to make her out, standing in her darkened living room.

  Gus and the kid were standing in front of the house. To anybody else, it might look like they were talking. Gus had the backpack slung over his left shoulder, a jacket draped over his right hand. Weapon hand, she thought. Something skittered along her senses and she knew, as sure as she was standing there, they were not talking.

  Alex stood there, while Gus looked down at him. And the boy looked up at the house. Just watching, kind of like she was watching him.

  Then, the next thing he did had her rubbing her temple as the headache flar
ed.

  Psychic energy flared, crackled. And it wasn’t until the mad energy faded that the tension she sensed in both man and boy eased. Once it passed, the two of them headed into the house.

  “What kind of trouble are you two in?” she muttered.

  Then she glanced over at the plate of cookies she’d put together. She needed to reach out to them, try to get some sort of relationship with the kid going, but everything in her screamed caution, caution, caution—

  It was just a plate of cookies.

  They could take the cookies or not, invite her inside or not.

  It might take more than one or two visits to get in the door, and she was more than aware of that fact. She knew she’d have to take her time getting closer to the boy and that was the easier part of the job.

  The scary part . . .

  Her heart jumped into her throat as she thought about the other thing she needed to do. She slid a hand into her pocket, touched the microscopic little camera, and sighed. She really did need to get eyes on the inside and not just because it would be nice to be able to do more than catnap at night. Her instincts were good, damn good, and they’d kept her alive, sane, and healthy for a long, long time—part of the reason she made a good babysitter, she figured, but part of a babysitting job . . . or bodyguard job? Knowing where in the hell the body was. Watching the damn body. Hard to do if she was catching up on sleep. No matter how badly she needed it.

  The lack of solid sleep wasn’t going to help her get back to fighting form any quicker, that was certain.

  She went to pick up the cookies and then she stopped. Although Vaughnne absolutely wanted to kick herself in the ass, she headed to the bathroom. She wasn’t vain. Back when she would have been learning all that shit about hair and makeup, she’d been struggling just to scrape by after her parents had kicked her out on her ass.

  Once she’d managed to haul herself out of the hole where she’d found herself, she’d then been busy busting her ass to get up to speed, because she’d figured out just what she wanted to do. What she needed to do. It had been right about the time she read about a psychic in the newspaper.

  Taige Branch. Taige Morgan now. But Vaughnne had figured out then and there, she wasn’t alone. So she’d hitchhiked and walked and made her way down to Alabama, determined to talk to the woman who had been helping others out. She hadn’t ever gotten to talk to Taige that day, but she had talked to somebody else.

  Taylor Jones, who had been playing guard dog at the hospital where Taige was hospitalized. Apparently that happened a lot with her. Taylor had taken one look at her and told her she wasn’t ready.

  He was right. She hadn’t been. Getting her GED, college, all of that shit had eaten up more of her time. But for the past six years, she’d been a part of his unit. She finally had a place where she belonged, and she’d worked damn hard to get here. Not much time to worry about some of the vanities that came with being a girl, not much time to worry about hair, makeup, any of that shit.

  But she knew when a guy was interested and she’d seen the look in Gus’s eyes more than once the other day. Flipping the light, she stared at her reflection for a long moment. A black woman with a hell of a lot of hair, a hell of a lot of attitude, and grim eyes stared back at her.

  “You are not going to be charming anybody’s pants off with that look on your face, honey.” Blowing out a breath, she skimmed a hand back over her hair, but there wasn’t a whole hell of a lot to do with it. She planned on washing it that night, but unless she wanted to delay everything else she had to do until she had it washed and taken care of, then she’d just have to leave her hair as it was for now.

  Maybe she should have gotten it plaited or something before she came down here, but it was too late to worry about it right now.

  Resting her hands on the cool porcelain of the sink, she tried to see herself the way he might. Pretty enough, but nothing to write home about. The freckles were something she’d hated for her entire life, odd, dark little dots that danced across her nose and cheeks. She didn’t mind her mouth, though. Or her eyes.

  She had a unique face, if nothing else, which wasn’t always good considering the life she lived. Sometimes she needed to blend, and Vaughnne’s looks didn’t lead to blending. Neither did her attitude. When she bothered with makeup, she played up the mouth and the eyes, but she didn’t think it was a good idea to go for the makeup just then. Anything that might make their instincts sound an alarm was going to cause problems.

  Okay, so no makeup and she wasn’t about to go put on any come-hither clothes.

  The red tank top and denim shorts were just going to have to work.

  One thing she could do . . . wipe away the attitude. Get rid of the frustration and make sure everything was all locked down nice and tight behind her shields. Working around other psychics with stronger abilities had taught her everything she ever needed to know about hiding her thoughts, controlling them. Generally, psychics would only skim surface thoughts, and if they wanted more, they had to establish a deeper connection. She kept everything she didn’t want known hidden under strong, solid shields. The kid didn’t have the finesse needed to power through those shields without her realizing it, and if he started trying to pull that trick, it would be time to start doing some fast talking and even faster phone calling.

  So . . . tone down the attitude. Smooth away some of the rough edges she hadn’t bothered to cover, since she was in here by her lonesome. Closing her eyes, she gave herself a minute to do that, and when she looked in the mirror, she saw herself again. But the woman looking back was just a little less . . . rough. A little less ready to go for the throat, she guessed.

  Blowing out a breath, she went through a few of the mental exercises she needed to calm her thoughts and relax.

  Finally, though, she felt a little less jagged, a little less ragged. And about as ready to face Gus as she was going to be. Gus. And Alex. Really, Alex should be the one to worry her. But who was she spazzing about? The hot guy.

  Hell. She needed to have her head examined. Or maybe she just needed to get laid. Or have an orgasm. Something. Sighing, she hunted down the plate of cookies and headed outside.

  Thinking about Gus and orgasm was not good. It undid the past thirty minutes of mental relaxation.

  He was bad—very, very bad, she decided. Very bad for the female parts of her, very bad for her peace of mind, and if she couldn’t keep her mind on the job, he was going to be very bad for her life in general.

  * * *

  VAUGHNNE was bad for his peace of mind, but Gus had successfully convinced himself that all he needed to do was stay the hell away from her. If he did that, everything would go back to the way it had been.

  “It’s her,” Alex said, an odd tone in his voice. He was at the table working on the day’s assignment and he spoke seconds before the knock came. Gus reached for the towel to wipe his hands off as they listened to the next knock, twenty seconds later.

  “I know,” Gus said. He wasn’t psychic, but this was just his luck. He’d decided he needed to stay away from her, so naturally, life had thrown her back in his path.

  Alex continued to sit at the table. “Are you going to answer it?”

  He really shouldn’t.

  But the truck was in the drive, and if he didn’t, he figured it would only make her more curious. It was a perfectly logical, perfectly plausible explanation.

  And it had nothing to do with the simple fact that he wanted to see her again.

  “I’ll be there in a minute,” he called out as he slid Alex a look.

  Alex stood up and went into the room off the back of the house. They’d rehearsed it all a hundred times. Probably more. And even though they both knew who was at the door, it didn’t matter. Alex did his part. Gus did his, reaching for the Sig Sauer on the kitchen counter and tucking it into place at the small of his back.

  “Do you need that?” Alex asked softly, even as he tucked himself against the wall and got ready. Always rea
dy. The backpack was hanging on the back of a chair, and Gus could grab it in a moment. In two minutes, they could be out of this house. Out of the house, and running. Again.

  Fury tore into Gus with hot, greedy claws, so abrupt and so all-consuming. It all but leveled him and caught him completely off guard. He’d thought, after all this time, he had dealt with this. Nobody understood the reasons behind this as well as he did. Why get angry over something he couldn’t control?

  But the anger was there, bubbling, burning inside him.

  He shoved it down, buried it deep as he looked at Alex. He’d never fully deal with it, perhaps.

  This was no life for that boy. None at all. He knew it and he hated it. They lived every day by a set schedule. Up at dawn where they went through a routine, what to do if somebody tried to break in, what to do if somebody did break in and managed to get ahold of Gus, where Alex was supposed to go, what he was supposed to do. Gus went to work at his shitty job where the kid sat in the car and did his schoolwork because he couldn’t go to school. They lied through their teeth that Gus was homeschooling him because they didn’t need the mess it would bring down on them if somebody suspected the boy wasn’t getting an education, although that was actually the least of Alex’s concerns.

  If they managed to find him—Stop it. He couldn’t do this now.

  The resigned look on Alex’s face was another blow. It didn’t cut at him the way the fear did, but it was a blow nonetheless. Like Alex had already accepted this was his life. This was all his life was, would ever be.

  Gus didn’t want that for him.

  He wanted to promise Alex that things would get better, that he’d have . . . something. A life, somehow. But he didn’t do that. Instead of offering promises he couldn’t keep, he stood there and stared back at the boy until Alex looked away. Casually, he adjusted his shirt, made sure it covered the gun. “You know it’s necessary.”

  “But—”

  He cut the boy off, speaking softly, in a low voice, and watched as Alex tucked his chin against his chest.