The Protected

He relaxed only a tiny bit. They were less likely to send a woman after him. But still, he had to see her. Would have to let Alex see her—shit. And it had to be done tonight.

“I don’t think dinner will work, Elsie,” he said. “I’m pretty worn out at the end of the day and I’m lousy company. But I’ll be sure to introduce myself when I see her.”

“Well . . . now is a good time.” He could almost hear the smile in her voice. “She’s out front unloading boxes, Gus. Alone. I’d go help her, but . . .”

The wheedle in her voice was anything but subtle. Gus hung up the phone and looked over at Alex.

If anybody would recognize trouble, it would be the boy. There wouldn’t be immediate danger, either. Nobody would want to risk the kid being hurt. They’d try to take Alex alive and Alex would know from a mile away if there was any sort of threat. A fact that, sadly, Gus knew from experience.

He hated it, but he already knew the best course of action. They had problems looking for them, and if they’d found them, it was best to know now, so they could leave.

Alex looked up at him, his eyes solemn.

“It’s okay,” the boy said softly.

“We need to make sure.”

The boy’s hand shook as he stirred the mac and cheese. But then he nodded.

TWO

IT should be a damn crime to look that good.

Vaughnne almost swallowed her tongue when she caught her first good look at her target. Well, one of them.

Wow.

Her libido, dormant for the past couple of years, suddenly rumbled to life, and as she stared at the man coming across the street, she couldn’t help but think . . . Come to mama, pretty boy . . . pretty, pretty, pretty boy . . .

According to the information Jones had given her, he was going by the name Gus Hernandez.

It wasn’t his real name, though. She’d just about bet on that—Gus Hernandez wasn’t too common, but there was Augusto and Gustavo . . . pair those names with Hernandez and you might as well be looking for John Smith.

Whoever he was, though . . . he was a fine, fine piece of work.

Leaning back on the porch, she braced her hands on the concrete behind her and pretended to be absorbed in the study of her flip-flops. One thing about this job . . . she could work in flip-flops and shorts. Much better than the skirts and heels, or slacks and heels, she generally wore when she was in D.C. Not that she spent a lot of time in the office, but she wasn’t exactly running at full speed just yet and she knew it.

Office work would be her mainstay for the next few weeks if she wasn’t doing the babysitting job. Until she could focus her gift for longer than five minutes without a splitting headache, she was useless in the field.

This, though, this was doable. She didn’t need to actively use her telepathy to use her instincts and that was a lot easier on the gray matter. And even though she hated Orlando, the uniform here was a lot better.

So she’d just enjoy the uniform, and enjoy the view . . . and pretend she was somewhere else.

The view was fine. Damn fine. Excellent shoulders. Long, loose-hipped gait. Behind her shades, she studied him, black hair tucked under a battered hat, a pair of cheap sunglasses that shielded his gaze from her. He wore a threadbare T-shirt and jeans so worn, they were practically white at the seams. Damn, he wore those jeans well, too.

Because the view was making her throat go dry, she reached for the bottle of Mike’s Hard Lemonade at her side and took a long drag off it as she shifted her attention to the other things. Like the backpack he was still carrying. Like the boy.

Her other target.

Two males and both of them were too damned pretty. Family, they had to be, although Jones’s information on them was sketchy.

The boy is gifted. I think the man is protecting him. They are in trouble. Keep an eye on them.

Yeah, not a lot to go on.

The boy was already every bit as pretty as the guy walking next to him, although he couldn’t be more than twelve or thirteen. He’d break hearts when he was grown, she suspected. His name was Alex, and he had the angriest, saddest eyes she’d seen on a kid in a long, long while. They were a pale, misty sort of gray—set against his dusky skin, those eyes packed even more of a punch.

Yeah. He was going to break hearts, she thought. And she had a feeling he’d be breaking hers before this job was out. Babysit. What in the hell was going on here?

That gaze of his was a punch right to her heart. One that might shatter it, because while she couldn’t read emotions worth shit, she knew what fear looked like. The boy was ripe with it. He had so much fear inside, it hurt to look at him. So much cynicism, she figured she probably would have looked idealistic.

And even without lowering her shields, she felt the wide-open power of his mind.

Damn.

That kid was practically a lighthouse on the shore in the middle of a raging storm.

All it would take was the wrong person looking for him . . .

Gifted. Gifted, my ass, she thought sourly. A gift like that would be more like a curse for a good, long while. He didn’t need a babysitter. What he needed was a bodyguard and a teacher. She might be able to handle the bodyguard job as long as there was nothing major going on, but she wasn’t equipped to teach a kid like that.

Mr. Gus Hernandez pushed his battered cap back and gave her a sleepy smile. “Hi there,” he said.

Okay. If the boy’s eyes ripped at her, the man’s eyes were going to put her on her knees, but for all the wrong reasons. Wow. If she’d thought the kid’s eyes packed a punch . . . again, wow.

This guy’s gaze was enough to put her out for the count. The color of the mists that hovered over the river in the morning, that was what his eyes made her think of, a surreal shade of gray and so unbelievably beautiful, shockingly pale against the warmth of his olive-colored skin. But it wasn’t just the unnatural beauty of those eyes . . . the kid had that.

The man, though, he had a look in his eyes that made her throat go dry.

Sleepy and sexy, like he’d just tumbled out of bed but he’d be more than happy to tumble right back in. Since he was looking at her, the idea was probably to think that he was going to tumble into bed with her, but she knew better.

That look was practiced. Way too practiced and she knew it. Still, it was a good look, and she might as well enjoy it. His smile, too. She was a little disturbed to realize that smile of his was making her feel all warm and tingly down in parts that were not supposed to be an issue, considering she was on a job.

He knew what effect he had, too. She could tell. It wasn’t arrogance or anything, but he knew. Hmmm. A player? That was a harder puzzle, but she’d figured it out.

He was playing at something, but what was it? That was the question, indeed.

Taking another sip from her bottle, she tipped it at him. “Hey, back.”

The boy shot her a look from under his lashes and lowered his head. As he shoved his hands into his pockets, she felt it. A ripple of his gift, rolling across her.

She didn’t react.

He was young, and unless he’d encountered a lot of psychics, it was unlikely he’d recognize one if she wasn’t using her ability. Which she didn’t plan to do. Keeping her own thoughts tucked back behind a blank shield,