The Protected

She wheezed out a breath as he dropped the towel just inside the door and grabbed a pair of faded jeans off the foot of the bed. “Oh, hell, he’s going commando.” She passed a hand in front of her eyes and tried not to drool.

She dropped her hand, fast, though, leaning forward and staring at him before he dragged those jeans up over his hips, hiding that perfect butt from her view. And it really was a perfect butt. Hard and muscled, it made her just want to bite him.

“You need to get laid. Or buy a vibrator. Something.”

SIX

PSYCHIC skill, in Bruce Watkins’s opinion, really wasn’t as uncommon as people thought. Not everybody was going to be able to read minds, that was certain, and he knew the average Joe wasn’t going to be able to float candlesticks across the room, either.

But if more people listened to their instincts, if more people paid attention to what that still, quiet voice in the back of their head tried to tell them . . . well, people would be amazed at what they could accomplish.

Refined instincts and psychic skill weren’t the same, by any means. Psychic ability was the next step up. But there were some people out there who thought they just had really good intuition, and what they had was a rudimentary psychic skill they just never bothered to improve upon.

He wasn’t a particularly strong psychic, but he knew how to listen to those instincts, and he’d worked to improve his skills. He made his living listening to those instincts, selling his skills in an odd sort of manner.

It wasn’t always easy to come by work, but when he did, he tended to hit a windfall.

His skill wasn’t anything special. He could feel the abilities of others. Basically they just exerted a pull on him—their rampant energy tugged at him and drew him in.

That was why the ad on the site that operated on the dark web was so appealing to him. He read between the lines pretty damn well, although the initial posting hadn’t given him much to go on. But then somebody had asked for more information just a few hours ago.

The response:

This item is something that should appeal to certain people here. It’s very valuable to me.

There was a wealth of unspoken information in those cryptic words.

The question was . . . just how much money were they offering?

So that was the question he had to ask. If he liked the answer, he’d offer his very valuable services.

If not?

Too bad. Their package could swelter and rot in Orlando for all he cared.

He typed out a reply, keeping it every bit as vague and obscure as the initial message was, asking for more information, hinting as his experience, his special skills.

The final few words danced around the issue of money, and he hated to be so crass, but it was an issue that had to be addressed.

* * *

LOCATING such an item can come with expenses.

He smirked as he read the final few words and then he rose, pacing around the office as he pondered his own response. It had been three days since he’d put the ad out there on the web, and this was the first time anybody had shown any real response.

There had been more than a few fishing expeditions, which he had expected, and somebody had asked for more information. But nobody had shown promise. A couple of quacks had suggested they meet so they could show how they could use his aura to help locate his missing item. Others had told him they could use divination.

All nonsense and he knew it. He’d been prepared for some nonsense, though, so that was fine.

Three days.

It had taken three days to get a serious inquiry.

Nervous tension ripped through him, but he finally got it under control and started to figure out just the right way to answer.

* * *

AN item.

“You’re sure they are talking about a person?” Tucker asked as he climbed into the car. He had the phone on speaker, which was annoying as hell, but it was easier to talk to Nalini that way than to try and juggle the phone and drive. Plus, his first stop was going to be Starbucks. He needed coffee like he needed to breathe.

It had been raining all damned day and that was a good thing. Rain altered the current in the air, which made him steadier, and he needed to be just then.

Talking to Nalini, even if it was just on the phone, left him damned off balance. He’d been so unsteady last night, he’d ended up jacking off in the shower. Normally, that wasn’t a problem. Thanks to his issues with touching people, he had a good relationship with his hands, sad to say. But this time, he had actually let himself think about having somebody else involved.

Nalini.

That hadn’t been wise. It was like everything inside him had exploded, including the raw, chaotic energy that he absorbed and it had surged out of control. That led to him frying the electrical shit in the house and tripping the circuit breaker.

So rain was good.

He didn’t have to deal with the wild electricity rippling through the air, and he didn’t have to worry about toning things down.

“If he’d lost his address book or his car keys, I doubt I’d be this worked up over things, Tucker. I was drawn to this for a reason and I don’t get pulled in on things. It’s people . . . always people,” Nalini murmured, her voice distracted. “There hasn’t been an answer to the reply yet.”

“If they are seriously looking for somebody to grab, they’ll probably be extra cautious, especially after the shit that went down here recently.” Tucker jammed the key into the ignition and turned it. It didn’t start. Sighing, he glared at the engine. The damn car was old.

Tucker loved his car. Flat-out loved her. It was the first thing that had ever been his, and he planned to keep her going as long as he could, but she was contrary at the best of times.

Today wasn’t the ideal time.

Closing his eyes, he let himself check things out and then he tried again, using his own energy to trigger the dead battery.

“Are you okay?”

He grunted as the engine rolled over. “Yeah. Dead battery. It’s good now.” If only the rest of the car’s problems were that easy to fix.

Nalini was quiet a moment and then said, “Well, if you’ve dealt with the car problems, can we discuss how we’re going to locate this item?”

He shot the phone a dark look. “We, sugar? I hate to tell you this, Nalini, but we aren’t doing anything. I’m looking for this item. You’re wherever you are, doing whatever you are doing, and jumping when those FBI boys tell you to jump. I’m only doing this because I hate to think about somebody being hurt in my neck of the woods.”

“Your neck of the woods . . . where are you from, Tucker?”

He clenched his jaw. “Originally? Georgia. And what does that matter?”

“Oh, nothing. That drawl of yours just gets to me. Right down in my lady bits.”

He dragged a hand down his face and shoved the car into reverse. “Your lady bits. Nalini . . . do you want me to do this job or not?”

She chuckled. “Of course I do. I just want you getting used to the fact that, at some point, I plan on testing that theory of yours on you and bare skin. I bet you can handle it better than you think.”