The Protected

get him medical treatment if he needs it, and if the antibiotics don’t kick in, he’ll need it. Jones has people who owe him favors. If he had to, Jones could put the boy up in his home and I’ll take care of him there. I could use a few days off. But we need to keep him healthy if we want to keep him alive, right?”

* * *

TUCKER’S brain felt too wired.

Trying to lock on the wildfire that was the boy’s erratic ability was almost impossible right now.

Crashing in a hotel five hours north of Orlando, he tossed a ball up in the air over and over, letting the repetitiveness of the motion calm the ragged edges of his mind. Or that was the plan. And the plan was failing.

Swearing, he jacked up into a seated position and grabbed the phone. He jabbed in a number and it wasn’t until Lucia’s tired voice came on the line that he realized how late it was.

“Shit, Luce. I’m sorry. Ah . . . I just wanted to make sure you remember to feed Heywood.”

“Mr. Collins, I’m hardly about to let the cat starve,” she said, sniffing a little. “I might let you starve, but not the cat.”

He laughed a little and then reached up, rubbed the back of his neck. “You’ve got the alarm and everything set, right?”

“Of course.”

She had the alarm set. He’d gotten the notice on his phone. And if he knew Lucia, which he did, she’d also have her weapon handy. He and Lucia understood each other well. She was one of the few people he allowed around him with a weapon, because he knew she’d kill for him. Just like he’d kill for her. She was one of the few people in this world that he actually trusted. He might even almost love her, if he understood how to love anybody. She was definitely one of the few people he’d call a friend. He didn’t like being here and her there, with all of this going on.

“Is everything well, Mr. Collins?” she asked softly.

He closed his eyes. He didn’t know if he could answer that without lying, without worrying her. Lucia worried was a bad thing. People had died because Lucia worried. Not often, and he couldn’t say the people hadn’t deserved to die. He’d been flat on his back, dealing with one of the attempts to . . . return him. It had also been the last attempt. Something about the fact that he’d fried a half dozen of the men who’d been involved and Lucia had gone after the others . . .

There was something to be said about having a former mercenary as your housekeeper, he guessed.

Not to mention the fact that she was a killer cook.

“I’m not sure, Luce,” he finally said. “I’m doing a job. Involves a kid.”

The silence between them went strained. Seconds ticked by and finally Lucia said softly, “You didn’t agree to harm a child, Mr. Collins.”

He suspected if he answered in a way that displeased her, she might decide to come hunting his ass. Lucia had lived by few rules in her life as a hired killer, but one of them had been hard and fast. No children harmed. Ever. The reason she’d gotten out was because her handler had decided to try and push that line. When she’d refused, he’d sent people after her.

That was when Tucker and Lucia had met up.

She’d been bleeding out in an alley while he’d been working his own job-collecting information on a drug runner that he’d planned to sell to whoever wanted to pay the most money for it.

He could have walked by. Probably should have.

But when he’d paused by the older woman and looked into those defiant eyes, he’d been sunk.

That had been fifteen years ago. She’d moved out of the life and for a while had acted as a “security” specialist and she and Tucker had often exchanged information, or sold it, depending on the job. But problems from her past life had continued to emerge, and after one of them had landed her in a bloody heap at Tucker’s door, she’d confessed to him that she was tired. All she wanted was a quiet, normal life.

She’d never have one, but Tucker could hide like nobody’s business when he had to. He didn’t mind having somebody around to watch his back, either.

They were a good pair, all in all.

As long as he didn’t cross her lines, and she didn’t cross his.

Her lines were kids.

He smiled a little. “You know me better than that, Luce.”

“Naturally.” Her voice had thawed and Tucker slumped back on the bed, staring up at the cracked, water- stained ceiling over his head. The bed was miserably hard but he’d slept on worse. Hell, he’d spent more than a few years without a bed. This was almost paradise.

“So what is this situation that may or may not be a problem?”

“People after the kid. I stopped the immediate problem, but . . .”

Again, he lapsed into silence. Lucia picked up the ball. “You don’t know if the problem will return.”

“Oh, no. I’m positive it will. Right now, I need to find the kid and my brain feels like it’s been hot- wired.”

“Then perhaps instead of waking me up, you should go find a way to burn the excesses off and clear your mind, focus. So you can do your job.”

“If it was that simple, I’d do it,” he muttered.

“It’s only complicated if you choose to let it be complicated, Mr. Collins,” she said, her voice unconcerned. “Is there anything you need me to do, or may I go back to sleep?”

He blew out a breath. “I think we need to plan on shutting up things here locally and moving on. You think you can handle it?”

There was a long, tense pause. Then, Lucia said, “Do we have . . . past issues aggravating matters, Mr. Collins?”

“No.” Lights flickered. He couldn’t think of those past issues and stay calm, but the flicker was quick. He only saw red for a second. “But I had to give a fake ID to a cop and you know how that goes. So once this is done, we’ll have to move on anyway. You might as well head on out and set things up at the new place.”

“I see. Very well, Mr. Collins. I did enjoy Florida, though. Now . . . why don’t you see about burning off those excesses?”

The phone went dead.

He scowled and muttered something that likely would have had her punching him if she’d been here.

If Lucia Frazier was twenty years younger, he might risk the fact that touching her was a hazard to both her and him. Assuming he wasn’t afraid she’d break him in bed. The woman was scary as hell.

Burn off the excesses.

Shoving to his feet, he grabbed a clean stack of clothes, his gloves. He’d stopped to rest, thinking he might be able to get a better lock on the boy. But that hadn’t happened.

Might as well shower and get back on the road. Maybe he’d get lucky and find some relatively therapeutic way of burning off those excesses.

* * *

NALINI had no trouble tracking Tucker Collins down.

But she did have trouble getting out of her current mess for two days. The people she’d buried herself with weren’t exactly the kind who thought it was okay for her to just . . . waltz out. Even though she’d done just that off and on for several years, hoping to intrigue a madman.

It had worked.

Now she had the madman good and hooked, which was the bad news. He was a possessive, jealous piece of work, that was for certain. Another bit of bad news—she was working the job solo, and if she got jammed up, she was screwed. This wasn’t a contract case with the FBI or anything. This baby was all hers. The one bright spot was that she knew a phone call would get her out of said jam. Assuming she had time. But she was good at reading that sort of thing.

Somehow, she thought Jones might be really, really interested in what she’d uncovered over the past few days.

It went pretty damn deep, too, and she’d just scraped the tip of the iceberg.