The Protected

were clear.

They had been hunting the boy.

That wouldn’t stop until somebody made it stop. That was actually one thing she could probably do, all on her own. That one listing wasn’t going to rock the boat too much, she didn’t think.

The crunch of gravel was as loud as the crack of a weapon fired in the night, and Nalini was glad she’d had all those years of practice, all those years dealing with shock and fear and surprise. All those years had given her another gift, one that had nothing to do with psychic skill. She wiped every emotion she felt off her face and then replaced those emotions with the emotions she suspected she should feel. Horror, nerves, a bit of anxiety.

Keeping her breathing level, she lifted her gaze and summoned up the saddest expression she could, let tears fill her eyes as she looked up at the sheriff coming her way. “I . . . I think he’s dead.”

* * *

NOT long now, Gus thought, brooding, as he stared into the rearview mirror. They’d just passed a slow-moving old farm truck, loaded down with four people in the cab and four in the truck bed. As it passed around a bend in the road, he glanced over at Alex. The boy was fiddling with his seat belt, tugging at it where it rode over his chest. “Leave the belt alone, Alex,” he said quietly. His muscles were tense, and deliberately, he relaxed them. “What do you feel?”

“They’ll be doing something soon,” Alex said, his voice reed-thin, his skin pale.

Reaching over, he checked the boy’s forehead. No fever. He felt clammy, actually, and Gus wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or not. “We’ll do this and you’ll be safe.”

Miserable, Alex stared at him. “If Vaughnne’s right and they can feel me or track me, how can I ever be safe? I don’t know how to stop . . . doing whatever I do.”

“I’ll find a way to keep you safe,” Gus said, his voice flat and level. He didn’t know how, but he’d do it. Vaughnne’s face flashed through his mind. The way her gaze had bored into his.

And how many times had she told him that she’d help keep Alex safe?

I’m here to help keep him safe . . .

Carajo. He should have trusted her. It was too late now—

Abruptly, Alex’s hand, small but strong, reached over and clamped down on Gus’s forearm. His mouth opened, but no sound emerged.

He didn’t have to say a word. Lifting his gaze to the rearview mirror, Gus saw that the car behind them was closing the distance and fast.

“Block them out, Alex. Hurt them if you can.” He checked the Sig Sauer. It was loaded. Ready. He knew how to kill; had done it more times than he could even count, really. There was blood on his hands, and it didn’t even bother him for the most part. He could do it again and it wouldn’t haunt him at night. Not any more than anything else, at least.

As the car came bearing down on them, faster and faster, he slammed on the brakes. Tires squealed. “Hold on, m’hijo,” he ordered. He whipped the car around and found himself staring at a surprised face. The driver slammed on his brakes, watching them.

A moment later, he felt a pressure shoving against his mind—familiar, that, but nothing he hadn’t felt from Alex—and he ignored it as he aimed, squeezed . . . the pressure disappeared as the man’s head exploded in a mess of blood, bone, and brain matter.

Without waiting another second, he hit the gas and took off barreling down the highway.

He’d made it maybe five hundred yards before the car went airborne.

* * *

“WHAT in the hell . . .”

Vaughnne watched as the car a few hundred yards ahead went flying, up and backward, flipping over the dark blue sedan parked in the middle of the road.

Tucker jerked the steering wheel to the side to avoid having the car plow into theirs, and for the second time that day, she had the pleasure of having her body flung about. This time, the seat belt stopped her, but it wasn’t really that much of an improvement. It still hurt.

The car flipped upside down, landing in almost the exact spot where Tucker’s car had been three seconds earlier.

Neither of them took a second to breathe a sigh of relief, although Vaughnne did say a quick prayer of thanks as she fumbled for her seat belt. She was out of the car, weapon in hand, before Tucker even had his car at a complete stop. Every muscle in her body screamed and she suspected she was going to crash, and hard, sometime soon. For now, adrenaline, determination, and fear were the only things keeping her going.

“Stop,” she said, positioning her body as a man climbed out of the passenger side of the dark blue sedan still sitting in the middle of the road. He had blood splatter on his face, she noticed. Blood splatter, and either he didn’t notice, or it didn’t bother him.

She peered around his body and saw the driver, slumped over the steering wheel, and although she couldn’t see him well enough to be certain, she had a bad feeling she knew where the blood had come from.

The man took another step toward her, hands lifted in the classic pose . . . Hey, I surrender, don’t shoot me . . .

It might have worked, if he hadn’t been walking toward her, if he hadn’t had blood all over him, if she hadn’t recognized his vibe. Psychic as all get-out, and since something had sent Gus’s car flying through the air, she was going to assume this bastard had something to do with it.

“Hey, I just wanted to help . . . I saw the accident,” he said, smiling a little.

“Yeah. Sure.” She braced her weapon with both hands and hoped he couldn’t see the fact that she was swaying a little. “Stay where you are, man.”

Something nudged her. Hard.

She couldn’t see it, but she damn sure felt it.

His eyes tightened when she didn’t react.

The push came again, harder, and this time, she stumbled a little.

“Sir, you are going to desist,” she warned him. “Now.”

“I’m just standing right here,” he said mildly.

“And I’m Santa Claus,” she snapped.

“Ho, ho, ho . . .”

This time, when he pushed, she went down and he lunged.

“Do I get to play, too?”

* * *

TUCKER moved between them just as the man would have grabbed Vaughnne. Intercepting them, he smiled a little as the man fell back. Apparently he hadn’t realized there was a third party lurking around. Tucker decided he liked that . . . being the third party.

Stripping off one of his gloves, he tucked it in his back pocket. Something shoved at his chest. He didn’t know what it was, but he figured it was the guy. Telekinetic, he decided, able to move things with his mind. Tucker wasn’t impressed.

Snaking out a hand, he caught the man by his throat, using his still-gloved left hand. “I want to play, too. Let’s start with twenty questions. Who is after the kid?”

Something gripped at his hand—it was like he could feel something trying to pry his fingers off. “Stop it,” he warned.

“Fuck off or I’m gonna fuck you up,” the man gasped out.

“Oh, really?” He laid his bare hand on the man’s face and did a quick discharge.

A scream split the air, and when Tucker lifted his hand, there was a red imprint of his palm left on the man’s face. “Electrical burns . . . such a bitch. You know, I think I’d do the most damage. Want to have a pissing contest or are you going to tell me what I want to know?”

“I don’t know who is after him . . . but it’s a lot of money.” Eyes wide, the man stared up at him. “A shitload of it, and if we don’t take him in, somebody else will.”

“Oh, it won’t be you.” Tucker slammed everything he had into the man and watched as the life faded from his eyes.