The Protected

But as she passed by Vaughnne, she slid her a narrow look. She hadn’t even gone five feet when Vaughnne felt the press against her mind. She let the other woman in.

That kid has more fear in him than I’ve seen in a long, long while, Taige said, her mental voice as strong and steady as her normal one, and just as clear.

I know. I don’t know what they are running from, but I’m going to find out.

There was a pause and then softly, Taige said, It has something to do with his father. I caught that much. I can try to look deeper tomorrow, but he’s got a lot of talent. No skill . . . yet, but a lot of talent, and he’s been living on wit and instinct a long time. If I try too hard, he might pick up on it and that’s going to make him shut down and it might freak him out. As strong as he is, I’d rather not have him freaked out. It could get ugly.

Vaughnne kept her face blank, but she was hard-pressed not to snort as she recalled the headache from hell the boy had blessed her with. Ugly. Yes, it could get really ugly. Do me a favor, if you can, because he won’t quit doing it when he feels the need. He somehow uses his ability to read others and he comes down like a sledgehammer. Show him the right way.

There was a soft sort of sound, almost like a sigh, and from the corner of her eye, Vaughnne saw Taige shake her head. Reading people. He’s too young to have to be using himself as a weapon, Vaughnne. You know that.

Yeah. She did. I think it’s been the only way they could keep him alive. What were they supposed to do?

Taige didn’t answer, and after a few minutes of silence passed, Vaughnne figured they were done. For now. Focusing on the boy, she studied the slow, steady rise of his chest and realized he’d already gone to sleep. She looked over at Gus and then nodded to the other bed. “You should sleep,” she said quietly. “You’re both safe here.”

His eyes glittered at her in the darkness, and although he had no ability at all, she felt like he could see clear down to her soul, see every last secret. “What were you talking about?”

She stared at him.

Tense, heavy silence stretched out between them, an icy shroud. Finally, she lifted a brow. “Excuse me?”

“With her. You were both talking, I know it.”

“Oh? And since when were you any sort of psychic?” she asked lazily, leaning one shoulder against the door.

His eyes narrowed on her face.

Vaughnne sighed. “Don’t worry about it, Gus. She’s been going over shielding with Alex—was explaining what she worked with him on, how to help him more if I have to.” She lied through her teeth and did without blinking.

Gus continued to stare at her, the disbelief on his face clear. “Remember what I told you, Vaughnne.”

Next to her, Jones tensed.

She shot him a look and shook her head. “It’s okay, Jones. He’s just . . . jumpy.”

She moved to the hard-ass chair just inside the door and settled down. Every muscle in her body screamed at her as she did it; maybe she should take one of the pain pills the doctors gave her. Once Taige got back. Or half a pill. She thought she could still stay awake on half a pain pill.

“I had them keep the room across the hall open for you,” Jones said, dipping down to murmur in her ear. “Go lie down for an hour.”

“I’m fine.”

“You’re not. Consider it an order, Agent.”

She turned her head and glared at him. “I said I’m fine.”

He slid out of his jacket, revealing the side holster and the weapon he hadn’t bothered to remove earlier. As he hung the jacket on the back of the door, he glanced over at her. “If you’re so fine, then you can do it just to humor me.”

* * *

GUS hated hospitals.

He’d avoided them as much as he could, for as long as he could. Even now, as he stood there in the dark, watching as Alex slept, he was plotting out the escape routes. Just in case.

He’d told Vaughnne he’d trust her, and he was trying to do just that.

But there were too many unknowns here. Far too many.

He hurt.

He had bruised ribs, lacerations on his face and hands; the worst one had fifteen stitches, but that wasn’t even the big concern. His left knee was jammed and that was a problem. He needed rest almost more than he needed to breathe, but he couldn’t afford to take it. He was going to make do with the anti-inflammatories and ice for his knee. He’d dealt with worse—far worse.

“If you fall down, you’re not going to do him any good.”

Flicking a look at the blond man by the door, Gus went back to ignoring him. While he hadn’t made Vaughnne for a cop, he’d made this one the minute he’d seen him. Well, not a cop. FBI. Federal agent . . . much worse than a cop. A federal agent who had an interest in psychics. That made him a threat in Gus’s mind, and he couldn’t relax around a threat.

“Do you trust Vaughnne?”

Gus closed his eyes. “I trust nobody.”

A soft sigh drifted through the room. “It won’t be long before you have to trust somebody, son. Whether it’s me or Vaughnne, you need to pick your poison. The boy is in more trouble than you can possibly understand.”

A harsh laugh burst from him before he could stop it, echoing through the room. “Oh, I know the danger, son,” he bit off, shoving up from the chair. “It is this danger that has us running all these years. I know the danger.”

“Do you?”

Turning his back, he stared out the window. The parking lot was quiet, thank God, and he could see the highway—easy access if they had to steal a car. The first thing he’d made note of.

A bright glow lit the room and he turned back around.

The agent, Jones—Vaughnne had called him Jones—sat in his chair, holding out an iPad. “Vaughnne brought this to my attention earlier. I realize you are running from somebody, Gus . . . I hope you don’t mind me calling you Gus. You haven’t given any other name.” Jones paused.

Gus just stared at him for a long moment before looking down at the iPad’s screen.

Jones shrugged and held the tablet out. “One of my freelancers apparently shared this information with . . . an acquaintance. The information was then given to Vaughnne, who shared it with me. You should read it.”

Gus closed the distance and took the tablet, even as a weight settled heavy and cold in his gut. His heart jumped into a fast, hard gallop, and his throat went tight. His palms felt damp as he started to read. Automatically, his brain broke down the code in the heading.

The Psychic Portal—

He set his jaw and fought the urge to hurl the iPad across the room.

“The website’s banner is encoded. I’m having somebody on my team break it down—”

Cutting Jones off, Gus shook his head. “It reads The Psychic Portal,” he said gruffly, glancing up at him.

Jones’s brows arched over his eyes. “You can tell that with a glance.”

Gus shrugged and continued to read. It was the modern version of Abandon all hope, ye who enter here . . . with a quick welcome to those who might actually fit in.

“This website . . . it’s for . . .”

“Psychics,” Jones said, inclining his head. “Assuming it’s legit. As I was saying, my team is looking into it. But there’s enough—well, troublesome material there to make me think it is legit.”

Gus continued to skim through it. It wasn’t until he reached the bottom of the page that anything really jumped out at him.