The Protected

doesn’t call me, even though I found out he knew damn well how to find me, knew what I did. I’d been hurt once, and Jones . . . well, he called them, thought they might want to know. My dad denied even knowing me. But he knew where to find me. Jones had left the contact info and everything. He didn’t even bother trying to get in touch with me. I’m a federal agent and he doesn’t bother to reach out to me when my kid sister is taken.”

Hearing the soft tread of Gus’s footsteps, she looked up just as he knelt down in front of her.

He took the picture from her unresisting hands, and she stared at his face as he studied the image.

“She was seventeen,” she said quietly. “Seventeen years old. Smart as a whip. Wanted to be a doctor. And some scumbag son of a bitch kidnapped her. They wanted to sell her.”

“Sell . . .”

“Yeah. They talk about slavery like it’s a thing of the past, but it’s not. A few months ago, we busted open a small ring. It was the monster who organized my sister’s grab. But it wasn’t in time to save her. They killed her because they couldn’t break her. And the only thing I could do was help stop the people who hurt her.”

Gus looked up at her.

“You want to know why I’m willing to help that kid?” she asked, glancing over at Alex asleep in the bed. He was so still, so quiet. So vulnerable. “It’s because for every monster I help take out of this world, it’s one sister, one brother, one more set of parents we don’t have to worry about going through what I’m dealing with. And trust me . . . nobody should have to live with this, Gus. Nobody.”

He sighed, and reached over, laid the picture facedown on the table beside the chair. “I don’t doubt your determination, Vaughnne. Or your willingness. But you don’t even know what we’re running from.”

“Other than a whole mess of psychics?” she said, taking her picture and tucking it away. “Well, you’re out of Mexico, and I can only imagine the fun there. Drugs and slavery are just the top of the barrel, am I right?” Leaning forward, she caught his gaze. “And I’m going to make a few guesses with you . . . either you’re military or mercenary. You don’t learn to move like you do just from a few years of running. You don’t get the drop on an FBI agent just because you’ve had a couple of bad run-ins with the law. If you weren’t able to handle the problem on your own with whatever your background is? Then it’s bad, I get that.”

Something moved in the back of his eyes, and if she had any sense at all, she should have backed off.

But sense had never been her strong suit.

“It doesn’t matter which one it is,” she said, shrugging. “You made it clear more than once that you can and will kill to protect him. I should make it clear—I’m willing to do the same.”

“You’re bound by the laws of your government,” he said gently. “By your job.”

A faint smile curled her lips. “If people are hunting an innocent boy, I’m doing my job . . . protecting him. And I could do it better if you would just tell me who is after him. If we can stop him, we can make this a whole lot easier on all of us.”

A muscle pulsed in his jaw.

“You already pointed out he now has a whole mess of psychics after him. What makes you think that’s going to end anytime soon?”

“Well . . . we’re working on that,” she said quietly. “All we have to do is deal with that website . . . or at least that listing. It goes away if people realize they won’t get paid. At least, he’ll be safer from that threat. But he isn’t safe until we deal with the original threat.”

Silence fell, interrupted only by the soft sound of Alex’s breathing, and the occasional murmur from out in the hall. Gus stared at her, his gaze watchful and sober. As the seconds ticked by, tension wrapped around them, and when he finally spoke, his words shattered the tension like a hammer against glass. “How can you stop somebody who is feared . . . worshipped . . . by millions?”

Vaughnne’s heart slammed into her chest. “Millions?”

Gus reached up and caught one of her curls, wrapping it around one finger. In a soft, casual tone, he said, “When my sister was twenty, she met a very rich man. He swept her off her feet. Wined her, dined her. Made her feel like a princess, and within a few months, they were married. She was . . . naive. She was from a small village and she was one of those people who saw the best in others. Maybe that was why she didn’t see the evil in him until it was too late. It wasn’t until a few years later that she realized she’d married a man that much of Mexico feared. Those who didn’t fear him worshipped him. His name was Ignacio Reyes—”

Vaughnne hissed out a breath.

Gus’s smile did not reach his eyes. “I take it you’ve heard of him.”

“Ah, yeah. Yeah, I’ve heard of him.” Rich bastard. Drug dealer. Plenty of her counterparts on the more normal side of the FBI had an interest in him. And if he was tied into anything having to do with this kid, Jones was going to take a very avid interest in him. Reyes wouldn’t like Jones taking an interest in him.

Come to think of it, she didn’t really like the idea of Jones taking an interest in that guy. People who got interested in Reyes disappeared.

But her job didn’t change, no matter who the target was.

“That’s Alex’s father,” she said softly.

“Yes. That’s his father.” Gus continued to stroke her hair, but his hand had moved lower now and the back of his knuckles brushed up against the upper slope of her breast. It could have been an innocent touch. Could have been . . . but it wasn’t. Somehow she suspected nothing this man did was innocent. “When Alex was five years old, he guessed the winner of the Kentucky Derby, then the Belmont, the Preakness. A few months later, he guessed the winner of the Indy 500 and then he told his father that there was going to be a bad wildfire and he thought one of his father’s men was going to die. It all came to pass. After that, his father started having him sit in on business meetings . . . at first, it seemed Reyes just thought he was a lucky boy and Alex loved the attention. Loved the toys and presents he would get when he made a good guess. But then they had a man come to one of their parties who had heard about Alex’s luck.” Gus curled his lip. “Alex tells me the man had planned to kidnap him if he guessed right—so he guessed wrong. And the man . . . Alex still has nightmares about the images he saw in the man’s head. When Alex told his father the wrong information, on purpose, his father beat him. He couldn’t walk for a week.”

Vaughnne closed her eyes.

“After that, Alex was unable to see anything for almost six months, and each time he failed, he was beaten . . . again. And when his mother tried to stop it, she was beaten. It all changed when she threatened to kill both herself and the boy. Reyes laughed,” Gus said, his voice still so soft and gentle. “He just laughed at her, and backhanded her. I learned of this years after, when I could do nothing to make it better, that she lay there, bleeding, and he pulled out a gun. And that was when Alex had another vision. He told his father that men were going to come, in three days, a raid. Alex gave him names that he couldn’t possibly know, told him information that no boy of eight could understand. His father stared at him, and that was when he started to realize it was more than just luck. Reyes had always had an interest in the . . . unusual, it seems. All this time, his boy had been seeing things. It wasn’t just luck, wasn’t just perception. He had a walking gold mine . . . and the boy had just saved his ass.”

Gus let go of her hair and lowered his hand to curve it over her rib cage. “Three months passed. They’d evaded the raid—moving all of the drugs—and my sister thinks Reyes used the names Alex gave him to kill those who turned on him. He used their son . . . to kill. And she knew he’d do it again. That was when she knew it had to stop. She tried to take Alex and run. He beat her.”

“Why didn’t she just call you?” Vaughnne demanded.

“That was why she ran,” Gus said. “She ran only to the next town. She knew she’d never get far enough away. So she ran to someplace where she could make one phone call that wouldn’t be traced.”

“She had to know how he’d react.” Vaughnne stared at him.

“Of course she knew,” Gus said, his voice gentle, but his eyes were pure hell. “Killing her would never be a problem for Reyes. He cared nothing for her. She was a pretty toy for him. But Alex . . . he’s everything.” He eased in closer, dipped his head, and pressed his lips to her ear. “He cares nothing for how many die. He cares nothing for who he hurts. He will stop at nothing. Half the government fears him. The others? They either want to fuck him or befriend him. Very few will stand against him. How do you think your FBI will stop