The Protected

hadn’t been very successful at it, but the man floated around and didn’t appear to succeed at anything, except sleeping with women.

Rumor had it that he wasn’t above playing man-whore to some of the more financially well-off women in Mexico.

He never should have been an issue.

Yet, Gustavo had been the problem from the beginning.

Reyes had said that Gustavo wouldn’t be a problem. But the man had been wrong. The bastard. Esteban let himself think that way . . . now. As he made his way into the swamp, he decided it was okay to finally think about the senor in whatever way he chose. He’d never thought that Reyes was the one who passed on the . . . weird . . . abilities to his son, but he hadn’t wanted to take the chance and he’d always been careful to monitor even his personal thoughts when it came to one Ignacio Reyes. But no more. There wasn’t any point, not after tonight.

He reached the rickety old dock and eyed the surrounding area.

This would do well, he thought. Very well. A mosquito landed on him as he knelt to catch the rope tied to the dock. He caught the rope and untied it, absently humming to himself as he worked. It felt nice, he thought. Having a plan in mind. Taking the stress, the burden off his shoulders. He didn’t have to worry anymore. Not now.

Once he’d finished untying the boat, he took his personal documents, both the real ones and the fake ones, and put them in his carry-on. Then, with a quick look around, he tossed his computer case into the deep, brackish water. Maybe it would be found. Maybe it wouldn’t. But it wasn’t his concern anymore. Neither was Reyes. Neither was the boy. Neither was that bastard Gustavo Morales.

If he had been feeling benevolent toward the senor, he could have left his information where the man could put it toward some sort of use, but he wasn’t feeling benevolent. At all. If anything, some part of him almost wished the boy luck. The boy, not that cabron Morales. Morales could rot in hell, right along with the senor. Right along with Esteban.

Of course, if he really wanted to wish the boy luck, he could call off the psychic wolves, but there wasn’t time for that. He had to take action before the senor decided to send somebody after him. In all likelihood, there were already people looking for him.

No. If the boy was going to survive, he’d do it on his own, without any help from Esteban.

Eyeing the narrow little boat, he climbed in.

There was just one thing he really needed.

He pulled it out, stroking the cool metal idly. It would be full night soon. He could hear the odd, eerie music of the night creatures. He rather enjoyed it. He’d go deeper into the swamps before he did anything.

It was almost over.

He’d enjoy the quiet of the swamp. And then he’d die there . . . his way.

* * *

REYES lowered the phone to the desk.

Esteban wasn’t answering.

It was an irritation more than anything else, but if he didn’t return his calls soon, Reyes would be very upset.

Esteban didn’t want to see Reyes angry. Things were already not looking well for him.

Absently, he glanced up, eyeing the door. Usually, when he was feeling frustrated, one thing made it better.

Nala.

But she hadn’t been her normal self lately.

Ever since she’d slipped away from him for a few days. He closed a hand into a fist, remembering. Perhaps he shouldn’t have been so hard on her when she came back. And she had come back. She’d come back—he hadn’t tracked her down, although he’d certainly tried. It was like she’d disappeared into the wind.

That was part of why he’d been so angry. If she left again . . .

No.

She wouldn’t. She knew now what would happen.

Brushing that thought aside, he focused on the matter at hand. Esteban. His missing son.

Reaching for the phone, he made a call. It was time to bring Esteban home. Time for a changing of the guard, so to speak.

“Jorge. Please come to my office.”

* * *

SLUMPED in the chair, Nalini kept her back against the wall, the laptop on her legs and her expression bored.

Even when Ignacio came her way, she didn’t look away from the screen, although she did shut down the screen to the website she was hacking into. That damned site, The Psychic Portal.

He settled on the lounge next to her and stretched out his legs. “Are you still ignoring me?”

She reached for her glass and took a long, deep drink of the sweet rum concoction. It was about the only thing she trusted to numb the pain just then. When she’d made it back to Ignacio’s villa, he’d smiled at her, kissed her . . . and then slammed a brutal fist into her face. You are never to leave here without my permission, Nala. This is the only warning you’ll receive.

Her face felt like it had been hammered and that wasn’t far off. Ignacio was a buff guy. She could have avoided the hit, but she’d rather he not know she could. She’d already revealed more than she’d wanted to, just by disappearing. He knew she could get away from him, and she also knew he’d sent men after her. Knew that they’d been rather useless at finding her.

That wasn’t good.

So she’d taken the hit, much as it sucked. Sometimes a woman just had to do lousy things. He’d pay for that hit sooner or later.

Right now, she was having fun ignoring him. It was pissing him off, too. She really liked that.

A cruel hand reached out and closed around her wrist.

Thank you for making this so easy. She turned her head and listened for about five seconds as he said gently, “I will not tolerate being ignored, Nala. I let you pout for a short time, but it’s done.” He gestured to the laptop. “I wish to make love to you. Put that away.”

She touched her tongue to her lip, watched as his gaze lowered to her mouth. She was kind of tired of behaving. She’d been doing it for too long already. “You know what . . . I’ve got a better idea.”

* * *

“WHY did you bother asking her anything?”

Vaughnne just stared at the window in the coming night. Her gaze was blank and her face was serene. She didn’t look all that bothered by the fact that she’d just seen him kill two people, but he knew better.

Something was bothering her and he’d get to the bottom of it. He had to know just how far he could trust her, just how far she’d go. She said she wanted Alex safe, but while he’d do anything to see it happen . . . he doubted she’d do the same, doubted she could say the same.

“Because I needed to know,” she said when he continued to stare at her.

“Why?”

Her lashes swept down low for a minute. “The agent in me gets it. I know why they were there and I had very little, if any doubt, that they knew what they were doing, that they knew they were after a kid. Did they stop to question why somebody was after a kid? Question his motives? His reasoning? Any of that? I don’t know. And the agent in me knows this . . . they didn’t care. They had a job to do and that’s all that mattered. I know that. I get that. I’ve seen some damn shitty stuff, doing the kind of work I do—that’s why I do it. To help put a stop to it. But there’s another part of me that just . . . doesn’t. And I had to know. I had to ask.”

“You still want to trust people,” he said softly. He turned his head and stared out at the scenery as it raced by. The highway lights blurred around him and he kept watching the mirrors, waiting to see sirens. Vaughnne had a police scanner in the car and they’d heard the alert go out once the bodies were found.