The Protected

Babysitting, my ass, she thought, grabbing a cookie and nipping another bite. She’d like to take the entire plate and dump them over Taylor Jones’s head.

The cookies were her way in.

But if Gus didn’t get home soon . . .

Her phone rang.

It was an unknown number and that wasn’t a surprise. Picking it up, she continued to stare outside, keeping her body positioned so nobody could see her. “Hello?”

“Mac.”

Jones didn’t introduce himself, but he didn’t need to.

“Figures.” She took another bite of cookie, but the explosion of chocolate on her tongue didn’t help.

“How are things going?”

“Quiet as the proverbial grave,” she admitted. “Nothing happens. At all. They get up. They leave. I watch them while he works . . . he keeps the kid with him and nothing happens there. They come back. I haven’t seen hide nor hair of anybody. Have you learned anything new about them?”

“Some. Get me some better visuals on the man and I can do more. I have my suspicions, but I need clearer images to confirm. He moves like a man who knows how to avoid being caught on camera, and for the facial recognition software to work, we actually need to see his face.”

“So . . .” She drew the word out. “You have nothing really to tell me.”

“I have some things I could tell you; I’m just electing not to until I confirm the information. Just be careful.”

“Wonderful. Be careful. Information noted.” She grunted, shifting to stare down the street, watching for them. Any minute now and they’d be at the house. She thought. She hoped. “Just what had you sending me down here anyway?”

“I listened to somebody I trust,” Jones said simply. “I trust my sources, Mac. In our line of work, we have to.”

“And what did your source say?” She rubbed the back of her neck, irritated. He usually wasn’t so closemouthed about these things. None of them liked operating in the dark, he knew that.

A moment of silence passed, and then Jones sighed. “There was very little my source could say. Just that the boy was going to have trouble . . . and we didn’t want anything bad happening to him. I think there are things I’m not being told, but I’ve learned to trust this person.”

“So we’re taking a lot of things on blind faith here.” She rubbed her temple, going back to watching the house while her gut twisted round and round.

“Do you think my source was wrong?” he asked. “If you think we’re off base and there’s nothing wrong, fine. I’ll call you back.”

“Shit, I hate you sometimes,” she said. “No, your source isn’t off base. The kid has a gift that’s waiting to explode, and they both have trouble written all over them.”

“What else can you tell me?”

She made a face. “That’s my line. You’re supposed to be the one with the info here, boss, but you won’t tell me shit. The guy . . .” She paused, blew out a breath. “The guy isn’t your average Joe, if you get what I’m saying. Military, cop. Something. He watches things. Sees things. He’s got moves on him, if you know what I mean.”

Jones was silent.

She twirled a lock of hair around her finger. “And the kid . . . shit, Jones. Did you know what you were sending me into?”

“I told you the boy was gifted.”

She snorted. “Gifted doesn’t touch it. He makes my teeth hurt, he’s so strong. If anybody with the wrong sort of mind grabbed him, Jones?” Shaking her head, she sighed. “And he’s got no idea how strong he is, how much he’s casting it out there, either. It’s like nobody ever worked with him to tone it down.”

“Not everybody has somebody around to teach them,” Jones said softly. “You didn’t.”

“Yeah, but I learned fast how to shut things down.” It was that or just suffer more for it. “What about the guy? The kid calls him his dad, but he’s not.”

“How can you tell?”

“I just can.” Some of the others in the unit could read that sort of thing. Read the mind and read the lies. Read the emotions and feel the lie. Vaughnne couldn’t. She had to rely on the more mundane abilities, and she’d brushed them up as much as could be expected. When people lied, there were just tiny little cues.

Vaughnne had learned to look for them.

The boy, as skilled as he was at it, all but screamed “liar” to her. He’d probably convince just about everybody else, including teachers, neighbors, and friends. Probably even a lot of law enforcement, if they had a reason to talk to him. It wasn’t even that stupid shit that people thought you might see when talking to a liar. He had no problem meeting her gaze, and there wasn’t any of the constant fidgeting some people thought you’d see when talking to somebody who was hiding the truth. And he was a fidgeter. She’d seen that much when they were moving. He had a problem being still, which was normal for a kid. But when she asked him anything remotely personal, he went oddly still.

And he lied . . . like a dog. With easy, polite smiles and practiced, natural responses, he lied. And he did it all while looking her right in the eye.

Gus was harder, though. If she didn’t know better, she’d almost believe everything he told her. That bothered her, because she didn’t like it when she couldn’t see through somebody’s story. And it was just a story.

They weren’t a dad and a son just trying to make it on their own after the mom decided she’d rather go out and party than help raise a kid.

Not an unusual story. She’d heard it before, had seen it, but that wasn’t the case here.

“I think you’re probably right, by the way,” Jones said, interrupting her mental train of thought and successfully derailing it. “About the man. I believe he does have a background we’d find interesting . . . and that’s after we get through the false layers that I’m just now uncovering. I can’t confirm until I get better images of him, but I don’t think I’m wrong. Also, I’m just about certain he’s not the dad.”

Spying a familiar form striding down the sidewalk next door, Vaughnne edged back from the window. “I’m surprised you don’t have everything from their social security numbers to their shoe sizes already.”

“I was hoping you’d fill me in on the shoe sizes. Because that’s so important to the case,” Jones replied, his voice neutral.

So very neutral, it took her a second to realize what had just happened. “Oh, shit, Jones. I don’t believe it, but I think you might have just made a joke.”

“I don’t joke. They removed my sense of humor when I took the job.” She heard him pause, speak to somebody, and then he was back on the phone. “I have to go. I’ll stay in touch, Mac.”

The line went dead and she went in, cleared it from her list of recent calls before sliding the phone back into her pocket. Standing in the middle of the living room, she continued to stare out the window. She’d bought a wispy set of curtains for a reason. If the blinds weren’t drawn, she could see through them just fine, and since the lights were off, unless somebody was looking right at her, they wouldn’t be able to see her easily. Considering the white-hot brightness of the sun, it would be pretty damn hard to make her out, standing in her darkened living room.

Gus and the kid were standing in front of the house. To anybody else, it might look like they were talking. Gus had the backpack slung over his left shoulder, a jacket draped over his right hand. Weapon hand, she thought. Something skittered along her senses and she knew, as sure as she was standing there, they were not talking.

Alex stood there, while Gus looked down at him. And the boy looked up at the house. Just watching, kind of like she was watching him.

Then, the next thing he did had her rubbing her temple as the headache flared.

Psychic energy flared, crackled. And it wasn’t until the mad energy faded that the tension she sensed in both