The Protected

man and boy eased. Once it passed, the two of them headed into the house.

“What kind of trouble are you two in?” she muttered.

Then she glanced over at the plate of cookies she’d put together. She needed to reach out to them, try to get some sort of relationship with the kid going, but everything in her screamed caution, caution, caution—

It was just a plate of cookies.

They could take the cookies or not, invite her inside or not.

It might take more than one or two visits to get in the door, and she was more than aware of that fact. She knew she’d have to take her time getting closer to the boy and that was the easier part of the job.

The scary part . . .

Her heart jumped into her throat as she thought about the other thing she needed to do. She slid a hand into her pocket, touched the microscopic little camera, and sighed. She really did need to get eyes on the inside and not just because it would be nice to be able to do more than catnap at night. Her instincts were good, damn good, and they’d kept her alive, sane, and healthy for a long, long time—part of the reason she made a good babysitter, she figured, but part of a babysitting job . . . or bodyguard job? Knowing where in the hell the body was. Watching the damn body. Hard to do if she was catching up on sleep. No matter how badly she needed it.

The lack of solid sleep wasn’t going to help her get back to fighting form any quicker, that was certain.

She went to pick up the cookies and then she stopped. Although Vaughnne absolutely wanted to kick herself in the ass, she headed to the bathroom. She wasn’t vain. Back when she would have been learning all that shit about hair and makeup, she’d been struggling just to scrape by after her parents had kicked her out on her ass.

Once she’d managed to haul herself out of the hole where she’d found herself, she’d then been busy busting her ass to get up to speed, because she’d figured out just what she wanted to do. What she needed to do. It had been right about the time she read about a psychic in the newspaper.

Taige Branch. Taige Morgan now. But Vaughnne had figured out then and there, she wasn’t alone. So she’d hitchhiked and walked and made her way down to Alabama, determined to talk to the woman who had been helping others out. She hadn’t ever gotten to talk to Taige that day, but she had talked to somebody else.

Taylor Jones, who had been playing guard dog at the hospital where Taige was hospitalized. Apparently that happened a lot with her. Taylor had taken one look at her and told her she wasn’t ready.

He was right. She hadn’t been. Getting her GED, college, all of that shit had eaten up more of her time. But for the past six years, she’d been a part of his unit. She finally had a place where she belonged, and she’d worked damn hard to get here. Not much time to worry about some of the vanities that came with being a girl, not much time to worry about hair, makeup, any of that shit.

But she knew when a guy was interested and she’d seen the look in Gus’s eyes more than once the other day. Flipping the light, she stared at her reflection for a long moment. A black woman with a hell of a lot of hair, a hell of a lot of attitude, and grim eyes stared back at her.

“You are not going to be charming anybody’s pants off with that look on your face, honey.” Blowing out a breath, she skimmed a hand back over her hair, but there wasn’t a whole hell of a lot to do with it. She planned on washing it that night, but unless she wanted to delay everything else she had to do until she had it washed and taken care of, then she’d just have to leave her hair as it was for now.

Maybe she should have gotten it plaited or something before she came down here, but it was too late to worry about it right now.

Resting her hands on the cool porcelain of the sink, she tried to see herself the way he might. Pretty enough, but nothing to write home about. The freckles were something she’d hated for her entire life, odd, dark little dots that danced across her nose and cheeks. She didn’t mind her mouth, though. Or her eyes.

She had a unique face, if nothing else, which wasn’t always good considering the life she lived. Sometimes she needed to blend, and Vaughnne’s looks didn’t lead to blending. Neither did her attitude. When she bothered with makeup, she played up the mouth and the eyes, but she didn’t think it was a good idea to go for the makeup just then. Anything that might make their instincts sound an alarm was going to cause problems.

Okay, so no makeup and she wasn’t about to go put on any come-hither clothes.

The red tank top and denim shorts were just going to have to work.

One thing she could do . . . wipe away the attitude. Get rid of the frustration and make sure everything was all locked down nice and tight behind her shields. Working around other psychics with stronger abilities had taught her everything she ever needed to know about hiding her thoughts, controlling them. Generally, psychics would only skim surface thoughts, and if they wanted more, they had to establish a deeper connection. She kept everything she didn’t want known hidden under strong, solid shields. The kid didn’t have the finesse needed to power through those shields without her realizing it, and if he started trying to pull that trick, it would be time to start doing some fast talking and even faster phone calling.

So . . . tone down the attitude. Smooth away some of the rough edges she hadn’t bothered to cover, since she was in here by her lonesome. Closing her eyes, she gave herself a minute to do that, and when she looked in the mirror, she saw herself again. But the woman looking back was just a little less . . . rough. A little less ready to go for the throat, she guessed.

Blowing out a breath, she went through a few of the mental exercises she needed to calm her thoughts and relax.

Finally, though, she felt a little less jagged, a little less ragged. And about as ready to face Gus as she was going to be. Gus. And Alex. Really, Alex should be the one to worry her. But who was she spazzing about? The hot guy.

Hell. She needed to have her head examined. Or maybe she just needed to get laid. Or have an orgasm. Something. Sighing, she hunted down the plate of cookies and headed outside.

Thinking about Gus and orgasm was not good. It undid the past thirty minutes of mental relaxation.

He was bad—very, very bad, she decided. Very bad for the female parts of her, very bad for her peace of mind, and if she couldn’t keep her mind on the job, he was going to be very bad for her life in general.

* * *

VAUGHNNE was bad for his peace of mind, but Gus had successfully convinced himself that all he needed to do was stay the hell away from her. If he did that, everything would go back to the way it had been.

“It’s her,” Alex said, an odd tone in his voice. He was at the table working on the day’s assignment and he spoke seconds before the knock came. Gus reached for the towel to wipe his hands off as they listened to the next knock, twenty seconds later.

“I know,” Gus said. He wasn’t psychic, but this was just his luck. He’d decided he needed to stay away from her, so naturally, life had thrown her back in his path.

Alex continued to sit at the table. “Are you going to answer it?”

He really shouldn’t.

But the truck was in the drive, and if he didn’t, he figured it would only make her more curious. It was a perfectly logical, perfectly plausible explanation.

And it had nothing to do with the simple fact that he wanted to see her again.

“I’ll be there in a minute,” he called out as he slid Alex a look.

Alex stood up and went into the room off the back of the house. They’d rehearsed it all a hundred times. Probably more. And even though they both knew who was at the door, it didn’t matter. Alex did his part. Gus did his, reaching for the Sig Sauer on the kitchen counter and tucking it into place at the small of his back.

“Do you need that?” Alex asked softly, even as he tucked himself against the wall and got ready. Always ready. The backpack was hanging on the back of a chair, and Gus could grab it in a moment. In two minutes, they could be out of this house. Out of the house, and running. Again.

Fury tore into Gus with hot, greedy claws, so abrupt and so all-consuming. It all but leveled him and caught