Shiloh Walker: The Protected

The look in her eyes was scathing and cold, but it didn’t affect him. He didn’t care what that woman said.

Vaughnne, though . . . the look on her face . . . it cut something deep inside him. It left a wound he wouldn’t have imagined possible. Still, he didn’t let it show as he looked from one woman to the other. “You should go. Get out while you can.”

“Are you going to answer me?”

He resumed his study of the night sky. And when she walked away, he closed his eyes. Blood dripped from the wound in his side, but he ignored it.

It was done, then.

Alejandro was safe.

He’d kept his promise.

He’d always thought it would kill him in the end.

This, he thought, was actually worse.

“YOU have no idea how much trouble you could have caused.”

There were only four of them in the room at the moment. Vaughnne and Nalini, along with Joss Crawford and Dr. Melissande Grady. Grady was settling Nalini into a chair that had been dug up from somewhere—an armchair, not one of those hard-ass chairs the rest of them would be in. Nalini looked like hell. She’d lost a decent amount of blood by the time Vaughnne was able to get her to a hospital, and the long, narrow line of sutures on her face stood out in stark relief against her pale skin. Grady murmured to her softly and Nalini nodded, and even that careful movement hurt like hell. Grady touched her shoulder and then moved away.

While Grady was playing doctor, Joss was busy ripping Vaughnne a new asshole.

“Were you trying to get yourself thrown in jail?” he demanded. “Trying to cost yourself your job? Cause an international incident or what?”

She gave him a sweet smile. “Well, if those were my intentions, I obviously failed , right? After all, I’m not in jail, there was no international incident.”

He waited a beat. “But do you still have a job?”

“Well, that’s not really up to you.” She settled back in her seat and stared outside. They’d just gotten out of Mexico early that morning, and although it was damn late and she was damn tired, she hadn’t been given the option to go home and rest.

No, she was at headquarters, getting debriefed. Well, waiting to get debriefed.

It had taken every last bit of Grady’s considerable diplomatic skills to get them out of Mexico so quickly. She’d lied through her teeth, too, while Joss stood in the background, looking brooding and menacing, which he did rather well.

Now they were waiting for the boss. It struck her as kind of odd that he wasn’t already there, but it was one of those random little thoughts that passed through her mind and then faded.

Just like every other thought of the past few days.

She couldn’t think.

Couldn’t focus.

Couldn’t sleep.

Couldn’t eat.

Nothing seemed to matter anymore, not since the moment she’d turned her back and walked away from Gus.

If you are going to ask if it is true . . . Don’t bother, Vaughnne.

Don’t bother. Like it didn’t matter at all if he’d killed his sister.

Don’t ask? Screw that. She knew it was true, she’d seen it on his face. Just as she’d seen the misery hidden in the back of his eyes. The misery, the pain. The grief. There had to be a reason , she told herself. She could feel it, in the very bottom of her soul. The man she’d come to know might be a killer, but he wasn’t a cold-blooded monster.

She damn well should have asked. Should have pushed. Yeah, there were reasons, all right. And fuck him to hell and back if he thought she just shouldn’t bother to ask .

Her gut churned as she continued to stare outside at the streets. It was late, but the streets were still crowded with cars and buses, people moving along the sidewalks.

What had happened?

Her mind spun, twisted with the possibilities. Had his sister been hurt? Sick? Maybe—

Before she could finish that thought, the door opened and she turned her head, watching as Jones came striding through the doors. He had a man with him, a man that Vaughnne was pretty damn certain she didn’t know.

She was equally certain that he could cause all kinds of problems. He stood solid, straight as a soldier, shoulders back, and even though he wasn’t obvious with it, she had a feeling he’d already looked and judged everybody in the room. Looked, marked the weaknesses, the strengths.

She didn’t much care for that.

“I’d like everybody to meet Antonio Moran. He’s in from Mexico . . . he has a few questions about a fire that took place at a private home, an hour west of Monterrey.”

A fire—

West of Monterrey .

Just like that, and her heart almost stopped. She kept her face blank, though, even as her pulse started to race, as her skin went cold and clammy and all the air squeezed out of her lungs.

A fire —

The world stopped spinning. She’d almost swear to it.

She’d taken Nalini to a hospital in Monterrey. They’d driven east. The home hadn’t been burning when she left. Jones wouldn’t have the guy in here if it was just some random house.

Gus—

Her heart went tight and cold, and there was a scream lodged in her throat.

“I’m attempting to locate a person of interest. I think he might have answers about the fire.” Moran studied her face. “You might have met him while you were in Mexico.”

“I was just there to help a fellow agent, Señor Moran,” she said, moving forward to take a seat. Despite her best attempts, her voice came out a little rougher than she liked. “She needed backup, so I was down there for that, and only that.”

That was the story they’d decided to go with. Nalini had been on an assignment; things had gone to hell. It wasn’t too terribly far from the truth. Except for the fact that Vaughnne hadn’t been sent to help Nalini, and she hadn’t been in Mexico on any sort of job . . . but . . . well. If Jones decided to come clean and let her fend for herself, she’d deal with it then. She’d made her choice.

“The house belonged to a man who has been under intense scrutiny by both my government and yours . . . Ignacio Reyes.”

“Reyes.” A knot swelled in her throat, so large and hard, she could barely talk. Her hands were sweaty and she swiped them down her jeans before reaching for the bottle of water waiting on the table. “Ignacio Reyes. Yeah, I’m familiar with the name. Were there any fatalities?”

“We are still investigating at this point.”

When he didn’t elaborate, she shot Jones a glance, struggling to keep her face blank even though all she wanted to do was jump over the table and demand that he tell her what in the hell was going on. Anything. Everything.

The calm look on his face shattered every last nerve she had and she knew he knew something. Hell, he might know everything . This was Taylor Jones, damn it.

Instead of attacking him, she looked back at Moran. “Exactly what can I do for you, then, señor?”

“I just had a few questions.”

Vaughnne leaned back in her chair and laced her hands over her belly. Maybe that would keep them from shaking so much. “Well, I’m not sure how much help I can be, señor. Reyes was a bastard, but we focus more on missing persons and crimes against children in this unit.” She paused then added, “It wouldn’t hurt my feelings, though, if I heard he’d died in the fire.”

A faint smile came and went on Moran’s face. “I imagine a great many feel the same way, Agent . . .”

“MacMeans. Vaughnne MacMeans.” All the bureaucratic games she had to play. What the hell was going on? “So were there fatalities? Reyes or anybody else?”