“So . . . like we’ve already discussed, use caution.”
She glared at the phone and thought about using it to beat the bastard bloody next time she was in D.C. “Use caution,” she drawled. “That sounds like an excellent plan. I’ll get right on it, Jones.”
“You do that.” There was a pause and she heard a shout, followed by a flurry of voices, the rush of excitement. Jones spoke again and some of that excitement actually came through in his voice. He might have even smiled a little. “I have to go. Something is about to come apart at the seams.”
She wanted to say good luck, but he was already off the phone.
Sighing, she hooked up her headphones, checking the tracker once more before shutting the app down. Anybody who looked at the phone wouldn’t know what it was, and it wouldn’t open without her password. She’d do a run around the block . . . and detour around the back of Gus’s house. If he was still far enough away, she’d see about getting the shit planted.
SHE wasn’t even running long enough to work up a sweat. She hit the back street behind Gus’s place, checked his location. At the hardware store. Perfect. She should have plenty of time to get this done.
What took a damn long time was getting inside the house, setting up the devices, and then letting herself back out.
On her way out, she was just about ready to set the damn lock, too. On her way out.
And she glanced down, saw the tape over the door. Just the smallest piece.
Damn it, Gus. Sourly, she crouched down and peeled it off, rolling it up to tuck inside her waistband before she spent another five precious minutes scrounging for where he’d tucked the rest of it.
She pressed the tape back into place and then looked around, checking the windows. That was when she saw them, all those little traps. Nothing overt, just something to let the owner of the house know if somebody had been in and out. She spotted strips of tape on the windows, along the fridge. One windowsill held three coins, and she had no doubt they’d been very precisely arranged. Grimacing, she started to look closer and saw other traps. There were three staples placed in what looked like a haphazard manner on the floor in front of one kitchen window. Near the boy’s room, a few bits of paper. She hadn’t gone near his room. She couldn’t have disturbed that.
“Gus, you’re a distrustful bastard,” she muttered. Simple, basic, nothing high-tech. If they were trying to avoid calling attention to themselves, high-tech was not the way to go. It got noticed. Made people ask questions. Cost money, too, and if you plunked down a lot of money, people remembered that. Used plastic? Left a trail.
Storming back into the kitchen, she went to the back door and glared at it for a minute before she peeled the tape away. Then, narrowing her eyes, she shut the door, still on the inside, watching.
It stuck in place. Not tight and snug, but close enough. She tugged the piece of tape off, wadded it up, and fetched another. She smoothed the new piece down, over and over, and then eased the door open, eyeing the piece of tape. Hoping.
She wouldn’t know if it closed or not because she had no way of seeing inside the damn house.
Well, she hadn’t.
She did now. It was possible she’d be able to see the tape from her setup back at her place.
She’d check.
But until she got there . . .
It was a few more breath-stealing, soul-eating minutes before she made it to the alley running between the two houses. Once she was there, she settled back into a jog. The minute she reached the street, she put everything she had into it and ran hell-bent for leather, determined to get home.
“NO.”
Nalini stared at the screen. She was almost obsessively refreshing her screen. No takers. Yet. Some bites, yes, but nothing solid. Just stay that way, she thought.
She had a real live psychic in Orlando she wanted on that job. Assuming she could get him to do it. If he took it, she could get him to grab the kid and get him someplace safe. She even had a good idea of where safe was.
She just had to convince him.
“Come on, Tucker,” she said, smiling a little as she leaned forward and scrolled down the page to check out some of the other posts on the forum. Sooner or later, she thought. Sooner or later, those thugs were going to come out to play. “What have you got to lose? You already live there.”
He grunted in response. A few seconds ticked by. “What’s this about?”
He would ask that question.
She stroked a finger down her brow. “I’m trying to figure that out, but when I look at this post, I hear screams. My gut goes tight. Somebody hurts if this happens, Tucker. You know enough about hurting, I imagine.”
“I don’t know what your poison is, blondie, but stay out of my head.”
She chuckled. “My poison?”
“Yeah. Whatever voodoo you do . . . keep your powers out of my head, keep your paws to yourself, whatever you want to call it. I don’t want you screwing around in my head,” he said sourly.
“Tucker, sugar . . . if I decide to screw around with you, it’s going to involve you, me, and a bed. That’s all. Well, if you’re into kink, we can maybe play around with that, but trust me, if and when I decide to screw around with you, it’s going to involve actual physical contact . . . it’s more fun that way.” There was no if, though. At least not on her part.
Silence stretched out. Hot, heavy, and tense.
Then, finally, in a voice thick with regret, he said, “Now, darlin’, that sounds absolutely perfect, but it’s not about to happen. Me and bare skin aren’t a good combination. But it’s a nice thought, nonetheless.”
You and bare skin, huh . . . she thought about the way he’d looked the few times she’d met him. Black gloves on his hands. Wicked sexy tattoos twining up his arms. That fiery red hair and his face set in unyielding lines. She thought about seeing him naked and stretched out on her bed, and the image was so clear, so vivid, she realized with startling clarity that it would happen.
She wasn’t sure just how that was going to come to pass, but it was going to happen.
“You sound awful certain of this.”
“Because I have to be.” His voice flat, the kind of voice that said, We’re done discussing this.
She’d let it go. For now. But the other thing—
“Just what is it I need to find in Orlando?” he asked, catching her off guard.
AN item.
Tucker stared at the website, running his tongue over his teeth and scratching Heywood’s head. The feline purred and butted her head harder against Tucker’s hand, but Tucker didn’t pick her up. “Yeah, yeah, you purr away.”
Item. The wording on it was enough to make his skin crawl. Something he’d figured out over the past few years . . . many psychics had only one gift, but some did have one stronger gift, and a second weaker one.
Just about all of them, though, had a hyperaware set of instincts, and right then, his were on red alert.
There was something seriously wrong with that message.
An item.
Finally, he dialed Nalini’s number back. She answered so fast, he suspected she’d been waiting for his call. “Two questions . . . is this tied into what we were doing with Dru and Crawford? Because if it is, she could still be in trouble.”