He didn’t give a damn if the cops noticed him or not, but even as he went to tell her that, she cut him off. “If we end up in a high-speed chase heading through southern Mississippi, it’s not going to help either of us. And while I can probably help with things as long as you don’t piss off the locals, if they see these?” She gestured to the bag in her lap and shook her head. “All bets are off. I may be FBI, but I still have to follow the law. And none of these look terribly legal to me.”
He shot a look in the rearview mirror while the skin on the back of his neck continued to crawl. “I’m not worried about the legalities, Vaughnne.” The white Explorer wasn’t behind them. Yet.
“I get that. I suspect you think you’ve crossed the point of no return, and I understand. But don’t you think it would serve your purpose to at least get to him before we both go down in fiery crash?”
He curled his lip. “None of the cops around here would be able to stop me.”
She rolled her eyes. “Your arrogance is so appealing, really. But how about this . . . none of the cops around here have done a damn thing to you, and if this ends up in a high-speed chase because you won’t pull over for them, people will get hurt. Think about that . . . for five seconds. I’m probably throwing my career away as it is, but I’d rather not let anybody innocent get hurt while I’m at it.”
He clenched his jaw as he stared out the window, too aware of the long, mostly empty expanse of highway wrapping around them. The cars they’d followed out of the travel plaza had just headed east.
But so far, the white Explorer was still back at the plaza. “I’ll try to behave,” he said.
Try.
“Why aren’t they following us?”
“They might not have known we were there.” She shrugged and glanced back at the plaza as the road curved around. A few seconds later, it was gone from their sight. “Sometimes a psychic just gets a blip, a flash of some place or thing. It could have been that. They could have somebody who gets visions and they were looking for us because of that. Who knows? It doesn’t matter as long as we avoid them.”
“That’s going to make this fun,” he muttered, pushing his baseball cap off. He tossed it into the backseat and shoved his fingers through his hair while various plans of attack ran through his mind.
“Is that website still up?” he asked.
“I don’t know.” She pulled her phone out. A few seconds later, she angled the display toward him. “Yes. And the fucking ad.”
“Mierda.” The damn website. Alex . . . was he safe?
He didn’t know that one crucial thing.
But he did know somebody was chasing after them.
“If they’ve found us, could they have found him?” he asked softly.
Long, painfully quiet seconds stretched out before she finally answered, “It’s a vague possibility, but unless they’ve got an army, they’ll have a hard time getting him away from Jones. It’s not just one man he’s got watching him now, Gus. It’s an entire unit who’ll take care of him. And they are all very, very good at what they do.”
EIGHTEEN
WHEN they split up at the hospital, Tucker had to make a choice. It wasn’t an easy one and it wasn’t a fun one, but it was necessary.
Jones and the kid went one way, with a woman Tucker didn’t know trailing along behind them in a sleek little convertible Jaguar. He wasn’t much for modern cars, but he had to admit, that was one nice-looking car and he had no idea how she afforded it on an FBI agent’s salary. And she had to be with Jones. Even though she had it all wrapped up nice and neat, Tucker felt the power of her mind even from a block away.
While those three headed north, Vaughnne remained at the hospital.
Since he’d promised Nalini he’d watch over the kid, he headed north, too.
And all through the night, he followed them. Bit by bit, in a rhythm so subtle he barely noticed, he realized the “glow” of the boy’s mind was ebbing away.
Not in a dangerous way, exactly. He could still feel the kid, the same way he could sense the pretty psychic in the Jag. But he wasn’t radiating so bright. Some weird shit. Made it harder to track him, really, because that wild power was the one thing guiding him, and eventually, he had to move in closer to keep them all where he could sense them.
When they pulled over for dinner at a fast-food place, he pulled in for gas at the station across the street, filling up and adding a few gallons to the gas cans he kept in the back for emergencies. All the while, he watched the cars across the way, ready to take off, and grateful Lucia had convinced him to keep emergency supplies in his car. Emergency supplies including water . . . and food. The energy bars tasted like shit, but since he couldn’t exactly hop over to McDonald’s—
“Hey!”
He jerked his head up and looked across the street.
Hell.
It was the woman.
She held a bag in one hand, the other was propped on her hip, and she stared at him with a grin.
“WELL, well, well . . .”
Taylor had met more than a few men and women who had made it clear they’d rather die than join his merry little band of misfits. He was looking at another, he suspected.
It was a damn shame, because he’d managed to get a little bit of information out of Joss Crawford about this guy.
Tucker was the only name he’d been given, but he’d unearthed more on his own.
He went by Tucker Collins . . . now.
Up until he’d disappeared at the age of fifteen, he’d been known as James Tucker Friend, son of Meredith Friend, adopted by the late Senator Bartholomew Friend.
Old Bart had been a man that Taylor didn’t think he’d like, judging by some of the information he’d come across. Taylor made his living on information, after all. And he suspected his information was more than . . . accurate. Bart had been found dead the night of his fiftieth birthday and his stepson missing. Foul play was suspected, of course, but everybody believed the stepson was kidnapped. Meredith still routinely made very passionate pleas on the anniversary of her husband’s death, pretty little pleas for information on the whereabouts of her only child.
She had red hair, like Tucker did.
Dark eyes. Cold eyes.
He didn’t have to wonder what she’d do to find her kid. He had heard all about the body trail that had followed Tucker over the years, but that wasn’t a problem for him. Not when he had an idea just what old Bart had been doing only moments before he was found dead in Tucker’s room by a maid. One who was new in the household and had panicked, calling the police instead of running to the missus, who had been outside with her guests.
Police and private investigators had searched far and wide for the boy. None of them had found him. Taylor didn’t have to wonder just how a boy of fifteen had evaded law enforcement officials. The man in front of him looked to be the type who could do almost anything he needed to. Hide, flee, steal, kill.
As Tucker came striding toward him, the air around them went hot and tight, and although there wasn’t a cloud in the sky, it seemed like there was a storm dancing on the horizon.
Alex leaned in closer to him, and absently, Taylor reached up, rested a hand on the boy’s shoulder.
“He thinks you’re taking me away,” Alex said softly.
“Don’t worry about it,” Taylor promised even as he shifted his body to guard the boy a little better.
Taige was just two feet away. If he had to have this confrontation here and now, he figured Taige was a decent person to have with him. She was one of his bloodhounds, but she also had a decent telekinetic gift and one she’d honed into a weapon. Hopefully they wouldn’t have to do anything out in the open, but Tucker Collins was a wild card. Taylor could read people pretty damn well, and he suspected Tucker was willing to do anything and everything to accomplish his goals.