of the tangled threads in her mind. By now, Jones knew she wasn’t a suspect, that woman, whoever she was. “Cullen, maybe you should head on back home. Get Jillian from your dad. I’m going to—”
“Jillian’s fine. I’m sticking.”
She cracked open one eye to stare at him.
He stared back. “I can keep my ass in a room and work. I’m useless here and I know it, but I’m not going back to Gulf Shores when you’re about to plunge your neck into whatever mess . . . shit. I’m staying.”
Taige groaned. She didn’t have the energy to worry about him. “Jones . . . this woman, whoever she is, she’s private. I don’t know how long she’s been working this, but she’s been doing it a long time and she’s willing to sacrifice everything. Whitmore has hurt her, more than once, and she takes it, because of the job. And if you think Crawford has no connection to her, you need to get your head examined.”
A series of long, terse curses filled the room, and Taige was surprised enough to drop her hands and stare at the man.
Damn. That was more emotion than she thought he was capable of. “You okay there, Jones?”
He shot her a narrow look. “Do I need to pull him out?”
“You can’t,” she said honestly. “Even if you sent people after him, it wouldn’t work. He’s on a mission of his own now. Trying to pull him out would do more harm than good.”
“Fuck,” he snarled, spinning away. Dez, silent until now, moved and went to him, laying a hand on his cheek.
He caught her wrist.
A long, tense moment passed. “She’s private,” Taylor finally said into the silence. “But she’s got connections damn high up. Somebody with enough pull to help create one very, very solid identity.”
“Shit.”
Taige remembered the flash of echoes she’d caught from Joss. The images he’d shoved back behind walls so thick so he wouldn’t have to look at them, think about them.
Living in denial might just cost him something very, very dear, she realized.
TWENTY-TWO
A vague sense of calm had settled over Joss. He was cool with it.
A quick stop by the room he still had here at the hotel—damn, this was turning into an expensive trip—and he had dry clothes on. Then, with Nalini walking along at his side, they were gone, out of the hotel and moving.
Every so often, she’d touch his arm.
He didn’t think he wanted that, but every time she did it, whatever shiftless thoughts formed in his mind just faded away.
Job to get done, all that mattered.
“So, do we have a plan?” Nalini asked once they were outside of the city.
“I’m kind of thinking along the lines of: Get there. Get those women out. Burn the place to the ground.”
“Nice idea . . .” She chuckled. Then she touched his arm again. “But we can’t do that—you realize that, right?”
The splintering, massive burden in his mind was pushing him too hard, and that fragile calm danced away. “Don’t see why not.”
He wondered if Jillian could burn things. If she could, he could . . .
There was one of their people who had that ability. Just one that Joss knew about. Maybe Jillian had it, though . . . he wondered.
A hand closed over his wrist.
“Damn it, boy.” Nalini sighed. “You’re killing me. All you had to do was ease up on the ice, like the kid said.”
A wave washed over him.
Blanketed him.
For a moment, he couldn’t even see. If he could think, that might have bothered him, seeing as how he was still driving.
“Easy, Crawford . . . I got it . . . easy. Easy . . .”
* * *
AS Crawford swung his head to glance her way, Nalini smiled.
He didn’t smile back, but that didn’t bother her.
She suspected he wasn’t really the happy-go-lucky type.
And he was going to come after her if he figured out what she did. Her ability to control people through the power of touch wasn’t a pleasant one, but it was useful.
She had to take in everything he was feeling, and damn, he was feeling a lot. Too much, really. Enough to leave her reeling as she laid her impression on him. Almost enough to make her vision fade out. She clung to consciousness by the skin of her teeth, channeled more into him, felt him resist . . . then, eventually break.
That’s it, man . . . come on, I can help. I can help . . .