The Protected

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“YOU want me where?”

Vaughnne MacMeans stared at the man in front of her and decided she really wished she’d taken more time off.

Granted, she’d already taken three months of personal time. Then two weeks’ medical leave after the case to end all cases went to hell in Orlando, Florida. Maybe she should have made it three weeks. Her head was still so not in a good place after that last job.

She could handle another week off, she thought. Another week. Two weeks. Three weeks. Three months. Three years.

Because Taylor Jones just had to be shitting her.

“Orlando,” he said again.

“No.” She crossed her arms over her chest and glared at him. She didn’t ever want to see that miserable, forsaken, hellhole of a city again. Just thinking about it was enough to give her nightmares. Thinking about what had happened in that dark, squalid miserable building . . . shit, sometimes she woke still feeling the despair of the women around. She wasn’t even empathic and it had gotten to her.

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