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“Two years ago my team was responsible for the rescue of Senator Jeremy Ewing and his family.”
“Team?” Dain asked. “That rescue was the responsibility of Global First.”
And high profile; the senator’s arrival back in the US, battered and bruised and grieving the loss of one of his twin daughters, had been televised live. Though Deacon’s team had been responsible for his rescue, they weren’t present for the media circus for obvious reasons—reasons that were coming back to haunt him now. “Yes. I’m still employed with them, though I’m not currently in the field.”
“Why not?”
He had no desire to explain, to relive even through a few words the pain and anger of the last year, but the more the team knew, the better they could protect Sydney. “My wife, Julia, died eighteen months ago. I left the field to be with my daughter, though I still run computer support, mostly from home. I go into the office a few days a week, no more than a few hours at a time. Sydney began a private preschool in August, so I typically use that time for the office.”
Dain nodded, tapping his finger against his jaw. “That was the raid that took out Andre Diako, wasn’t it?”
Deacon’s mouth tightened as memories of that night surged in his mind. For a moment he swore he could actually smell the salt-heavy air—and the blood. “It was. The senator, his wife, and one of their twin daughters were rescued. The second girl, Shannon Ewing, was murdered by Andre before we could get to her.” She’d bled out, naked and so damn scared, in Deacon’s arms. “Andre was also killed.”
“And now it appears that Mansa wants revenge,” Jack stated.
Dain’s intent eyes searched his boss’s face. “How so?”
“Six months ago,” Deacon told him, “one of our team members, Farley, went missing. Since he was on assignment deep in a South American jungle, we assumed it was related to his work. A month later, a second member, Inez, showed up murdered. Tortured.”
Dain flipped through the file. Images of Inez’s body—or most of it—flashed into view. Deacon bit back bile and rage, forcing himself to continue.
“A few weeks later Farley’s body was discovered, buried in a shallow grave near the Bolivian border. He had the same...damage as Inez. Not long after, Trapper was attacked while on assignment in Beirut. He managed to escape before the assassin completed his objective, but he learned enough to know that all of them had been targeted for one purpose.”
“Revenge,” Jack inserted. “Mansa is tracking down the men who killed his son.”
Deacon nodded. “The fourth member of our team, Farley’s partner, Li, was killed during the rescue. That leaves my partner, Fionn McCullough, and me.”
Dain continued skimming the pages before him. “Any direct threats up to now?”
“No.” Frustration sharpened the word to a point. “Trapper has been brought here to GFS’s Georgia campus and put in protective custody. Fionn and I are both stationed here in Atlanta as well. We’re prepared, but Sydney... I won’t risk my daughter becoming a target.” As much as Deacon would like to believe he was infallible, he wasn’t. Soldiers died all the time, especially when they were trying to protect others. Sydney had lost enough when her mother died; he wouldn’t leave her without both her parents, alone. His pride wasn’t worth that.
If he had any pride left after the little woman standing across from him had put him on his ass.
The thought actually amused him despite the seriousness of the situation. He’d have to make sure Fionn didn’t find out or he’d never let Deacon hear the end of it. The spitfire had caught him off guard, something that had never happened before. No doubt she’d succeeded where others had failed because he’d been too busy ogling the perfect breasts under her tight T-shirt. Her white-blonde hair had caught his eye first, then the hard awareness in her eyes, but those breasts...goddamn. Only their slight jiggle had warned him she was moving, allowing him to relax enough that the impact on the plush but not too cushiony carpet hadn’t fazed him.
It was the kick in the pants that had totally charmed him, however. Spitfire indeed.
She’s here to protect your daughter, not tweak your libido, jackass.
Right. He’d have to remember that when she was ensconced in his home.
“So what’s the plan?” Dain asked, pulling Deacon’s focus out of his pants.
“Under normal circumstances, we would go directly to the threat, but we don’t know where Mansa is right now. And with Sydney in the crossfire, I can’t go anywhere. I won’t risk leaving her unprotected.”
“Why not go into hiding?”
“Because terrifying a child almost guarantees they’ll act in ways that aren’t natural for them,” Jack said. Deacon met the man’s look as something in his gut relaxed. Fionn knew Jack fairly well; the two men had crossed paths in Afghanistan more than once, and Fionn had highly recommended him, but trusting his daughter’s safety to strangers had not set well. Jack seemed to understand the situation, though.
“At home,” Deacon added, “I can pretty much predict her behavior, her reactions. We have bugout procedures we’ve practiced before, so she doesn’t see them as unusual, more like a game. She knows what to do and where to go. In an unfamiliar environment, with unfamiliar people, she won’t know what to do. And being on home turf gives us some small advantage.” They needed every one to go up against Mansa and win. “Besides, each of my team members was caught by surprise. Let Mansa come to us, fight on our ground instead of choosing his own.”
The spitfire spoke up from behind Dain. “Mansa isn’t known for doing his own handiwork.”
Deacon narrowed his eyes on her. “You know him?”
She shrugged. “I know of him.”
Something about the look she exchanged with Dain said it was a little more than that. Deacon eyed the team leader. “What aren’t you telling me?”
Jack’s “Dain?” held an inquiry but no suspicion.
Smith met Deacon’s gaze head-on. “Just an old case. I researched an associate of his.”
“Really?” He didn’t bother hiding the bark in his tone. “Because if it’s any more than that, you don’t want me to find out later.”
She stayed relaxed under his scrutiny, something most men, innocent and not, had trouble doing. Her fists didn’t tighten, nor did the skin around her eyes or mouth. Her stare was intent, but that seemed to be normal for this woman. One eyebrow went up as if she was more amused than intimidated. “Really. That’s it.”
Dain cleared his throat. “You’ve been given our files, of course, Deacon. You might not have had time to read them, but rest assured Jack and Con do a thorough job on the background of every member of their staff.”
“Absolutely,” Jack agreed. Resentment didn’t color the word either. They all seemed to understand his suspicions.
Deacon nodded his acceptance of the explanation despite a slight reservation. He would definitely be looking over the files tonight, not to mention running his own background checks. Sydney would be safe; he refused to take anything for granted.
But that was later; right now he needed a plan in place to protect his daughter. “The fact that Mansa usually sends assassins instead of coming himself is what has made this harder, up to now.”
“Why not now?” Dain asked.
Jack reached for the file, flipping to the very back where a still taken from grainy security footage waited. Deacon stared down at the gray-and-white image of the tall white male as anger built in his chest, vying with a fear he hated to acknowledge but couldn’t ignore, not if he wanted to protect Sydney. “Mansa entered the US on a false Visa yesterday. West Coast.” He turned the page, displaying copies of the ticket and the terrorist’s forged ID. “He walked out of Los Angeles International Airport and disappeared.”
“He has an endgame in mind.” Dain’s voice was tight with the realization.
“He does. And I’m very afraid that endgame involves my daughter.” What better revenge than an heir for an heir?
“Why you?” Elliot asked.
“Because I’m the one who pulled the trigger and killed his son.”
Curses filtered from each team member’s mouth.
“Where is your daughter now?” she asked.
“She’s with Lori in reception,” Jack answered.
“You’re not scared, are you, Otter? It’s just a little girl,” the Latino, Saint, said. Deacon had already identified him as the joker of the bunch.
“So is Otter,” the one called King said. The words sounded serious, but he wasn’t too successful at hiding his grin.
A faint blush colored the woman’s cheeks. “Shut the fuck up, you two.”
“Language!” the men yelled in unison, then laughed.
Deacon recognized the joshing the two male team members gave Smith; they respected the woman, obviously. They also weren’t above ribbing her any chance they got. He was the same with his team—or had been. There weren’t many of them left. Trapper would never go back into the field. Though recovering from his injuries, he’d lost power and dexterity in both hands, where critical tendons had been damaged. Deacon would eventually return to active duty, but for now had sidelined himself to stay home with Sydney. That left only Fionn, who’d refused a new team assignment since Julia’s death despite Deacon’s protests.
Fucking Mansa and his revenge.
Dain was shaking his head at the others’ antics. “Can we bring her in?”
“No!” Smith’s eyes went saucer wide. “No, we can wait. Work up a plan. Get—”
Chicken noises came from Saint. Smith glared back at him, her look promising evil things the minute Deacon or their boss weren’t present. Deacon hoped the man had a good lock on his locker, though even that might not help if Deacon was any judge of character. And he was. Spitfire was beginning to feel like a pretty mild description for this female firecracker.
“I think that’s an excellent idea,” Deacon couldn’t resist saying. Elliot Smith obviously wasn’t looking forward to her assignment, although he got the feeling it wasn’t distaste so much as fear that was behind the attitude. If he had to guess, he’d say her experience with children was severely limited. The thought of seeing her out of her element had anticipation sparking inside him. “Jack, would you call for Sydney?”
Jack stood and crossed to his desk. Deacon heard him chuckle along the way.
Smith crossed her arms and fumed. His attention dropped immediately to the delectable mounds pushed high by the position. Heat tightened his cock behind his zipper, and Deacon let himself enjoy it for a moment. When had he last taken the time to savor desire, hunger? Long before Julia’s death. He’d been deployed, and despite what others might find acceptable, he’d remained faithful while away from his wife. Then her illness—she’d lasted no more than a few weeks after his return, the cancer already well advanced by then. Since her death, he’d been focused on grieving and work and Sydney. Women hadn’t been even a blip on his radar other than as quick fantasy fodder in the shower.
And this one definitely shouldn’t be on his radar. They would be working together, not sleeping together. Still, knowing that part of him hadn’t been buried with his wife was something of a relief.
The arrival of his daughter moments later helped smack down his libido, at least a little bit. Sydney was holding the executive assistant’s hand when they entered the room. The minute she saw him, she broke away on a run. “Daddy! Guess what we did?”
Deacon scooped her up when she reached him. Settling her on his lap, he smoothed her dark hair back from her face with his free hand. “What did you do?”
“We played with a puppy.” Sydney practically quivered with excitement.
Uh-oh. “Is that right?”
“Yes,” she replied smartly. “His name was Tebasterand. No... Sed— Um.” She glanced back to Lori. “What was his name again?”
“Sebastian.” An indulgent smile curved Lori’s mouth.
“Right.” Sydney turned back to him. “Sebastiton.”
Deacon chuckled at the butchered name. “Right.”
“He was so soft, and he licked me, right here.” She pointed at her cheek. “I love him, Daddy.” Imploring green eyes caught his, so similar to her mother’s that Deacon felt a catch in his chest. “Can we get a puppy?”
He barely held back a groan. “Now where would that leave Katie, huh?” He palmed the ragged stuffed-animal kitten Sydney carried everywhere. He had to sneak it from her bed after she fell asleep at night just to wash it. “She wouldn’t want to share you, would she?”
Syd contemplated the kitten with a seriousness far beyond her years. “I guess not.”
Movement nearby pulled his daughter’s attention from her best friend to Elliot Smith. The woman approached as if Sydney were a wild animal she didn’t quite know how to handle—one that might bite at any moment. Deacon did his best to hide his amusement, but from the lethal look she shot his way, he wasn’t succeeding.
“Sydney, I’d like you to meet some people.” He settled her on her feet next to him and turned her gently to face the room.
Sydney eyed the men intently as each was introduced, but when it came to Smith, her face lit up. She left his side immediately to approach the petite woman. “Your name is Smith? That’s weird. Like Walsh. I’m Sydney Walsh. Is it like that?”
Smith crouched to bring herself eye level with Sydney. A quick glance over at Deacon for approval amused him even more. He gave her a nod that visibly relaxed her tense muscles.
“Well, Smith is my last name like Walsh is your last name. You can call me Elliot.”
“That’s a boy’s name.”
“It can be,” Deacon gently corrected. “Not always.”
“Like my name’s a city?” Sydney asked.
“Yes.”
Sydney looked at him, then at Elliot. “Cool!”
Elliot smiled. The curve of her lips caught Deacon’s attention. He wanted her to lick that lower lip and let him see it wet.
“Daddy? Daddy?”
Reminding himself he wasn’t alone, he clasped Sydney’s tapping fingers and curled them in his. “What, Little Bit?”
“Can Elliot come over and have a tea party?”
Deacon ignored the choking sound coming from the still-crouching Elliot. “Sure. In fact, everyone will be coming over to help me with some stuff at the house.”
“Work stuff?” Sydney asked.
“Work stuff.” He gave Elliot a wicked glance. “But I’m sure we can find time for you and Elliot to have a tea party.”
“Yay!” Sydney skipped her way back to Elliot. “What do you like to have at tea parties? The tea is pretended. Or milk; sometimes Daddy gives me milk to pour. And cookies. Do you like cookies? What kind?”
Elliot, seeming flustered, finally said, “I don’t know. I’ve never had a tea party.”
“Never?” Sydney’s distress was plain as she squinted between Elliot and Deacon, a look that said she didn’t understand how anyone could get to the age of four without a tea party, much less be a grownup like Elliot and not have this vital experience. “She’s never had a tea party, Daddy.”
He wasn’t sure he understood it either, but... “Well, we’ll have to remedy that, won’t we?”
If Elliot’s glare had been a weapon, he’d be bleeding out on the floor. He couldn’t hold back a chuckle. “See, Sydney, Elliot definitely wants to have a tea party.”
Sydney swung her head around to see a quickly smiling Elliot.
“Sounds fun,” Elliot said. The not she undoubtedly added in her mind was clear, at least to him. It made him want to kiss that look off her face.
Why did her bristly attitude attract him? He didn’t know, but he liked it. Maybe because she was the opposite of Julia, everything out in the open for everyone to see, socially acceptable or not. Julia had been a wonderful part of his life and he’d loved her, but she’d been nothing like Elliot.
Nothing.
Of all the things he’d expected walking into this office this morning, Elliot had not been one of them.