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Elliot came home with them. After forcing a few more details about the afternoon confrontation from her tight lips, Dain had handed over pain meds and water and lapsed into silence. Elliot thanked Dain, then went back to staring out the window with the eye that didn’t have an ice pack over it. Deacon watched her, trying to get it, trying to wrap his head around what he’d seen, what she’d told him. He had witnessed her sparring session with Dain, had seen her in the ring tonight, but the reality of her injuries—he’d only seen men out in the field ignoring injuries like that. And yet, other than a slight stiffness to her movements, Elliot didn’t show it.
She was a fighter, no doubt about that. And yet the vulnerability she’d shown in his arms had wrecked something inside him. She’d handed him her innermost secret, trusted him in a way she’d never trusted anyone else except, perhaps, Dain. The question was, did he trust her?
Elliot’s intel on Mansa made so much more sense now. If a killer might be tracking you, you’d make certain to know everything you possibly could about their movements, their associates, their business. But Elliot had not only been protecting herself; she’d been tracking her mother’s murderer as well. And she didn’t do anything half-assed.
No, it really wasn’t about trusting whose side she was on anymore. It was about trusting that she wouldn’t lie to him again.
Two black SUVs were parked in the drive outside the house when Dain pulled up. One belonged to the backup team Jack had sent out this afternoon. Mark and T.C. and Christopher were all good ole boys with laid-back manners, but Deacon had interviewed each and every one of them carefully, could read the quality in them just as he had with Dain’s team. Sydney hadn’t taken to any of them, though, asking repeatedly when Elliot would return, clinging to Saint or Dain when Deacon wasn’t available. Hopefully with Elliot’s return, his daughter would calm.
Dain nodded at the second vehicle as he put their SUV in park. “Jack’s here. He wanted a strategy session as soon as we were all together.”
“Does he know?” Elliot asked quietly from the back.
“He knows.”
Dain was done with holding anything back apparently. Deacon exited the SUV and moved to open the back door for Elliot, noting that the blank expression she’d worn when they first entered the locker room had returned—well, until he held out his hand to help her from the car. The look she gave him then was full of disgust.
Stubborn woman.
“Stop glaring at me and let me help. You’re too short not to jar those ribs getting down,” he pointed out. “Save your fortitude for when Sydney slams into you in a few minutes.”
“Good point.” Elliot wrapped an arm around her ribs and placed her free hand in his, easing carefully to the ground. When she would have let go, he refused to release her.
Elliot kept her eyes on the ground. Deacon growled impatiently. A firm grip on her chin forced her to meet his gaze.
He expected her to snap at him, but the fact that she didn’t told him everything he needed to know about her emotional state. She’d put too much of herself out there; now she was pulling the scattered pieces back behind a wall, trying to rebuild her sense of safety, of self. Maybe that was a good thing. After all, he didn’t know his own feelings at the moment. And yet something inside him wouldn’t allow her a retreat.
What he really wanted was to ask her if she’d ever lie to him again. If he could trust his daughter with her. But asking was ridiculous if he couldn’t trust the answer. And so he stood there, staring down at her obscenely blue eyes, and said nothing.
“People are watching,” she finally said.
“Let them watch.” He wasn’t going to make the decisions he needed to make, do what he had to do, based on anyone but himself and his daughter. “Sydney...she missed you.”
A hint of navy darkened the outlines of her irises. “Did you tell her I quit?”
“We told her nothing of the sort,” Dain snapped over his shoulder, striding toward the front door. “Now stop mooning at each other and get your asses in gear.”
Deacon felt a corner of his mouth curl up in a grin despite the heaviness of the night. “Guess we’ve gotten our orders, huh?”
“Yes.” Elliot’s gaze dropped to his mouth as if fascinated.
“Then let’s stop mooning, Ell.”
Her voice went husky. “I’m not the one holding me here.”
Right. He dropped his hand.
“’Bout time,” Dain called as he pulled the front door open.
Inside, Dain split off toward the library. “I’m sure you want to see your girl first. Join us whenever you’re ready, Deacon. I’ll fill the others in on Kivuli and sons.”
Deacon nodded and walked toward the stairs, surprised to realize Elliot was right behind him. He was even more surprised to find Sydney’s light on and the door open. He moved into the doorway but stopped to lean against the frame, suddenly wishing he had a camera. No one else would believe him otherwise.
Saint had Sydney duty. The muscular guard sat cross-legged on Sydney’s rug, waving pink-tipped fingernails in the air as casually as if he were doing jumping jacks. Sydney, already dressed in her pajamas, sat opposite, mimicking him, her grin wide and happy and unmarred by the worry Deacon couldn’t seem to escape every time he looked at her. For his daughter’s sake he buried it as deep as he could before crossing the threshold of her bedroom. “Isn’t it past your bedtime?”
“Daddy, look!” Syd splayed her polished nails out for him to see. “Saint painted them.”
“Very nice.” Deacon pretended to inspect her tiny fingers, then looked to Saint’s. “That color becomes you, bro.”
The man’s grin held no embarrassment. “I have half a dozen nieces and nephews; I’m used to it. Pink happens to be my favorite shade, bro.”
Deacon detected a glint in Saint’s eyes that said he probably wasn’t talking fingernail polish. “Me too.” He bent to kiss Syd’s hand. “Why are you still up?”
“I was waiting for Elliot.”
“I’m right here, Syd,” Elliot said from the doorway. She crossed the room, but for once Sydney didn’t jump up and squeal and tackle her favorite person. Her smile was subdued, her gaze tracing the bruises already forming on Elliot’s face. A knot formed between her brows.
Elliot sat on the floor next to Saint, who eyed her face too, but not with surprise. More an analysis, trying to determine how incapacitated Elliot might be.
He’d seen this before, then. Dain had said as much, but the confirmation in Saint’s look had him cursing silently. And aching. This woman made him ache, and not just for sex. What would it mean to his family, to Sydney, to bring someone so broken into their lives?
“It’s okay, Sydney, I promise.” Elliot traced the puffy area around her eye. “It looks bad, but I’m okay. You don’t have to worry.”
His daughter had done too much of that lately. This morning she’d asked him if Fionn was going to die like Jules. Did she think Elliot might die too?
He couldn’t let her carry that fear. “Sydney—”
Without warning his daughter launched herself at Elliot. A faint groan left Elliot’s lips, but then she was cradling the child in her lap, her eyes bright with tears she would never shed and would probably deny if anyone dared to mention them. Sydney tilted her head to the side, settled a cheek against Elliot’s plumped breast.
His gaze met Elliot’s. She gave him a faint smile, then tucked her chin down to nuzzle Sydney’s head.
The sight struck him like a blow to his chest, forcing out every bit of air, every thought except one: how right they looked together. Madonna and child.
Saint reached for the nail polish, breaking the moment. “Gotta clean up after ourselves if it’s bedtime.”
His daughter’s pout was about the cutest thing in the world—not that he’d ever tell her that. No need to give the kid ammunition. “Daddy? Elliot just got home.”
Home. Out of the mouths of babes...
“And Saint promised to paint my toes too.”
“He can tomorrow, I promise.” The man’s teammates would love the chance to rag him about his prowess with pink polish, no doubt. “Right now it’s bedtime.”
“How about I stay with you till you fall asleep?” Elliot offered.
That had his daughter up and running for the bathroom to brush her teeth. Deacon was surprised to feel a chuckle rise in his throat. “I think that’s a yes.”
Saint had gathered the supplies in his arms and followed Sydney into the bathroom. Deacon could hear him joking with Syd to the accompaniment of bottles rattling and the cabinet door shutting.
Elliot didn’t speak.
“I’ll be in the library if you need me,” he finally said.
Elliot looked up at him from her position on the floor, so small she reminded him of a child. “I’ll keep her safe, Deacon. I promise.”
“I know you will.” That much, at least, he had no doubts about.
Elliot stood and went to the bathroom to help Sydney finish getting ready. Deacon didn’t call her back, didn’t tell her good night. He’d save that moment for later. Maybe by then he would have figured out what to say.
The library was a massive jumble of testosterone and aggression, most of which seemed to be directed at the stack of pizza boxes on the long table. Deacon made a mental note to get Elliot some before she went to bed as he walked over to grab a plate. King and Dain stood with Jack, surrounding the chair Fionn was seated on. Across the coffee table, the new team from this afternoon crowded onto the couch. A lone man stood near the pizza, holding a glass of iced tea. He held out the other hand when Deacon approached.
“Deacon, I’m Conlan James.”
Jack’s partner. He’d been out of town the day of Deacon’s initial meeting, so they had yet to meet. Deacon eyed him as they shook hands, thinking that, aside from a bit more bulk and height, he looked enough like Jack that they could be brothers.
“Conlan, I hadn’t expected to see you here.”
The man turned to pick up an already filled plate of pizza, but not before Deacon caught the change in his expression. Work mode; he recognized it all too well.
“Call me Con, please. We take our clients’ safety seriously, especially when there’s a child involved.”
Deacon had to clear his throat before he could respond. “Thank you.”
“That’s what we’re here for.” He nodded his head toward the group around the coffee table. “Let’s talk.”
They’d barely sat before Jack called for everyone’s attention. “Deacon, we’ve gone over feeds, worked with your contact at GFS. We found no evidence of tampering in the footage or at the site of Fionn’s attack, only the powder King collected.” He held up a paper. “It appears to be some kind of herbal mixture, but we don’t know what it’s for. Since the suspect is African, we’ve reached out to an expert, but that takes time.”
“So that gets us nowhere.”
“For now. Honestly, we’re at a loss as to how your ghost got in and out without being caught on surveillance.”
Deacon’s heart thumped into his throat.
“There’s also no trace of any contact between Elliot and Mansa—or Elliot and anyone but the people in this house. We have records of her online chats searching for information, her Internet searches, even her dark Net forays. There is no indication whatsoever that she betrayed you or her team.”
“Of course there isn’t,” King muttered. “And just for clarity, I took a few minutes to call one of my contacts on the APD while we were waiting, and he did confirm an altercation at the location Elliot gave you. Three men, all severely injured—”
“That’s our girl,” Saint threw in.
“All insisted they’d been fighting each other and refusing to press charges.”
Deacon rolled his eyes. “Of course they did.”
Jack cleared his throat, bringing attention back to him. “Deacon, because we can’t find any leads, we feel it’s better to be safe than sorry, so we’re recommending that you move yourself and your daughter to the GFS campus. It’s safe, more secure—particularly with the antidrone tech they have—and though it may take us longer to find Mansa, working together, I do believe we can make it happen.”
It wasn’t what he wanted to hear, but he knew Jack was right. Having Mansa come to them was the best-case scenario. Unfortunately, sometimes you had to go with something less than best. Right now, best had to be keeping Sydney safe.
“How soon?”
The tension in Jack’s shoulders eased the slightest degree. “Tomorrow morning if that’s all right with you. That gives GFS time to prepare quarters and you time to pack what you need for an extended stay.”
“And what about tonight?” Dain asked.
“Tonight we’re hunkering down,” Con said beside Deacon. “All patrols inside only, and all members active on two-hour rotations. Jack and I, as well as Mark’s team, will be here to provide additional bodies and eyes.” He shifted to face Deacon. “Nothing’s going to happen to your baby on our watch.”
Deacon wasn’t too proud to admit the relief he felt. If he could, he’d surround his daughter with an army, but he trusted these men to do what they said. And he and Elliot would be with Sydney constantly. If anyone made an attempt to take her tonight, they’d die.
And Deacon would dance on their soulless corpses without remorse.