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“GFS has a dorm that contains a few private quarters, mostly for clients,” Deacon explained as they watched the interstate pass outside the blackened windows of the SUV. He and Elliot occupied the middle bench seat, one on each side of Sydney’s booster, buckled snugly between them. “Commander Alvarez has been kind enough to invite us stay until we have further intel.”
“What’s ‘intel,’ Daddy?”
He tugged playfully on the ponytail gracing the top of his daughter’s head. “It means intelligence. Information.”
“What do you need infernation about?”
Elliot chuckled across from him. “Well, it does help you infer things.”
He waited until she looked his way to mouth, Smart-ass.
Elliot raised her eyebrows at him. Always, she mouthed back.
God help him, but he really did want this woman, and not just in his bed. She was nothing like Jules had been, but still fit him just right—
Except for the unfortunate trust issue.
The reminder wiped his amusement away.
“Commander Alvarez is...?”
Deacon cleared his throat. “He’s the owner, CEO, COO—you name it, he’s in charge of it at Global.”
The skin around Elliot’s eyes tightened.
“What is it?”
She turned to look out the window. “I don’t have much positive experience with people giving themselves ranks that aren’t their own.”
Dain had said the group she’d been sent to as a teen was run by an ex-general. When she’d told him the story about losing her virginity, he’d assumed she was in a foster home. What kind of punishment had the general enforced that would cause a teenage girl to swear off sex for years?
His stomach turned at the possibilities running through his mind.
“Where you grew up...what was the head honcho’s name?” The bastard needed investigating.
A shiver traveled down Elliot’s body, the small tell quickly suppressed. “General Ingram.”
“What was his first name?”
She blinked. The fog of memory cleared from her eyes. “General.”
He searched the side of her face that he could see. Dead serious. “You know I can find him, don’t you?”
“Then you’ll find I’m telling the truth. If he had any other name, we never knew it.” She shrugged. “We had a running bet that he’d had his name legally changed.”
That was when her lip twitched. No more than a millimeter, but he caught it. Wondered what she would do if he pulled her over Sydney’s seat and nipped that lip in punishment.
Luckily their arrival at GFS rescued him from his own instincts. All three SUVs were vetted and inspected before security allowed them through, a fact that eased some of the tension that had run continually beneath the surface for the last few weeks. It wasn’t an ideal location for a child, and Sydney would be confined more than he would like, but she would be safe. He just had to figure out how to make sure she stayed that way. They couldn’t live here on the compound forever.
Dain parked in front of the main office. Saint and Jack pulled their respective vehicles in on either side of his. As they exited, Deacon told Dain, “I want Fionn’s wound checked out, make sure it’s healing properly. Can you take everyone inside? Amelia will be at the front desk. Everything is all set up; she’ll show you to our quarters.”
“Sure.”
Jack and Con got out just long enough to shake hands. Deacon thanked them both for the escort. There was no way to know if Mansa would resort to taking out one or more of their vehicles, so the logistical support was greatly appreciated.
Elliot came up beside him as he lifted Sydney out of her seat. “Go with Ell, okay?” he told his daughter. “I’m going to take care of Fionn, and then I’ll be right over.” He also wanted to check in on Trapper, make sure his teammate was up to speed on the latest. If Trap was well enough, they’d bring him onto the team in a support capacity while they were here. It would be good for the man to have something to occupy him besides therapy.
Elliot held out her arms to Syd. “Ready, baby?”
Sydney flung herself willingly into Elliot’s arms, no hesitation, no concerns, just pure acceptance. He envied her in that moment, the innocence that she possessed—would possess for a long time if he had anything to say about it. He leaned close, breathing in the combination of her almost-baby scent and Elliot’s heated femininity. When he lifted his head from kissing his daughter, his gaze met Elliot’s, and he could read the echo of his desire to kiss her in those blue depths.
How could this woman affect him so deeply? He wanted to kiss her, wanted to see her laugh, wanted her lost to desire beneath him—and still didn’t know if he could forgive her, if the trust they needed could be restored. The warring parts of himself threatened his equilibrium when he needed it most, which was why, instead of giving in, he stepped back. “I’ll be over in a few.”
The disappointment in Elliot’s face followed him across the compound.
“Trapper, then the doc,” he said to Fionn as they walked toward the medical building.
“You know I’m not needing any more docs poking at me,” Fionn groused.
“Do it anyway.” Deacon used his commander voice, the one that brooked no argument. Fionn was still mumbling curses under his breath as security watched them swipe their badges and place palms on the fingerprint scanner. No more than thirty seconds and they were waved through.
Inside, many of the offices were empty, the usual clutter of rushing humans absent during the lunchtime pall. Fionn led the way, giving Deacon time to assess the way his friend held himself, observe any unconscious concessions to pain. His appraisal was cut short by a small figure hurtling around the corner of the T-junction just ahead of them and slamming into Fionn’s side.
“Bat Girl?”
“Fionn?” Owlish eyes blinked up at Fionn, then switched to Deacon. “Sir, um...” Again the side-to-side glance. “What are you two doing here?”
Fionn cocked his head. “What’s the story, Sheppard?”
“Nothing. Just...you know...nothing.” Her shrug reminded him of a marionette getting jerked around. “What brings you guys back so soon?”
“We’re having to change base camps,” Deacon told her absently. Behind the glasses, Sheppard’s eyes were red, her hands were shaking, and her normally pale skin was vampire-white. Her voice was high and strained. Something had definitely upset the little tech. “We wanted to stop by and see Trapper and Doc Hicks.”
Fionn tried to pass, but Sheppard fluttered her hand out, almost touching him before drawing back. “Oh, Trapper isn’t in his room. He’s in the cafeteria. It’s Edward’s birthday—you know, cake and stuff. Balloons.” A pause. “You can catch up with him there.”
An unpleasant tingle tripped up Deacon’s spine. “Sheppard, are you sure you’re all right?”
“Oh. Yeah.” Again with the hand waving, such a typical Sheppard gesture. “Just...stuff.” She drew a deep breath. “I think I’ll join you. I hear the cake’s chocolate.” She cut between them to walk back the way they’d come, toward the cafeteria at the other side of the building. With a roll of his eyes, Fionn followed.
Weird. But then Sheppard strayed pretty far from the center of the normal spectrum.
She was also in a hurry. Her short legs had carried her halfway down the hall. As he came alongside him, Deacon noticed Fionn’s attention wasn’t on the floor or the hall ahead; it was centered on the slim lines of Sheppard’s back. He’d have to remember to rag him about that when they had some privac—
The world exploded around them.
One minute he was midstep, looking forward to giving Fionn as good as he normally got, and the next he was slammed onto his face, the sting of a thousand tiny pieces of shrapnel hitting his back. His ears went hollow like someone had pulled their plug and taken the power with it. His eyes clamped closed at the pain of impact, then blinked open to the tan uniformity of utilitarian carpet and something gray. Wispy.
He blinked.
Smoke? Dust?
Shit. A bomb.
Alarms began to sound. That, he could hear; apparently his ears had juice after all, but now he wished they didn’t. Shouts and running registered. Fionn...where was Fionn? Deacon told himself to turn his head, to find Fionn—and Sheppard! God, Sheppard had been with them. It seemed to take forever for the command to leave his brain and travel the relatively short distance to his neck, but it eventually happened, and then he saw Fionn, prone, unmoving.
The shock jolted him to his hands and knees. “Fionn?”
Fionn rolled slowly, carefully to his side. “Could you please not be talking s’loud? I think someone mistook my skull for the home of the Liberty Bell.”
A sharp laugh escaped, mostly from relief. “You can joke. You’re okay.”
“I’m wrecked!” Fionn groaned. “Just a concussion and a stab wound and stitches and... Shit!” He jerked up, a move that had his eyes rolling back in his head. “Where’s Sheppard?”
Farther along the corridor, huddled against the wall, lay a rag-doll bundle of color. Deacon crawled toward it. Sheppard had been thrown against the drywall, her body leaving a huge dent. She lay facedown, but it was Fionn who got to her first, Fionn who ran his hands over her small body. Fionn who gently rolled her over. “Deac?”
“I got it.” He forced his resisting legs to gather under him, push his body upright. Calling for security, he stumbled down the hall, damning the fact that he had no radio or earbud to call medical, get them on the scene fast.
“Mr. Walsh!” One of the security guards from the door—Deacon knew him, George or Greg or... He flagged the man down.
“Get a doc here asap. We’ve got a woman unconscious.”
The guard nodded and turned back toward the building entrance, radio already in hand. His partner passed him, coming toward Deacon, radio at his ear. “Can you pinpoint the blast?” he asked Deacon.
“Down near the long-term medical wing.” Trapper’s wing. A few more seconds and...
That unpleasant tingle returned, snaking up the back of his neck.
“Call the cafeteria and have them get a head count,” he suggested.
“Will do.” A quick relay through the radio. “I think most of the building is over there. I’m not sure who might’ve still been in their rooms or offices.”
“Pray there aren’t any,” Deacon said, voice rough from the smoke and dust and the heavy dread settling on him. “Radio the front office right now and make sure my daughter and her guards are in place. Have every building swept for bombs.” When the guard hesitated, Deacon growled at him. The radio returned to the man’s mouth the next instant.
Deacon waited until he heard directly from Dain that Sydney was safe, then returned to Fionn and Sheppard. His friend continued to hover over the girl on his hands and knees. Deacon thought he heard a soft crooning sound, and then Fionn looked up and the sound cut off. “Well?”
“They’re on their way, I promise. How is sh—”
Sheppard turned her head. “Fionn, what...?”
“Shh.” He eased the broken glasses from Sheppard’s nose, then cupped her head carefully. “You need to be still now, Bat Girl. We’re no’ too sure what all’s going on with you yet.”
“Hate that,” she murmured, eyes closed.
“Hate what?” Fionn asked. Deacon leaned closer to hear her reply.
“Hate when you call me that.”
The grin that tugged at his lips felt obscene in light of what had just happened.
“So sorry.”
Fionn frowned down at her. “Sorry about what?”
A wave of her hand toward the far end of the hall, the area where the explosion had occurred. “Sorry. Couldn’t stop it.”
“Of course you couldn’t, sweetheart.” Fionn glanced at Deacon, his gaze beseeching. Deacon tensed, ready to blast the hovering security guard with a barrage of “where the hell are they’s?” He turned in time to see the first EMT jog into the hall.
“Never would’ve hurt anyone. Tried,” Sheppard was saying. “Had no choice.”
“What?”
“The bomb...had no choice...”
Fionn jerked back onto his heels. Ugly certainty congealed in Deacon’s chest as he moved out of the way to allow the EMTs to take over Sheppard’s care. Fionn sat motionless, eyes wide and unbelieving, until one of the medics barked at him to move.
“Deacon.” Fionn joined him farther down the hall, stumbling like a drunk, hand rubbing hard at his chest. Reeling to a stop against the wall, he bent over double. “Deacon...”
There was really no response. For the second time in two days, they’d uncovered a betrayal that shook the foundation of everything they’d held to be true. Only this time it wasn’t just about a connection to their enemy. This time, it was about doing the enemy’s bidding. Setting a bomb.
Trapper could’ve died. A helluva lot of people could’ve died, including Deacon and Fionn.
A dull roar came out of nowhere. Deacon jerked his head up in time to see Fionn’s fist shoot out and slam into the drywall, punching right through, a primal shout tearing from his lungs.
Deacon stood and bore witness—it was all he could do. They’d felt safe here, felt in control. But they’d been compromised, again, this time by one of their own.