| |
A small stack of paper slapped down on the table next to Elliot’s hand. The number of sheets was deceptive—that stack meant a minimum of two hours more work. “Really, Dain?”
Her boss shrugged. “You create the problem; you complete the paperwork.”
She’d gotten herself beat to shit, killed two men, and what thanks did she get? Fucking paperwork. “Dickhead.”
“You’ve always been my favorite little headache,” Dain countered as he moved toward the other side of the room.
“You didn’t have to kill him, you know,” Saint said mildly. “That always adds to the paperwork.”
The remembered feel of Mansa’s blood on her hands, of knowing her mother was finally at peace, filled her mind. “Yeah, I did have to kill him.”
A heavy hand landed on her shoulder, making her jump. King gave her a quick squeeze and moved on, but not before she read the understanding in his expression. It was echoed by her other team members when she looked at them, the knowledge settling something inside her that she hadn’t realized was a worry until that moment.
They got it. They understood, teasing or not.
She released the breath she’d been holding.
“You still have to do the paperwork,” Dain told her, “even if you are one scary woman.”
And don’t you forget it. “Dain?”
“Yeah?”
She raised a hand and gave him a middle-fingered salute. Laughter came from every corner of the room, at once reassuring and somehow incongruous. The strangeness would pass, she knew. She’d been here before, but hopefully never again.
Her demon was dead. And now all she wanted to do was tie up the loose ends and get the fuck out of here before Deacon showed up again.
Mansa’s shot had gone wide, thank God. While the men with him had wreaked havoc on the guards, Deacon had fought his way to the throne, toward Mansa, but it had been too late by then; his enemy was beyond his reach.
He hadn’t spoken to her since.
Granted, there hadn’t been much opportunity. Between subduing Mansa’s hired guards and dealing with the local police, they’d all had their hands full. Elliot’s injuries had made it perfectly believable that she’d killed Kivuli and Mansa in self-defense. There’d been hours of questioning, followed by a trip to the hospital. King and Saint had brought her back to GFS for more prodding, more X-rays, and then finally to Dain, but after two hours of sitting in this office she was beginning to think her fears had been right on target: Deacon didn’t want her anymore, not after she’d kept the truth from him again.
If only those damn words didn’t echo in her mind every time she thought of him. “God, I love you.”
She squeezed her eyes shut against the pain.
“You okay?”
Dain pulled out a chair and sat. Elliot forced herself to look at him, to not hide what she was feeling like she’d tried to do all her life. She needed him to see the truth.
“Can’t I do this back at JCL?”
“Alvarez said they needed us here to tie up loose ends with them.”
Right. Sure. “This delay tactic isn’t going to work, Dain.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
His confusion could’ve fooled anyone else, but not Elliot. She knew him too well. Leaning in close, she dropped her voice until only the two of them could hear her words. “Look...I hurt all over. I’ve faced about as many of my mistakes as I can tonight. I can’t take much more; I need to get the fuck out of here.”
And he knew why; she could read it in his eyes. He’d opened his mouth to respond when the door behind them opened.
Elliot’s muscles went rigid. Only when she saw Alvarez and Trapper from the corner of her eye and realized they were alone was she able to relax.
Dain ignored her tension. “Commander.”
Alvarez gave a hearty bellow as Elliot stood with the rest of her team. “There’s the woman that saved the day.” Crossing the room, he held out a stack of papers. “Here.”
Elliot stared, disbelieving, at the pile. You have got to be kidding me. “This is the thanks I get?” Hopefully the man never discovered her birth date; she’d hate to see what he gave her then.
Alvarez chuckled. “Test results, Smith. Just test results.” He gestured to the table and waited while they all took seats, then sat next to Elliot. She forced herself not to scoot toward Dain. “We figured out at least one riddle. The white substance Kivuli left at Deacon’s place. It’s the same stuff that was in the pouch you poured on him at Mansa’s.”
Elliot shuddered at the memory.
“Knowing the man was likely a native, we called in an expert.” Alvarez reached a hand out, and Elliot passed him the papers gratefully. He shuffled through until a particular page caught his eye, then passed it around. “It’s a substance called a muthi, made of herbs and animal parts. Usually for medicinal purposes, but some criminals obtain them from so-called witches for the purpose of black magic. This particular mixture is supposed to render the user invisible to the people he targets.”
“So you’re saying he lined the fence with the powder, and that’s why we couldn’t see him on surveillance?” Dain asked, eyes wide.
“Bullshit,” King barked. Saint looked thoughtful.
Alvarez shrugged. “I’m just passing along what our expert told us; I can’t attest to its viability. If you have a better explanation, I’m all ears.”
Elliot wanted to scoff like King did, but she couldn’t, not when she remembered the look on Kivuli’s face when the powder had hit him, remembered him sucking it into his mouth with his last breaths, seizing, choking. Another shudder went through her, and from the looks on the faces around the table, she didn’t think she was the only one.
More shuffling through the papers. “The woman Mansa was holding was able to give us her name,” Alvarez said. “She’ll be sent back to her family after she’s stabilized.”
“Were her injuries extensive?” Elliot asked.
Trapper spoke for the first time. “From the fight, no. Those were minor, some bangs and bruises.” His hand flexed against the table. “There were other long-term issues though.” He didn’t say what those were, and Elliot found herself grateful. She didn’t think she could deal with any more guilt right now, any more if only’s. There was no possible way she could’ve gotten to Mansa’s hideout sooner, and she had to live with that. It was far easier than living with the knowledge that her mother’s killer had been walking around free.
Alvarez tapped the edge of a paper against the table. “We’ve made sure she’s getting top-notch care, and we’ve found a group that has agreed to take over follow-up and counseling when she arrives back in Spain, where she’s from. Everything we can do to help her, we will.”
“Thank you.” There was really nothing else Elliot could say. Memories of her mother waking with nightmares, screaming, uncontrollably crying, crowded in. Hopefully with help, this woman would be able to heal in a way Nora had not. No one deserved to live with that kind of pain.
“Absolutely. We wouldn’t—”
The door burst open, jerking everyone’s attention toward the noise as Fionn rushed through, eyes wild, hair and clothes a ragged mess. “Where’s Deacon? We’ve got to be getti—”
“Whoa, whoa!” Alvarez was on his feet and crossing the room before the rest of them could stand up. “What happened, Irish?”
Fionn opened his mouth but was interrupted by Alvarez’s phone going off, then Trapper’s. The commander answered his cell, his look grim.
Fionn shoved a hand through his hair. The desperation in his eyes as he fumbled for his own phone kicked Elliot’s heartbeat into overdrive. A couple of taps and he brought it to his ear.
Trapper limped toward his teammate. “Tell us, Fionn.”
“Sheppard is gone.”
A shock wave went through the room.
“What?” Dain asked. “How is she gone? The woman had a concussion, for God’s sake. Security—”
“She invented half our security,” Fionn growled. His call must’ve gone unanswered, because he jerked it away from his ear and threw it across the room. “Where is Deacon?”
Dain was tapping on his phone already. “We’ll find him.”
Were they worried about Sheppard attacking Deacon and Sydney? As soon as the question entered her mind, Elliot knew the girl would never take that step, not even if Mansa hadn’t been out of the picture. And now—well, Sheppard would know he was dead; no one could’ve missed the chaos in the makeshift medical wing all night. Elliot’s mind replayed Sheppard’s begging as she stood next to the young woman’s bed. Her reason for planting the bomb no longer existed.
No, Elliot bet Sheppard had run for a far different reason, a reason that nothing to do with Deacon and everything to do with the desperate man pacing in front of her right this minute.
A man who was done waiting, apparently. “I need to go.”
Fionn rushed the door, but it opened before he could reach it. Deacon walked through, Sydney secure on his hip. The sight of them hit Elliot like a blow to the chest, so hard she found herself sitting abruptly back in her chair.
Deacon zeroed in on the movement immediately. She couldn’t read his gaze, and honestly, she didn’t want to. Some things were better left alone.
“Where’ve you been?” Fionn was asking. “We need to be gettin’ you someplace safe.”
“No, we don’t.” Alvarez walked toward them, the phone still to his ear as he talked. “Cameras picked up Sheppard leaving through the west gate forty-five minutes ago.”
“That gate’s closed,” Deacon said, eyes narrowed. “How did she—”
“She’s Sheppard.” Alvarez sighed, a heavy sound that seemed to come from his very toes. “There’s not much our girl can’t hack, and you know it.”
“Damn.”
Fionn’s response was a bit more volatile than Deacon’s; he marched through the door, slamming it so hard the impact vibrated the table beneath Elliot’s hand. She focused there, praying Deacon would follow his friend.
He didn’t.
For a moment the men stood silent, seeming stunned. All except Deacon, who watched the door with a worried look. It was Saint who finally broke the gridlock.
“Well, if he needs an assassin, Elliot’s available.”
Dain groaned. Elliot swore she heard a snigger—either King or Trapper, she wasn’t sure which, but she didn’t blame them. Sometimes gallows humor was the only way to push through the shit.
Alvarez had a questioning look in his eye like he wasn’t sure if that was a joke or not.
“I’m not gonna kill Sheppard,” Elliot assured him.
A chorus of noes and of course nots echoed in the room. Elliot gave them all a narrow-eyed glare.
Deacon cleared his throat. “Commander, could I borrow Elliot for a few?”
“Certainly!” Alvarez beamed at her.
Elliot didn’t move. She couldn’t.
“Ell.”
It took a few moments to turn her head, but she finally managed to meet Deacon’s eyes. Could he read her fear? She didn’t want him to, but the way his expression softened said he had anyway.
“Come talk to us,” he repeated, jostling Sydney a bit as if to assure her that he wouldn’t jump down her throat with his daughter in his arms. Which...right. Yeah. Of course. Elliot’s brain was obviously addled at this point. “Please.”
“Pleeeease,” Syd added.
That pulled her to her feet. She kept her eyes on the ground, trying desperately to ignore the hot flush creeping into her cheeks. Trying to ignore the silence as every man in the room watched her walk out the door. Whatever they were thinking, she didn’t want to know. This was a moment she had to face alone.
Funny that doing so now seemed unusual, like an old suit that no longer fit just right.
Sydney was oblivious to the emotional undercurrents. The little girl chattered away as they moved into the hall and down to an empty office Deacon shut them into. Elliot let the sweet voice wash over her, but she couldn’t bring herself to respond, not until the voice went silent.
She turned to face them. They looked so right together, so perfect, almost...complete. How could what they shared ever have room for someone like her?
“Where were you, Elliot?” Syd asked. “You were gone forever.”
And Sydney had a fear of people disappearing, Elliot knew. Instinct had her reaching for the little girl, arms aching not from her injuries but from longing—she wanted Syd in her arms, cuddled against her. Almost as much as she wanted Deacon to hold her.
Deacon pulled Sydney away. The move hit Elliot like a hammer blow.
“Daddy says you can’t hold me right now,” Sydney informed her.
“Oh.”
“I don’t want anything aggravating your ribs. You’ve done enough to aggravate them as it is.” Deacon’s head tilted, a frown settling on his mouth. “Why else wouldn’t I let you hold her?”
“I—” Elliot shrugged. “I don’t know.”
More silence. Elliot’s nerves felt like they’d snap any minute. “So...you wanted to talk to me?”
“I did.” Deacon rubbed a hand along Syd’s back, seeming to search for words. “Are you okay?”
He already knew about her injuries, knew she’d been looked at, but she was standing here, so he must mean something else, something not physical. She had just killed her mother’s murderer, after all.
“Fine. I’m fine.”
His look said he didn’t believe that but wouldn’t fight her over it, not right now.
Elliot shifted, leaning a hip against the desk at her side.
Deacon cleared his throat.
A shot of knowledge hit her as she looked at him. She’d been so caught up in her own fears that she hadn’t taken the time to notice his, but the silence, the way he kept rubbing Sydney’s back...he was nervous. Of her.
Well fuck. Was it possible she hadn’t completely screwed herself after all?
“Look...” Deacon laughed a little. “I don’t have a lot of experience at this.”
And I do?
“But I...we...”
“We what?”
He shifted again.
“We want you to be our girlfriend,” Sydney burst out.
Elliot felt her eyes bug.
“You want me to what?”
This time Deacon’s laugh was full, happy, without the strain of before. Sydney grinned up at him.
“Well that’s one way to ask a woman out, I guess.” Deacon swiped at the tears at the corners of his eyes. “Thanks, Syd.”
“You’re welcome.” That spot where she’d lost her tooth made an appearance as she flashed her father a grin.
Then Deacon’s deep brown eyes met Elliot’s and all the laughter died, replaced by something richer, deeper, something that took her breath away. His stare seemed to drill right to the heart of her, the part that was fluttering with panic and fear and a whole helluva lot of aching need—for a family, for him. For all of it.
She’d been too scared to name that look the last time she saw it, but Deacon hadn’t. He’d named it without fear as he’d fallen asleep, cushioned by her body.
“God, I love you.”
“Elliot.”
She sucked in a breath.
“I said something last night, something you probably think I regret. But I don’t.”
“You don’t?”
“No.” He seemed about to say something else but glanced at Syd and reconsidered. “I meant what I did and what I said then, and I mean this now: all we want, all I want, is for you to give us a chance.”
As if they had to beg her? They’d be the one taking a chance, not her. “Deacon, I...”
I care. God, I care so much—and it scares the shit out of me.
“Don’t you like us, Elliot?”
She looked helplessly into Sydney’s eyes. So much trust shone there. What if she couldn’t live up to that look? What if she failed? She’d never had a family before, people depending on her, expectations to live up to.
Except she had, hadn’t she? With Dain. With her team. She’d loved them and protected them and lived with them, and she hadn’t let them down.
You can do this, Ell.
Deacon reached for her, his calloused fingers rough on her cheek. “Don’t be afraid, Ell. Just tell us.”
“Of course I”—a glance at Sydney—“like you.” Love you. “A lot. I like you both.” She knew she should step away from Deacon’s touch, but her feet wouldn’t move. “But I—” Oh God, what did she do? “Deacon, I’m too...broken. I don’t want to be, but we both know that I am.” She ignored Sydney’s frown, knowing the little girl didn’t understand. Maybe someday...
No, there wouldn’t be a someday here. She had to stop wishing on stars and get back to reality. She had to make Deacon understand. “You deserve someone so much better than me, someone whole.”
Deacon continued to stare her down, not a hint of surprise on his face. “We deserve to be loved, and we get to choose who we want it from. We choose you.”
Her heart thumped hard, a bass drum in her ears. “I—”
Deacon came closer, close enough that it almost seemed Elliot was holding Sydney as much as he was. Two parts making a whole. His broad hand cupped her flushed cheek. “Trust me, Elliot,” he said, and this time it was a command, not a request. She could feel the iron strength of his will wrapping around her even as his thumb stroked, soothing her heated skin. “Trust me. You’ve asked me to trust you this whole time, to believe you. Now I’m asking you. Trust me. That’s all we need.”
Was it?
Trust. In him, in herself, in the two of them together.
That’s all we need.
She looked into the brown and green eyes staring back at her, wanting her, needing her, and realized she was letting fear win. She hadn’t let it win at thirteen, and she hadn’t let it win when she’d joined Dain’s team. Was she going to let it win now, in the most important battle she would ever fight?
Fuck no.
“Yes.” Yes, I’ll trust you. Yes, I’ll be with you. Yes, I’ll love you both—always.
A tear slipped down her cheek to wet Deacon’s thumb. Always.
Deacon smiled. She saw it as he leaned closer, felt it when his mouth met hers. The kiss was chaste, sweet, but the look he gave her as he eased back promised that later, when Sydney was asleep and they were alone, he’d give her a better, longer, more adult version. Desire warmed her belly at the thought.
“Daddy!”
They both blinked out of their daze. Deacon raised an eyebrow at his daughter.
“I want a kiss too.”
He kissed her cheek.
“Not you. Elliot!”
“Of course, Little Bit.” He tipped his daughter toward Elliot for a kiss as well. Elliot reveled in the baby-shampoo scent Sydney always carried, the sweet innocence of her kiss on Elliot’s cheek, the way her fragile arms wrapped around Elliot’s neck, and prayed like she’d never prayed before, for one thing: courage.
She’d faced her demons and won. Now it was time to face life.
Deacon held out his hand. “Let’s take my girls home.”
Elliot put her hand in his, held on tight, and let him lead her toward the door.