Page 17 of Deceive Me
She’d had this argument with herself more times than she could count, and the one thing she kept coming back to was this: The longer they waited, the more advantage Mansa had. Her team would either become complacent or, more likely for them, hypervigilant, jumping at every shadow and gradually wearing themselves down. Getting Mansa to make a move before he was ready required one thing, giving him a chance at what he wanted. And since she refused to do anything to put Sydney in harm’s way, the only thing Elliot could think of that he might want was inside information.
And the seemingly “weakest” member of the team would make perfect bait. There was just one problem. Bait needed to be alone to be taken. And the only time Elliot could be alone wasn’t preschool duty.
Maybe an early morning run around the perimeter? Mansa would have surveillance somewhere. If he saw an opportunity to snatch her and took it, he’d be handing her the chance she needed.
“Stop thinking about it, Elliot.”
Shaking the haze from her attention, she glanced at King’s set face before returning to Sydney. “Stop what?”
“Whatever it is you’re planning.” Turning to lean a shoulder against the wall propping them both up, King scowled down from his considerable height. Elliot ignored a twinge of resentment. “Deacon is the client, which makes him the boss. But not only that, Dain is team lead. We’ve always respected his leadership, you especially, not because he demands it but because he’s earned it. I don’t know what’s buzzed your ass, but whatever it is, forget it. Don’t compromise this team for a personal agenda.”
“Language,” she murmured as a stocky little boy brushed past. It wasn’t what she wanted to say, which was hell yes, this is personal. It was about keeping the only people in the whole fucking world that she truly cared about safe. She hadn’t been able to do it for her mother, but she was older and stronger now. No matter what it took, she would not let Mansa hurt her family again.
Maybe King and Saint would get it if she told them the truth about her past. Dain didn’t, though, so spilling her guts on an off chance seemed useless. Not that Dain was giving her a choice. She had four days left—if her boss waited that long. Over the past twenty-four hours, several opportunities had arisen to confess, but every time she kept silent, the vein in Dain’s temple would begin to throb. He’d held his tongue, though, his burning gaze reminding her the whole time that she was disappointing him with every half-truth that left her mouth. But even Dain’s disappointment couldn’t seem to overcome her fear of what would happen when the words left her mouth.
She, Elliot Smith, was scared shitless—of how her team would react, and yes, how Deacon would react. There was something about the man that made her want his approval almost as much as she wanted it from Dain, Saint, and King.
It made no sense. None of this did.
You better start making sense of it somehow, Elliot, or you are a hundred percent fucked.
No shit.
Fortunately Sydney chose that moment to run over to their silent corner of the room.
“Elliot, would you color with me?”
She ignored King’s amusement. “I don’t think—”
“You think too much.” King nudged her away from the wall. “Go color with the girl.”
The way Sydney’s face lit up at the prospect had Elliot swallowing her refusal. At least this she knew how to do. Her childhood hadn’t been perfect, with tea parties and baby dolls and shit like that, but coloring had been a quiet way to occupy a frightened child on the run. And the supplies were cheap and fairly compact.
She bet she could color King’s ass under the table.
Making a mental note to challenge him soon, she took Sydney’s outstretched hand and wove the two of them through the obstacle course of playing children and discarded toys. At the coloring table Sydney dug through a stack of pages before pulling out an outlined image of a horse eating grass near an apple tree.
“This looks like Benny.” She settled the paper in front of her and began her search again. Elliot waited, assuming the girl was finding an image for Elliot as well. “Here.”
Elliot choked. The picture was Sleeping Beauty, her fair prince bending over her narrow bed, prepared to offer a kiss. “Isn’t there another horse?”
“You don’t like this one?” Sydney asked, eyeing the paper. “He looks like Daddy, doesn’t he?”
Did he? She hadn’t noticed.
Keep telling yourself that.
Elliot picked up a blue crayon and started in on Sleeping Beauty’s dress.
“My mom had dark hair like Sleeping Beauty in the movie. Have you seen the movie, Elliot?”
Did she want to admit she hadn’t? Settling for a noncommittal hum, she tried to decide if it would be sacrilege to give the renowned fairy-tale princess blonde hair.
Like yours? Do you really want to color yourself into the role of Deacon’s lover?
She refused to answer that question. Instead she eyed Sydney’s thick, dark hair. “You must look a lot like your mom.”
That earned her a smile. “I even have her eyes.” The smile slowly faded. “She’s been gone a long time.”
