Page 59 of Deceive Me
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.”
