Page 60 of Deceive Me
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.
23
Elliot spent the night on Sydney’s bed, lying curled near the little girl that had somehow managed to steal a huge chunk of her heart. Deacon slept on the floor on the opposite side of the bed. Every time she shifted in her sleep, the pain in her ribs would wake her, and she’d find herself listening for his breath, wondering if he was asleep. Dawn seemed to come far too soon and yet, honestly, not soon enough.
Careful not to wake Sydney, she slipped downstairs to the kitchen in search of coffee and pain meds. The kitchen was quiet, empty. She breathed a sigh of relief, quick to cross to the coffee machine while the reprieve lasted. The light was still on, the half-full pot still hottish. She didn’t think she’d ever been so grateful for who-knows-how-old coffee in her life.
The cup had barely been warming her hands for a minute before the door swung open and King walked in. A quick, hot swallow smothered the groan on her lips.
“She returns,” he taunted quietly, following in Elliot’s footsteps from door to coffeemaker to retrieve his own morning caffeine.
A shaft of something very close to regret made her squirm. It was too early in the morning to deal with this—she hadn’t even had her ibuprofen yet. She reached for the jar she’d left on the counter last night, poured a couple of pills into her palm, and swallowed them dry. “You know why I couldn’t tell you, King. Couldn’t tell anyone.”
“Dain knew.”
And that bothered him, she could see. Like any family, the dynamics varied among the members. Dain was their father figure and the one Elliot was closest to, but King…he was her brother. They related to each other in a way the open, grounded, family-oriented Saint couldn’t. King, more than any of the others, would see this as a betrayal.
“If it makes you feel any better, he had to get me falling-down drunk to drag it out of me.”
King took a sip, his chiseled face hard as granite. “It doesn’t.”
“King.”
Another sip.
Moving close, Elliot dared to lay a hand flat on her teammate’s broad chest.
He refused to look at her, staring intently into the black depths of his cup instead. Elliot thanked heaven for being short for once and ducked under his chin, interrupting the view. “I’m sorry. I wanted to keep you safe.”
King’s light blue eyes narrowed. “You wanted to keep you safe.”
The words hurt. They were true to a certain extent, but not totally. She fisted her hand in the soft fabric of his T-shirt and gave it a jerk. “I watched my mother and stepdad get into a car and get blown into a billion pieces. Coming from the man who plays most of his past very close to his chest, you don’t have much cause to judge.” She knew he came from wealth, knew his family was in the upper echelon of society somewhere, but had never cared enough to look them up—King was important, not his past. She’d certainly never dug into his secrets. He told what he felt comfortable telling, and that didn’t include why he’d left his old life behind. “We all have secrets, but I care about you. I care about all of you; you’re the only family I’ve had since I was thirteen years old. I’d be damned if I saw you murdered like I saw my mother.”
King closed his eyes. For a moment she thought the grinding of his jaw meant he would continue to argue, but then his hand rose to cover hers, forcing it hard against his chest. “We love you too, little Otter. We’ll do anything to keep you safe.”
She didn’t want them risking their lives for hers. The fierce glint in King’s eyes when he opened them warned her not to argue.
And damn if she didn’t feel tears stinging at the back of her nose again. Was all this emotion never going to go away?
King dropped her hand and raised his cup to his mouth, but he didn’t drink. “I didn’t think I’d ever hear an apology cross your lips.”
Something in her relaxed at his words. If he was okay enough to tease her, then they would be okay. Eventually. “And if you tell anyone you heard it now, I might have to kick your ass.”
“Language,” King reminded her. The word was echoed perfectly by Saint as he walked into the kitchen.
