Page 19 of Deceive Me
Deacon hid his grin. Fionn showing up in her Bat Cave, as they called it, should make Sheppard’s day. How his friend could be oblivious to the girl’s interest in him, Deacon didn’t understand. Not that she was Fionn’s type. Young, on the geeky side, with a keen mind for electronics and all things computer related but shy and nervous around people, especially the infamous ladies’ man, Fionn McCullough. Sheppard’s tongue tripped over itself whenever Fionn was near, adding to the impression of a socially awkward nerd. Personally Deacon thought she was adorable. Too many women fawned all over his friend, a situation Fionn took full advantage of. Their resident geek didn’t wear makeup or sophisticated clothes—more like glasses and her hair up in a messy ponytail. She was just her normal shy self, whether she had a thing for Fionn or not. Take her or leave her, she was who she was. Deacon admired that, even if it didn’t earn her the notice of his man-whore friend.
All thoughts of Fionn’s tangled love life fled as they approached the swinging double doors leading to the medical suite. GFS kept a mini hospital on the grounds, both for their personnel and for any clients that required medical attention during their contract. Regular hospitals were a security nightmare. Besides, GFS’s clients were more than willing to shell out the cost for personal, secure care at a guarded facility. Trapper had been flown here after his initial treatment, and GFS had brought in every specialist they could to help heal the damage done by Mansa’s hit man. Unfortunately some things couldn’t be fixed; when a man lost the ability to do his job, more than his body ended up broken. When he lost his long-time partner and best friend, like Trapper had Inez, broken wasn’t really the word for what it did to a man.
Necessity had Deacon behind a desk for now, but eventually he would be able to go back to active duty; Trapper would not.
Coming to a stop outside Trapper’s door, Deacon glanced at Fionn, sharing a long look as they braced themselves for what waited on the other side. Soaking up strength. After a deep breath, Deacon rapped his knuckles on the door.
“Come in.”
Trapper’s voice had always been rough, but the damage his attacker had inflicted on his vocal cords made it even rougher. Today it was downright guttural. When they entered, Deacon saw why. The company physical therapist, Edward Cho, stood over Trapper, placing stim pads along their friend’s scarred and mangled upper body. “You gentlemen arrived just in time. We’ve finished our daily torture session, and our friend here is ready for a relaxing electrical massage.”
“Would be better if we had a masseuse,” Trapper muttered.
“Certainly easier on the eyes,” Fionn agreed with a grin.
One side of Trapper’s mouth lifted slightly. “The parts of me that still work would appreciate it.”
Progress. Until the last month, their visits had found Trapper close to monosyllabic, uninterested in the world around him, often lost in a haze of pain. Though the pain was still there, a faint shadow in his dark gray eyes, any effort at interaction was a step in the right direction. When Deacon met Cho’s gaze and received a small nod, the tightness that had constricted his breathing since he’d entered the building eased the slightest bit.
“I’ll see what I can do,” Cho was telling his patient as he laid several weighted heating pads over Trapper’s skin. As the electrostim began and the warmth seeped into what must be tired muscles, Deacon watched the whiteness around Trapper’s mouth ease. From personal experience with PT, he knew what a relief the post-session ritual could be. Cho wasn’t sadistic, but he’d never been easy on any of the men. Extending the range of Trapper’s damaged muscles was more important than comfort, Deacon knew.
When Cho had his patient settled, he set a timer on his watch. “Since you’ve got company, I’ll be back in ten to free you,” he told Trapper with a grin.
“Don’t forget me this time.”
The words, half teasing and half something dark and fearful, twisted Deacon’s gut. Cho’s eyes narrowed the slightest bit, but his answer was playful. “I’ll try not to.” With a wave to Deacon and Fionn, he was out the door, leaving the men alone.
“You look better,” Deacon said after the door had clicked closed. He wasn’t lying either.
Trapper grunted. “Hard not to when you started out looking as fucked up as I did.”
“And now you’re only half fecked up.” Fionn chuckled as he lowered his big body into the chair beside Trapper’s bed. “By the time you’re down to a quarter, we’ll be considering you back to normal.”
“Speak for yourself, pecker face.”
Deacon laughed along with them, watching carefully to be certain no more than a grimace of pain flashed over Trapper’s face.
Silence settled for a moment, but it wasn’t strained. They’d spent more time together silent than they had talking over the years, the state natural for them. If anything it was the weight of their missing team members that pushed them to fill the emptiness in the room. Trapper spoke first.
“You get in touch with JCL?”
“I did.” Deacon brought his teammate up to speed. “Sydney is under careful watch. Quinn’s employees know what they’re doing, Trap. They’ll help us keep her safe.”
“It helps that they’ve got a woman on their team,” Fionn added slyly. Deacon resisted the urge to roll his eyes.
“A woman? You’re letting a woman guard our girl?”
As much as his team’s concern for Sydney warmed his heart, Deacon had no illusions. Trapper was tough, old-school; women were smaller, weaker, less capable. A woman wasn’t good enough for Sydney in his eyes.
But Fionn was already laughing. “Sure as shit we are. This woman isn’t feckin’ around either.”
Ignoring the glowering look Deacon leveled on him, Fionn embarked on the tale of Elliot’s surprise attack at their first meeting. The bastard didn’t leave out a single detail.
“She kicked his arse—literally, at the end. I’m telling you, there’s nothing like seeing a tiny woman plant her boot in Deac’s backside and shove him across the room.”
“You didn’t see it either,” Deacon reminded his friend.
“I’m imagining it, though—Saint described the scene in detail.”
