Page 4 of Deceive Me
“You’re not assigning your weakest guard to my daughter simply because she’s a woman.”
It had been Elliot’s argument too, sort of, but instead of cheering, she gritted her teeth. Was this bastard saying she was too little to kick ass if she needed to?
She didn’t even realize she’d tried to step forward until Dain’s hand came out, blocking her advance. Elliot settled back on her heels and waited. Of course, she glared daggers into the man’s stern eyes while she did it, but what were they gonna do, fire her?
The thought almost made her snort. She held back just in time.
“Mr. Walsh…”
Dain’s words were cut off with an abrupt slash of Walsh’s hand. “My daughter is top priority on this assignment. Nothing else matters but her. She needs more than one scrawny wom—”
“Did you just call me scrawny?”
Elliot felt more than saw her team members take a step back, Dain included. A warm rush of pride filled her at their acknowledgment that she could fight her own battles, but she didn’t allow it to get in the way of her focus on Walsh. His gaze swept over her, and though she thought she detected a hint—a very vague hint—of embarrassment in their depths, mostly his eyes held frustration and anger. So did his response.
“I sure as hell did.”
The final word was barely past his lips when Elliot struck. A fake palm heel to the big man’s chin had him jerking back instinctively, giving her a mere second to connect a kick with his inner thigh. She did avoid the groin, though—no need to thoroughly piss off the client, after all. Her grin was probably a tad too exultant as the strike brought Walsh’s head forward, right into her elbow.
“What the fuck!”
“Smith!”
Chuckles from her teammates mixed with Dain’s and Jack’s shouts as she grabbed Walsh’s closest arm and turned, putting her back to his chest. When she dropped to one knee, Walsh flipped over her head. Ah, the joys of leverage. He hit the floor back first. A quick arch and push brought him to his feet—just in time for Elliot’s swift kick in the ass. Walsh stumbled forward.
Dain caught him, fighting hard to keep the grin on his face under control.
No more than fifteen seconds had passed, but Elliot was already briskly brushing her hands together like she’d finished taking out the trash. Or proving a point. Said point might get her fired, but what the hell. They were used to her lack of communication skills around here.
Jack sputtered behind his desk, his face a shade of red she’d never seen on him before. Not very flattering.
A loud laugh pulled Elliot’s focus to the client. Walsh bent, his back to her, the long furrow of his spine drawing her attention right down to the best ass she’d ever laid eyes on—and in her line of business, she’d laid eyes on a few. A warm hum that had nothing to do with a good fight sparked deep inside her.
Dain shook his head, one hand coming up to rub tiredly at his eyes. Elliot shot him a sheepish look.
Jack cleared his throat. “Mr. Walsh, I apologize—”
Walsh’s raised hand precluded any apology. “No need, Jack.” He turned, and Elliot read the amusement in his expression with relief. So maybe she wouldn’t be fired today. “I believe I’m the one who should be saying those words. Nice job, Smith.”
Not Miss Smith, which was what most clients labeled her with. Just Smith. As if she was one of the guys. The final bit of resentment fizzled out. Okay, I can work with that.
That was when she noticed the heat in her cheeks. Looking anywhere but at their client, her gaze met Saint’s. When she moved to stand next to him, he leaned in to whisper, “Don’t bother being embarrassed now, Otter. Too late.”
She punched him in the ribs. His groan was covered by Dain clearing his throat.
“Let me assure you, Mr. Walsh”—Dain threw her a “we’ll definitely talk about this later” look—“that Elliot will be much more circumspect with your daughter than she has proven to be here, won’t you, Otter?”
If she said no, she might get out of the whole nanny duty thing, but one glance at Dain said she’d pushed as far as he would allow her to. She cleared her throat of rebellion. “Of course.”
Walsh’s gaze skimmed her before returning to Dain. “I have no doubt.” He turned to Jack. “Now that we have that clear, perhaps we should get to the point.”
“Right.” Jack gestured them over to a conference area, where he, Walsh, and Dain took seats. Elliot stood next to Saint and King, lined up like good little soldiers behind Dain’s seat, looking on as Jack opened a thick file on the coffee table before him and pushed it toward their team lead.
Dain planted his elbows on his knees and leaned forward over the intel. “Objective?”
“Protection,” Walsh said before Jack could speak. “My daughter is the primary objective. Despite my performance here today”—Walsh didn’t look her way, though his tone was filled with chagrin—“I don’t need protection from this bastard. But I can’t be with Sydney 24-7. I need someone who can.”
“What bastard?” Dain asked.
