Page 38 of Deceive Me
Her final words were drowned out as a harsh beeping sounded in Elliot’s earpiece. She closed her eyes against rising frustration, listening to the team scramble to face a threat they couldn’t find.
Yet.
“Dain.”
Elliot opened her eyes in time to see her boss lift an eyebrow in Deacon’s direction.
“You and Sheppard work on real-time data.” The security tech was already scrambling from computer to computer on the screen, hopefully tracking the threat better now than after the fact. “I want reports as soon as they become available. Fionn and King, do a visual sweep of the entire perimeter, not just the affected quadrant. Full-alert, weapons hot—don’t miss anything, and if there’s a threat out there, make sure they miss you. Elliot—”
A pause. Deacon’s fists were opening and closing, his jaw clenching. Her heart twisted.
“I want you online,” he finally said. “See what chatter you can track down. Anything new from anywhere you can get it.” Without another word, he turned for the door. “I’ll relieve Saint.”
Tough-guy code for I need to be with my daughter. Her heart wrenched that much harder at the realization.
She got to work, but her search yielded no fresh intel. The rest of the team likewise came up empty. By the time she began filling a tray of food for Deacon and Sydney, they were all exhausted and frustrated, and she was more than happy to escape. Upstairs, Sydney’s bedroom door stood open. The little girl lay sprawled on her rug, a board game set up between her and Deacon, who mimicked his daughter’s position.
“Dinnertime.”
Sydney jumped to her feet. Elliot quickly lifted the tray to safety before it got knocked from her hands. “I take it you’re hungry.”
“Yeah!” Sydney tugged Elliot toward the game. “What is it?”
“Nachos.”
“With cheese dip?” Sydney asked.
Elliot gave the girl an incredulous look. “You do know we have Saint on the team, right? He’s not letting anyone have nachos without the appropriate queso.” And homemade salsa. And guacamole. The man was a slave driver when it came to his favorite foods, but at least his whip cracking had given them all a break from the futility of their individual searches. Sometimes you needed to work together as a team to meld once more, even if that was over a pot of cheese dip and chips.
“I hope Saint is also planning to clean up,” Deacon said, the faintest hint of teasing in his tone. He set a plate in front of his daughter’s place on the rug before accepting one of his own.
“I think he said it was Sydney’s night to do dishes.”
“What?” Sydney paused with a chip halfway to her mouth, both eyebrows practically up in her bangs.
Elliot couldn’t hold back a chuckle or the automatic way her hand moved to ruffle Sydney’s hair. “Don’t worry. I paid him five bucks to do it for you.”
Sydney’s shoulders visibly relaxed. “Oh.” The chip went in her mouth.
Deacon shook his head. “Such a literalist.”
“What’s a litalerist?” Sydney asked, looking at Elliot.
“Your dad can explain.”
Deacon speared her with dark eyes. “You’re not staying?”
“I already ate,” she said. “Think I’ll take a shower before this munchkin uses all the hot water for her bath.”
Sydney smiled a cheese-and-salsa smile, not the least ashamed of the accusation.
“Not with your mouth full, Syd,” Deacon warned.
Elliot slipped out while the two took their next bites.
The shower was a godsend, the super-heated water pummeling her tense muscles, driving out the aches and easing the pain in her head. She took her time, conditioning her hair, shaving her legs. Imagining Deacon walking in.
No, she definitely wasn’t imagining that. He was worried about his daughter. Sex was probably the last thing on his mind—and hers.
