by Victoria Sue
“What are you thinking about?”
Mav looked across at Deacon in surprise.
Deacon banged his hand on the dash. “I swear I know how to be a grown-up. I just have this annoying habit of speaking without any filter.”
Mav grinned. He’d worked that one out last night. “I was thinking of all the times I acted like a spoiled brat since this happened.” He touched his knee in case Deacon didn’t get what “this” referred to.
“Did they make you leave? I went to school with a friend whose whole family was in the military. It was something he knew he wanted to do since he was old enough to know what being a soldier was. He had a below-knee amputation, but a year later, I saw on Facebook he’d taken part in this Army race that ended at the Pentagon.”
Mav’s voice stayed level. “The Army Ten-Miler.”
Deacon nodded. “He couldn’t run, but he still walked with fifty pounds. I believe he returned to active duty about six months later.”
“I heard about that,” Mav said casually. “He’s a paratrooper. There’re more and more amputees returning to active duty. It’s a little easier if you have more of a residual limb.”
Deacon opened his mouth. “Oh God, no. Please don’t think I was trying to say—”
“It’s fine,” Mav interrupted. “I was leaving anyway. Believe it or not, I was going to go in with Jamie and expand the business to personal protection. This just brought things forward a few months. Plus, I’m thirty-four. Bit of an old dog and all that.”
Deacon scoffed, then froze. After another few seconds, he glanced at Mav. “I’d probably better not attempt a reply to that. You know, no filter.”
Mav smiled to himself, and he felt the familiar pull of the skin across his jaw. After another few seconds, Deacon drew up outside the apartments and glanced at him. “I’m upstairs.” He said it casually, but Mav knew what he was really asking.
“Let’s go, then,” Mav said. There was a rail. He could do this.
Deacon didn’t seem to deliberately keep his strides short, but he didn’t run on ahead. Mav couldn’t decide whether he was grateful or resentful. “How long have you been here?”
“Just over two months. I was going to get something with a yard eventually.” His smile fell, and Mav wondered if he was thinking about his niece. “And there’s the money I need. A lot of places want hefty security deposits. At least this was only a thousand.”
Mav ran a critical eye over the trash-strewn stairs and the peeling paint as they walked past the doors. Personally, he thought a thousand bucks was too high, but it sounded like Deacon was backed into a corner. They carried on, and Mav managed to get up the stairs without too much problem. The pain in his back would be worse by this afternoon, but he was coping now.
“At the risk of saying something else insensitive, can I ask a question?”
Mav nodded, suddenly wary.
“Did you hurt your back as well? I mean,” he rushed out, “it never seems to be your leg that hurts, more your back.”
Mav stopped in surprise. How had Deacon known? Most people wouldn’t be able to differentiate between pain in his back and his leg. “My fault. I missed half a dozen appointments after I got my permanent leg.”
“Well, believe it or not, I started training as a masseuse at college before we got the record deal. I do a really good back massage.”
It was a good thing Deacon turned away immediately after he said it so he couldn’t witness Mav’s entire body tightening at the innocent words. Mav remembered those slim fingers clutching his arm.
“Mr. Daniels?”
Mav looked over to where a man stepped out of the first door on the left and hailed them. Mav would put the guy at about sixty, bald head, squinty eyes. The dislike was immediate.
“Mr. Atkins,” Deacon greeted him.
Atkins looked Deacon up and down dispassionately. “Saves me tracking you down.” He slapped a piece of paper into Deacon’s hand and then bent down and hefted two garbage bags out of the apartment and set them out on the walkway.
Deacon glanced at the paper. “But—”
“The apartment’s trashed. You cost me furniture, a new door, and a paint job.”
The landlord.
“I only paid you the rent yesterday, two weeks in advance,” Deacon protested. “You can’t keep—”
“I can do anything I like,” he interrupted. He nodded to the bags. “That’s what I could save. Everything else was garbage.”
Mav took a step forward, and Atkins suddenly seemed to notice him, his eyes widening as he took a very gratifying step backward. “I’m within my rights because of the damage to my property,” he added, his voice not sounding as sure anymore.
“I paid some of the AC repairs,” Deacon added in a bewildered voice. Mav wanted to punch Atkins.
“I checked with my lawyer this morning, and apparently you’re bad news. I don’t need any reporters around here.”
Mav didn’t like the defeat on Deacon’s face.
Atkins pulled the door shut and pocketed the key. “You don’t need to give me your key because I had to change the locks,” he said pointedly and looked at the trash bags. “I want them out of the way, or I’ll be calling the nice cops who came by this morning.” And with that, he stepped past Deacon and Mav and walked to the stairs.
Mav opened his mouth, but Deacon snagged his arm. “It doesn’t matter,” he mumbled.
“I know half a dozen guys who could make him change his mind real quick.” Or did he? He’d avoided the other vets like a plague. Ignored every tentative reach out for a beer or more. Hell, he knew at least half a dozen old buddies based at Dobbins ARB. If they’d come. To say nothing of Charlie. Cass might have been the brother he never had, but in a lot of ways so was Charlie. After seven years, when he and Cass had luckily been posted together, their duo had simply added a third.
He caught the small shake of Deacon’s head and felt the tug on his arm. “I hated the place anyway.” Mav glanced down ready to make another argument or simply offer to make the landlord change his mind, but Deacon was looking at him with an expression he hadn’t seen for fuck knew how long, and it made him stand a little taller.
“You can stay with me for the time being,” Mav said firmly, knowing his generous-hearted sister wouldn’t mind in the least.
Deacon looked like he was going to protest, but Mav guessed his new reality kept his mouth closed.
“I think we need to go talk to the cops,” Mav said. “I know one of the ones who brought you to my house last night.”
Deacon’s eyebrows rose. “You think you can get them to believe me? It sounds like they were here.”
Mav nodded. “This is a game changer. There’s no way cops aren’t going to take this seriously.”
Deacon picked up both bags. “At least they didn’t get Mikey’s stuff.”
“Your brother?”
“Yeah. Most of his cash went into savings for Molly, which is good, but he prepaid a year’s rent on a small storage unit. I put all his furniture in it until I got somewhere nicer. I guess I should be glad that place was furnished.” Deacon swallowed heavily, and Mav gave him a second to get himself under control. So the brother had left some money, but Deacon couldn’t touch it? His sister always said babies were expensive.
“Close to here?”
“Not too far. A little farther north of Marietta.” Deacon looked like he was going to say something else, but he didn’t.
And even though it wasn’t his business, Mav raised the subject anyway. “I can’t imagine what it must have been like suddenly being responsible for a toddler.” And just like that, Deacon lit up. Mav simply paused and basked in the warmth radiating from his smile.
“I was so lucky. Do you have any idea what it’s like to be trusted with something so precious? Of course you do,” Deacon added before Mav could answer. “You flew million-dollar helicopters.”
It was hardly the same, though. “Yeah, but the Huey wouldn’t cry if you
left it alone.” Although Charlie babied them all the time. It was a standing joke among the three of them that faced with a choice in a life-and-death situation, Charlie would save the Huey first.
“You hungry?”
“I guess.” Deacon huffed out a surprised breath as if it had just occurred to him. He looked down at his phone as it started ringing, but Mav’s rang a second after. They both glanced ruefully at each other and took a step apart to answer.
“Mav?”
Mav recognized Charlie’s voice immediately, and he grunted. He’d missed his friend.
“Are you with Deacon Daniels?”
Mav stiffened. Charlie didn’t sound like he was shooting the breeze. That was specific. “Yes.” His eyes met Deacon’s.
“There’s going to be a Detective Phan calling him to arrange a meet—”
“I think he’s calling him now,” Mav interrupted, watching Deacon’s worried face.
“Where are you?”
“Outside Deacon’s apartment. We’re going back to mine.” He heard Charlie say something to someone and saw Deacon shove his phone back into his pocket.
“Okay,” Charlie confirmed. “We’ll see you there.”
Mav put his phone into his own pocket and eyed Deacon, who looked a little shell-shocked. “Detective Phan?”
Deacon’s eyes widened.
“That was the cop I know from last night. He’s actually an old Air Force buddy and was giving me a heads-up.”
“They wanted me to go to the precinct, but he spoke to someone else, and they’re meeting me at your house.”
“This is good, though,” Mav encouraged. “I didn’t think the cops would be able to get anyone to take notice of this.” He nodded toward the apartment.
“No.” Deacon shook his head. “These detectives are from over in Athens.”
“Why—”
“They wanted to know when I last spoke to Emmanuel Jones.”
Mav shook his head. He was no wiser.
“Emmanuel Jones was my old agent. The one who made up the stalker story that got that lady and her son killed.” Deacon met Mav’s eyes. “They wouldn’t tell me why they needed to know.”
THE COPS were already at Maverick’s when they pulled up. There were two cars waiting for them, and Deacon recognized the friend of Mav’s and Officer Fitzpatrick. The two men who got out of the Buick must have been the detectives, and he eyed them quickly, watching as Maverick’s eyes narrowed on the older detective. Sizing him up. The other guy looked like he was some sort of trainee. Deacon’s grandad would have said “not old enough to shave.” He missed his grandad so damn much. He would never have been in this situation if Pops had still been alive.
Deacon pushed that thought away and climbed out of the car. He noticed the wince from Mav as he straightened up and the way his face slid into a polite mask as he attempted to hide it. Although, it was probably only visible to Deacon. He’d learned very quickly as a child how to read body language, and the familiar hurt curled around his heart.
The cops walked over to Mav, and the detectives came over to him.
Detective Phan extended his hand. “Mr. Daniels?” Phan was the older of the two. Late forties, at a guess. Straight black hair. Pale skin contrasted with the dark gray pupils staring back at Deacon. Smart suit. Looked fit and capable. Deacon pushed that thought away and nodded as he was introduced to Detective Wright, but it was clear Phan was in charge.
Mav walked around the truck and shook hands. Then Mav led them into the house. Deacon glanced at Mav to see if he minded his home being invaded, but it didn’t seem so. Mav directed them into a dining room Deacon hadn’t seen, and they all took seats around the large oak table.
“I’m assuming this is about the break-in,” Mav said as he walked in after having gone into the kitchen to get bottles of water for everyone. He then sat deliberately next to Deacon, and Deacon felt able to take a breath for the first time since they had gone to his apartment.
Phan looked at him, and something in the detective’s gray eyes sent a shiver tripping down Deacon’s arms. “The break-in is being handled by the local police. As I said on the phone, we wondered if you could tell us the last time you saw Mr. Emmanuel Jones.”
Deacon didn’t think he was likely to forget. “Outside court four weeks ago after he confirmed what a crap parent I would make.”
He didn’t dare meet Maverick’s eyes as the big man had immediately focused on his words. Manny had done his best to paint Deacon as an unfit guardian, blaming him for the events of the previous year, and it had worked even though he had spent days pretending it wasn’t true. That Molly was still there to give him the tight hugs with sticky fingers that clutched him tight and buried in his heart. He would return every one of those big fierce kisses and count himself so damn lucky. Until he wasn’t anymore.
It had been chaos outside the courthouse. There had been reporters. A big crowd. People shouting. Manny had done his best to insist he had just been following Deacon’s orders on the fake stalker story. And the judge had believed him.
“Are his current whereabouts unknown?” Mav asked mildly.
Phan ignored the question. “And you haven’t received any telephone calls, emails, anything of that nature from him?”
Deacon shook his head, puzzled. “I wanted nothing to do with him. Why are you asking me?”
“According to Mr. Jones’s email records, he emailed you Thursday and referenced a meeting you had the day before.”
“With Manny?” Deacon shuddered. “That man helped to ruin my life, and he destroyed Shelley Young’s and her son’s. I want nothing to do with him.” Deacon frowned. “And if you mean the Deacon Daniels Gmail, I stopped using that when the band split up. And he’s lying if he says otherwise.”
“It might be a bit difficult to ask, because we found a body yesterday, and we have reason to believe it is him.”
Deacon shivered. “But he’s married. I mean, can’t Helena confirm—” He felt Maverick squeeze his arm at the same time as a hundred appalling thoughts rushed through him. “Oh God,” he whispered.
“He separated from his wife last month. There was a fire at his house in the early hours of yesterday morning, and his body was discovered then.”
“He died in a fire?” That was awful.
“No,” Phan answered shortly. “He was already dead. We need to know your confirmed whereabouts between last Thursday and yesterday morning.”
“Why?” Deacon didn’t understand, and Phan suddenly looked a little sympathetic.
“We need to establish the whereabouts of anyone who might have a grudge against Jones.”
“Oh,” Deacon said, feeling very small. He was a suspect? He glanced at Mav, who sat so close their legs brushed. It was nice. Gave him the confidence to keep talking. “Can I look at my phone?”
Phan nodded.
Deacon drew it out of his pocket and looked at the calendar. “I went for an audition on Thursday, then had lunch with my agent. Shirley Maplin,” he added. “Friday, I had two more interviews.”
“Auditions?” the other detective asked.
“No,” Deacon said. “One was in Lenox Square Mall as a retail assistant, and the other was as a massage therapist.”
The pause was just long enough to make Deacon feel judged.
“We will need contact details,” Phan said. “And the rest?”
Deacon shook his head. “Nowhere I can think of, and I live on my own.”
“I understand you recently lost custody of your niece?”
Deacon frowned. “What has that got to do with anything?”
“You said it yourself,” Phan pointed out. “Jones didn’t do you any favors.”
“I guess,” Deacon admitted. God, it sounded bad now he thought about it.
“Your brother named you as his daughter’s guardian in his will?”
“Yes.” Deacon smiled a little. He had been stunned when he found out. Full of regret for the missing years with Mikey, then
so touched when he had been trusted with her. And he’d let them both down.
“No mom on the scene?” Officer Fitzpatrick asked suddenly.
Deacon shook his head. “She died. I had very little contact with my brother in the past twelve years, and it was only when she died my brother even found out he had a daughter. She was barely eight weeks old then.”
Phan looked curious. “Which seems odd that your brother would name you in his will to be her guardian instead of her grandparents.”
Deacon felt Mav’s fingers tighten briefly.
“To be honest, until Shelley Young died and I was in the papers, they didn’t even know about Molly. My brother left home at seventeen and never reconciled with my mom.”
Deacon would never forget the shouts, the confusion, and the total bewilderment that Mikey wasn’t there anymore. Twelve years on and the memory was still raw.
“Mikey!” he screamed at the top of his lungs. He nearly made it to the door, but his dad grabbed his arm as he tried to duck past. Mom was crying. It seemed like she always cried or drank. Most times she did both.
“Get out of my house, you bastard,” Dad shouted.
But Mikey just scoffed. “I’d rather be a bastard all day long than any son of yours.”
That even silenced him, and for a second, he stopped struggling, suddenly understanding that one of his dad’s favorite swear words might have a literal meaning. That was it? Was that what had caused the fight this time?
“And don’t bother thinking you can take my name either,” his dad had railed, not missing a beat and giving him confirmation. Not that he cared. Michael was everything he ever wanted to be. Strong. Brave. Mikey’d taken more than one beating aimed for him, and a few for his mom.
“Mikey?” He started struggling again. He wasn’t going to be left anywhere his brother wasn’t. He wasn’t staying here.
