by Victoria Sue
Maverick drew a blank.
“They’re one of the most expensive legal firms in the country, and Deacon wouldn’t even have gotten a court-appointed one for a custody case.”
“Meaning?” But he thought he knew.
“Meaning they had plenty of dollars to drag this through court as long as they like, and they took their time hoping it would never even get to court before Deacon caved. I’ve been told—completely off the record—that Deacon was threatened with losing all contact and that the judge is heavily involved with the same charity Percy Fellhouse supports financially.”
“So he had no chance.”
Jamie shook her head. “I’ve also been told there are a number of complaints from ex-employees of the Fellhouses who were paid off, including one alleged sexual assault of a secretary.”
Maverick gaped. “Wow.”
“I also understand now that Loretta is involved, should the grandmother suddenly decide she wants Molly back, no amount of money will cut it after Percy called the office. Technically there is even a case for child abandonment, but Loretta has a lot of sway and is on our side. The department knows they screwed up last time, and I think they will want this to just go away.”
“So she’s safe?”
They both turned at Deacon’s voice from the doorway. He looked completely shell-shocked.
Jamie smiled. “You have a lot of people in your corner this time.”
Deacon pressed his lips together, and Jamie held out her arms. “You’re gonna have to come to me, but I want a hug.”
And Deacon flew straight into her arms. Maverick nodded approvingly. If anyone needed a big sister, it was Deacon.
“I was just going to wake Molly up. I want her to be able to sleep tonight, but I also think I need to talk to someone about her.”
Maverick looked at first Deacon, then Jamie. Jamie seemed to know what Deacon meant. “About custody? Loretta said—”
“No,” Deacon interrupted. “She’s moved house—homes at least four times in the last two years. She’s gone through three different sets of parents or guardians, four counting her mom, and it was obvious my mom wouldn’t know love or affection if it hit her in the face.”
“Plus trauma can cause regression,” Jamie agreed. “Unless you already have someone, I know an excellent pediatrician, but I would say she’s going to be very clingy for the time being. It may involve bed-wetting etcetera.”
“She’s been dry during the day for over three months,” Deacon said proudly. Then he glanced at Maverick. “I’m sorry. Guarding me was one thing. I don’t think you expected actual babysitting duty.”
Mav smiled at his own words being used back at him. “She’s no problem.”
Jamie grinned. “And it’s been a while since I had to read stories.”
Deacon looked at both of them. “You’re sure?”
“What does she like to eat?” Jamie asked, the subject clearly done.
“Pancakes,” Deacon said ruefully. “But she also likes fruit and toast triangles with peanut butter.”
“Well, how about you go get her, and we’ll make my brother cook?” Mav chuckled, knowing what Jamie was going to say. “He was always in charge of the PB and J sandwiches.” He had been, and he had forgotten that until Jamie reminded him. It was nice to get a good reminder.
“Then I need a plan,” Deacon said.
“Plan?” Maverick bit out.
“How about you just concentrate on not giving Maverick heart failure, huh?”
Deacon glanced at Jamie in confusion and then to Maverick.
“I mean,” Jamie said, “you say the word plan, and that indicates movement to him. Like it or not, you’re stuck here and with us for the time being.”
Deacon pulled at his lip. “But—”
“And if you give me any of that money crap again, I’m definitely tying you to the bed.” Everyone was silent for at least three heartbeats while Maverick wished the ground would open and swallow him up. Deacon went bright red, and so did Jamie, but that was only because she was struggling not to choke with laughter. Maverick brushed a hand over his face and raised his eyes to the ceiling.
“I’m sure your sister doesn’t need to know our bedroom habits,” Deacon said slowly. Maverick stared openmouthed as Deacon smiled impishly, and Jamie laughed so hard she nearly fell off the chair.
“Danny?” They all heard the panic in Molly’s cry and rushed into the living room. She was sitting up, rubbing her eyes, but opened her arms for Deacon as he got there first. Mav was a few seconds later, and Jamie was slower. Molly snuggled against his chest, watching Maverick and then Jamie with big eyes as they both sat down.
“Are you thirsty, Molly-Moo?” Deacon pulled her into his lap.
Maverick stood up. “Water, orange juice, milk?”
“Water, I think, for now,” Deacon murmured. “Are you hungry?”
Molly didn’t answer, just turned into Deacon and clung on.
“Coming right up,” Maverick said and walked into the kitchen for the water. He popped a couple of slices in the toaster, got the peanut butter from the fridge, and thought about what Phan had told him. He was right in a way about whoever was doing this having found a way to turn the knife. Threatening anyone close to Molly was so petrifying, Maverick didn’t know how Deacon was holding it together, unless the responsibility of caring for Molly was exactly what he needed to do so.
While he waited for the toast, he left the kitchen, hearing Jamie asking Molly if she wanted to watch a show on TV, and he headed for the stairs, trying to ignore the constant ache in his back. He walked into Jamie’s room and toward her closet. After moving the rack of clothes to one side, he punched the numbers into the safe. Glancing at Jamie’s Sig, he reached for his Glock. He also unhooked his holster that was stored with Jamie’s and clipped it on his belt. He wanted the gun safe and fastened to his side, but now there was a child in the house, he also didn’t want it visible and covered it under his T-shirt.
Satisfied, Mav closed everything up and headed for the stairs, ignoring the twinge and wondering if he should use his crutches a little more in the house.
Stubbornness had stopped him. As soon as he had gotten his first leg, he had been determined to get rid of them, and the consequent blisters had been a painful reminder. He was walking easier. His residual itself was giving him little problems, but he really needed to go and get it checked or let the PT guys get their hands on him.
Then he brightened. He was getting his new truck today. But what did that mean? He was pretty sure they needed to go get some basic groceries, like milk, if they were going to be holed up in the house for the time being. And were they? What if they hadn’t caught this guy in a day, a week, a month? Did their lives stop?
And shit, Melanie would be home from Europe in a week. There was no way he could put her life in danger. He didn’t like risking Jamie, but she was an ex-cop and a grown-up. His seventeen-year-old niece was entirely another matter. He could easily rent an apartment for him and Deacon, but Deacon not living with Rachel hadn’t helped her, and at least them all being together kept the patrol cars outside.
He strode into the kitchen and quickly spread the peanut butter on the toast and cut it up in little triangles. He grabbed a glass from the cupboard and got some ice water and carried everything into the living room. Molly was smiling at some cartoons Jamie had managed to find on the TV. “Here, munchkin,” Mav said and put the glass and the plate on the small table next to Deacon.
She looked at him out of Deacon’s eyes, the blue just as startling. “What’s a munchkin?”
“Magical people,” Maverick replied. “Only very short ones.”
Molly seemed to think about that. Her eyes ran the full length of his body to his face, making Maverick feel the size of a house.
“Sometimes big people can be magical,” Maverick tagged on.
“Who?” Molly wanted to know.
Maverick desperately tried to think of someone.
/> “The fairy godmother in Cinderella,” Jamie supplied.
“Or the giant in The BFG,” Deacon suggested helpfully.
“Yes,” Maverick agreed, searching for a change of subject, not sure he liked being compared to a giant, even a friendly one. He glanced at Jamie. “My new truck will be ready today. And we ought to get some supplies.” He nodded at Molly. He glanced at his phone. It was after one already, and it only seemed like he’d just gotten out of bed. The phone lit up as he was going to put it in his pocket, and seeing it was a restricted number, he answered it cautiously.
“Mav?”
He recognized the voice of Barry “Troy” Helenar immediately and walked into the kitchen.
“How’s my favorite ugly bastard?”
Mav chuckled. Troy was a US citizen, but being born and brought up in London’s East End until he was fifteen and his father had gotten posted to Patrick AFB in Florida, he’d never lost his Cockney accent. Mav had been posted twice alongside Troy earlier on in his career, and they had remained friends. Troy said exactly what he thought most of the time, and commenting on Maverick’s scars wouldn’t be off-limits either. Troy had visited him twice in Eglin, but he’d taken a new posting as a TACP along with the incredible responsibility of calling in an air strike in exactly the right place at exactly the right time. It had taken a few messages to track him down.
“I’d say congratulations, but I think Uncle Sam must be getting fucking desperate.”
He heard the answering laugh. “What do you need? I’m nowhere near Atlanta, or I’d be up for a beer. They give discounts to cripples, don’t they?”
“Well, I’d get one, but you have to be a grown-up to drink in this country, so you’d have a problem.” He heard a breath and quieted. “Need some help,” Mav admitted, and he gave Troy a quick rundown.
“Shit,” Troy said eloquently. “What are the cops saying?”
“Actually, that’s why I called. You’re never going to believe who’s here.”
“Father fucking Christmas?”
Mav shook his head even though Troy couldn’t see him. “Hunter Chaplin.”
“No shit,” Troy said in surprise. “I thought he was in some place like Tampa.”
“Toledo,” Mav corrected dryly. “Anyway he broke up with his girlfriend and became a cop. He got transferred. Thing is I know he wants to help, but it makes things awkward because he’s working the case. But it gave me the idea of asking around for some other help.” Maverick paused. “The guy that’s in danger has a kid. They’re both with me, but you know the cops. I don’t know how long this is going to go on, and a few patrol cars driving past the house isn’t gonna do shit.”
There was a pause. “Sounds personal,” Troy said mildly, but Mav knew what he was asking. Troy knew Mav was gay and didn’t give a shit about something that didn’t affect his competence.
“Yeah,” Maverick confirmed. “But I tried who I can think of, and every fucker seems to be deployed.”
The amusement was back in Troy’s voice. “War is just so bloody inconvenient. I can ask around, though. Keep your lights on.” And without another word he hung up.
He felt the arms go around his middle before he turned around. “I’m sorry we’re causing you so much trouble.”
Maverick turned and wrapped his own arms around Deacon. “You listen to me,” he said. “Some psycho doing whatever is not your fault. You didn’t instigate this. You certainly aren’t responsible for it. The only thing you have to worry about is keeping Molly safe.” Deacon nodded and laid his head on Maverick’s chest. Mav pressed a kiss to the top. “Leave everything else to me.”
“That doesn’t sound very fair.”
Maverick grunted and pushed him back a bit so he could see his face. “It is what it is.” Maverick tried to be casual, but he seemed to fail spectacularly when Deacon moved back in closer.
“When we’re both safe and this is over, will I see you again?”
Maverick raked his eyes over Deacon’s face. The pale skin with the few freckles that were so like Molly’s. The slight pink on his cheeks and throat. The way he moistened his lips with his tongue that Maverick had sucked and tasted. Groaning, he closed his eyes and bent his head. He just had to. Deacon was enthusiastic for a few seconds until he heard the giggle from the living room and Jamie laughing, and drew back.
Maverick’s phone rang for the second time, and he answered it. It was Detective Phan. “Delgardo? Is Deacon there? Can you put him on speaker? I need to talk to you both.” Mav pressed the button.
“Deacon, have you ever met a Jared Upchurch?”
Deacon frowned. “Jared? No.”
“He’s the Fellhouses’ handyman—”
“Oh, you mean Jimmy?” Deacon interrupted. “Yes. Once I think. Why?”
“Did he know who you are? Were?”
“Actually—” Deacon smiled. “—the first time I visited Molly after the court case, he asked me for my autograph. My mother nearly had a fit.” Deacon paused. “A little unusual for an adult, but Jimmy has a few mental health challenges, so I understand. He seemed nice, and my mom told me he practically works for nothing.” The last was delivered with a certain amount of disgust.
“Have you had any other dealings with him? Given him any memorabilia for example?”
“You mean from the band? No, why?”
“Because his name came up in connection with Rachel when we were asking about the possibility of a boyfriend. The housekeeper said he had a crush on her and she was kind to him, so we went to his house, thankfully with a warrant. He has an upstairs room completely dedicated to Six Sundays. And when I say completely, I mean floor-to-ceiling posters, clippings from magazines, album covers, and something more significant.”
Phan paused. “We have other evidence I’m not able to share—”
Deacon gasped. “You think it’s him?”
“Honestly?” Phan sighed. “I don’t know what to think. I don’t for one second think he has the capability to murder the other two victims, but this is different. There was no fire or any indication there was going to be. The other two victims may have been the crazed revenge we assume, and someone completely different could be responsible for Rachel. It looks bad for Jared, but at the moment, he’s not talking, and our doctors are looking at him. We need him fit for interview, and until that’s signed off on, we can’t ask anything.”
Deacon didn’t seem able to speak.
“I was actually going to call you,” Maverick said, feeling selfish for introducing another topic. “We need to go get my truck and go for supplies for Molly.”
“I’d really rather you didn’t,” Phan said. “At least until tomorrow.” Which was reasonable.
In the end, Jamie called her friends, and soon the fridge was full again. Clothes were even dropped off. They spent the evening watching films with Molly. Molly had taken to Jamie almost instantly but seemed to still be unwilling to be more than six feet away from Deacon at all times. Not that he blamed her. Jamie went upstairs early, and Deacon just let Molly fall asleep on the couch after her bath.
“I’m gonna sleep down here,” Maverick said as The Lion King finished, and Molly never stirred. Deacon looked up at him. “She must be completely confused, and I know you’d rather have her in with you, not in Melanie’s room.”
Deacon’s gaze mapped his face, but Maverick knew it was the right thing to do. Molly had had enough upset in her short life. He saw the understanding settle on Deacon’s face along with the gratitude. He hoped he saw a little longing, but it could be wishful thinking. He brushed a kiss on Deacon’s lips to say he understood and groaned as the brush caught fire and the kiss was enthusiastically returned.
“Go to bed before I change my mind.”
SOMETIME LATER—Maverick couldn’t sleep—he was coming back from the bathroom when he heard a noise from upstairs and instantly knew it was Molly, and he heard Deacon trying to hush her. He grabbed the rail and pulled himself up the stairs, then quietly
pushed the door open to Deacon’s room. Deacon smiled. “I’m sorry if we woke you. She won’t settle.”
Maverick glanced at the clock on the nightstand and was surprised to see it read 2:00 a.m. Deacon looked exhausted. “Has she slept at all?”
Molly peered at him from where she sat cuddled on Deacon’s lap. “Hey, munchkin,” he said softly.
Deacon bent down to her. “Will you wait with Uncle Mav for a few seconds while I run and get you some milk?” Deacon glanced at him. “I was going to warm it.”
Mav smiled. He could go do it if the little imp wouldn’t stay with him. He sat in the old recliner in the corner of the room, his tracksuit bottoms hitching up and showing his prosthesis. Molly’s eyes became as round as the O shape her lips made. He rapped his knuckles against it like he had done the last time. “Wanna see?”
Molly immediately glanced at Deacon to see what he thought of the offer, and Deacon nodded.
“It’s really cool, and I can take it off,” Mav confided.
Her surprise was funny, and Deacon stood and sat her next to Maverick in the huge chair that had belonged to Mav’s dad many years ago. When his dad had died and they had sold everything, Jamie had wanted to keep it, and Mav was glad she did. Mav suddenly had a memory of his dad sitting in it and them reading something together.
He forgot sometimes he’d had a lot of years of good before the last few bad ones, and he felt guilty he didn’t think about them enough. “I have a button to push to take it off.” And that was it. He wasn’t sure Molly even noticed Deacon running downstairs.
“Did it get broken?” Molly said when his prosthetic was off and she had examined his residual.
“Uh-huh,” Maverick replied as Deacon came back. By that time, Molly was curled up into Maverick’s side, yawning, but instead of reaching with both arms for Deacon as she had been doing all day, she just held out her hand for the milk. Maverick was impressed Deacon had thought to use a travel mug so it wouldn’t spill, and Deacon solemnly handed her the mug, which Maverick steadied for her while Deacon went and sat down on the bed.
“Does she have any friends?”
