Page 74 of Deacon

Ghost nodded. “A few digital overlaps. Weird timing. Nothing I’m ready to put a name on.”

“Meaning?”

“Meaning I’m not throwing a name into the room until I can bury it under proof.”

There he was.

Ghost might have looked half-dead from exhaustion, but his mind was still cold where it needed to be. If he finally named someone, I knew exactly how much evidence would be sitting behind it.

I studied him, then Ink. “You both look like hell.”

“That’s sweet,” Ink said.

“I mean it.”

Ghost shrugged with the same none-of-your-business attitude I’d used on Priest for years. Seeing it reflected back at me was irritating as fuck.

“Deacon,” Ink said, his voice gentler, “you got shot.”

“And?”

“And maybe don’t go full older-brother while you look one cough away from tearing your stitches.”

Another laugh tried to escape me, and I caught most of it before my ribs punished me again. “I hate both of you.”

Ghost finally smiled. “No, you don’t.”

He was right.

Ghost had arrived at Saints carrying enough damage to make trust feel like another trap, all sharp edges and suspicion until he figured out nobody here wanted anything from him except the truth. Ink went farther back. Military days, dust and blood and the kind of odds that turned strangers into brothers fast. I’d dragged his ass out once, and somewhere along the way both men had become mine in the irritating younger-brother sense of the word.

I’d kill for either of them.

Probably bitch about it afterward.

“So what’s the plan?”

Ghost folded his arms. “We stay boring.”

“Priest’s idea.”

Ink nodded. “Nobody twitches. Nobody changes routine enough to show nerves. If there’s a leak, we let them keep thinking they’re hearing scraps.”

“And if there isn’t?”

Ghost’s face went blank in that way that meant somebody else was eventually going to have a terrible day. “Then the Hand’s fishing blind and we keep them hungry.”

I glanced at my cut on the bed. “Priest worried?” Both of them looked at me like I’d suffered brain damage. “About the leak?” Ghost asked, while Ink answered at almost the same time, “About every goddamn thing. You know how he gets.” Yeah. I did. “Anything else?” I asked, and the glance they exchanged made me narrow my eyes. “What?”

Ink stayed where he was. “We’ve got a prospect outside your room.” I stared at him. “You’ve got what?” Ghost folded his arms. “A prospect. Security.” When I pointed out, “This is a hospital, not a compound,” he gave me a flat look. “Still has doors.”

“Absolutely not.” I looked between them, but Ink only lifted one shoulder. “Already done.” That earned both of them a glare. “You two lose your minds while I was unconscious?”

Ghost stepped closer, irritation overtaking whatever tact he’d planned to use. “You got ambushed and almost died. Everybody who gives enough of a shit can figure out which hospital you’re in. You really think we’re leaving you up here alone because there’s a nice woman at reception?”

“I’m not helpless.”

“Didn’t say you were,” Ink replied, while Ghost crossed his arms. “You’re also not at full strength.” I hated that there wasn’t much room to argue. “Who is it?”