Page 56 of Lethal Deceit (Hightower Security #2)

If Silas Hightower wanted to intimidate me, it’s working. This is the first time I’ve been called to his office, and I hope it never happens again. He’s got that look—calm, unreadable—and suddenly I’m seven years old again, bracing for the news that another family’s changed their mind.

My throat tightens, but I school my face into neutrality, the way I’ve done a thousand times before. No tells. No cracks.

But Silas just watches.

His gaze is sharp, cutting through the silence. I shift my weight, subtly, barely—but his eyes flick down, catch it. He sees the way my jaw tenses, the way my fingers curl in on themselves before I flatten them on my thighs.

I look away, pretending interest in a painting I’d already memorized.

Too late.

He leans forward slightly, like he’s just confirmed something.

“You don’t have to hide here.”

My spine stiffens.

“Which brings me to why I called you in,” he says.

I hold his gaze, willing myself not to blink.

“Have they decided what to do with me?”

My eyes shift from his chest to his face, trying to read him. He’s maddeningly unreadable—same as Luke. I don’t know who trained whom, but I want to crack that code.

“They have. The FBI’s Joint Task Force approved you to serve out your community service with Hightower,” he says.

I blink.

“I can… stay?”

He nods once.

A slow breath slips out of me, shaky with disbelief. I glance down at the uniform that’s somehow become familiar—khaki pants, lace-up boots, a black tee under the Hightower hoodie. The cross and shield emblem rests just over my heart. It still gets me—that this place, this crew, built their motto around Psalm 82:3.

Defend the weak and the fatherless; uphold the cause of the poor and the oppressed. Rescue the weak and the needy; deliver them from the hand of the wicked.

“For how long?”

I ask, my voice lower now.

This time, something shifts in his face. He lets the mask fall and gives me a real smile.

“Indefinitely.”

Air catches in my throat. I’d braced for a year. Maybe two. A chance to prove myself.

But this…

“Your lawyer must be top-drawer,” I say.

He chuckles, and then he reaches into his actual top drawer, his expression serious once more as he pulls out a leather-bound book and pushes it toward me.

It’s a Bible.

“Ben is an exceptional litigator, but like everyone around here, he’s not much use if the Spirit doesn’t lead him. This is yours. So you don’t have to use the guest edition.”

With a smile, I accept his gift, and when he prompts me, I open it and study the line of scripture he’s written inside the cover.

You keep track of all my sorrows. You have collected all my tears in your bottle. You have recorded each one in your book. Psalm 56:8

I swallow, emotions bubbling up again just when I thought I had a rein on them. I am not going to cry in front of him. I’ve been an emotional wreck since I got here. Crying almost every night, the more scripture I read.

Has Silas heard me? I thought I was quiet, trying to do my crying mostly in the shower, but the man barely sleeps. Maybe he did hear me once or twice?

Regardless of whether he did, the idea that God has counted every single one of my tears is almost unbearable. It takes me nearly ten seconds to regain composure, and when I look up, Silas is watching my reaction closely.

“You ready to sign the NDA?” he says.

I nod, still overwhelmed that I’m so readily officially joining an organization that I don’t fully understand.

When he slides the document toward me, I scribble my signature on the bottom line, trusting that nothing else has been added since I read it over two nights ago, and lean back in my chair. I put the pen down and watch as he signs below my name.

“What happens now?” I ask.

He smiles and twists to hand me a file that was perched on the filing cabinet behind him.

“You get to work. This came across my desk a few weeks ago, but I didn’t have anyone available. Take it with you, read it tonight, and get back to me with your thoughts in the morning.”

I start to open the file, but he stops me by raising his hand.

“Enough work for today. Verity’s back, and since you’re now well enough to move in, the ladies are waiting to show you around the women’s barracks.”

Unease coils inside me at the idea of moving away from what has become familiar. I haven’t spent much time with Adena since arriving, and I only caught a passing glimpse of Delilah on arrival.

With a grudging nod at Silas, I push up from the chair, take the file and my new Bible with me, and walk the hallway as my apprehension grows. The last time I lived with other girls, I was eight years old and forced to share a tiny bedroom with two sets of siblings in a drafty old house close to a railroad.

Then Mona claimed me, and I never had to share anything ever again.

I pass the kitchen, the gym, and various other unmarked rooms, and walk outside into the fresh mountain air, thinking about whether I can tell Mick about any of this.

If I even get a chance to.

I haven’t been able to speak to him, and there’s a part of me that is trying to prepare for him to reject me now that this is all over.

Confined to the main house in the ranch, I haven’t had a reason to enter the women’s barracks, so when I open the door, I’m pleasantly surprised to find a barn-style living area, small kitchen, and bedrooms, rather than the army-style barracks I’d imagined.

There’s a sofa and two recliners all positioned in front of a flat-screen TV with a lot of snacks loaded on the top of a coffee table.

Verity and Delilah are sitting together on the couch, while Adena occupies one of the recliners.

As I stand on the threshold, Delilah is the first to spot me.

Dressed in boots and a patchwork dress with her hair in braids, she reminds me of Pippi Longstocking.

I’m taken aback when she leaps to her feet, almost running at me like the older sister of the little girl in the mall.

“I finally get to meet you!”

She grabs my hand and yanks me toward the sofa, almost pushing me onto it.

“We’ll show you your room at intermission.”

I place the Bible on the coffee table and set the confidential file on top, unwilling to be far from it.

“Intermission from what?”

When no one answers, I swallow past the nerves as Adena passes me a giant bowl of buttered popcorn.

“All new recruits who live on-site have to have an initiation.”

My muscles tighten as I consider what that could possibly mean. Over the last two weeks, I’ve been living like a hermit and all without any real time to take a breath and figure out who I’m supposed to be now. Unless I can purchase a property, I’m stuck here for the foreseeable future. If I don’t get along with any of these women and I’m forced into menial jobs, it’s going to be like reliving my childhood all over again.

Verity, who’s seated beside me, digs her hand into the bowl.

“We heard on good authority that you have some gaps that need filling.”

From where she’s plonked herself and has started tearing into a bag of Skittles, Delilah grins.

“So we summoned you here to force you to eat your body weight in junk food.”

Adena groans and picks up the remote.

“That’s optional. Tonight’s viewing, however, isn’t.”

She hands the remote to me and waggles her eyebrows.

“Go ahead.”

I glance sidelong at Verity, who nods, then at Delilah, who gestures to the big-screen TV mounted above the fireplace. Slowly, and a little unsure of what I’m about to be shown, I reach out my hand and hit the triangle symbol.

The Beverly Hillbillies theme tune comes out of speakers placed around the room. My surprise only grows as Delilah presses a button on a remote and crocodile-shaped balloons drift down from the rafters.

Adena hands me a phone, grinning widely.

“This is your official Hightower burner. It’s tracked so we can find you. Always answer it. No matter what.”

Beside me, Verity nudges my foot, drawing my attention. In her hand is another phone.

“And this is your personal phone. We don’t track it or monitor your messages. But do not use it to contact Hightower members. We segregate for safety reasons. Mick’s number is programmed in, and he’s waiting for you to reply to the text message he’s sent.”

Stunned, I try to look at both phones and read Mick’s message as Delilah points at the file.

“Oooh! Your first assignment. What is it?”

“Um… I haven’t looked yet,” I say.

Delilah pulls a face.

“Please show us.”

I glance sidelong at Adena.

“Am I allowed to?”

She nods.

“Absolutely. And once your probation is over, we’d appreciate your assistance on cases we take on privately too.”

“We’re a team. We help each other out,”

Verity says gently.

Delilah drops her hands and grins.

“More than that—we’re sisters.”

I’m still trying to wrap my head around how easily they’ve welcomed me when all three—Adena, Verity, and Delilah—suddenly leap to their feet, popcorn flying as party poppers explode in a burst of color.

“Welcome to Hightower, !”

they shout together.