“Tobias?”
“The guy who sent you into a tailspin when you saw him at your house. He was there. He put a stop to the interrogation, got you out, and took you to the hospital.”
Having spent so much time trying to block out those seven horrible days, it was physically painful to recall being helped.
Dillon definitely remembered waking up in the hospital, hurt beyond her ability to express. The nurses had been so kind, so gentle with her, telling her how lucky she was to be alive.
She remembered being told the extent of her injuries by a stern-faced doctor, and how she’d lost time because they'd had to put her in a coma to heal.
She remembered one of those kind nurses asking her if there was anyone they could call for her. If there was anyone looking for her, missing her.
While bawling her eyes out, Dillon told the nurse she had no one. At the time, Dillon wasn't sure what hurt worse: having torn open her stitches from crying so hard, or speaking those words for the first time and realizing they were the truth.
That night, a man she didn't recognize came into her hospital room. He looked so incredibly normal, nothing about him stood out. Even his jeans and a plain black T-shirt were nondescript.
He'd sat down beside her bed and stared at her with huge, emotionless brown eyes, and for some reason, she'd immediately thought of JAWS. Of that crazy boat captain describing shark's eyes—lifeless as a doll's.
He had just sat there, elbows resting on the chair arms, legs splayed comfortably, quietly staring at her, studying her like one might study a butterfly pinned beneath a pane of glass.
Dillon hadn't recognized him, but fear had skittered through her, making the heart monitor beside her go crazy.
His dark gaze had flicked from her face to the monitor and back almost casually, completely uncaring that Dillon was scared.
“The hospital staff believes my partner and I helped rescue you from a serial killer. That's the story you will stick to when your friends in the local police department come to question you. I would suggest you claim amnesia as to the how, why, and who.”
As he obviously knew the truth of where she'd been, Dillon had only nodded to say she understood. She would have said whatever the hell the dead-eyed man wanted her to say, so long as it meant never going back to that place.
“The two agents responsible for your current state are dead. Does that make you feel better?”
Clearly, he’d been waiting for an answer, and all she’d managed to do was squeak out a hoarse, “Yes.”
“Good. My superiors have admitted they made a terrible mistake, and the interrogation you've been through—at least in the eyes of the rest of the world—never happened.
"As we've determined you are innocent of the allegations of human trafficking and arms dealing, I'm here to give you a new identity.
“Dillon DeMarco will disappear. From now on, you'll be Dillon DeLoughrey. You'll have a new life wherever you'd like, all the proper paperwork, and money to start over.
"I understand this will not make up for what you've endured, but it is the only offer available.
“A therapist is recommended considering the trauma you've endured, but I would advise you maintain the serial killer story.” The 'or else' had been clearly implied, and Dillon knew exactly what 'or else' consisted of.
“Do you have any questions?”
So scared all she could do was breathe, Dillon recalled shaking her head mutely, her lips and tongue frozen stiff.
The heart monitor had been going so crazy a nurse hustled in and scolded Dillon's nighttime visitor for upsetting her.
Even in her memories, it was still one of the most disturbing sights in the world to see a completely different personality snap into place on the man's face.
He'd smiled with a grim kindness and apologized to both Dillon and the nurse, claiming he was trying to do his job and make sure what happened to Dillon never happened to another woman ever again.
Horrified, the only thing Dillon had thought to do was sit there looking as traumatized as she honestly was. Watching the man transform right before her eyes was like watching some kind of grotesque demon put on a new human meatsuit.
Even worse, his good ‘ole boy charm and the illusion of caring about his job, protecting women from monsters and evils of the world, had made the nurse flush with arousal.
After she promised to be back with some things to make Dillon more comfortable, the agent left, but not before giving her a look that would have made her piss herself if she hadn't had a catheter stuck up her urethra.
*****
“Dillon?” Nasa's voice pulled her out of the past, and she opened her eyes to find him staring intently at her.
“Is he here right now?” Nasa gave a jerky nod, and Dillon sucked in a slow, shaky breath. “I want to see him.”
“That's not a good idea—”
“I wasn't asking. I want to see him. Now.”
Nasa searched her face for what felt like hours before answering her.
“I'll get you some pants.”
Dillon snorted derisively; the anger she’d replaced her panic with gave her the strength to get up. It was purely out of spite that she denied herself the small protection wearing clothes would bring her.
She had on a shirt and her underwear, which was more than she'd had the last time.
“Why? He's already seen me naked, covered in my own blood and vomit. This is a step up.”
After sucking in a tight breath, Nasa pushed to his feet and waved a huge hand at the bathroom door.
“Not sure what you're hoping get out of him. He crawled inside a bottle and hasn't come out yet.”
Dillon followed Nasa out and down the hall, reaching for Elka just to reassure herself her faithful hound was still with her.
Nasa gave the closed
