“As far as I know, yes.”
He gave a thoughtful hum, his fingers tapping out a rhythm on her belly. “I'm going to need the names of that elderly couple with the RV park, and the nurse who brought the girl in.”
She asked why, fearing she already knew the answer. Nasa drew in a long, deep breath that pushed his chest tighter against hers, the vibration of his voice buzzing against her body.
“The Leviathans' knew where to look for this girl, and somehow they connected her to you. So far, the only people who had that information is limited to Patti, the nurse, and the RV park owners.
“Patti is obviously still alive and kicking, but I want to check and make sure the others are alright. Full disclosure, I intend to dig into their background, their financials, and their phone records to find out if any of them steered the Leviathans your way.”
Her denial was instant, refusing to believe anyone involved in protecting that girl would have talked.
“They wouldn't do that.”
Nasa's voice was gentle with understanding, but it didn't detract from the truth he gave her. “I'm not making any assumptions, but I'm not about to rule out their involvement until I have proof.”
Dillon found she had no comeback handy to refute Nasa's statement. The seeds of doubt he planted grew quickly, and far too easily for her liking.
She knew every single person involved in Vanguard had someone in their life who'd been a victim of domestic violence, or they’d been a victim themselves. It was impossible for Dillon to imagine they would every betray one of their own, or a victim to their abuser.
But then again, was it really so hard to believe?
Ten years ago, Dillon hadn't considered someone inside Vanguard might have betrayed her to Styles. The man was FBI.
She'd assumed he had some omnipotent way of having found out about Dillon helping his family escape him.
That he had some spy network, surveillance on his home, or access to an analyst to track his wife's movements, and that person somehow identified Dillon.
For the second time, Dillon was caught up in someone else's horror story through Vanguard. Because of their dedication to protecting victims of domestic violence, Dillon hadn't ever thought to look at the people she interacted with.
Trusting the other Vanguardians in the network would protect her identity and her safety the way she protected theirs? How incredibly naive.
“You're absolutely right,” Dillon finally said, careful not to jostle Harper as she got to her feet. The relief she'd felt in playing games with the wives of Perdition was gone. Once again, Dillon felt a nearly overwhelming sense of isolation and extreme vulnerability.
“Everything I'm doing right now is to protect you and the people under this roof. You know that, don't you?” Nasa asked, but Dillon was so embarrassed by how stupid she'd been, she couldn't meet his gaze.
Dillon rubbed her cheek against Harper's, using the movement to hide her expression.
“I do. I'm sorry if I seem ungrateful. It's been a long day, and I'm not thinking straight.”
She quickly rattled off the names of the people she'd interacted with to get the teenage girl to safety, each name rolling off her tongue like broken glass, wondering if they'd been the one to give away some detail that led the Leviathans and Ghost back to her.
Even though it felt like a betrayal to expose them, down to the marrow of her bones, she had to know. Not for herself, but for the victims who trusted Vanguard to get them to safety.
“You do what you have to and let me know if there's anything I need to do about that missing person’s report.”
The wheels of his chair squeaked softly as Nasa stood up, not allowing her a graceful retreat with what little pride Dillon had left.
“The background checks can wait for a while. It's time for dinner.” Nasa's hand settled on her waist, and Dillon didn't fight him when he urged her into motion.
“I'm not really hungry.” She sighed, every step suddenly so heavy, it felt as though she had concrete blocks strapped to her feet.
Smooth as could be, Nasa went from touching her waist to wrapping his arm around her, supporting her as they climbed up the stairs together.
Elka went ahead like she always did, but this time, Dillon was already at the top by the time Elka woofed the all clear.
“You don't feel like eating,” Nasa corrected her, “but you're going to, because no one turns down tater-tot casserole and brisket from Opie’s. It's a rule. Besides, we've got to clap when Top awards Lyon his pennies.”
Clap they did for a proud boy with barbecue sauce all over his grinning face, who was a whole four dollars and eighty-five cents richer.
The brisket was amazing, and the tater-tot casserole was so deliciously comforting it made everything hurt less. To the point where it didn't even phase Dillon that she was eating something she hadn't cooked herself.
The habit was all about having absolute control over her environment, but right now, Dillon was simply too tired to care.
Besides, it wasn't like Nasa would let her eat anything that might hurt her.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
According to the Dallas Homicide report, Nurse Portia Thomas died four days before Ghost made his move on Dillon.
The investigation led the cops to believe Portia had been the victim of a home invasion gone wrong, and looking at the autopsy report, her death hadn't been easy.
She'd drowned in her own blood after one of her broken ribs had punctured a lung.
Her killers left DNA all over her from the beatdown they'd delivered in order to get information out of her, and it took the cops seventy-two hours to trace the DNA back to the same pair of colostomy bags who busted into the shelter.
By that time, Dillon and Elka had seen to it
