Portia's case would go unsolved, but at least her killers weren't walking free anymore.
Nasa dug deeper into Twister and Rhino's background to find they were low-level Leviathan foot soldiers out of Florida.
Ghost must have recalled the out of state chapters to consolidate what manpower he hadleft, and was no doubt recruiting any local talent he could find.
A glance over at Dillon now brought a smile to his face. Even with the ergonomic chair he'd picked for her, she'd chosen to sit beside Elka on the fluffy dog bed. Dillon had all the real-estate papers he'd printed off for her spread out in a circle on the floor.
He'd given her a secure laptop to work with, but Dillon said she liked the feel of paper in her hands. Her brow was furrowed in concentration, and for a minute, he watched her flip back and forth through the pages before setting the packet aside to pick up another.
Nasa didn't want to tell Dillon how and why Portia died, knowing it would hit close to home.
He could have interrupted her and gotten it over with, but he had plenty of other questions that needed answering, such as tracing the girl who'd escaped Rhino and Twister's less than loving hands and why they went to such great lengths to get her back.
With a rational excuse to put off the inevitable, Nasa dug into the security footage at the Seton hospital Portia Thomas had worked at.
It didn't take him long to find the slick black Charger that rolled up into the ER and dumped the pink-haired girl out like a sack of trash just after 2 a.m. on June 5th.
Nurses rushed out to scoop her up, and Dillon hadn't been exaggerating as to the girl's physical state.
The Charger had no plates to trace, but Nasa recognized it as a vehicle seen around the grungy biker bar the Leviathans had claimed as their own.
While he thought through why a Leviathan would help get the pink-haired girl to the hospital only to chase her down later, Nasa worked his way through the hospital system to find the girl's medical file.
The intake form she'd filled out after her initial treatment had the bare minimum of information: a fake name—Jennifer Lawrence—her birthday, and nothing to indicate she had allergies of any kind.
What stood out to him among the mile-long list of injuries she'd sustained was the presence of an infected tattoo just above her pubic bone.
A large, tribal blue octopus, confirming she'd been branded as one of the Leviathans' 'stock.'
He looked over to share this small triumph with Dillon in time to see her twist her arms up behind her head and stretch.
The dark circles under her eyes were a reminder of her sleepless nights, and though she'd confirmed she wasn't dreaming about having shot Twister and Rhino, she still hadn't told him what the nightmares were that woke her up in a cold sweat.
This morning, when she'd come downstairs with him after breakfast, she'd been the one to reach out and slip her hand into his without thinking.
In an effort to keep from spooking her, pretending like that reach hadn't been a big deal was the highlight of Nasa's nonexistent acting career.
She'd been quiet after his suggestion someone in her network of protectors might have ratted her out. Withdrawn, because the very idea of betraying someone she'd risked her own safety to protect simply didn't compute.
Dillon was the kind of woman who'd been faced over and over again with the cruelty one human being was capable of inflicting on another and still rejected the idea she might be betrayed by someone driven by self-preservation. At least Nasa could tell her now it wasn't by choice.
After everything she'd been through, there was still such a beautiful innocence about Dillon. Gentleness and compassion wrapped inside a steel core of honor and integrity.
Without a doubt, she was a true blue, ride or die kind of person.
Dillon looked up and over at him, her eyebrows pinched together in a cute little frown. “Is that the only choice with bikers?”
“What?”
“To ride or die.”
Nasa must have spoken aloud without realizing it, and even focused like she was, Dillon heard him.
“No. We get snacks, have a few beers, and raise a little hell before we go out in a blaze of glory. How's it going over there?”
Dillon lifted her shoulder in a short shrug, getting up to stretch again before bending down to put her shoes back on, which made the denim of her vintage wash jeans pull tight across her ass.
Nasa stared appreciatively, liking the way she'd tucked her black tank top into her pants. He could see a hint of blue lace peeking out from under the wide shoulder of her shirt, and a fair amount of the scars along her shoulders.
More than the fact he found her ass delectably round and wanted it in his hands, it thrilled him to know she felt comfortable enough to bare the skin of her back.
Up until today, Dillon had only worn shirts that completely covered her scars or the lounge sweater he'd bought her to cover up.
Progress.
“It's going. Have you made any headway in determining if someone ratted me out to the Leviathans?” Nasa winced before he could stop himself, and Dillon paled slightly. “You did. Who was it?”
“Come sit.” Nasa swiveled in his chair to face her, flipping the armrest or her to sit comfortably on his lap.
He considered she might refuse, and just barely managed to hold back the sigh of relief when she came to him without so much as a blip of protest.
Nasa felt like howling in triumph when she settled sideways across his thighs. He took a moment of silence to appreciate how the act of physically curling into him signified the growing bond of trust between them.
She turned to him, settled into his arms, knowing he would hold her steady.
Which made it that
