by Isabel Wroth
Still, having soaked himself like a damn sponge in whiskey couldn't have done anything to help his brain power.
After tracking him down in the kitchen, Nasa shoved the composite of Ghost in the commando's face and demanded to know whether or not it looked familiar.
Tobias had seen the sketch before, but he took it and studied it in absolute silence for at least ten minutes.
Nasa wanted to wrap his hands around Tobias's neck and squeeze until the bastard's head popped off.
“Well?” Nasa finally demanded, his patience strung thin on the possibility that Tobias could give him definitive proof Ghost was the same man Tobias had worked with at the black site.
Tobias shrugged and shook his head, “This is the sketch compiled from Damon and Saint's description of Ghost. I've seen it before and you must have discovered another clue to be showing it to me again, but I don't see it. What happened?”
On purpose, all Nasa said was, “Duchess.”
Tobias sat up straighter, his gaze snapping from the page to Nasa in a blink, his face tightening with understanding.
“Did I say that name when I was on my drinking binge?”
“No.” Nasa watched closely as Tobias relaxed a bit, waited for him to exhale. “It's what Ghost called Dillon the night he came for her, and it's what Ghost said to me on the phone. He called her his little Duchess and told me what a remarkable woman she was.”
Tobias's chin jerked back slightly, his mouth opened and shut.
“You think John Lewis might be Ghost?”
“Is it possible?” Nasa countered, feeling it in his bones that They were finally on the right path.
Tobias shook his head and raked his hand through his hair in frustration.
“Maybe? I don't know. I mean... I guess it could be.”
Nasa hissed out a short breath, fisting his hands to keep from slapping Tobias upside the head.
“How would Ghost know to call Dillon by that name? Who knew about the interrogation?”
Before Tobias could answer, Top and Veracruz came trooping in, both of them looking fit to be tied.
Nasa's gut cramped instantly in reaction to their grave, angry expressions, his entire body bracing for whatever was coming.
Nasa didn't want to ask, but he had to. “What happened?”
Top waved a hand at Veracruz. “Boys got a call out they can't refuse.”
Nasa dropped his head and reached up to pinch the bridge of his nose. Not because he was pissed, but because he was so relieved he wasn't getting bad news about someone he cared about.
“There's activity in a pipeline I thought we'd busted up down in Houston. Duke and Tobias are going to stay behind, Nate and Tate are en-route to take their place with me,” Veracruz said, looking back and forth between Nasa and Tobias. “Something going on here I need to know about before we bounce?”
Nasa didn't see any reason in hiding the conversation. “On the phone, Ghost called Dillon his Duchess.”
Veracruz pulled a disgusted face. “He's possessive of her?”
“I don't know yet,” Nasa admitted, hating those four words with the fire of a thousand suns. Not knowing could mean life or death.
Top's beard jutted forward with a grunt. “The disturbing thought of a psycho feeling possessive of his victim aside, what's the significance?”
“At the black site, it's the only name Styles used to address her,” Tobias told them, looking a bit green around the gills.
“Whether he was talking to me and Lewis or to her, Styles never used her first name.
“I was just about to say, there are only a handful of people who would have known to call Dillon, Duchess. Two of them are dead, and I quit.
"I don't know what happened to John Lewis, but my direct supervisor knew. So, yes, Nasa. It's possible Ghost is the man I knew as John Lewis.
“Counter-intelligence and agents who work in counter-terrorism get plastic surgery after so many years on the job.
"I don't even know if the face I remember is the one John Lewis was born with, so there's no way for me to tell you if the guy you know as Ghost is John unless I'm in the same room with him. Even then...”
Tobias trailed off with a useless lift of his uninjured arm, and Veracruz finished for him.
“Active operators are taught to reinvent themselves at every opportunity. Change their appearance, their voice, to bulk up or slim down, to blend no matter their environment.”
“You mean in the way Ghost took on the identity of Toad, the UPS guy Ripley was about to start getting serious with, and that bastard Jerry all at the same time?” Top pointed out with a heavy layer of sarcasm.
“Yeah, we saw firsthand the level of skill Ghost employs when it comes to taking on someone else's identity, but I sure am feeling like dog shit for giving Nasa a hard time about his paranoia and ongoing conspiracy theories regarding any three-letter agency. Where is Dillon right now?”
Nasa felt a lick of ice cold panic go through him to realize he'd booked it out of the basement after she'd nearly cracked in half, leaving her down there alone with photos and files of shit that might spin her off into another episode. Fuck!
“In the file room. I left her alone. Shit. Shit!” Nasa ran out of the kitchen so fast he nearly tripped over Ruckus, and then Gee in his haste to get back to Dillon.
“Whoa, man! Where's the fire?” Ruckus shouted after him, but Nasa was halfway down the stairs, casting a quick glance to see Lyon still tucked up in the crate watching Scooby-Doo.
Nasa caught the end of the banister and swung himself around, half sliding into the open hallway, only to come up short when he found Dillon seated in the middle of the file storage room, papers and folders open all around her.
A quick look at the cabinets showed a few of them disturbed, but seeing the mess she'd made of his precisely organized system didn't even bring up a twinge of OCD to put them right. He was too relieved to find Dillon engrossed and calm in whatever she was doing.
Nasa heard booted feet on the stairs and stepped back to be seen, shaking his head when Top appeared with a worried frown creasing his brow, Veracruz and Tobias hot on his heels.
Nasa put his finger to his lips, silently urging them to stay back. Top turned his thumb up and down, asking if everything was good.
Nasa gave a thumbs up, then went back to sit down beside Elka, watching Dillon.
An hour passed, then two, and his ass was about to go numb. Dillon hadn't moved much, except to shuffle files here and there, arranging them in some semblance that made sense to her, and though he was dying to know what the hell she was up to, though he had about a million other things he could be doing, Nasa found himself unwilling to move, fascinated in watching her.
Elka must have gotten bored or had to pee because she gave a sharp yip that made Dillon jolt like she'd been electrocuted.
“Red rubber duck!” Dillon wheezed in a startled rush, her eyes wide, cheeks turning pink with embarrassment.
It was almost comical the way some papers went flying from her hands and how flustered Dillon got when she realized he was sitting there watching her.
Charmed by the goofy turn of a phrase meant to be a curse, Nasa couldn't keep from laughing.
“Is that code for something?” he teased, enjoying how she squirmed.
“No. I was texting with a contractor I use, and I meant to call him a 'redneck mother fuck,' but somehow auto-correct turned it into 'red rubber duck.' I was so pissed off I sent it before I realized what I'd done. I'm alright.”
Dillon tried to fend him off when Nasa carefully stepped across her pile of papers to help her up, but she'd been sitting for longer than he had, and his ass was definitely asleep.
“That's nice,” he answered, feeling her stiffen in resistance when he wrapped his arm around her waist, lifted her up over the carefully arranged papers, and out into the hallway.
Just as she started to relax, Nasa purposefully set her down and steadied her with a hand on her hip.
&n
bsp; “Was that Elka's ‘take me out to pee’ bark?”
“Um, yeah. But it's uh, interchangeable with the 'feed me right now' bark.”
It must have been both, because Elka pushed between them to dance a few eager steps on her front paws, ears perked and eyes eager. Dillon's stomach gave a loud growl that made her laugh.
“Guess we're both hungry.”
“Then let’s get you fed.”
*****
Dillon followed Nasa out into the basement proper, noticing Lyon was gone from the puppy crate. The little flatscreen was dark, and the headphones hung from a hook on the end of Nasa's desk.
“Top and the boys came down earlier. They grabbed Lyon on their way out. You were pretty focused back there; something on your mind?”
Nasa started up the stairs, glancing back at her when Dillon murmured a soft command to send Elka up first.
It was a habit more than anything else, and Nasa didn't comment or ask why Dillon didn't follow him up until she heard Elka's soft woof to say all was clear.
“I didn't realize how into it I was getting until Elka barked. Sorry about the mess.”
Nasa snorted, pausing at the open door to look up and down the hall, petting Elka before he stepped aside to let Dillon through.
His attentiveness to her fear-driven habits made it extremely difficult to continue to pretend her attraction to Nasa was nothing more than neglected hormones.
He paid attention and acted on his observations to ensure she felt safe and comfortable.
Who did that?
“If it’s helping you, then there's no reason to apologize.” He led the way into the kitchen and pointed at the bar top on the other side. “Sit. I'll cook.”
He knew how hard it was for her to give up control, to allow someone else to do something as simple as cook a meal for her, and in the week that she'd been here, no one had made noise about her cooking for herself and Elka.
A few times, Ruckus had parked himself in the same spot Nasa wanted her to sit in and gave her these sad-sack stories of how much he missed his grandma's food.
Before long the entire crew was tromping in, drawn by the smell of whatever she had going, and Dillon wound up making enough food to feed an army.
She was surprised by how much she enjoyed it.
It was on the tip of her tongue to tell Nasa she could do the cooking, but he was already pulling ingredients out of the fridge and setting them in a neat row beside the cutting board.
He only looked at her once to see she hadn't sat down yet; there was amused understanding in his gaze as he set a bowl on the bar, a knife, and a bag of sweet potatoes.
That one little thing quieted the need to do it all herself, so Dillon sat down, picked up the knife, and got to work.
Yeah. He was observant as fuck, and she liked it.
Instead of brown rice for Elka's food, Nasa picked the organic quinoa, adding some organic chicken broth, peas, and carrots to the mix as though he knew one of Elka's favorite meals by heart.
It didn't escape Dillon's notice that Elka had taken up a position a few feet away where she could see both Dillon and Nasa, her ears perked and focused on every move Nasa made.
It was blatantly obvious her dog—who didn't give her affection lightly—was every bit as enamored of the enormous biker as Dillon was.
Nasa set a plate of sliced cucumbers and baby carrots along with a dish of homemade Ranch dressing down for Dillon to snack on while he continued to work, his knife flying through dicing an apple, tossing the chunks into the large dog bowl that had Elka's name on it.
The blue dish appeared the day after Dillon came back to Perdition, along with a stand to elevate the bowl off the ground to make it easier on Elka to eat.
It was on the tip of Dillon's tongue to ask how Nasa knew about those small details, but considering she was surrounded by private investigators, the most logical answer was she'd been thoroughly investigated.
Dillon finished peeling the sweet potatoes, tossed the peels, and washed her hands to eat her snack before she sat down, just in time for Nasa to drop a cherry bomb in her lap.
“Veracruz and the bulk of his team had to head out on another job today. Tobias and Duke are staying behind, but you won't see either of them without fair warning.”
Dillon paused with a cucumber slice mid-Ranch dunk, feeling the fine tremor that went through her at the mere mention of Tobias's name.
She was definitely getting better about not flying off the handle or giving into the knee-jerk reaction to go for the knives she had concealed on her person whenever she saw Tobias or heard his voice.
Her pulse was still in jack-hammer mode, the scars on her back gave a twinge, and the remnants of her past tried to claw their way up from the black pit, where they lived, for a visit.
She must have been sitting there staring at the cucumber in her shaking hand for too long because Nasa said her name with a firm note of command, snapping her back to reality in an instant.
That tone... there must have been magic in it, because from one racing heartbeat to the next, she was calm and focused.
Fascinated by the instant ON/OFF switch Nasa somehow flipped inside her, she looked up at him with a frown, which he took as a negative response.
“Revision: you won't see them at all. I'll make sure of it.”
With lips once again dry and papery as a response to her body preparing to fight or run, it took her a few moments to speak audibly.
She shook her head and swallowed roughly, which was communication enough for Nasa to get her a cold water bottle from the fridge.
He uncapped it in front of her and waited patiently for her to sip and swallow a few times.
“Don't change their routine on my account. I need to get a handle on my bullshit,” Dillon finally managed, struggling to sit still under Nasa's unwavering stare.
The only other person to ever give her such a penetrating look was her therapist, and Dillon decided she needed to stop dragging her feet about an appointment.
“PTSD isn't bullshit, Dillon.” Again with that black velvet tone. Only this time, the shiver that vibrated through her wasn't due to fear or anxiety. “You told Tobias you stopped going to therapy. Why?”
It wasn't any of his business, but for reasons unknown, Dillon found herself answering anyway, “Because like most people who do a lot of therapy, I was lulled into a false sense of accomplishment.
"I thought I'd made progress and had a good enough handle on my issues to stop all the talk therapy. Facing Tobias made it pretty damn clear I was wrong.”
Nasa frowned so hard, his two eyebrows became one. “I know you must feel embarrassed, but there was no way to prepare for what seeing Tobias after ten years would do to you. Having a traumatic reaction isn't something to beat yourself up over.”
Dillon agreed it wasn't her finest moment, and to be honest, the nightmares she'd had since seeing Tobias last week hadn't abated in the least. She needed to talk it out. Soon.
“Oh, I'm embarrassed,” she muttered darkly. “But tripping and falling off the deep end isn't what's pissed me off. I dropped my gun.”
Nasa's long, dark blonde eyelashes fluttered up and down twice before he said—with no small amount of incredulity— “What?”
“I dropped my gun,” she repeated, waving her hand at herself as she fanned the fire of that mistake. “I completely lost my shit and couldn't keep it together long enough to give Elka any sort of command to stay with me, protect me, or help me at all.
"The only things coming out of my mouth were hysterical screams, which are utterly useless when you're in life or death situation.
“If Tobias had been there to kill me instead of help me, I'd have been a sitting duck. Elka attacked Tobias on her own because I didn't give her any direction.
"She could have killed him, or been killed, because I was dumb and didn't keep up with my therapy.”
Dillon crossed her arms over her chest and slouched on the bar stool, giving a mental fi
nger to the sarcastic voice inside her head, telling her what an obviously defensive posture it was.
“Joshua Warren taught me all sorts of coping mechanisms and how to work with Elka to ensure I could defend and protect myself, but it went out the window in two seconds flat. I forgot everything and let the panic take over.
“I need to call and make an appointment with my therapist, but it's been so long I'll have to jump through a fuck ton of hoops with her C-word receptionist. Maybe I can make a virtual appointment.”
Dillon said that last part more to herself than to Nasa, but he responded quite negatively.
“No way in hell are you making a virtual appointment to discuss your private shit across an open line.
"Even if Ghost wasn't a problem I haven't solved yet, there is no way to know how secure a video-chat room is or who's running facial recognition somewhere in the background.
“Can't tell you how many fucktards I've nailed utilizing their home computer during a video chat. Who's your doctor?
"If she doesn't have an appointment within the next two days, I know two of the best therapists in Texas.”
“I'm kind of surprised you don't know who I go to already,” Dillon said, forcing a note of humor into her tone despite the fact she was truly surprised Nasa didn't know every detail of her life.
He gave a slightly peevish sniff, but shrugged like it was no big deal. “Ninety-five percent of everything you buy, you pay cash. Hard to track people who actively stay off the grid as much as possible. It's impressive, honestly. Like you trained for it or something.”
Her smile was an immediate reaction to the quick wink Nasa tossed her way. “Or something.”
“Your doctor?” Nasa reminded her with a persistent hike of his brows.
“Collette White. I'll have to look up her number because I think I got an email not too long ago that she was moving her practice from Dallas. What? What's that face?”
Instead of enlightening her as to that Cheshire Cat grin of his, Nasa pulled his cell out of his vest, bopped a few times across the screen, and handed the ringing phone to her. Three rings in, and the phone clicked.
