"Us?" I repeated.
"My team. We have resources, connections. We can help you expose whatever is happening in the foster system, but we need to do it the right way to protect you."
I stared up at him, torn between my desperate need to get back to work and the undeniable logic of his argument. "I have appointments today. Kids expecting to see me."
"Call in sick," he suggested, his tone gentler now. "One day. Give us the weekend to figure out a plan that doesn't involve you having a target on your back."
I chewed my lip, considering. "Just one day?"
"Just one," he confirmed. "And you tell us everything you know. Names, places, patterns. Everything."
I hesitated, years of professional confidentiality warring with the urgency of the situation. "Some of this information is protected by law, Dion."
"And the law is letting them down. Letting you down."
I looked away, struggling with the harsh truth of his words. He was right, and I hated it. The system I'd dedicated my life to was failing the very children it was meant to protect. And now it had nearly gotten me killed.
"One day," I agreed finally, my shoulders slumping in defeat. "But I need to at least call my supervisor, let her know I won't be in."
Relief washed over Dion's face. "Thank you." He stepped back, giving me space again. "Eat your breakfast while it's still warm. I'll get you a phone you can use."
“What happened to mine?” I remembered dropping it last night.
“It was gone when my team got there last night. They dropped off your car but your phone was gone.”
I hissed in a breath. “It’s okay,” Dion assured me. “Our tech guy sorted it. They can’t access your info.”
I looked down at the plate of stuffed French toast, my appetite returning now that some of the tension had dissipated. I took a small bite and couldn't help the appreciative sound that escaped me. It was delicious—crispy on the outside, soft and custardy within, with just the right amount of sweetness.
"This is really good," I admitted between bites, and then I looked at the plate. Cut-up pieces. Dion had done that automatically, and I didn't think it was because he thought me incapable.
Was it him? His character?
Was Dion a Daddy?
Dion smiled, the expression transforming his face. "Told you I make a mean breakfast."
He disappeared down the hallway, returning moments later with a sleek black phone. "Use it to call your office, but don't giveany details about where you are or what happened, and I'll get you a proper replacement with your number today."
I nodded, taking the phone, my mind still racing. "I know how to handle myself, Dion."
"I know you do." His tone was sincere, not patronizing. "But these people have resources. Better safe than sorry."
I couldn't argue with that. I dialed my supervisor's number thankful I knew it, rehearsing my excuse in my head. When her voicemail picked up, I felt a strange mix of relief and disappointment.
"Hi, Susan, it's Emily. I'm not feeling well today—some kind of stomach bug. I'll need to reschedule my appointments. I'll check in later, but I will be back Tuesday." I paused, wanting to say more, but I couldn’t.
I ended the call and handed the phone back to Dion. "Done."
He nodded approvingly. "Good. Now finish your breakfast, then we'll talk strategy."
I obeyed, hungrily finishing the French toast while Dion finally fixed a plate for himself and joined me at the counter. We ate in companionable silence for a few minutes before he spoke again.
"My team will be here in an hour. They'll want to hear everything."
I set down my fork, anxiety churning in my stomach. "Your team... they're all like you? Former military?"
"More or less," Dion confirmed. "Gideon leads us—he's the most strategic mind I've ever met. Maddox is our second, specializes in extraction and infiltration. Eric is our tech wizard—can get into any system, find any information. Walker is our… well, he's an expert, but he just lost his gran so won't be there."
