Eban tried to push one salient fact out of his mind, but it kept resurfacing. It would be devastating to Darby’s defense. Darby had killed before. She’d stabbed to death the last man to rape her as he’d fought with Quentin Savage during her rescue. If she hadn’t acted, she, Quentin, and Haley, would have likely died horrible deaths on that remote Indonesian island, and Eban might never have found them. At the time, Darby had been nearly out of her mind with trauma and pain.

Out of her mind…

Not information he’d be broadcasting. She’d definitely been driven to the verge of a breakdown, and if the cops ever discovered that episode from Darby’s past then she’d be tried and convicted on the spot, if she hadn’t been already.

In his experience, Darby was unfailingly honest, which was why she needed a shark of an attorney to stop her telling the cops everything they could use against her and convict her for murder and send her to prison for life for a crime he was 99.99% certain she hadn’t committed.

A shout from the living room had them both hurrying to meet the uniformed officer downstairs.

“I found footprints leading away from the house and into the woods,” he said breathlessly. “I thought you might want to see them.”

Eban hid his excitement. He’d believe Darby was innocent until she told him differently, which meant right now he was assuming someone else was involved. He needed to figure out who.

* * *

“The last thing you remember is feeling sick and leaving the party?”

Darby stared across the table at Elliot Byrne. Up close, he had tiny frown lines between his eyes that added maturity to his impressive air of confidence. His skin was tanned, and he was probably extremely attractive if someone wasn’t intimidated to death.

“That’s correct.”

He frowned. “Excuse me for one moment.” He held up his finger and then went out into the corridor to make a call.

Darby overheard bits of the conversation. He wanted a second blood sample from her.

If he pushed for a rape kit again, what would she do? It wasn’t as if she hadn’t already experienced the worst and the Navy doctors she’d dealt with after her rescue had been beyond kind and gentle. But what would it prove? That she had sex? That she didn’t?

At least she’d know for sure about her and Martin.

She hated the thought of even more degradation, and yet, if she was convicted, she’d have a lot more to worry about than a rape kit.

Her fingers shook, and she clenched her hands into fists to stop them. She wouldn’t survive prison. Even being forced to give up her clothes earlier for forensic examination had felt like a violation. This room, this situation, felt like a slow death.

“Mr. Byrne,” she called out to him. He whirled, still talking on the phone, raised his brows in question. Able to multitask which impressed her more than it should. “I’ll agree to a rape kit from a certified female forensic nurse, but I do not feel as if I was assaulted last night.”