Something in his eyes changed as he processed her words. Happiness that he’d gotten his way tempered by a flicker of something else. Somehow, he seemed to have figured out she’d been assaulted in the past and that fact would surely have a bearing on the case should it come to light.

Would it come to light?

The only people who knew exactly what had happened were Quentin, Haley, and Eban. The doctors who’d taken care of her after the rescue had obviously guessed some of it from her injuries. Her therapists understood the broad-stroke triggers, being snatched from the safety of her tent, being stripped. Beaten. Held down. Assaulted. The scent of sour sweat. The claustrophobia that had assailed her when locked in a small space.

She’d never had to relive the nitty gritty details, not since telling Eban everything that had happened to her. He’d been her catharsis, her starting point in the healing process. The therapists had concentrated on cognitive behavioral therapy (CBT) followed by eye movement desensitization and reprocessing (EMDR), which had been incredibly effective at helping her deal with her trauma.

She looked around this horrible aseptic space. Without those treatments, along with the coping mechanisms of mindfulness and breathing techniques, she would have freaked out a thousand times already today.

Reporters had badgered her for more details, but she hadn’t been willing to expound. Other people might have guessed, including Martin, but it was her body. Her business. She frowned. Could the police here obtain those medical records? Could the court compel Quentin and Eban to testify about Indonesia? Would she put her friends in an untenable position where they might have to choose between sacrificing their integrity and keeping her secrets?

It wasn’t fair. Why should she have to tell the world what happened to her? Her pain was her own. Private. The idea of people finding out…judging her.

She certainly hadn’t broadcast the fact she’d killed a man with a knife when she’d been fighting for survival. She hadn’t described the raw terror of the abduction or the fear that she’d never be rescued and that no one would ever know where she was or what was happening to her. The awfulness was hard to think about even now. The idea of having her reality exposed for the world to paw over with indifferent glee made her feel physically sick.

She tried to push aside the anxiety associated with everything that had happened. It didn’t help that Eban was staying away from her. He’d seen her at her worst, after she’d been broken and would have done anything to survive. She’d told him she thought she’d killed Martin, and he had no reason to believe she hadn’t. He was probably working to get the charges lowered or get her committed to a mental health institution and work on a diminished responsibility plea.

Her clenched fists started to shake.

She couldn’t blame him. He must be thinking he had a lucky escape by not getting involved with her. He must be wondering if he’d have been the dead man in the bed if they had had sex when she’d suggested it. But was it too much to ask he come see her? Come talk to her?