“I’m not his girlfriend,” Darby spoke up. Her mouth wobbled as she shot an uncertain glance at the mirrored window. Was Eban in there? Was he watching her bare her soul again? But she didn’t want to get him into trouble. “I mean I wish I was, but he’s always insisted on maintaining a professional distance.”

The detective’s lip curled. “And yet he flew up on a moment’s notice as soon as you were in trouble.”

Darby raised her chin and stated firmly, “He’s a good man, Detective. He’s a good man and a dedicated Federal Agent who has always behaved in a professional manner toward me. I won’t have you maligning his character or reputation simply because he doesn’t believe I’m guilty of heinous crimes. Malign me, but don’t even think about going after him.”

The detective dropped her gaze to the table, apparently unimpressed.

Anger began to simmer in Darby’s veins. What gave Torgerson the right to be such a bitch? Had she had a bad day? Darby could tell her all about bad days.

The detective drew out a sheet of paper and slid it across the table. “Do you know this woman?”

Darby flinched away from the barely recognizable features of a person who was obviously dead. She took a calming breath to steady herself.

“I know Adele Surrey was murdered last night because I saw it on the news website after I received Elliot’s messages this morning.” Darby took a sip of water and avoided looking at the photograph again. She knew how tormentors liked to operate and Torgerson was apparently good at it. “I’d turned off my cell as I kept getting messages from reporters and people who I thought were friends calling me terrible names. All over social media people are threatening to rape me and kill me.”

Elliot flinched, but she did not.

The detective’s gaze took it all in without comment. Darby reached for the photograph and flipped it over, so she didn’t have to stare at poor, murdered Adele and have another ghost invade her nightmares.

“How did you know her?”

Darby glanced at Elliot, but he looked relaxed. Deceptively so.

“She sets up the room at the church for a group therapy session I attend. Makes the tea and coffee, locks up when we are all done. My therapist suggested I join, and he generally leads the group.”

“Group therapy for what?”

Darby inhaled sharply. It was all coming out now, no matter how fiercely she tried to protect her secrets. “Sexual assault.”

The detective’s gaze sharpened. “You were sexually assaulted?”

Darby glanced at Elliot again.

“My client has no comment.”

“What night of the week does this group therapy session meet?”

“Wednesday nights at 7:00 PM.” Last night, Darby realized. Her mouth went dry. “I didn’t attend yesterday. For obvious reasons.”

“What can you tell me about the people who usually attend?”

Darby opened her mouth in shocked surprise. “Nothing. The whole process relies on the group being a safe space to talk about individual experiences. People trust one another not to share those confidences. That’s an integral part of the process, otherwise no one would ever say a word.”