“Had an older brother who suffered from a pathological obsession. Always in trouble with the law. His psychiatrist was a Delaware alumnus and a big football fan. Used to bring him down to the locker room after games. When I injured my knee, he pulled a few strings to get me into grad school.” Foletta leans forward, placing her file flat on the desk. “Let’s talk about you. I’m curious. There are several other facilities closer to FSU than ours. What brings you down here?”

Dominique clears her throat. “My parents live over in Sanibel. It’s only a two-hour ride from Miami. I don’t get home very often.”

Foletta guides a thick index finger across her personnel file. “Says here you’re originally from Guatemala.”

“Yes.”

“How’d you end up in Florida?”

“My parents—my real parents died when I was six. I was sent to live with a cousin in Tampa.”

“But that didn’t last?”

“Is this important?”

Foletta looks up. The eyes are no longer sleepy. “I’m not much for surprises, Intern Vazquez. Before assigning residents, I like to know my own staff’s psyche. Most residents don’t give us much of a problem, but it’s important to remember that we’re still dealing with some violent individuals. Safety’s a priority with me. What happened in Tampa? How was it that you ended up in a foster home?”

“Suffice it to say that things didn’t work out with my cousin.”

“Did he rape you?”

Dominique is taken back by his directness. “If you must know—yes. I was only ten at the time.”

“You were under the care of a psychiatrist?”

She stares back at him. Stay cool, he’s testing you. “Yes, until I was seventeen.”

“Does it bother you to talk about it?”

“It happened. It’s over. I’m sure it influenced my choice of career, if that’s where this is leading.”

“Your interests, too. Says here you have a second-degree black belt in tae kwon do. Ever use it?”

“Only in tournaments.”

The lids open wide, the blue eyes baiting her with their intensity. “Tell me, Intern Vazquez, do you imagine your cousin’s face when you kick your opponents?”

“Sometimes.” She pushes a strand of hair from her eyes. “Who did you pretend to hit when you played football for those Fighting Blue Hens?”

“Touché.” The eyes return to the file. “Date much?”

“My social life concerns you as well?”

Foletta sits back in his chair. “Traumatic sexual experiences like yours often lead to sexual disorders. Again, I just want to know who I’m working with.”

“I have no aversions to sex, if that’s what you’re asking. I do have a healthy mistrust toward prying men.”