“She gave us a picture of you,” Diaz said, reaching into the file folder.

Avery hadn’t seen the photo before. She was in a hospital bed, eyes closed, with an IV in her thin arm. She looked wild and emaciated. Her hair was tangled with debris, her face dirty. Although she didn’t recognize herself in the photo, she felt exposed by it all the same. She felt like an oddity to be studied by scientists. A feral creature. No wonder Ruth had taken her in. She’d always had a soft spot for wounded animals.

Avery turned the picture facedown and slid it across the table. Now it was impossible to meet Diaz’s eyes. She didn’t know why she felt so ashamed. It wasn’t her fault that she’d been a victim of childhood trauma. She vastly preferred being on the other side of the couch, doing the psychoanalyzing.

Diaz tucked away the photo without comment. Maybe he admired her courage, but what she saw in the image wasn’t that. It was weakness and vulnerability. She couldn’t confront the visual evidence of her worst experience, even if it had resulted in a triumph of sorts. She’d escaped the cult, against all odds. But she’d also left her heart behind.

“Are we finished?” she asked in a light tone.

“Not quite,” Diaz said.

She furrowed a hand through her still-damp hair. “I’m sorry, but it’s been a long day, and I have some work to catch up on.”

A muscle in his jaw flexed, drawing her attention to the fine grains of stubble there. “I wish I could offer to come back at a more convenient time. Unfortunately, I have to return to Sacramento tomorrow morning to attend a colleague’s funeral.”

Avery felt a stab of sympathy. “My condolences.”

Diaz inclined his head in acknowledgment.

“Was he killed in the line of duty?”

“Yes. He was shot by a member of Silva’s militia.”

Her stomach fluttered with unease. No wonder Diaz was on a tear to locate cult members and ferret out information. He had a fallen comrade to avenge, and a narrow window of opportunity to complete this interview.

Diaz leaned forward to press his advantage. “This investigation is of grave importance, Ms. Samuels. I’d appreciate your cooperation. I have a lot of questions, and you might be the only person who knows the answers.”

“I’ve already told you everything I remember.”

“I don’t believe that.”

Her lips parted in surprise. He’d been polite and friendly, thus far. She’d expected him to listen to her story, make the appropriate noises and go away. It hadn’t occurred to her that he’d accuse her of withholding information.

She rose to her feet abruptly. “I haven’t eaten all day.”

Diaz glanced at Richards, who whipped out her phone. “I’ll order pizza. Why don’t we take a break and regroup?”