“It seems heartless to say this, but she’s lucky. She wasn’t with her abductor for long and from what she describes, she was unconscious for most of it. So they didn’t have a lot of interaction.”
That has been my impression, too, from the bits and pieces I’ve gathered.
“While she seems to be stable right now, once she processes the events…there could be flashbacks, nightmares, panic attacks, or depression. It might not happen right away or it might never happen. Everyone is different.”
That fucker hasn’t suffered enough yet for what he did to Shelby. I’m having serious second thoughts about turning Suggs over to the FBI.
“Even so, an abduction—the callous, violent nature of it,” the doctor continues, “the stripping of her identity and treating her as less than human—it’s traumatic. The trauma could manifest itself in several areas for her—safety, trust, control, her self-esteem.” She raises an eyebrow. “Intimacy.”
“Okay, so what can I do to help her?”
“Let her make decisions for herself. The kidnapping…took away her control. Give that back to her as much as possible. From what she said, you’ve already helped her feel safer. That’s important.” She shakes her head as if she wants to say something more.
“Anything else, doc?” I prompt.
“I understand she’s under a lot of pressure. But I don’t recommend she goes back to touring right away. Shelby indicated taking time off wasn’t an option for her, but she really should take at least a few days to rest and process everything before jumping right into a stressful schedule again.”
Shit, Shelby’s career stuff isn’t something I’ve ever wanted to stick my nose into. But this is different. “I’ll talk to her manager. From what I’ve heard, the tour’s on hold right now.”
“Good. She has my number and I can give her other referrals if she prefers. If she seems especially withdrawn or not like herself, have her call and talk to someone. Even if she’s on the road. She can make appointments online around her schedule.”
“Thank you.” I shake her hand and head back toward Shelby’s room.
Jackson and another goof-in-a-suit are sneaking in the door as I turn the corner.
“Motherfucker,” I grumble under my breath, hurrying my steps. Somehow, I knew this jerkoff wasn’t finished annoying the shit out of me yet.
Although, to be fair, he’d held off on questioning Shelby a hell of a lot longer than I expected. Too bad for Jackson, I’m not in the mood to be fair.
I push open the door. Shelby’s relieved expression cements my decision not to leave no matter what Jackson has to say. I probably should’ve held off on chasing down the doctor.
“Logan.” She holds out her hand to me and I cross the room to take it.
Jackson lets out a long, drawn-out sigh, and scowls at me. “If you’re staying, keep your mouth shut. I need to collect information from Ms. Morgan without your interference.”
I point to the chair over in the corner. “I’ll be right there, blending into the wallpaper.” I brush my knuckles over Shelby’s cheek and she leans into me for a second. “That okay with you?” I ask in a low voice.
She nods.
On my way to the chair, I lean over and whisper in Jackson’s ear, “You upset her, we’ll have a problem.”
“Duly noted,” he grumbles. “This is my partner—”
I wonder if he’s dirty too. Other than that, I tune out the introductions. Jackson’s pal barely acknowledges me. He seems to be here merely as decoration.
“Can you tell me what you remember, Shelby?” Jackson uses a kind, “concerned father” tone I haven’t seen him employ before. Good start.
I still don’t trust him.
“Where do you want me to begin?” she rasps.
“How about the arena?”
With slow, methodical steps, she talks him through the attack in the dressing room. It’s close to what Jackson and I figured went down. Suggs stepping out of the shower. The water making her feel fuzzy. Thank fuck Shelby didn’t drink more of the tainted stuff. Her terror when she realized Suggs planned to carry her out inside her trunk is hard to listen to.
An inferno of rage spins in my chest as I absorb every detail of what my girl went through.
She’s brave and gives as many details as possible without shedding a single tear.
“What do you remember next?” Jackson prods.
“Waking in the trunk. The guy…singing.” She scrunches her face up as if the memory brings a wave of physical pain. “I tried to pretend I was still asleep. But he wasn’t buyin’ that.”
“So, he let you out of the trunk?”
“Yes. Helped me to the bathroom. Wouldn’t go away so I could use it in private.” Her cheeks turn pink and she crosses her arms over her chest, dragging her blanket almost to her chin. “Then he took me to the kitchen. Which was fine with me. I wanted to get the hell away from that bedroom.”