Everything changes.

His hardness electrifies me. I feel a thrill of arousal.

No.

I don't want this.

"Yes, you do,” he answers as if I've spoken it aloud.

Then he's inside me, filling me, driving me to the brink.

A moan escapes my lips. I arch up to meet him, using my legs around his waist to lock him to me, using my hands to clasp his head tight against my neck. I lap and suck hungrily at the blood dripping from his cheek. My body vibrates with liquid fire.

I don't want it to stop. Any of it. I can't get enough.

"Anna?"

David's voice from far away.

"Anna? What's wrong. You're white as a sheet."

His words are distorted, as if he's speaking underwater. His hand is on my shoulder, guiding me back to the bed.

"I knew it was too soon for you to be up. That damned Avery. What kind of sadistic quack is he? I'm going to get a new doctor in here to see you right now."

His diatribe continues well past the minute it takes me to drag myself back from the ... What? Nightmare? Vision?

Memory?

It seemed very real. And it strengthened one terrible, nagging suspicion growing in the back of my mind. Was it really rape? And if it was, why am I not feeling what I should be?

What the hell happened in that car?

I find myself at the edge of the bed, looking up at David. Confusion and concern shadow his features. He's trying to urge me to lay back down. I don't want to. I shake off his hand, gently.

"It's all right.” God, how many times have I said that today? “I guess I got up too quickly. I felt a little faint, that's all.” His expression shifts to disbelief. “Please, David, I need to get out of here. I'll be fine with Michael."

"Michael again?” A muscle flicks angrily at his jaw. “Jesus, Anna, how can he help you through this better than I? I don't care how long you've known him. I was with you when it happened. I feel responsible. You're my partner.” His voice drops in despair. “I should have been watching your back, not out cold in some damned parking lot. This is my fault."

There it is. Guilt. He thinks he could have prevented what happened. “I don't blame you for what happened, David. We've been in dangerous situations before. We're in a dangerous business. I accepted the risk when I took the job. We were both hurt last night, not just me. And we're both going to recover."

"Maybe,” he says softly. “But my injuries are just physical. What he did to you is more than that. He violated you, for God's sake.

Can you ever really recover from something like that?"

Something like what? I'm sick with the notion that I might have been more of a willing participant than a victim. Not something I can say out loud.

When I don't respond, David continues. “Let me at least try to make it up to you. Stay with me. Or I'll come stay at your house.

No Gloria to give us grief."

He's changing tactics. His tone is light, teasing. Maybe it's time to ease his mind. I've taken a seat at the edge of the bed and I pat the place next to me. He sinks down, carefully, the neck brace restricting his movements. “You don't think Michael is the right person to see me through this and I know why. It has nothing to do with Michael and everything to do with you. You're feeling guilty."

He opens his mouth to object, but I cut him off with a wave of my hand. “I'm going to tell you a secret about Michael. When we were in college, some frat boys waited for him outside a bar. They beat the crap out of him and left him for dead for no other reason than he was gay. I took care of him. He does understand about violation, I think better than you. You've always been big and intimidating. I doubt anyone ever tried jumping you, did they?"

His face colors slightly.

"Well,” I add, “except for Donaldson, of course. And we both agree that was a fluke. You tripped or something, right?"

He doesn't agree or disagree, but he doesn't argue with me, either.

I take that as a good sign. “And as for Dr. Avery, I'm getting out of here today. You don't need to go ruffle any more feathers by demanding I have a new doctor. Besides, I like him. He's cute."

It works. David actually smiles a real smile. “God,” he says. “You're a piece of work."

I put my arms around him and hug, carefully, mindful of the brace. “When is this thing coming off?” I ask him, drumming gentle fingers against the stiff collar.

He responds by pulling at it, the Velcro fastenings releasing with a ripping sound as he tugs. “Now.” He tosses it away and works his neck, stretching his head from side to side and forward and back. “Much better."

I raise an eyebrow. “Should you have done that?"

"Hey, you forget, I spent ten years in the NFL. I've been banged up much worse than this."

Having a regular conversation with David feels good. No angst and recrimination, just talk. I push myself up. “Okay, I'm going to try this standing and walking thing again. More slowly, this time. Will you go fetch that nurse?"

I'm standing under a stream of hot water, back against the shower wall, letting the water wash over and around me. A nurse waits outside the bathroom door, on the off chance that I should need help. But I know I won't. My legs are no longer shaky, and my head is clear. I know it's my imagination, but even the bruises on my face seem less pronounced, and the laceration at my forehead is closing. Only the wound at my neck throbs and burns as the water plays over it.

The wound at my neck.

I close my eyes and turn my face to the wall. I told David that I would call Michael after my shower and that he should go on home and let Gloria take care of him for a few days. That I would be in touch soon.

But even as I said it, I knew I wouldn't make that call. I need to be alone for awhile. I need to sort through the disturbing images that keep breaking through my subconscious and asserting themselves into my thoughts.

Donaldson did something to my body in the back seat of that car. Something base and animalistic that I responded to.

I responded to it.

Could I have been drugged? That doesn't make sense. He didn't force me to drink anything. He didn't jam a pill down my throat or stick a needle in my arm. He just—

Just what?

What the hell did he do?

Dr. Avery pays me one last visit before I leave the hospital. He has my discharge papers in his hand, but he looks cautiously around the room before coming in.

"Your friend is gone?"

I nod. “Sorry about David. He's very protective."

"Understandably.” Dr. Avery approaches. “You are in an unusual line of work."

"Especially for a woman, right, Doctor?"

He smiles in a sheepish way that confirms I'd guessed what he was thinking.

"It's okay. I get that all the time.” Particularly from my family.

I hold out a hand. “Those for me?"

He hands me the clipboard and a pen and points to the place I should sign. “Have you made arrangements to be picked up?"

I nod without hesitation. I don't want him to know my plans anymore than I want David to know. I have only one small problem.

Clothes. I can't very well walk out of here in this air-conditioned hospital gown.

"I don't suppose the gift shop sells anything I could wear home, does it?” I ask, handing the signed forms back to him. “Michael doesn't have a key to my house. I'd hate for him to have to come here and pick it up, drive all the way to the beach for my clothes and then back to the hospital again. I'm kind of anxious to get home."