Vicious Carousel (Suncoast Society #25)(39)

“We will,” Nolan said. “And you won’t be making that stand alone. I promise.”





Thursday morning, Eliza arrived even earlier than Tilly and June had the previous days. The men were still in their bedroom getting their own shower and Betsy went to let her in.

“I have my marching orders from Tilly,” Eliza said with a smile.

Betsy had spent a restless night, what little sleep she got filled with nightmares about Jack and what he’d done to her.

About testifying against him.

Eliza’s smile faded as she set her purse on the table. “What’s wrong?”

Betsy told her what the men had said the night before, about the media.

Eliza nodded. “Yeah, June called us all last night about it.” She rested her hands on Betsy’s shoulders. “The only way we’ll get upset is if you let this guy scare you out of testifying. We’re all behind you. The friends who absolutely cannot afford to be exposed to this, they’ve already protected themselves. This isn’t about them. And the prosecutor won’t let his public defender take rabbit trails on a case as basic and clear-cut as this. There’s ample evidence of what he did to you. This is about if he hit you, abused you, extorted you to keep you there, and held you against your will. Period.”

“But what about the BDSM?”

“So? That was between you two. His attorney won’t dare call any of us as witnesses for the defense. Not if he’s smart. And stop worrying until there’s something to worry about. Let’s get you ready to go see Ted.”

Today was the first day she was able to shave and shower on her own, even though she asked Eliza to hang out in the bathroom with her, just in case. Some of the pain was easing, the swelling was going down in her right eye, and some of the lighter bruises had faded.

The remaining bruises, however, were ugly, dark greenish brown patches, some still purple. She definitely wasn’t back to “normal” yet, whatever that meant. Once the swelling in her eye completely disappeared, that would go a long way to her feeling “normal.”

Ted was glad to hear that Jack hadn’t talked to Betsy’s parents. And as Eliza prompted her to tell him about her fears regarding the media coverage, Ted cocked his head at her.

“Do you remember how terrified you were about contacting your parents?”

Betsy nodded. “Yeah. Of course.”

“Did that turn out to be a valid fear?”

“No, but I thought it was.”

“Of course you thought it was, but it wasn’t valid after all, was it?”

“No.”

“Then put that same knowledge toward this instance. You don’t know if the media will try to track you down, or any of the worst-case things. Ed is an attorney. He makes his living planning for the worst-case scenario. It’s kind of what he does for a living, what people hire him for. For all you know, the press might let this die down and nothing else happens. I guarantee you there are hundreds of domestic abuse cases all over this state every month where the abuser tries to say the victim agreed to whatever outlandish treatment they were getting. You don’t usually hear about those on the news unless there’s a death, or a child gets injured, do you?”

“No.” She took a deep breath in and tried to breathe out the stress and fear.

“I have a recommendation for you for a counsellor,” he said, handing a card over to her. “I took the liberty of making you an appointment for next Tuesday morning. She’s good, she understands the basics of your situation, and she’s willing to work with you, understanding you’re unable to pay her at this time.”

“Thank you.”

“Thank us all by staying the course, leaning on us, and listening to us.”

“I will.”





After Ted’s, Eliza made a side excursion to shopping plaza in south Sarasota that housed a martial arts school. The sign outside touted several different classes in a variety of martial arts skills, as well as self-defense classes for women and children.

“Why are we stopping here?” Betsy asked.

“Because next week, and every Thursday night, you’re coming with me to class,” she said as she parked and unfastened her seatbelt. “We’re here to sign you up.”

Betsy didn’t argue, and she somehow managed not to cry when Eliza produced a credit card and paid for the eight-week class for her. The instructor, an older woman who was retired military, scowled as she studied Betsy’s face hidden behind the sunglasses and under the hat.

“Is the guy in jail now?” the instructor asked.

“Oooh, yeah,” Eliza said. “Couldn’t make bail.”

“Yet,” Betsy said.

The instructor nodded. “Let me know if he makes bail,” she said to Eliza. “I’d like to meet him in person and have a little chat.”

“You and about half of Sarasota,” Eliza said.





The rest of Betsy’s afternoon with Eliza was spent at the house, with Betsy continuing her job search. She’d received nothing back yet from any of her inquiries except a few auto-responders noting receipt of her application and resume.

She knew it was too soon to feel disheartened about it, but it was difficult to keep her spirits up.