He can understand that, the inability to know where to begin. 'The beginning' is the simple answer, but it's not really so simple to do that, not when there's so much to tell and so much of it is difficult to tell. She had been desperate and naive. They'd offered to solve all her problems and she'd leaped before she'd really looked. There's no crime in that. The men that made her that offer are the ones to blame and they're the ones that Matt made sure were put away. They won't do that to others, not anymore.

The rest of the details won't make a difference. He's put the men who did that away. He remembers the ones that were betting and won't hesitate to blackmail them if necessary. Telling him the details would be for her and her alone. They won't change anything. They'll probably make him angry enough that there will be a dark part of him that wishes he'd killed the man in charge, but he didn't, and he's glad he didn't. As for what she owes him, it's nothing at all. He doesn't keep a running tally in his head; it doesn't work like that. He wants to help her. He wants her to get a better education and have a fair shot at life.

She doesn't see herself clearly, but then most people don't. She's a person worth saving, someone worth caring about. He may not understand her experiences, but he can sympathize with them and he thinks he knows her as a person. She is half his age, and that's what keeps him from moving closer to her or pulling her closer to him. Her hand is a searing weight on his chest and he can hear her heart beating a little faster. He keeps his hand over hers against his chest. It's a lightweight--she could move if she wanted to, that's what he tells himself-- but it's a weight he is very aware of. He knows how far away she is and wishes that she would move closer, wishes that she weren't half his age, wishes so many things that he dare not put into words.

"There are," he admits. "I don't want to put anyone else in danger. Besides, I'm not sure that there's anyone else I'd work well with."