'She's all right. She got upset--'
'Where is she?' Dodge asked with menace, emphasizing each word.
The man hitched his thumb over his shoulder. 'Bathroom. End of the hall, right- hand side. She's locked herself in. Can you turn off those damn lights on your car?'
Dodge didn't deign to answer. He pushed past the man and crossed a neat living room, stepping into a dark hallway. He heard Gonzales telling the son of a bitch that the emergency lights stayed on and asking if an ambulance was needed. 'Hell, no!' the guy exclaimed. 'I didn't hurt her.'
'Maybe I'll call one anyway,' Gonzales said.
'I'm telling you, she's fine.'
'What's your name?'
'Jesus.'
'Are you cursing or being a smart-ass?'
That's all Dodge heard. He'd reached the end of the hall. He knocked on the bathroom door. 'Ma'am? This is Police Officer Dodge Hanley. Would you open the door, please?' He tried the knob. It was locked. 'Ma'am? Are you all right? Can you hear me?'
He heard the snick of the lock, then the door was opened. She was petite, reaching no higher than his collarbone. The guy who'd met them at the door was about Dodge's height, over six feet. Without even knowing the circumstances, Dodge already wanted to kill him.
The overhead light shone on reddish hair. Her head was bowed, and she was holding a folded, wet washcloth against the side of her face like a compress. She was fully dressed, but her clothes and hair were in disarray, as though she'd struggled.
'Ma'am, do you need an ambulance?'
She shook her head, then lowered the compress and tilted her face up.
When she did, Dodge felt his whole body expand and levitate as though it had suddenly been inflated like one of those Thanksgiving Day parade balloons. Then her eyes tethered him and slowly he resettled, but he still didn't return to normal. He retained that sense of buoyancy.
'I'm all right.' Her eyes were the color of sherry, and if aged whiskey generated sound, it would be exactly like her voice. 'I should have called back, told the operator there was no reason to dispatch the police, but Roger had taken the phone away from me, and I was afraid...'
'To leave the bathroom,' Dodge stated, finishing for her when she foundered.
She lowered her head again and reapplied the compress.
'What's your name?'
'Caroline King.'
'Is he your husband?'
'Boyfriend.'
'Whose house is this?'
'Mine. I mean, I lease it.'
'He live here, too?'
'No.'
'Does he pay the rent?'
Her head came up quickly, and Dodge could tell that his implication had affronted her. 'No. I do.'
He was glad to know it and didn't apologize for asking. Instead, he gestured at her upper cheek. 'Mind if I take a look?' She removed the washcloth. At the outside edge of her eye socket, the skin was red and beginning to swell. 'We'll get you to the emergency room.'
'There's no need for that. Really.'
'Okay, but let's get some ice on it.' He stepped aside.
She went past him, down the hall, and into the living room, where her abuser was seated on a sofa, being questioned by Gonzales. Upon seeing her, the guy shot to his feet. 'Do you see, Caroline?' he shouted at her. 'Are you enjoying my humiliation?'
'Okay, Mr. Campton. Calm down.'
'Don't tell me what to do.' He shoved Gonzales with both hands. 'Do you know who I am?'
'I sure do.' Before the offender could react, Gonzales spun him around and pushed him facedown on the sofa. In seconds the man's hands were shackled behind him. 'You're the guy on his way to jail.'
The cuffed man began screaming a litany of curses aimed at Gonzales. Unfazed by the insults to himself and his lineage, he asked Dodge, 'She okay? Do we need an ambulance?'
'I don't think so. Just shut him up.'
Caroline King had hastened from the room. Dodge followed and found her in a compact kitchen, where she had planted her hands on the edge of the counter to brace herself against it. 'Will he be arrested?'
'Yes, ma'am.'
'Will he go to jail?'
'Oh, yeah,' Dodge said, relishing the thought.
She turned. 'There'll be trouble over it. His family has money. Significant money. A battery of lawyers.'
Dodge didn't give a rat's ass. 'Have you got some ice in here?' Without waiting for an answer, he opened the freezer above the fridge and removed an ice tray. He shook cubes into a cup towel he'd found folded on the counter. He twisted the towel to hold the cubes inside, then passed the makeshift ice pack to her.
She took it and pressed it against her eye socket. 'Thank you.'
'You're welcome.'
He pulled a chair out from under the dining table and remained standing beside it until she sat down, then he took the second chair. He removed a small spiral notebook and pen from the pocket of his uniform shirt. He wrote down her name. 'What's his name?'
She hesitated, then said quietly, 'Roger Campton.'
Dodge wrote down the name and put a question mark beside it, wondering why it sounded familiar. She seemed to read his mind. 'He's part of the Campton Industries family.'
This kitchen, the house, the neighborhood itself, were strictly middle class. Pridefully well maintained, but hardly opulent. Again, his puzzled expression must have given away his thoughts.
She said, 'You're wondering how Roger and I met.'
He gave his head a noncommittal bob.
'He introduced himself to me at a Christmas party at his parents' house last year.'
Dodge's eyebrows shot up. 'You were a guest?'
'Server. I was working the holiday season for a caterer. It was a moonlighting job.'
This told Dodge several things about her. She was a single working woman on a budget that required moonlighting to make ends meet. She paid her own way and wasn't too proud to admit it. Her slim prettiness had caught the rich boy's eye, which wasn't surprising. Nor was it surprising that she would want to hook up with a Campton heir, all that dough, and what it represented.
Right now it represented a black eye, which made Dodge's insides roil with anger.
