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"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, to
ld 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."
