"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."
Holy shit. As she'd said, Significant money.
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. Why would a woman, who appeared to be self-sufficient otherwise, put up with that?
"Has he done this before?" Dodge asked.
"Never."