Chapter Ten
“I’ve got to leave.” Like Cinderella, shortly before midnight, Caitlin edged away from Mike. Her decision had nothing to do with glass slippers and much to do with her increasing attraction to him. What was happening threatened her, pulled her from her comfort zone. Acting this way and thinking this way wasn’t in her daily routine.
“Fine by me. I’ve had enough of sharing you.”
“More like monopolized.”
Shrugging, he shot her that sizzling, sexy grin. “With the eyes of the world on me.”
“That’s probably a good thing.” His eyes told her where his thoughts headed. Could she go there with him this time? What would be the consequences if she did?
He scanned the crowd. “No one will miss us in this crowd. What about a nightcap somewhere else, someplace quiet?”
“We’ve both got cars…my place isn’t far from here. Would that work?” She felt like she was doing the high dive into the deep end of the pool.
“You’ve got scotch?”
She nodded.
“Quiet music?”
Another nod.
“No prying eyes?”
“Just mine.”
“That’s a jackpot I wasn’t expecting.” He helped her into her coat and kept his hands on her shoulders as she buttoned up.
“Just a sec, Cait, I need to use the…ah…restroom.” He looked embarrassed at his need.
Caitlin laughed at his self-consciousness. “Don’t worry. I’ll head to my car. I’m near the far end of the lot. You?”
He nodded. “Same, but wait for me, please. It’s late, dark, and not many people are out there.”
“I’ll be fine. Hurry up in there. With these heels, I won’t get far.”
“I lead tonight, remember? Wait for me. Here. I won’t be but a minute.” With his last words barely out of his mouth, he dashed off.
She hated waiting for anybody or anything but gave him three minutes. After leaving a message for Mike with the coatroom attendant Caitlin walked out the door. Tonight might be his night to lead, but he should be quick about his business.
Outside, the temperature had plummeted, freezing the standing puddles she had avoided earlier. The darkness enveloped the parking lot, making the lights appear dimmer. An east wind whipped the evergreens lining the edge of the lot. Cars were scattered in a haphazard pattern throughout the lot. She noticed four still parked near her sedan in plain view under a light.
She waited another minute under the porte cochère, giving Mike his chance to lead.
When he didn’t show, she chuckled to herself. “Guess I get to lead now,” she whispered to the wind.
Pleased with her independence, eyes cast down to the asphalt, she left the entrance and picked her way toward her car. During her walk, she alternated between damning her frivolous shoes and her need for self-sufficiency. Mike’s arm would have provided a real asset around these treacherous patches of ice.
As she approached her car, keys already in hand to open her door, she spotted something plastered on the windshield on the driver’s side. Strange—the placement was the wrong direction for the wind to have blown it on the window. A shiver of fear shot through her. She had to remove whatever it was from the windshield because with the obstruction there, she couldn’t see to drive. That meant a few moments, leaving her exposed and alone. Not smart.
She left the door and stepped closer to the hood and windshield. She pulled off the large white paper placed under her wiper blade, turned the paper over—and froze. Barely registering the cut and pasted words, Caitlin sensed rather than heard someone slip behind her. She turned into the sound. From behind, two arms wrapped under her rib cage so viciously the hold squeezed out all the air in her lungs. She opened her mouth to yell, but no sound emerged. Her diaphragm was being crushed in a viselike grip.
A whimper, feeble but audible, rose in her throat. A leather-gloved hand slapped itself across her mouth and nose. Breathing, even this ragged, fear-nipped version halted.
His crude male laughter infuriated her and punched up her adrenalin. She struggled against her attacker, wriggling in his arms. Her brothers’ words about self defense sprang to her mind. She stomped hard with her stiletto sharp heel into the area his foot should be. Her heel met unforgiving steel.
Wrestling her elbows into position for a belly punch, she was thwarted by his layers of padded clothing. She dug her fingers into flesh, but her nails, covered with leather driving gloves, offered minimal harm, nor could they find any flesh.
Lack of oxygen weakened her, but she refused to give up. She wriggled her head free from the attacker’s hold and gulped for air like a netted trout. He snapped her head back with such force stars burst like fireworks behind her eyelids. He followed that with a fist into the soft area below her ribs and above her hip. Pain rocketed through her. He twisted her around in his arms. With the temporary loosening of his grip, she inhaled. Also with the looser hold came a savage, back-handed slap. Another wallop followed. She tasted her blood.
He flashed a Crocodile Dundee-sized knife. Its deadly blade glinted in the light. Sickening fear gripped her, more fierce than her fight for air. The blade slipped closer to her neck. Its cold edge pricked her skin. Her bowels clutched.
“Listen good, bitch,” the deep voice rasped; his smell rank from alcohol, cigarettes and sweat.
Her nostrils wrinkled, offended by his body odor—and something else…machining oil, maybe? She fought to look sideways, catch a glimpse of his face, or some recognizable feature to identify him should she live through this. That possibility no longer appeared a surety.
“You’re nothing but trouble, bitch. We don’t need trouble. Hear? Think you’re gonna die?”
He was disguising his voice. Did she know him? Ditch the fear and think.
The blade pressed further into her neck’s soft flesh. Something moist trickled toward her collar bone. Blood? Sweat? Both?
Dear God, don’t let me die like this. She fell backward, dead weight against the attacker. To catch her, he shifted his hold and the position of his knife. And swore. She rejoiced at the knife’s disappearance. And despaired. He now held the menacing weapon in front of her, its sharp edge between her breasts. Its wicked point jutted upward toward the underside of her chin. The cold knife bit into her cleavage, cutting through her cashmere coat like marshmallow fluff.
“Nice tits,” he grunted. “I like tits. They like what I’m doing.”
His words defiled her. She wouldn’t look down to see what he did. The cold air had tightened her nipples. Traitors.
“Your time’s runnin’ out, bitch. Stay in your office and leave us the hell alone.” At the latter, his grip tightened. Muttering an obscenity, her attacker knocked her to the asphalt with a fist into her face. She lay there, hearing him walk away—afraid to move in case he returned.
Something touched her shoulder and she could hear her name from a far distance. The sound echoed in her head, the pounding behind her ears and beneath her eyelids was like cymbals clashing. She struggled toward the voice and forced open one eye.
Mike. He cradled her hand in his. With his other, he pulled her tattered coat over her bare chest.
“I’ve called 911. Damn it, Cait, why didn’t you wait?”
She watched his eyes skim over her, saw him squint, his face harden. She touched her face where his gaze lingered. Her fingers came away covered with blood. That was the coppery taste in her mouth.
“Oh, my God, he didn’t...you weren’t...”
“Knife…he…hit…threatened me…” Tears streamed down her cheeks, mixing with her blood. In the distance, she heard sirens and feet scurrying. Iron pokers prodded her from deep inside and her world turned black.
****
Mike heard the sirens at the same time he heard the screech of tires. He spotted an enormous black pickup truck barrel out from the service entrance, but he could do nothing about that. He dared not move or leave Cait. Seconds later, a squad car and the ambulance pulled up to them. Another squad followed and by that time, a small circle of departing wedding guests had ambled over to check out what was happening. Cait would be furious about this—if she were alert to what was going on.
“Was she conscious at all?” asked an EMT.
“Yes, for maybe a minute after I got here. She wasn’t conscious or at least alert when I first arrived.”
“You didn’t move her?”
“No, just pulled her jacket closed—to keep her warmer.” The man nodded and wrote something on a chart. Two others were examining Cait, getting her ready to lift onto a gurney. A deputy was taking photos before she was moved.
“The sedan with the flat is yours?” asked the deputy pointing to Caitlin’s car.
“No, hers. Mine’s over there.” Mike pointed toward the rental.
“You know her?”
Mike nodded. “We work together. We were both at the reception going on in there.” He pointed toward the country club. “She didn’t wait for me to walk out with her.”
“Why not?”
“She’s got a mind of her own.”
“We’ll need a statement.”
Mike watched the EMTs put Caitlin in the ambulance. “We’re taking her to Southport ER, sir. Will you be following?” asked one of the EMTs.
“I’ll be following.” He headed for his car.
The deputy followed but Mike didn’t care. “Sir, we need your statement. Sir?”
“You know where I’ll be.”
Fifteen minutes later, Mike found a pale Caitlin in a hospital gown, still unconscious. The remains of her red dress, white coat, and shoes, one without its heel, filled a transparent plastic bag in the small room’s corner. Her appearance did nothing to ease his mind. Her neck wound had clotted over; the blood looked bronzy-brown against her skin and bruises were already forming. He figured the wide, deep-red mark spreading from her ear to her cheekbone and eye would soon swell and turn purple. One eye was already swelling up like a flesh-colored water balloon.
“You have to step out now, sir,” the ER nurse said, her eyes looking as kind as her voice. “The waiting room is three doors down the hall. We’ll find you when we’re finished here.”
Since he had no right to be here, arguing was futile. “I appreciate that.”
“She was lucky you came along when you did,” the nurse added as he walked away.
Not true. Cait was unlucky as hell. He’d been buying a condom and she’d taken off, independent as usual. He entered the room to find the deputy he’d talked to at the club.
“About that statement?”
“Yeah, sure.” He was answering the deputy’s few questions when another man in plain clothes walked into the room.
“I’ll take over now, Hines.” The man extended his hand toward Mike. “Detective Vince Bertoli.”
“Mike Rafferty. I work with Caitlin. At Northland Marine.”
“I just came from the scene. Why don’t you tell us what happened? How you saw it unfold.”
“Sure thing, but I didn’t see the whole attack, just toward the end.” Mike related the events, ending with hearing the sirens and seeing a black truck leave the service entrance.
Bertoli pulled two evidence bags from his pocket. One contained a length of black ribbon and the other a piece of white paper. “You know anything about these?”
“No, but Cait’s been getting threatening notes and black ribbons left for her at work. She’s filed a report.”
“I know. We found these at the scene.”
“I never saw them.” Seeing these items confused him. He’d focused on Cait and getting her help. How had he missed these?
“The ribbon was beneath her. Since you didn’t move her, you wouldn’t have seen it.”
“You think what’s happening at work is related to tonight?”
“I won’t rule anything out. Why do you think she walked out alone when you offered to go with her?”
Mike shrugged his shoulders. “She’s like that. Thinking she can do everything for herself.”
“I know her. She can be pretty determined.”
“That’s an understatement.” The detective’s comment eased Mike’s tension. What would the cop say if he knew he’d been delayed to buy a rubber? Well, he’d carry that guilt for a few years.
“Call me Vince.”
Watching the burly detective, Mike wondered about the detective and Caitlin. “How do you know her?”
“I dated her secretary a while back. Met Caitlin then.”
“What happens next?” From the look in Bertoli’s eyes, he would say any more. Mike was wise enough to nod.
“If this attack is related to the original complaint, the situation moves beyond harassment. Depending on Caitlin’s injuries, it’s assault, at a minimum. An evidence team is collecting any physical evidence that might remain on her. Another is working the scene. The attending physician will document all injuries. All this will carry weight in court when we catch the guy. And we will apprehend him.”
****
Bright lights stabbed at her eyelids. Bone shaking coldness shook her body. Something poked and prodded her. Her head and neck were captured in some kind of vice.
“Get her another warm blanket.”
A male voice she didn’t recognize sounded above her. Squinting, she forced open an eye that didn’t work the way she wanted. “Where am I?”
“In Southport Hospital’s Emergency Room.” This time the voice was female. “Lie still, hon, we’re finishing up some X-rays. What’s your name?”
“Caitlin…Donnelly. I want…to go home.”
“First, we have to finish assessing your injuries,” the male voice continued. “We’ll be done in just a moment.” She heard a few clicks, some whirring, and then that authoritative male voice continued. “What day is it?”
“Sunday, I think. Early.”
“Good.”
While the man talked, the vice contraption released its hold on her. She struggled to sit and waves of nausea swept over her. She dry-heaved until tears streamed down her cheeks. With cooing tones, the female voice used her gloved hands and wiped Caitlin’s face with a warm cloth.
“You’re very lucky, Ms. Donnelly. That knife prick could just as easily have been a severe slashing instead. Or he could have punctured the carotid.” That male voice again. He seemed to know what he was talking about—had to be a doctor.
“From your shivers and nausea, I’d say that a concussion is a sure thing. I’m waiting on the X-rays to confirm. You’ve got some contusions and abrasions that we’ve cleaned up and I ordered a tetanus shot to be on the safe side.”
Caitlin nodded while the trauma room nurse cleaned and bandaged her wounds.
“With that concussion, I can’t give you anything for pain but cold compresses will help keep the swelling down. Tomorrow, you’ll feel like you’ve been run over by a steamroller…”
“I already do.”
“You’ll end up with a very colorful shiner. It’s also likely to be a problem and might require further care in a day or two. I would recommend that you follow up with your primary physician.” Then he helped Caitlin into a sitting position on the hospital gurney. “Take it easy getting up. You could get dizzy and faint, or throw up.”
“I feel like I have two heads and they both hurt like the dickens,” she muttered. Yep, the ER doctor might look like he was twelve, but he knew his stuff.
“Tomorrow will be worse, so bed rest for at least a day. That’s an order. Then see how you feel once you get up and move around. I’d suggest you not be alone for a day or so, if only to offset the psychological effects of all this.”
Just as the doctor finished speaking, Mike entered the examining room with Vince Bertoli.
“I live alone.”
“You could call Rachel,” Vince offered, having overheard the conversation. Caitlin and Mike both looked at him.
“I could stay with you,” Mike offered.
“Maybe just for tonight, Mike.” She turned to Vince. “Vince, would you call Rachel?” The detective looked aggrieved at her request, even though he brought up Rachel’s name first. “I could use lots of company tonight and tomorrow. You could fill her in.”
“I can do that, but I need a statement from you.”
Caitlin nodded, pain sapping her remaining strength. “Tomorrow soon enough?”
“No problem. Get home now and get some rest.” Vince lumbered out of the room; his bulk belying the gentleness she knew lay hidden. Mike followed him out of the room.
As Caitlin dressed with the help of the nurse, she heard low male voices conversing heatedly in the corridor. Feeling drowsy and nauseated, she blanked everything from her mind. What wouldn’t stay out was the feeling of wretchedness enveloping her every time she thought of the attacker’s hands on her body. She’d had no control in the situation. Never again.
****
Later at Caitlin’s, Mike was settling her onto the couch with a cup of tea when the doorbell rang. Rachel stood there, etched in the backlight from the driveway lamps. He filled her in quickly. “I’m so glad to have you here.”
When she entered the living room, she gasped when she spotted Caitlin’s face. “Oh, my God, Catie Rose.” She knelt beside Caitlin who struggled to get up.
“Would you help me get into a real bed and out of these scrubs?”
Rachel nodded and motioned him forward. “She looks pretty woozy. Could you help me get her upstairs?”
“I’ll carry her.” He scooped Caitlin from the couch into his arms. “You lead the way.” She rested her head on his shoulder, not saying a word. “I’m glad you got here so fast, Rachel. I knew she wouldn’t settle down until she was in bed. And I sure couldn’t do that.” He flushed at his words.
Rachel nodded to Mike. “That blush tells me you’d enjoy doing that under better circumstances.” She opened the door to Caitlin’s room and flipped on the light so he could see the bed. He held Cait until Rachel pulled back the quilt and sheet. Then he laid her down, touching her face near the bruise with his index finger knuckle as he whispered good night.
After returning to the living room, he sat in the oversized chair next to the large, undraped thermopane window facing the lake, to wait for Rachel’s return. The whole room carried Caitlin’s stamp. No frills, just comfort, elegance, and cool neutral colors. Nothing overpowered the space but it would be remembered.
The room and the sound of the surf soothed him. He understood why she loved this place. Rachel took longer than he expected and his eyelids drooped. A gentle tap on his shoulder woke him. He jerked, startled out of a worrisome sleep.
“Sorry, Mike.”
“How is she?” He inched himself straighter in the chair.
Rachel sat across from him and sipped some of the cold tea he’d made for Caitlin. “She’s sleeping, for now. I’m so glad you thought to have Vince call me.”
“Caitlin did that.” Rachel shook her head at his words. “Did she say anything to you?”
“She said she thought she might end up like her tree. I assume she believes the attacker is also the creep who broke into her office.”
“The bastard knows a hell of a lot about her, Rachel. Seems to me his axe to grind is bigger than just a difference of opinion about work or contract language.”
“I had that feeling from the first but Caitlin pooh-poohed it. I don’t think she does now, though.”
“Does she have any ideas about who did this?” He hoped something had jogged Caitlin’s thoughts.
Rachel shook her head. “If she does, they aren’t coherent yet. She’s terribly shaken and worried about her car of all things.”
“I feel so responsible.” He needed to unburden his soul to someone.
“Why? Because you couldn’t stop her from being hurt?”
“We hit it off tonight. We planned to walk out together, but I had to stop at the restroom. I asked her to wait.”
“And she got restless and didn’t.”
“How’d you know?”
“I know Catie Rose.”
“I got hung up in a conversation with one of the Northland execs.” His guilt increased. Rachel reached across and patted him on the shoulder.
“If there’s one thing I know about Caitlin, it’s her damned sense of independence, Mike. Only this time it got her into serious trouble, not you. She could’ve waited to leave with you. Probably thought she’d show you she didn’t need anybody.”
Mike looked carefully at the lovely dark woman who understood her boss so well. “You know her very well, don’t you?”
Rachel shot him a sad smile. “And love her despite her maddening qualities. She can be a very difficult woman to love.” She stayed focused on his face when she finished.
“Don’t I know that,” he muttered under his breath.
Rachel reached for his hand. “I think she was very lucky you arrived when you did. Your footsteps scared the guy off. I don’t want to think of what he might have done if you hadn’t gotten there when you did.”
“That scares the hell out of me.”
“It scares her, too. And me. Now, what I suggest is you get some rest. I’m going back up to stay with her. Keep the creatures of the night away from her.” She rose from her seat and stretched like a cat.
“I’ll keep them away, too.”
“Get some sleep, Mike. I have a hunch this coming day’s going to be a long one.” She found a knitted blanket in the foyer closet.
“You’re a good woman, Rachel,” he said, as she draped the blanket around him and turned off the lights.
When he heard her snap off the hall light, he settled further into the big recliner. The blanket warmed him; better yet, it held Caitlin’s fragrance within its fibers. As if she were there. With her arms, not the blanket, warming him.
****
Outside, he crouched, hidden in the wooded ravine. He’d taken a chance following Rafferty’s car, especially without headlights, but the less traveled county roads were desolate that late at night.
Shit, tonight had been luck all the way. He’d gotten away before the ambulance arrived. Then he’d waited in a dark driveway to see which way the ambulance headed when it left and followed it to the hospital. He saw where Rafferty parked and waited in the parking structure.
Recon. That’s what he did. And it paid off. Probably worth another bonus. When Rafferty picked up the bitch from the ER, he was waiting to follow. The tiny red taillights were easy to trail.
His chance struck paydirt. His second cold wait of the night proved solid gold. Now he knew where the bitch lived.
He fingered his knife and remembered the feel of the woman, squirming and wriggling against him. She’d do so again. Soon.
Only next time she wouldn’t get away.