Chapter Five
By the time he got home, Dustin had calmed down. Though his hand hurt a little—bruised knuckles—he rubbed his leather bracelet.
Just a lovers’ spat, couples had them all the time.
Really, they added the spice to a relationship. A little spice, a little heat.
He’d give her time to calm down, too. Women were so freaking emotional. Jesus, you looked at them sideways, they got hysterical.
He went into the bathroom, examined the scratches on his cheek, stuck out his throbbing tongue, and considered them evidence of her passion for him.
No question she’d wanted it, and wanted it rough. If they hadn’t been interrupted …
No, he had to admit it. He’d panicked. Hearing that shouting and banging on the door had scared him. Instead of telling the asshole to fuck off, he’d cut and run.
That wouldn’t happen again.
He winced at the sting as he washed the scratches. Man! She’d really dug in! After smearing some Neosporin on them, he decided on ice cream for his tongue.
He’d never forget that kiss.
And the way she’d looked at him when he’d had his hand around her throat. Bluebell eyes so wide, so focused on his. Paying attention, as if he were the only man in the world.
Thinking about that, about the sounds she’d made, how her body had bucked under his, made him hard again. He decided to take a shower, take his release before ice cream.
By the time Dustin relaxed with TV and a bowl of Nutty Coconut, Arden lay in an exam room. The man—doctor—had gentle hands, but she still cringed from them.
“Arden, can you tell me if you’re on any medication?”
Because her throat burned, she just shook her head. Because the lights hurt her eyes, she kept her eyes closed. When she had to speak—so many questions—the buzzing in her ears got louder, louder than the hoarse whisper she could manage.
When they used the rape kit, she couldn’t stop the tears, and even the tears hurt.
They ran tests, but it all mixed together with the questions, the voices, the hands on her body, on her face. She tried to go somewhere else, anywhere else, in her head, but every attempt flashed her back. Pinned under him, his hand squeezing her throat, his fingers jammed inside her.
So she pushed herself back into the exam room, the too-bright lights. Safe, Monica said.
But she didn’t feel safe.
They took her to a room. More lights, more hands on her body, more voices murmuring against the buzzing in her ears. A headache that felt like it might split her head in half.
Then Jen’s lips, tender on her cheek.
“We’re here, honey. We’re all here.”
Despite the pain, the burning throat, the buzzing, she could weep. At last, in arms she knew, safely held, she could weep out the fear and the shock.
Dustin had nodded off in front of the TV, so the knock on the door jolted him. Nobody ever knocked on his door.
He had a secure apartment, best that money could buy, and nobody came knocking.
He considered just ignoring it, then it struck him.
Arden. She’d come to make up! To tell him she was sorry, ask his forgiveness.
He started to rush to the door, then reminded himself a man shouldn’t seem too eager. Forgive her? Sure. But he needed to make her work for it some.
Only when he opened the door, it wasn’t Arden. A man and a woman stood there.
“Dustin Dubecki?” the man asked.
“Yeah, how can I help you?”
The man, and the woman, held up badges.
“Detectives Venmar and Brill, Columbus PD. We’d like to come in, ask you some questions.”
The woman was on the short side. Up until Arden, he’d preferred shorter women.
Redheads, he had a thing for redheads, but until Arden, petite ones.
And this woman had a sour look about her.
“What questions?”
“Better all around if we ask them inside.” The man, probably in his fifties and carrying an extra ten around the middle, glanced over his shoulder at the door across the hall. “Unless you want the neighbors in on the conversation.”
“You’ve got some nasty scratches there, Mr. Dubecki.”
Glancing back at the woman, Dustin shrugged. “No big deal. What’s this about?” But he stepped back to let them in.
He liked keeping a low profile.
The woman, Brill, looked around the living space.
“Nice place.” Nodding at his big black leather sectional, the eight-foot wall screen. “I guess you’re a minimalist.”
He shrugged again. “I only moved in a couple months ago, and I don’t like a lot of clutter anyway. Is there trouble in the building or something?”
“Not that we know of.” Venmar did his own survey of the room with its excellent view. “Can you tell us where you were about eight-thirty this evening?”
“Just hanging out.”
“Here?”
“Here and there. What’s the problem?”
“Would the there be Arden Bowie’s apartment?” Brill asked him.
Stupid cops, he thought. But rubbed the leather on his wrist. He didn’t want cop trouble.
“So what? I can’t go visit my girlfriend?”
“Is that what you call it?” Brill’s eyes drilled into his. “A visit. Do you often beat, choke, and attempt to rape a woman when you visit?”
He let out a sound of disbelief. “That’s bullshit. Who said that? That’s crazy.”
“Arden Bowie says that. As does the witness who saw you run out of her apartment, leaving her lying on the floor, bleeding, half conscious.”
“Well, that’s nuts, okay? We had a little spat, that’s all. I guess she’s still pissed at me, so she’s saying crazy stuff.”
“Your little spat put her in the hospital.”
Shock reverberated through him, jumped into his eyes. “Arden’s in the hospital. Where? I have to go be with her. She’ll need me.”
“That’s the last thing she needs. You’re going to need some shoes, Mr. Dubecki.”
“Why?”
“Because we’re going to have a longer conversation at the station. Detective Venmar, why don’t you go with Mr. Dubecki to get his shoes, a jacket. It’s a little cool out tonight.”
“I’m not going anywhere with you, and you need to leave. I know my rights!”
“I haven’t read them to you yet. Let me fix that. Dustin Dubecki, you’re under arrest for assault, for attempted murder, for sexual assault, for attempted rape. You have the right to remain silent.”
“This is insane. Arrest? Bullshit. Arden and I love each other. We’re devoted. She’s just upset. I need to talk to her and straighten this out.”
“Let’s get your shoes,” Venmar said as Brill continued the Miranda. “Bedroom?”
He wanted to punch them both, toss them out. But there were two of them. The man might have a spare tire, but he looked tough.
Cooperate, he told himself. Everything would work out.
“Yeah, yeah. Look, you have to take me to the hospital. I have to see her. She needs me to look out for her. She’s got some emotional issues.”
Venmar followed him out of the living area, past a kitchen/great room area, and into a bedroom.
“Hey, Brill, you should see this.”
“I set that up to surprise Arden,” Dustin said as he got shoes out of the walk-in closet. “To show her what she means to me. Those emotional issues? She needs lots of reassurance, attention.”
“I bet it’s a surprise, seeing how she reported this stuff missing after a break-in at her apartment last week.”
Cold sweat pearled on the back of his neck, but he let out an easy laugh.
“Boy, do you have it wrong. We’ve been seeing each other for months.” Dustin shook his head. “She likes to play games. She’s a writer, you know, so she makes stuff up, all the time.”
“Right.” Brill took out her handcuffs. “Hands behind your back.”
He sneered at her. “Look, I’m not letting some woman playing cop put handcuffs on me. I’ve had about enough of this, so back off now. Do you know who the hell I am?”
When he shoved her back, she shot Venmar a look that had him lifting his hands so she could muscle Dustin around, snap on the cuffs.
“I just love playing cop. We’ll be adding breaking and entering, theft, assaulting an officer, and resisting to your menu of charges.”
He submitted, completely and all at once. He couldn’t fight two of them. But it would all work out. It always did.
“This is a terrible mistake. Arden will tell you. It’s just one of her games.”
When Arden woke, the headache pounding, her throat aching, Zoey leaned over to take her hand.
“I’m here.”
For a moment everything stayed blank, then it came in drips and trickles. “Hospital,” she whispered.
“That’s right. And you’re going to be okay. Here, try to drink a little.”
When Zoey held it for her, Arden tried to sip from the straw. “Hard to swallow.”
“I know, but that’ll pass.”
“Time is it?”
“It’s just after seven. In the morning. You got some decent sleep, and they said that’s key. Rest and more rest.” She stroked Arden’s hair. “More water?”
When Arden shook her head, Zoey set the cup down. “You’ll want it straight. He hurt you. You’ve got a concussion, needed a few stitches. You’ve got a bruised trachea, but it’s not broken or crushed.”
She stopped because her voice had cracked. Zoey swallowed, then continued.
“You’ve got a pair of black eyes, some facial cuts and bruises on top of that. Other bruises where you fell—your hip, your shoulder. He sexually assaulted you, but the rape kit was negative.”
She lifted Arden’s hand to her face, then pressed her lips to the palm.
“They took a bunch of tests, and they’ll do more, but there’s no sign of cognitive damage, no brain bleeds.
They’re probably going to want to keep you today, get you up to walk, that sort of thing.
Then you can go home. Tomorrow. To your place or to stay with Mom and Dad for a couple days. ”
She held up a hand before Arden could speak.
“The only reason we won’t argue if you decide your place is because you have the magnificent John and Monica downstairs.”
“They were there. John, at the door.”
“That’s right. The bastard ran off when John pounded on your door. And Monica rode in the ambulance with you, stayed with you. They are now my favorite people in the world.
“The police have him, Arden. They arrested him.”
Arden inhaled in shaky, multiple gulps. Closing her eyes, she began to shudder.
“Easy now. I’m here.”
“Locked up?”