After the car was out of sight, Caroline ran inside the house, stepping warily across the threshold, not sure what she would find after having heard a gunshot. She eased deeper into the room, her eyes scanning about until they lit on Michael struggling frantically to get to his feet. She ran to him.
Her face registered alarm. “Oh my God, Michael, I didn't know you were here. Are you hurt badly? Are you all right? Oh God, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry,” she cried, reaching out to touch him, honestly touched by an emotion other than anger for a change. She was fearful and teary eyed by awareness that she was indirectly responsible for the harm done Michael. The police could charge her as an accomplice, considering how she manipulated the system to get in touch with Chandler.
“Sorry for what, Caroline?” he demanded, staggering to his feet with her support, and walking unsteadily toward the phone. “What were you doing here? Why are you sorry?”
“I'm sorry I told him. I had no idea it would turn out like this.”
She was noticeably rattled or else, she would have kept her mouth shut.
“You told him?” Michael exclaimed, completely confused by her admission. “How in the hell did you know him?”
“There was a missing person's report sent to the station. I called Miami and informed them Mrs. Chandler was here. I left my name with them and Mr. Chandler called me directly. I had no idea he was that sort of person.”
Suddenly realizing the magnitude of what she had done and the damage wrought already, Caroline was scared. “Oh, God, you don't suppose he'll hurt her, do you?”
Contempt and disgust filled the look Michael sent her. The side of her face looked red as if it had received a hard impact from a hand. The skin beneath her eye was turning purple.
Caroline saw him looking at her face. “He hit me. The son of a bitch hit me.” Her eyes blinked wildly, and she kept looking back at the door, fearing Tobias might come back. She was scared out of her wits, and was out of form at the moment.
Michael snatched his arm away from her, her touch more contemptible than anything he could imagine. He was thinking she deserved worse than a slap, but he bit back the venom he felt.
Finally, gaining his footing, he struggled across the floor to the telephone and called the police, a task Caroline should have thought of, but she was presently mentally rattled. What he really would like to have done is go after Chandler, but he knew he wouldn't get far in his condition. The bullet hadn't hit any major organs, but he was losing a great deal of blood, which left him weak and dizzy.
Tillie Somers, just getting home from Wednesday night prayer meeting, came rushing through the open door. “Good Lord, Mr.
Matheson, what in the name of God has happened here?” she cried when she saw his bloody shoulder and chest where the blood ran down and soaked into his shirt.
“Tillie, it's a long story. Take the keys and lock up here after I leave. I have to go to the hospital. Take a suitcase and stay at my place tonight or as long as needed. I don't think Rochelle will be here anytime soon.”
“Mr. Matheson, that sweet, gentle girl didn't hurt you, did she?”
“No, Tillie. That sweet, gentle girl wouldn't hurt a fly,” he said, glaring at Caroline with contempt in his eyes. He was pressing his wound, trying to stop the bleeding, but it wasn't stopping and he feared he would pass out soon. He called Mabel, who said she would be right there the second after he said he needed her. Tillie went running to the kitchen and brought back a towel for Michael.
The police came, which was really a waste of time. Michael hoped they would put out an APB on Tobias for kidnapping, but he could not make the new rookie believe a man had kidnapped his own wife. It seemed Caroline was the only person who worked at the police station who knew about the Missing Person's Report, which should have been sufficient indication that Rochelle didn't want to be found by her husband.
“Did she struggle when they were leaving?” the policeman inquired. Stupid question, Michael thought, as the young cop in uniform tried to look and act professional.
“No, she was coerced into agreeing to leave with him to keep him from putting another slug in me,” Michael said irritably. When that made no dent in the thick skull of the policeman, Michael tried another tactic. “The last time I heard, it was against the law for a man to shoot another man. Don't you think that deserves an APB on him?
“What's the license number?”
Michael shook his head in despair. He had no idea what the license number was or the kind of car. “How in the hell am I supposed to know? I was inside all the time.”
“I think it was a rental car because I heard them say something about having flown here on a plane.” Caroline spoke up, still looking frantic and worried over her foolish blunder.
“What color was the car? What was the model?” The rookie policeman asked. His pen was poised between his fingers, and his tiny writing pad was taking his complete attention.
“Hell, what difference does it make,” Michael cursed. “Before you get around to doing anything, they can be out of the country.”
“It was a black car, but I couldn't determine the make,” Caroline supplied for them, shrugging her arms and hands in a pose of uncertainty.
The policeman spoke into his two-way radio.
Car lights shone outside just seconds before Mabel rushed through the door and headed straight for Michael. “Mikey, good Lord, what has happened? Are you all right? Where is Sweetpea?”
“I need a ride to the hospital, Mabel. I'll fill you in on the way.”
Looking at Tillie, he said, “Tillie, lock up and take care of things for me, please.”
“I will, Mr. Matheson. You don't need to worry about anything, but if you don't mind, I'd rather stay here for the time being.”
“If you're comfortable with that, I don't mind,” he told her, and then went with Mabel. The rookie was at his heels asking further nonsensical questions.
Other police cars screamed onto the scene and several policemen swooped down on them, dogging Michael for information while he climbed into Mabel's car. A small town police department employed men who seemed to have only half the training that they did in larger cities. Michael swore they were all rookies. Anyway, hadn't he seen the kind of work they did when his father and Tina were murdered. The bastards were inept, he thought, and slammed the car door in their faces before Mabel drove away.
Caroline came out on the gallery in time to watch Michael crawl into Mabel's car. With the lights of police cars lighting up the place, Michael caught sight of Caroline, and glared his contempt for her.
She recoiled in alarm at the blazing anger on his face, knowing without a doubt that whatever she had shared with Michael was over for good. What she had done was unforgivable. Her actions could very well have gotten him killed. In afterthought, she speculated it was reasonable to believe Chandler might very well kill his wife, and if he did, she, Caroline, would be an accomplice.
With her head bowed remorsefully, she begged a ride with a policeman, who wanted to know what in the hell she was doing there in the first place. She made some nonsensical answer, not wanting to revisit her part in the whole situation.
Tobias Chandler, who had been happy to pick Caroline up in order to gain directions to Rochelle, had used her, just as she had used him. The anticipated thrill of flaunting Tobias in Michael's face, and the joy in letting him know she was responsible for setting Tobias on Rochelle, was gone. In its place, was a dull throbbing ache etched with stirrings of strong guilt and a sense of loss that was as final as anything she had ever experienced. She used bad judgment and it cost her every opportunity of any further relationship with Michael, even friendship. In addition, she would lose her job—or maybe have charges filed against her—when word reached her boss that she precipitated the entire situation that got Michael shot and Rochelle abducted.
She would be an outcast from now on in this small town. For the most part, she all ready was, and knowing that, she made a decision.
It was time to move on.