“You cannot expect to keep me like this for the next nine months!” I said, utterly appalled and humiliated.
“I will do whatever I have to do to give our baby a chance. You can stop this at anytime, Mona Lisa. Think about what I’ve said.”
As if I could do anything else, I thought as he led me out into the bright sun. Even wearing a baseball hat, sunglasses, and light jacket, the warm solar rays must have pained him. If they did, he gave no indication of it.
Part of me wanted to lie, to give him the promise he’d asked of me—that I would not abort the life growing in me. But I could not bring myself to do that, to lie to him. I’d hurt him so much already—brought a curse down upon him and his family—how could I hurt him anymore?
How can you think about harming his child then? a voice inside me whispered.
I don’t know that it is his child, I argued back.
Part of you believes it is his.
Hard to argue with yourself.
Now who’s acting like the crazy one?
Go away! I told the bothersome voice as Dante seated me in the front passenger seat. Slumping back against the soft leather, I shut my eyes, blocking out the sight of him. Wishing it were as easy to ban him from my thoughts.
Think about what I have said, he had asked.
I did, as the miles rolled by.
I did.
SEVENTEEN
WE PASSED A sign announcing we were leaving Mississippi and approaching the Arkansas state line. One moment we were driving sixty-five miles an hour, the maximum speed limit, the next moment we were suddenly backed up in traffic, ten cars in front of us. There was some sort of road block ahead, with police lights flashing.
“You’re heading north,” I said.
Dante didn’t bother answering.
In a few minutes, we would be entering another Queen’s territory. I wondered if that would be better for us or worse.
“They’re checking car registrations, making sure they are valid,” Dante informed me, apparently already having ascertained the reason for the checkpoint up ahead. He seemed unconcerned, which I took to mean that his registration was current and up-to-date. A pity. The thought flashed in my mind and my body tensed: Should I call out to the policeman for help?
“Don’t try it,” Dante warned without looking at me. “I won’t hesitate to hurt him.”
“Damn you, Dante.”
He smiled bleakly. “I have been damned for a long time now.”
“Don’t you dare try to make me feel sorry for you,” I said in a low, heated voice as we pulled up to the waiting patrolman.
“I would not dare, milady.” Rolling down the window, he gave an easy smile.
The patrolman didn’t smile back. “I’ll have to ask you to pull over onto the roadside.”
“What’s the matter, Officer?” Dante asked politely. “My registration is current, and I haven’t been drinking.”
“I just need to look over your driver’s license and proof of insurance,” the officer answered just as politely, but his tone was insistent. “It will only take a few minutes, sir.”
Nodding, Dante pulled off the road as instructed and parked the car. Instead of walking over to us, the patrolman returned to his car. With our acute senses, both of us heard him clearly as he called in a match on the stolen car that had just been reported. He recited the license plate and requested backup.
Dante cursed.
“You’re driving a stolen car?” I asked. Was he a common criminal as well as a kidnapper?
Those pale blue orbs turned and glared at me. “No, this is my car. Your people must have called it in.”
Dante’s door was flung suddenly open.
“Right on the first guess.” Chami shimmered into view, holding a silver dagger to Dante’s throat. He took possession of Dante’s knife and gun, and reached for the car ignition keys.
“Uh-uh-uh. Keep your hands on the steering wheel,” my chameleon chided in warning as Dante tensed. “I will not hesitate to cut off your head here in front of all these nice people,” he said in a low, deadly voice.
Dante must have believed Chami’s threat, I certainly did, because he kept his hands on the wheel as Chami removed the keys and pocketed them. When Chami eased back on the pressure of the blade, I saw a thin red line of blood trickle down Dante’s neck from where the knife had cut into his skin.
I choked back my instinctive cry—Don’t hurt him, Chami—swallowing back the words because I knew that if I tethered the violence on Chami’s end, it would explode out from Dante.
Oh Goddess, please don’t let them hurt each other.
Chami drew out a thin whistle and blew it, three short blasts. The frequency was too high pitched for humans to hear. But animals—and Monère—would be able to hear it clearly.
“Hey, what’s going on?” the patrolman demanded, striding quickly back to us. There was only surprise not alarm in his voice at seeing a third person suddenly with us. From his tone, I could tell that he hadn’t seen the knife yet.
“Milady, if you can kindly take care of the nice policeman,” Chami requested, keeping his eyes and knife on Dante.
“That’ll be a little hard for me to do, Chami. I’m handcuffed.”
“To the car? Or just behind your back?”
“Behind my back.”
“Hey you, in the black shirt. Step away from the car,” the officer ordered, wariness in his voice now. He released the safety strap from his gun holster.
“Can you open the door and scoot out?” Chami asked. “I cannot handle both of them.”
I had a moment to think, Well, duh. I should have thought of that. Then I was blindly groping for the door handle. My hands fell on the lever, pulled it, and I started to topple backward as the door swung open behind me.
“Careful,” Dante barked, grabbing my shoulder. That was the only thing that saved me from tumbling out of the car. He looked furious. There was no concern at all over the knife that was cutting deep into the side of his neck, trailing a small rivulet of blood down his shirt. He was focused entirely on me.
“Release her,” Chami snarled.
When he was assured that I had my balance once more, he did, and launched himself at Chami with sudden, swift violence, knocking Chami’s dagger aside with a swing of his arm, the warrior bracelet hidden beneath the jacket striking away the blade with jarring force.
They fell from my sight to the ground as I awkwardly wriggled out of the car, my heart pounding.
“Officer, help me,” I cried with unfeigned terror. “He kidnapped me. Tied up my wrists.”
“What the hell,” the policeman muttered, his attention diverted to me. He lifted the gun he had trained on the two wrestling men, and strode around the car to me.
The officer’s eyes locked with mine, and I had him. Power burned up from within me and spilled out in an invisible gush.
“You see only two men fighting. No weapons, no knife, no blood. A domestic matter that you do not wish to be concerned with,” I said in a voice that throbbed with the power I had called up, compelling him to my will. “You will go back to your car and report that you were mistaken about the vehicle. The license plate was Alpha-Bravo-George, not Charlie. Then you will wave the other cars by, and drive away, forgetting about us.”
The officer returned to his car, obediently radioed in the correction, and waved on the few cars that had slowed down to gawk at us. When he had cleared the road of traffic, when no other cars were in sight, he pulled away.
“Stop,” I cried, rushing to the two warriors fighting in deadly silence.
Without any human witnesses to hinder him now, Chami winked out of sight—chameleon. An unseen punch sent Dante’s head swinging back. He retaliated with a back-handed blow that caught Chami in the stomach, shimmering the chameleon back into view. Chami’s dagger came stabbing down.