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I tip my chin up. “I don’t go by that name anymore.”
“Funny,” the rookie says, “because you’re still married, as far as we know.”
The older cop doesn’t correct him, but he straightens, his gaze on me behind his glasses. He doesn’t spare any of the others a glance, as if he doesn’t care. Other members of our family appear from the tents, curious about what’s going on.
“What do you want with Ember?” Diamond asks.
“It’s none of your business, freak,” the rookie sneers.
Diamond smiles, and the rookie stiffens at the look. It’s not a nice smile. “Everyone in this cirque is my business,” he says, his tone threatening. “Now, tell us your reasons for encroaching on our camp.”
The rookie’s lips curl, and he opens his mouth to respond, but the older cop holds his hand up to stop him, and he snaps his mouth closed immediately.
“You’ve been reported as a missing person, Mrs. Campbell.” I grit my teeth at the use of the surname, but I hold my response until he finishes. “Your husband, Dr. Campbell, reported that you’d been kidnapped by these . . . people. We’re here to bring you home.”
My blood goes cold, and I take a step back. “My husband?”
“Come with us and we’ll take you home,” the officer says with a nod. “Then we can put this all to rest.”
The gloom over my head darkens further. “No,” I tell them.
“Now, Mrs. Campbell?—”
“Don’t call me that!” I snarl, taking another step back. “I want nothing to do with that man! You’ve delivered your message. Now leave.”
The rookie sneers. “Don’t be stupid. No one chooses to stay with these freaks.”
“I did,” I hiss. “I do. No one kidnapped me. This is my home.”
Club curls his fingers around my forearm, offering comfort, and the older cop takes note of the movement. When his hand twitches toward the gun on his hip, Diamond snarls.
“I suggest you don’t make that mistake,” Diamond warns. “We’re not being aggressive, officer.”
He pauses, clearly realizing just how outnumbered he is. “You’re going to come with us, Mrs. Campbell.”
“No,” I repeat. “I’m not. He doesn’t own me. I’m not property. He filed a false report. You should be investigating him and his malpractice.”
The cop’s eyes flash, and I realize he knows what my husband is up to but he’s also been paid off.
“Home isn’t here,” he says carefully. “You either come with us now or we’ll make you. Stockholm syndrome is a real killer.”
“Come on, girlie,” the rookie cajoles, and because he’s an idiot, unlike his partner, he takes a step forward and draws his gun. “Get in the car.”
Everyone surrounds me, my family, my cirque. Each of them offers me strength, protecting me. I tilt my chin up, bolstered by their support. The rookie freezes, his eyes widening even as his partner hisses at him to stand down.
“Listen to your master,” I tell him, and he tenses. Oh, he really doesn’t like that. “I suggest you get in your car and leave. I won’t be going anywhere with you, and you can tell my husband I don’t belong to him. That hold expired the night he tried to kill me.”
“Alright,” the older one says. “Okay. We’re leaving.” The rookie whips his head toward him, but the older cop sneers, “Get in the car.”
The kid clearly doesn’t like it, but he listens because he doesn’t have any choice. He holsters his weapon and turns to climb into the car. The older one hesitates for a moment.
“We’re leaving,” he declares, his eyes on me. “But we’ll be back.”
“I’d warn you against that,” I retort, my expression hard.
He pulls his glasses away and reveals eyes too blue for someone so slimy. “Your husband sends his love.”
My stomach roils as he climbs into his car and turns the engine on.
