I held the cat carrier in one hand while an aging Siamese cat yowled in protest. Melinda Hill was strapping her one-year-old son into the car seat in the old minivan, while Hailey, the volunteer from the Dearborn domestic violence shelter, stuffed a hastily-packed bag of clothes, diapers, and formula into the back. Hailey and I had arrived ten minutes before, and Melinda hadn’t stopped shaking that entire time, but she didn’t let that stop her. She clicked the last buckle into place and stepped back.
By contrast, Hailey was completely calm. Her every movement was careful and deliberate. She took the cat carrier from me and set it into the back seat beside the boy.
Melinda jumped every time someone drove up the street. Thankfully, midmorning traffic had been relatively light. I heard another car approaching and offered her a reassuring smile.
Melinda stiffened, and then every muscle in her body seemed to turn to mud. I turned to see a red Jeep speeding down the block. Only a madman would do forty down a residential street. A madman or a pissed-off husband. He wasn’t slowing down, and I reached for Hailey, preparing to fling her onto the grass if the driver tried to ram us. He slammed on the brakes at the last minute, tires screeching against the pavement.
“Shit.” Hailey stepped in front of me. This was only the third time I had helped to escort a client. I was technically still a trainee and Hailey’s responsibility. “Get in the van with Melinda, lock the doors, and call 911.”
Melinda was whispering, “I’m sorry,” over and over. Her eyes were dry. It frightened me how quickly and thoroughly she had faded when her husband appeared, becoming a ghost of who she was.
I helped her into the van, then retrieved the oak cane I had tucked beneath the seat. “You’re going to be all right.”
I couldn’t tell if she heard me or not. By now, Hailey had pulled out a handheld radio and was holding it like a beacon. “Mister Hill, the PPO says you’re not allowed to be within one hundred yards of your wife. This conversation is being recorded. I know you’re angry, but please get back in your car and contact Mrs. Hill’s lawyer to resolve this.”
Christopher Hill didn’t look like an evil man, nor was he particularly imposing. He was in his mid-twenties, dressed in a bland gray shirt and paisley tie. It was his shoes that caught my eye, black and polished like glass. Perfectly clean, just as the house had been.
This wasn’t how I had imagined the man who had broken three of his wife’s ribs and cracked her left eye socket.
He didn’t say a word, probably hoping that would prevent the recording from being used against him. He strode toward Hailey and reached for the radio. I stepped between them.
“Dammit, Lena,” said Hailey. “I told you—”
“I’m all right.” I rested both hands on the cane. “Mister Hill, you need to leave.”
His mouth opened, and then his eyes twitched toward the radio. With a grimace, he reached out to shove me aside.
I bent my knees, rooting myself to the pavement, and smiled. He pushed harder.
Hailey’s composure was slipping. “Mister Hill, you’re committing an act of battery against Lena Greenwood. You need to return to your car.”
He scowled and tried again to shove past us. I moved with him, keeping my body interposed.
“This is my house,” he hissed in a low voice. “That’s my son. My wife.”
My smile grew. “Not for much longer, I think.”
His first punch was, frankly, disappointing. I don’t think he expected much from a heavyset Indian girl leaning on a cane. I shifted my stance and swung the cane with both hands to intercept his blow. Wood cracked against the bone of his forearm.
“Son of a bitch!” He jumped back, clutching his arm.
“Lena, don’t,” Hailey warned.
I was doing exactly what I had been trained not to do. We were supposed to deescalate conflict whenever possible, and to get away and call the police if we were in danger. But those rules had been written for human volunteers.
He rushed me again, and I struck his knee, dropping him to the road. I switched to a one- handed grip on the cane and reached down to twist my fingers into his shirt. I had never felt so strong, so powerful. I flung him onto the grass. He scrambled to his feet, but I rapped him on the side of the head with the end of the cane.
“Stop it!”
The shout had come from Melinda. She was crying. Hailey was holding her back, but she twisted free as I watched. She ran past me, interposing herself between me and her husband just as I had done seconds before when I tried to protect her.
I lowered the cane. “I don’t understand. He—”
“Get in the van, Lena.” Hailey’s face was red. She clipped the radio back to her belt. “Shut up and get in the goddamned van.”
I looked past her to Christopher Hill, silently daring him to get up. He groaned and sagged into the grass. Then I turned my attention to Melinda, who stood over her husband, ready to fight off anyone who tried to hurt him.
I hadn’t understood until then. Christopher Hill had bound his wife to him. He had twisted who she was, making himself the core of her being. She couldn’t leave him. Not without first freeing herself from his power.
She was like me.
Without another word, I retreated into the van.
BOTH MY PLACE AND Nidhi’s were on Harrison’s hit list. After a brief debate, I drove to the library instead. It was as secure a location as any to spend the night, and if Harrison did come after us, I’d have plenty of books on hand.
I parked around back, out of sight from the street. I checked through the windows, then unlocked the back door. The alarm system beeped at me until I punched in the six-digit code to deactivate it.
Lena walked through the darkened library, bokken in one hand, the branch from her oak in the other. I set my books down, then returned to the car to fetch an old blanket from the trunk. I re-armed the alarm as soon as I
