Like Divorce
Dieter Schwarz
Until we weren’t.
Yeah, that got to me.
Ten minutes later, Dieter and Flicka were belted into the car and driving north through the wintry afternoon. The light snow had cleared, and the sun was burning away the thin clouds above them. He squinted as the sunlight bounced from chrome fenders and mirrors of the cars driving around them.
Flickareached across the console between the seats, palm up. Dieter slid his fingers between hers while they sped through the French countryside. She looked out her passenger window, craning her soft neck to watch behind them in the rearview mirror.
He guided the car down the narrow street, walls and dying bushes on one side, an auto repair shop on the other.
Beyond that corner, brown, dead fieldslying fallow for the winter alternated with white-walled houses surrounded by bushes and trees. Cheery red tiles slanted over the roofs. Even the plastered walls encircling the houses were capped with the same red, rounded tiles.
They drove through the afternoon countryside for five minutes until he turned the car onto a larger highway, trucks and cars speeding in several lanes in both directions.Motorcyclists wove through the traffic.
He managed the maneuver one-handed, so he didn’t need to release Flicka’s soft fingers.
In half an hour or so, they should be outside any dragnet the police might set for them.
Dieter pressed down on the accelerator, feeling the strain in his knee.
Five minutes after that, a group of police cars and a large police van screamed down the other side ofthe highway.
A helicopter followed.
Flicka asked, “Do you think they were looking for us?”
“It’s possible,” Dieter replied, watching the flashing lights fade into the distance in his side mirror.
It was more than possible. It was absolutely likely, and the police and National Guard might be installing a roadblock somewhere ahead of them.
Pierre had probably told the French that Flicka hadbeen kidnapped, and France would certainly respond with all resources to rescue a kidnapped princess.
Dammit.
Dieter stuck their car in the slow lane and drove well under the speed limit, doing nothing to attract attention. In the rearview mirror, cars and trucks lined up in an orderly formation, and no police cars wove through the traffic that he could see.
Still, he didn’t begin to breathemore easily for another half hour, until they passed through the town of Nimes and were headed for Lyon.
Flicka settled back in her seat and squeezed his fingers. “You okay?”
“Better now. Shouldn’t I be asking you that?”
“I’m doing okay. Better now that we have a destination. I’m sure this will come as a shock to you, but I like everything all planned out, nice and neat, with goals and timetables.”
Dieter laughed, and it felt so good to laugh with her. “I hadn’t noticed.”
“There are worse ways to be.” She stared at the front windshield. When Dieter stole a peek at her, she was smiling.
He asked, “Do you think your father will tell Wulfram what’s going on?”
“I’m sure of it. After that whole misunderstanding where our father kidnapped Wulfie’s wife and told her crazy family she needed anexorcism—”
Dieter repressed a snort and a growl.
“—Wulfie kind of took over our father’s finances and liberties. He’s doing it to protect Rae, but our father can’t leave the house without guards who answer to Wulf. They would need to clear everything through Wulfram. I’m sure that’s just a formality, though.”
