The Gender Plan (The Gender Game #6)(21)

“The boys,” Desmond said quickly. “You wouldn’t want anything to happen to the boys.”

“Killing you is the best thing I could do for the boys,” Ms. Dale replied, but now there was the barest bit of hesitance in her voice, and Desmond, lying helpless and weaponless on the grass, knew it.

“Seven days,” Desmond said dreamily, ignoring the jab.

I sensed what she was doing—lying to save her skin—but now I had to know what she was talking about, too.

“Seven days ‘til what?” I growled.

“Viggo, dear, don’t try to play the bad cop. Even Melissa here can do it better than you, and she’s a sorry excuse for a—”

Desmond’s laconic drawl cut off sharply as Ms. Dale fired her gun, the explosion deafening. I was shocked for a moment—until I saw there was no blood or bullet hole. Desmond had simply flinched, jerking her head to the side as though she’d been stung. The shot had hit the ground close to her face. Expert control on Ms. Dale’s part.

“I am this close to killing you,” Ms. Dale spat. “Answer the question.”

Desmond’s voice was just a little higher when she replied, “If I’m gone longer than seven days, my people will order all of the boys under ten into the river and let them drown. The boys younger than fourteen on the next day, and so on and so forth. Elena and I discussed it, in the eventuality that you people got a hold of me like you did King Maxen. The older boys are much easier to work with, so she may keep them alive, at least for a while longer…”

“You’re lying,” Ms. Dale snarled, not losing her focus on Desmond as Violet and I stared. My stomach twisted into knots. She’d sprung her trap, and now we were flailing in it.

Desmond’s lips twitched up. “Shoot me and find out,” she crooned.

“Fine,” Ms. Dale said, and before I could voice the shock of alarm that coursed through me, she’d spun her gun around in her hand, stepped forward, and knocked Desmond on the head with the butt of it. The older woman’s neck snapped backward, and she slumped.

“We’ve heard enough out of you,” Ms. Dale snapped, then pulled back, huffing, and looked at me and Violet.

“I know what you’re going to say,” she said, bitterness oozing from her words.

“We can’t take the risk?”

“Yes. And, as much as I hate to say this, I agree. Until we can find some way to verify that all the boys are safe from the Matrians… even the possibility of this being true…” Ms. Dale’s voice became sharper. “She’s got our hands tied. Viggo, you get your wish. We have to take her with us.”

“I’m starting to reconsider that wish,” I growled.

Ms. Dale shrugged. I’d rarely seen her this visibly angry, her posture rigid and her teeth clenched. “Too bad.”

Violet shifted in my arms and put her face against my chest. “Viggo?”

“Yes?”

“Let’s get out of here, please. Desmond was on the handheld earlier—calling reinforcements. We need to go.”

“Of course, baby,” I said, everything falling away except my need to get her back to safety as quickly as possible.

That seemed to be all Violet needed to hear in order to let go completely. She sagged in my arms then, and I gently took hold of her knees and pulled her up to my chest, supporting her weight with both my arms. Ms. Dale studied us for a moment, her eyes reflecting her concern. “Is she all right?” she asked, taking a step closer without letting her weapon lose its bead on Desmond.

Violet’s eyes were closed now, her breathing deep and even. I looked up at Ms. Dale and shook my head, baffled. “She just… fell asleep.”

Ms. Dale frowned and took a step closer, using one hand to peel back Violet’s eyes. Violet murmured something, her left hand coming up to bat Ms. Dale’s hand away before nestling in closer to me. “She’s exhausted. Whatever happened in there must’ve been a very draining experience for her physically.”

I clutched her tighter. “It was definitely mental as well. Her eyes were all right, though?” I murmured, remembering how Violet had seemed… well, sort of all right after the palace, but had slowly started to slip away as we watched, her mind becoming more and more fractured as blood had pressed into her brain.

Ms. Dale responded with her eyes back on Desmond. “Her pupils were responsive, and she woke up when I began to probe her. It’s physical, for sure. Probably overexerted herself. We’ll have Dr. Tierney take a look when we get back, but I think she’s fine.”

The breath I had been holding came out in a slow huff, and I nodded. “Great. Let’s get out of here—one of us will have to take Owen’s vehicle, and we’ll have to load up the guys.”

Tsking under her breath, Ms. Dale whirled and stalked away, back toward the car. She came to a halt right in front of the driver-side door, seemingly torn. After a moment, she whirled back and moved up to me. “Desmond better go in your car,” she warned. “Because if I take her in Owen’s, she won’t get back to base alive.”

Turning, I took a look at the other two cars in the drive. One I recognized as Ashabee’s, but the other clearly belonged to Desmond. “How long do you think we have?”

Ms. Dale checked her watch, frowning. “Before this place is crawling? Hard to say. Why?”