Page 4 of Arresting the Warlord

A canary yellow Mustang convertible whizzed by. My radar gun beeped. The guy was doing one hundred and twenty miles an hour! “Yippee-ki-yay! Prepare to be lassoed cowboy.” I hit the lights and sirens and chased after him.

Did the Jackass slow down? Nope. He sped up. He was about to learn you never messed with a cop who was also a shaman. I drew on my power and chanted, “Sepulcrum ibidem solus novum. Vem Hum. Domum rotundam!”

A small black cloud formed over the convertible.

“Miraculin. Vivtorie construxit!”

A downpour of rain hit the Mustang. The Jackass increased his speed.

I grinned as the cloud followed the Mustang like a faithful dog. It would only take a minute or two before the interior of car became a lake. Hey, breaking the law had consequences.

The Jackass slowed and pulled over.

I parked behind him. “Oi-oi-oi-oi solus novum!” The cloud vanished.

Putting on my official brown cowboy hat, I grabbed my ticket book and walked up to the Mustang. Crap. He was a Coletti warrior. Why hadn’t I sensed him early? Did I make nice or cite him? “License and registration.”

Water dripping down his face, the Jackass scowled at me. “Do you know who I am?”

“No. I need your license and registration, sir,” I said in my best stern cop’s voice.

“I’m a Coletti warlord. I don’t need a license or registration.” He opened the driver’s door, allowing the water to spill out on my boots.

Resisting the urge to smack him with my ticket book, I said politely, “That’s going to create a bit of a problem, sir.”

The soggy Jackass got out of the car and bared his fangs at me. “Local police departments have no jurisdiction over warlords.”

I had to admit the arrogant Jackass was one fine specimen of manhood and quite handsome. The Jackass’s hair was black with auburn highlights. I didn’t think Coletti warriors used hairdressers, but I could be wrong. His black tee-shirt clung to his muscular chest nicely and his jeans fit him like a glove. The prick was drool worthy, but the law was the law. “You’re on Navajo Nation’s lands,sir, and you need a driver’s license and registration to operate a vehicle.”

“And if I don’t have them?” He loomed over me.

“Then I’ll have to impound your car and place you under arrest.” The Jackass wanted to play hardball? Game on. I did love a challenge.

The Jackass’s gaze roved over my petite form and he snorted in disbelief. “You’re going to arrest me? All by yourself, buttercup?”

Buttercup? “I am.”

“I can always teleport away.”

I shrugged. “Maybe, but you can’t teleport the car, now can you?”

A muscle in his jaw twitched.

Boys and their toys. An instant later, I felt his mind hit my mental shields and bounce off. I bared my teeth in a predatory smile. “I’m adding assaulting a police officer to your charges.”

The Jackass gave me a gotcha smile. “Zarek thought your people were hiding something. You’re psychic and I’m placingyouunder arrest.”

“Nice try, but I’m also a shaman and according to our treaty, you can’t touch me.”

His eyes narrowed. “That cloudburst was you, wasn’t it?”

“Me?” I admired the bright turquoise sky. There wasn’t a cloud in sight. “The weather can be funny out here. You should have put the top up.”

“It’s broken,” he admitted testily.

“Place your hands on the hood of your car,” I ordered, taking out my cuffs.

“You aren’t arresting me,” Jackass snapped.

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