It’s been an eternity since I’ve been on the other end of a traffic stop. Sixteen-years-old, junior year of high school, brand new to the road. That was the last time. And for performing an illegal left turn leaving the supermarket. No ticket, just a warning.

It hardly matters with my badge now—but I don’t get pulled over.

I take a deep breath as a wave of apprehension floods through me. This feels like additional punishment for my suspension. Like harassment, even. Like the entire department turned against me while I’ve been gone. But that’s ridiculous.

My suspension was an escalated disagreement with the sheriff, no one else. In fact, most everyone in the department had been on my side. I’m a long ways from earning a target across my back.

This can’t have anything to do with my suspension. That’s not possible.

So what the hell?

I look at Noah, half expecting him to answer my silent question, but he’s staring absently through the windshield. His hand is in his lap. He’s so absorbed in a stare that he’s not registering my gaze and I want to say something just to expel the uncomfortable silence. But no…

I’ve seen his look on too many faces before. It’s a look of panic.

“What is this?” I ask him, but Noah doesn’t answer. And really, it was a question meant more for the officer parked behind us. I’m fighting the urge to throw open my door and lecture whichever bonehead pulled me over. Me—of all people. But it occurs to me that I’m not in my squad car, which makes throwing open my door a terrible idea.

And the realization is also vaguely soothing—that’s why I’m pulled over. This isn’t my car, they don’t know it’s me.

Though I’m still about to make this novice deputy look like a fool. At this point, I’m itching for it.

I check the mirror, but no one has emerged yet. Probably still running plates that aren’t even mine. Although, that doesn’t explain what prompted them to pullover and ordinary sedan in the first place. And after only minute of driving. Hell, I barely merged onto the highway—I didn’t have the chance to speed even if I wanted to.

They must have been following me. But I would’ve noticed that. Wouldn’t I?

I don’t ever let my guard down, except for tonight while I’ve been preoccupied with Noah. But damn it—that’s not an excuse.

So maybe the officer was following me.

“What the hell?” Noah finally asks, glancing into his mirror. But this time I’m the one that remains silently. I’m mentally retracing our moves since the bar, which takes less than ten seconds.

I turned right out of the parking lot. Another right at the light, which was green, no wait time. About a minute and a half on the frontage road. Left to merge onto the highway.

Approximately five minutes total. No more than six.

We’ve now been pulled over for longer than I drove.

The officer is still tucked in their cruiser and the glare of the lights is too intense to make out the figure behind the wheel. My leg is bouncing in place. I’m desperately searching the review mirror when something hits me. A thought I’ve been subliminally pushing aside, until now.

“Noah,” I say, turning to face him. “Do you have a warrant out?”

His head snaps toward me. “Of course not,” he says. His eyebrows furrow decisively, but the subtle look of panic is still hiding in his eyes.

His words are playing over in my head. I’m dealing with something. I think it’s fair I tell you that.

“You didn’t forget a ticket or miss a court date or anything like that?” I ask.

“No,” he says, this time with unwavering certainty. “There’s nothing, I don’t have anything.”

I nod and silence the voice running circles in my head. The reality is that if I’d managed to drive error-free after leaving the bar, which I had, and if we’d only been driving for five minutes, on the highway for a mere thirty seconds, than that leaves one possibility…

Whoever pulled us over had definitely followed us. And they’d been waiting.

Just then the door of the cruiser swings open and a wide frame emerges under the flashing lights. He’s too bulky for me to recognize. His lumbering pace isn’t familiar.

Then suddenly it is.

My jaw clenches and an anxious quiver pulses through my veins. I follow Sheriff Vernon’s frame in the mirror until he’s standing outside my open window. There’s a thin smirk on his lips when he first leans down, but it disappears almost instantly.

“Bell?” he asks, his thick face slipping into a look of utter surprise.

“Hello, Sheriff,” I reply. I’m making a concerted effort to compose my voice, but I can’t do anything to hide the fact that I’m sitting pulled-over in someone else’s vehicle, staring up at the face of the same man that furiously suspended me nearly two weeks ago.

His eyes shift to Noah in the passenger seat, but Noah remains gazing forward. Sheriff Vernon stands upright and his eyes flick back to me.

“What the hell are you doing?” he finally asks. His look of confusion has disappeared, replaced with the harshly accusatory tone that he uses like a whip.

“Driving home,” I say flatly.

His eyebrows bow and a new look of arrogance takes over. “I got eyes enough to see that,” he says in his cruel southern drawl. “I’ll ask again, what the hell are you doing?”

“I believe I just answered that, sir.” I glare into his eyes and all at once it’s like we’re back in his office arguing over my arrest of Quincy Walters. I picture him sitting stoutly behind his desk, pink anger in his cheeks, and the strangest part is that it makes me unusually calm. Like I’m reenacting a fight I’ve already endured. And this time I have an advantage.

This time I’ve done nothing wrong.

“Is there a problem, Sheriff?” I ask. “I’d like to get on with the night.”

His belly bounces as he chuckles. “This sure is a funny surprise,” he says. “I didn’t expect to see you two together.”

“Excuse me?” I feign a look of confused annoyance, though I hardly have to fake it at all.

Sheriff Vernon leans over and peers through the window. “Hi there, Noah,” he drawls, resting his arm in the windowsill.

I spin around, expecting to see Noah fuming with annoyance. But his expression is blank.

“You two know each other?” I ask, turning back to face Sheriff Vernon.

“We sure do,” he says, coughing another humorless laugh. “Old family friends. I would’a thought Noah here would’a mentioned somethin’ about it seein’ as you two seem to be gettin’ along.” He rests his other arm on the window, squaring his body so close to me that I can smell tobacco on his breath. “Found yourself a nice purty cop gal, huh?” he says to Noah.

“Excuse me,” I hiss again.

“I apologize, I’m just a little surprised is all,” he says. “Surprised to see you, Bell. But even more surprised to see you out with a knucklehead. You told him you’re one of my detectives, right? And my name still ain’t come up?”

“What a shame.” I crease my lips and narrow my glare.

“Noah, you sure are silent, son. Got any—”

“He’s under no obligation to talk to you,” I cut in.

“Well, maybe not in the legal sense,” the sheriff drawls. “But we’re all friends here and Noah sure ain’t bein’ too friendly.” There’s a vindictive sarcasm coating his every word.

My initial concern is starting to feel more and more accurate by the second—this feels a lot like deliberate harassment.

Fury is boiling in my gut. “Were you waiting for me outside the bar?” I ask, angrily expelling the words into the air.

“The bar?” Cliff exclaims. “You two ain’t been drinkin’ tonight, have you?”

“Answer my question.”

“You’re makin’ me suspicious, Bell. How’s about a quick sobriety test? Will you step out of the car for me?

“Are you serious?” A new sense of urgency constricts in my chest. “Sir, I explained that my passenger and I are on our way home. I am sober. He is not. That’s why I’m driving his vehicle and I’d like to get home. So if you wouldn’t mind—”

“I said out of the car,” he snarls.

I look over at Noah for what feels like the first time in hours. He watches cautiously as I unbuckle. I shoot him a look of frustration, but the expression he returns has a noticeable discomfort in it.

“Hands on the roof,” Sheriff Vernon barks before I’m even out of the car. “You ain’t got your personal on you, do you?”

I tell him no, I’m not carrying, but he pats me down regardless.

This is absurd.

Each pat intensifies my debate over whether to comply with my superior or launch into the furious rant that’s been brewing inside me for the last two weeks. But I stop weighing the options when I remember Noah sitting in the car. At the very least, I’ll have a witness for my harassment report.

“Turn around and face me,” Sheriff Vernon orders. “Now follow my light with your pupils, you know the drill, don’t move your head.”

I follow his directions without speaking. I could recite each and every procedure that’s about to come my way, but this is—officially—my first time undergoing a real field sobriety test. A fact that I don’t welcome in the slightest.

When Sheriff Vernon is done with the HGN test, he drops the small light to his side, smirks and says, “A DUI sure ain’t gonna get you back to work very soon.” He takes a few steps back, leans over the bulge of his stomach, and peers at Noah. “But he sure is an interesting piece of company you’re keepin’.”

“Would you like to breathalyze me?” I ask, not bothering to hide my irritation.

“Yes.” He straightens his posture. “As a matter of fact, I think I would.”

I nod once over. “Go right ahead.”

I hold him in a scowl as I blow into the miniature straw. When it beeps, Sheriff Vernon looks down, then stows the Breathalyzer without saying a word.

“Am I good to go now?” I ask.

He looks at me with daggers in his eyes. “You’re fine enough, but I ain’t sold on your judgment, Detective. I’m startin’ to think we might need to change a few things once you’re back. Maybe make a few… arrangements.”

He takes a step past me and leans into the window again.

“But I must say, the judgment of ol’ Noah surprised me somethin’ tonight. Mighty smart of you not to get behind the wheel, son. Mighty smart,” he growls.

“Looks like I’m good to go then, is that correct?” I ask, stepping forward and joining the sheriff at the window.

He straightens and faces me.

“But hey, I really appreciate your concern tonight, Cliff.” It’s the first time I’ve ever used his first name and it rolls off my tongue with wicked bliss. Without spoiling the taste with another word, I climb back into the car and drive off.