Plodding through the soil, she pushed the cornstalks out of the way. The other vehicle had stopped, positioned across the road, its extinguished headlights pointed toward her. A shadow of a figure sat motionless in the driver’s seat.
Is he watching me?
“Hello, are you okay?” she called, nerve endings prickling to life. Where was her backup?
The headlights flipped on and her hand instinctively came up to block the bright beams trained on her.
“Turn your headlights off, sir.” She cocked her head, straining to see past the blinding lights.
The high beams flashed on and she jerked her head back. What in the world?
Her other hand hovered over her gun. You’ve got this. You’re trained for this. She took a step back. Crops didn’t exactly provide protection, but they could provide a hiding place if necessary.
“Step out of your car,” she ordered, keeping her tone authoritative and even, like she had practiced. Becky was jacked up on adrenaline from nearly getting hit head-on, but the mood had shifted from apprehension to determination. She had a job to do.
The man was watching her. Toying with her. She planted her feet in the soil, ready to draw her gun. Her legs felt like jelly, but she ignored the sensation. Nerves came with the job. She had been trained to fire a gun and hit a target. She had never shot another human being and prayed tonight wouldn’t change that.
“Out of your car now!” she ordered, feeling her entire body tense.
The engine of the car fired to life, the sound rumbling through her chest. The tires spun, spewing the acrid smell of burned rubber. She fought back a cough, keeping her sharpened attention on the vehicle. The tires gained purchase and the car backed up, stopped abruptly, then raced down the road, back in the direction it had come.
Becky’s shoulders sagged and she drew in a few deep breaths. Staring toward the vehicle, she waited a moment, anticipating another drive-by. The early-morning chirping of birds seeped into her consciousness before she allowed herself to let down her guard. He’s gone. She strode back to the patrol car and flipped off the flashing lights. She pressed her shoulder radio and said, “ETA on the tow truck?”
“Five minutes,” the dispatcher asked. “Everything okay?”
“Yeah,” she said, a not-exactly truthful reply, but a necessary one. A person couldn’t show weakness on this job. Not if they wanted to be seen as competent.
Becky gave the dispatcher what limited information she had on the car that ran her off the road. Maybe they’d pull him over, figure out what his problem was.
Becky leaned against the trunk of her patrol car and ran a hand across her clenched jaw. She didn’t know who ran her off the road, but she suspected he had known exactly who his target was.
Her.
* * *
This wasn’t exactly how Becky had envisioned her first shift back at work. The tow truck driver insisted he could drop her off in front of the sheriff’s station before taking the vehicle to the repair shop to make sure mud from her off-roading adventure wasn’t clogging anything up. She was pretty sure he had been more specific with some technical terms, but she had tuned him out after the second time he appeared to be hitting on her. Like that never happened before: a guy hitting on a female sheriff’s deputy.
Sorry, not interested.
“Stop. I’m going to get out here,” Becky said, growing impatient as he debated with himself whether he’d be able to weave the tow truck through the narrow parking lot adjacent to the employee entrance.
“No problem.” The young man stopped and gave her a silent stare while she scooted out of the cab. Her foot didn’t reach the ground and she almost missed the running board, which would have added insult to injury. It wasn’t exactly a good shift when a deputy returned with her patrol car trailing behind her.
She didn’t bother giving the tow truck driver instructions because she suspected her boss already had. After determining that his deputy was okay and that the call on Robin Nest was a false alarm, the sheriff had instructed her to report to his office the minute she returned.
On solid ground, Becky smoothed out her uniform shirt. She watched as the tow truck lumbered away, its engine chugging as the sun poked over the horizon. The day shift deputies had started to arrive.
Just great.
Becky might have been imagining it, but several seemed to give her the side eye as they strolled toward the employee entrance, and she suspected it had nothing to do with her going four-wheeling in the cornfields with a patrol car.
She sighed heavily. She had hoped her first day back on patrol was going to be a smooth transition after a rough week. Apparently not.
Fighting the urge to fidget with the cuffs of her sleeves, she approached the entrance. She had wanted to go straight home, take a hot bath and get some solid sleep. But she had strict instructions to report to the sheriff.
Becky walked at a steady pace. She squared her shoulders, determined to prove to anyone who might be judging her that she was confident and self-assured, despite the mud caked up in the wheel wells of her vehicle. She frowned, realizing her driving abilities weren’t the only thing her fellow officers would be questioning. Several had voiced their displeasure when she filed her official report last week against a fellow officer who had been placed on a long-term suspension while the department continued their investigation.
The memory of the sudden brightness of the headlights blinding her earlier this morning while she stood in the cornfields knotted her stomach. Could the anger of one of her fellow officers have turned to retribution? To show Becky just how wrong she had been to point a finger at another officer? To make sure she knew her place not only as one of the newer deputies, but also as a woman?
Support fellow deputies. Don’t testify against them.
Someone had left that note for her last week on her windshield, but she didn’t think it applied in this case. She couldn’t ignore when a fellow deputy crossed a line.
She brushed at her white uniform sleeves, convincing herself that yes, she had done the right thing. A law-enforcement officer didn’t have the right to beat up a young man, even if he had led him on a high-speed chase, barely missing a child crossing the street after getting the mail.
Becky slowed, allowing the first rays of morning sun to warm her face and the buzz of her nerves to settle a bit. An arm reached around her and grabbed the handle of the station door, surprising her.
“Oh, sorry,” Becky muttered, not realizing she had been blocking the entrance. She glanced up into the serious face of Deputy Harrison James, the only deputy with less time at the Quail Hollow Sheriff’s Department than she had. But she wasn’t naive to assume his lack of time in this department meant he had less experience. Everything about him screamed skill, confidence and an “I don’t care what anyone thinks of me” vibe. Three qualities Becky admired.
Three qualities she would like to purchase in bushels right now. If only that was a one-click option online.
Harrison nodded in a silent greeting and pulled open the door for her. He was standing so close she could see the flecks of yellow in his brown eyes.
“Thank you.” Becky averted her gaze and stepped through the door and he followed behind her. The brief exchange had probably been the longest one she’d had with Deputy James. He wasn’t exactly the chatty type. More like tall, dark and brooding. Considering the mood she was in of late, she could relate.
“No problem,” he said, his voice low and gruff. They walked slowly across the small lobby, waiting to be admitted into the secure office area. Deputy James frowned as he pressed the buzzer. He looked like a man who hadn’t had his morning