2

John took off his sunglasses and hooked them to the pocket of his shirt. He walked up to her car, reached inside, turned off the engine, and pocketed the keys, making sure to give a firm signal to the truck driver to continue on.

The trucker waved and slowly pulled back onto the highway, leaving a cloud of diesel fumes behind. Cars whizzed by, occupants rubbernecking for a better view.

The woman took an earbud out of her ear and pushed her glasses up onto her head, glaring at him with icy-blue eyes. Her eyes were clear, indicating she wasn’t on drugs—John could tell the difference. However, they were swollen and red, as if she’d been crying, but he wasn’t swayed by it. He had his own personal views about speeders, although he tried not to let them cloud his judgment.

“What do you think you’re doing?” she asked, her tone defensive. “Give me back my keys.”

“May I see your license and registration, please?” John asked.

“Why?” She shot back, flicking her long, tangled hair back, clearly irritated.

"You were driving far faster than the speed limit in a business area and you didn't even try to stop when you heard the siren", he said.

"Business?" She cast a quick glance at the cornfields that were cultivated on either side of the road.

"What business?"

John pointed over his shoulder. "Holbrook, Arizona. You crossed the town's edge while traveling at 85mph and barely missed Mrs. Abbott".

"I didn't see any town, or whoever you're talking about.” She retorted.

“Your license and insurance, please,” he said, his patience running thin with her attitude.

Alice was still waiting.

A slight crease appeared on her smooth forehead, but she casually reached over to the passenger seat, grabbed a tan purse with red trim and F’s embossed on it, and began rummaging through it. After a moment, she pulled out her wallet—matching the purse. John noted how expensive it looked.

"I'm not taking it out, it was too hard to get into the little slot." she stated as she handed it to him.

His jaw tightened, but he didn’t make a move to take the wallet. This woman was filled with arrogance and entitlement. “Please remove it,” he said, more firmly.

Her eyes narrowed slightly, as though debating whether to comply. With a heavy sigh, she fumbled with the wallet, being careful not to break a long, faintly pink fingernail in the process.

Finally, she handed him the license. John scanned it. Charlotte Lily Martins from Napervile, Arizona. Twenty-eight years old. Old enough to know better. “Your insurance, please.”

"Officer." She turned to face him and her eyes were glittering with a sparkle he was familiar with. She was going to try to use every female trick in her toolbox to soothe him.

“Sheriff,” he corrected, his tone flat.

“Sheriff,” she purred, the word slipping from her lips like the sweet taste of a cherry lollipop. He could almost feel her intent—exactly what she meant to convey—but he wasn’t about to fall for it. “I really don’t know anything about the car’s registration or insurance,” she said, her voice soft and innocent. “My mother takes care of all that. The car is mine, and it’s insured, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

Her eyes sparkled beneath her lashes, a warm glow that would’ve softened most men. But not him.

“Why don’t you try the glove compartment?” he suggested, eager to wrap this up so he could be on his way.

“I’m really in a hurry.”

“So am I.”

She studied him for a moment, then slowly licked her lower lip in a deliberate, seductive gesture, turning up the heat in her eyes to full flirtation mode.

“I have to get to Tucson as soon as possible,” she said, her gaze sweeping over his shoulders and chest. “You’re a big, strong man, and I know you understand.”

"Insurance, please.” He asked again, much to her dismay.

The radiance decreased.

The seductive glow in her eyes flickered and dimmed.

Suddenly, she flicked her hair back, then glanced down at the wallet in her lap. She pulled out a crisp hundred-dollar bill and waved it at him. “Will this make the problem go away? I didn’t see your little stop sign or hear the siren. I was listening to Bon Jovi. You understand, right?”

John’s shock cut through whatever patience he had left, and a frown settled on his face. “Are you trying to bribe me?”

She fluttered her lashes. “Of course not. It’s a compromise. You take the money, and I’ll be on my way. We’ll both be happy.”

Damn woman. Why did she have to make this so complicated? His peaceful Sunday was ruined. This lady had no idea what was coming.

He took the money, stuffed it into his shirt pocket, and opened her car door. “Get out of the vehicle.”

“What?” She shrieked, her voice sharp and childishly defiant. “You took my money!”

"For evidence,” he replied flatly. “You are under arrest for speeding and attempting to bribe a law enforcement official. Now get out of the vehicle."

“You can’t do this!” she snapped, her face set in anger, but she didn’t move.

“Get out of the car,” John said again, his tone growing sharper, his patience completely gone.

Her face twisted with stubborn defiance, but finally, she slid out of the car.