She didn’t speed up. She didn’t tap her brakes. She maintained exactly 35 mph, the posted speed limit. Her hands rested at 10 and 2 on the steering wheel. Click. The red and blue lights ignited, violently fracturing the darkness of the country road.
The brief wail of the siren signaled her to pull over. Khloe sighed, a deep, tired breath escaping her lips. “Really?” she muttered to herself. She activated her turn signal and smoothly guided the Taurus onto the gravel shoulder, shifting the car into park.
She rolled down all four windows, a standard procedure she had learned early in her career. She turned on the interior dome light, illuminating the cabin, and kept her hands firmly clamped to the top of the steering wheel. In her right ear, a microscopic comms earpiece crackled to life.
It was Agent David Collins, her overwatch, sitting in a mobile command center 3 miles away. “Boss, we show you stopped on Route 119.” Collins’s voice buzzed quietly. “You need a local liaison to make a call.”
“Negative, David,” Khloe whispered, her lips barely moving. “Just a local traffic stop. Keep the channel open, but let me handle it. I don’t want to blow the operational footprint if this guy has a scanner.” “Copy that. We are listening.”
In her side mirror, she watched Officer Miller step out of his cruiser. He didn’t approach casually. He moved with a practiced aggressive swagger, his right hand resting heavily on the butt of his holstered Glock.
He unclipped his heavy Maglite flashlight, raising it to his shoulder. As he reached the rear of her vehicle, Miller deliberately smacked the trunk of the Taurus with his bare hand. A police tactic meant to leave fingerprints in case the driver fled or shot the officer, but done with enough force to sound like a gunshot inside the quiet car.
Khloe didn’t flinch. Miller stepped up to her window, immediately thrusting the blinding beam of the Maglite directly into Khloe’s eyes. “License, registration, and proof of insurance,” Miller barked, his voice dripping with inherent hostility.
“Now.” Khloe squinted against the glaring light, maintaining a calm, perfectly modulated tone. “Good evening, officer. My credentials and identification are in my breast pocket under my jacket. I am also legally armed. My service weapon is on my right hip.”
“How would you like me to proceed?” The words “service weapon” seemed to trigger a primal violent short circuit in Miller’s brain. He didn’t hear the calm professionalism in her voice. He saw a black woman in a hoodie driving a beat-up car in his wealthy town, telling him she had a gun.
“Do not move!” Miller screamed, his voice cracking with sudden manufactured panic. He took a massive step back, drawing his weapon with terrifying speed. The metal scraped against the holster. Suddenly, Khloe was staring down the barrel of a 9mm handgun.
