“Keep your hands on the wheel. If you flinch, I will blow your head off.” In the command center 3 miles away, Agent Collins’s blood ran cold as the audio fed through the earpiece. “Boss!” Collins barked in her ear, his voice tense. “Status, do you need tactical?”
“Hold.” Khloe breathed out just loud enough for the mic to catch. Though to Miller, it sounded like she was gasping in fear. “What did you say to me?” Miller roared, using his flashlight hand to aggressively tap the barrel of his gun against her window frame.
“Step out of the vehicle. Do it slowly or I swear to God.” Khloe’s heart rate remained a steady 65 beats per minute. She had faced down cartel sicarios in Juarez and armed human traffickers in Detroit. A power-tripping local cop in a wealthy zip code was dangerous, but he was entirely predictable.
“Officer,” Khloe said, her voice dropping an octave, radiating cold authority. “I am going to unbuckle my seat belt with my left hand. Then I will step out. I’m an off-duty federal agent. You need to lower your weapon.”
“Shut your mouth and get out.” Miller screamed, his finger dangerously tight on the trigger. Khloe slowly moved her left hand, pressing the red release button of her seat belt. She pushed the driver’s side door open and stepped out into the freezing night air.
She kept her hands raised at shoulder level, palms open, facing him. The moment she was fully out of the car, Miller lunged forward. He slammed his forearm against her back, driving her violently against the side of the Taurus.
The metal buckled slightly under the impact of her chest. “Spread your legs,” Miller ordered, roughly kicking her ankles apart. He jammed the barrel of his gun directly against her spine.
“Officer,” Khloe said, her cheek pressed against the cold metal of her car roof. “You are making a catastrophic mistake. My badge is in my left pocket.” Miller scoffed, a disgusting wet sound. “Yeah, I bet it is. You people always have a story.”
The heavy weight of Miller’s knee pressed into the back of her thigh, pinning her awkwardly against the sedan. With his left hand, he aggressively patted down her right side, immediately finding the hilt of her Glock 19. He ripped it from her holster with a triumphant grunt.
“Well, well, well,” Miller sneered, stepping back slightly, but keeping his own weapon trained directly on her center mass. He tossed her gun onto the hood of her car, the metal clattering loudly. “Carrying a concealed weapon, resisting an officer, failure to comply. You’re looking at a 5-year stretch, sweetheart.”
“Check the left pocket,” Khloe commanded. There was no fear in her voice, only a chilling absolute certainty that infuriated Miller even more. Angered by her tone, Miller reached into her left jacket pocket and aggressively yanked out her leather credential case.
