The small square lens of his Axon body camera was dark. The blinking red light which indicated it was recording was suspiciously absent. He leaned in, a nasty conspiratorial smirk crossing his face. “Must be a malfunction,” he whispered mockingly.

“Looks like it’s just my word against yours, agent. And out here in Oakbrook Valley, they always believe me.” Khloe closed her eyes for a brief second. She didn’t feel fear. She felt a profound, exhausting sadness for the people this man had terrorized before her.

“You have no idea what you’ve just done,” she said quietly. Miller grabbed her by the bicep, spinning her around and shoving her hard against the trunk of the car. “I know exactly what I’ve done. I’m taking out the trash.”

He unclipped the radio microphone from his shoulder, pressing the button to transmit. “Dispatch, this is unit 4. I have one female in custody. Illegal possession of a firearm, resisting arrest and possession of forged federal identification. Need a tow truck at my 10-20 Route 119 near the old station.”

“Copy unit 4.” The dispatcher’s voice crackled back over his radio. “TO is notified. Need any backup?” Miller looked at Khloe, bruised, handcuffed, and leaning against the car. He smiled, a victor’s grin. “Negative, dispatch. I’ve got this completely under control.”

Khloe looked up at the night sky. The air was frigid, her breath pluming in the harsh lights of the police cruiser. She tilted her head slightly, her ear angled toward the road behind them. “You hear that, Officer Miller?” Khloe asked, her voice eerily calm.

Miller frowned, his hand dropping from his radio. “Hear what?” “That low hum!” Khloe said, a ghost of a smile touching the corner of her lips. “It sounds like a V8 engine.”

“Actually, it sounds like about four of them.” Miller turned his head toward the dark highway. At first there was nothing, just the crickets and the wind. Then he felt it before he heard it. A deep rhythmic vibration in the asphalt.

Suddenly, out of the pitch black darkness of Route 119, a pair of headlights appeared. Then another, and another. They weren’t moving at 35 mph. They were moving at 80. Four massive unmarked matte black Chevrolet Suburbans crested the hill, moving in a tight, aggressive diamond formation.

They didn’t have sirens on, but as they closed the distance to the traffic stop in a matter of seconds, their grills erupted in a blinding strobing array of red and blue LED lights. Miller stepped away from Khloe, his eyes widening in confusion. “What the hell?” he muttered, instinctively reaching for his gun again.

The first Suburban didn’t just pull over. It slammed on its brakes, drifting slightly on the gravel shoulder, and angled itself aggressively to block Miller’s police cruiser from moving forward. The second and third Suburbans boxed the cruiser in from the rear and the side.