“GET OFF THAT DAMN MOTORCYCLE BEFORE I MAKE YOU REGRET STOPPING HERE!”
Sheriff Dale Kavalik planted himself directly in front of the gleaming red Ducati, his face turning crimson beneath the afternoon sun. His right hand hovered near the black holster on his duty belt, and the gold star pinned to his tan uniform caught the light as he stepped closer to the woman sitting motionless behind the handlebars.
Karen Ashworth-Reyes stared at him through the tinted visor of her motorcycle helmet.
She had already pulled onto the shoulder.
Her engine was idling.
Her registration was current, her insurance was valid, and she had committed no traffic violation that she knew of.
None of that seemed to matter to the man standing in front of her.
“Did you hear me?” Kavalik barked.
Karen kept both gloved hands visible.
“I heard you perfectly, Sheriff.”
“Then get moving.”
She glanced toward the road ahead, which his considerable body was blocking.
“You're standing in front of my motorcycle.”
For an instant, the younger deputy beside the patrol SUV looked as though he might laugh. He caught himself before his expression changed completely, but Kavalik noticed the movement and turned his head sharply.
Deputy Trent Halverson straightened.
He was twenty-nine, tall, fair-haired, and still young enough to believe that every difficult encounter could be resolved by finding the correct procedure. He had joined the Briar County Sheriff's Office three years earlier because he wanted to become the kind of officer his father had admired when he was a child.
That ambition had become harder to recognize during the previous six months.
Kavalik turned back toward Karen.
“Don't get clever with me.”
She looked down at the ignition.
“Sheriff, I'm going to turn off the engine.”
“I didn't ask for commentary.”
Karen moved slowly and deliberately, ensuring neither officer could mistake her intentions. The Ducati's low mechanical rumble faded as she turned the key, leaving the roadside suddenly quiet except for passing cars and the rhythmic clicking of a lawn sprinkler across the street.
It was a beautiful September afternoon in Briar County, Pennsylvania.
Neatly trimmed hedges bordered the homes along Willow Bend Drive. White mailboxes stood at the ends of broad concrete driveways, children were returning from school, and maple leaves had just begun acquiring the first reddish edges of autumn.
Karen had grown up twenty miles east of the neighborhood.
She knew this part of Pennsylvania well.
She also knew exactly how a traffic stop was supposed to work.