“For what reason?”
“Because I told you to.”
“Am I under arrest?”
“Turn around!”
Karen looked from one officer to the other.
Halverson reached toward his handcuffs.
The metallic sound was small, but Karen heard it clearly.
She had heard that sound thousands of times throughout her career.
Usually, it meant an officer had already made the legal decision to restrain someone.
Here, she still hadn't been told the basis for the detention.
“Sheriff,” she said carefully, “I'm willing to cooperate with lawful instructions. But I need to know what you're investigating.”
Kavalik leaned toward her.
“You're investigating my patience.”
Then he reached toward her gloved hand resting on the fuel tank.
Karen began moving it away.
He slapped it aside.
The impact was sharp enough to surprise her.
She recoiled.
“Don't touch the motorcycle,” he ordered.
Karen stared at him.
“I was removing my hand.”
Kavalik took another step and shoved her shoulder toward the bike.
Her hip struck the tank.
For a moment, she lost her balance.
Then she steadied herself against the seat.
Halverson moved forward instinctively.
“Sheriff—”
“Stay out of it!”
The deputy stopped.
Karen slowly straightened.
Her heart was pounding, but she didn't raise her voice.
“That was unnecessary.”
Kavalik gave a bitter laugh.
“You think you can tell me what is and isn't necessary?”
“No. I think you should be able to explain it.”
The sheriff's eyes hardened.
“Hands behind your back.”
Karen looked toward the patrol SUV.
Then toward the empty stretch of road ahead.
She considered her choices.
Resistance could escalate the encounter.
Identifying herself might cause Kavalik to change his behavior immediately, but it wouldn't answer why he believed he could treat someone this way before knowing who they were.
Most importantly, she was alone.
She had no reason to believe the sheriff would respond rationally to her credentials after already rejecting every attempt to cooperate.
So she turned slowly.
“I'm not resisting.”
Halverson approached.
He took her wrists.
The cuffs closed with two sharp clicks.
Karen winced.
“Too tight,” she said.
The deputy checked them and adjusted one wrist.
For a moment, she looked over her shoulder.
Their eyes met.
Halverson looked ashamed.
“I'm sorry,” he whispered.
Kavalik heard him.
“What's taking so long?”
The deputy straightened.
“Nothing, Sheriff.”
Karen looked toward the red Ducati.
Her father's motorcycle was still standing quietly beside the road.
The polished bodywork reflected the afternoon sky.
The sight made her chest ache.