Blood Red

Her hands were shaking as she reached into her purse and then into her glove compartment. They were shaking more than he would have expected from someone who was just getting another speeding ticket. He kept his eyes on the contents of her purse, looking for telltale signs that there was more going on than just a case of the jitters.

He saw the edge of a bag filled with white powder and allowed himself a very small smile. “You wouldn’t be carrying any illegal substances, would you, Ms. Hopkins?”

“What?” She was positively twitchy. “No, I don’t do drugs, officer.”

“Why don’t you step out of the car for me?” He was enjoying this already. The girl was sweating, and it was in the low fifties temperature-wise. Just to add to her discomfort, he reached into the car and cut off the engine, removing the keys.

She was on the verge of tears by the time she climbed out of her vehicle. He held out his hand for the purse, and she actually started crying by the time he pulled out the baggie with the cocaine inside it. Not enough to make a felony, but definitely enough to cause her a world of grief.

She didn’t cry quietly. She let out soft, high-pitched whines from her throat. Freemont looked down at her and shook his head like a teacher who’d found someone passing notes.

“You do know this is an illegal substance, don’t you?”

“Yes. I’m sorry. I forgot it was in there.”

“Oh, no reason to apologize to me,” he smiled as he spoke. “You should be saving all of that for your parents. I bet they’re going to be very disappointed in their little girl.” He found a second bag; this one with a decent amount of what he guessed was marijuana inside it. He dug in again, pulling out a pocket knife that was just past the legal length.

Brian held the bag up and watched the girl break down even more, savoring every noise she made. He gave her a few minutes to soak in the full impact of how fucked up her life had become with the simple act of speeding, and then he gave her back her purse.

“Are you taking me to jail?” Oh, her voice was so tiny, smaller than the squeak of a mouse. He looked her over for the first time, taking in the details of her tear-streaked face and her body. She was short, moderately heavyset with long blond hair and the sort of face that looked good when she cried.

“Well, now, it is my job. I’m supposed to arrest the bad people who break all the laws . . .” He made his voice stern, just for her, but couldn’t quite keep the smile off his face.

She broke down again and this time he put a hand on her shoulder, patting lightly.

“My dad’s gonna kill me. My dad’s gonna skin me alive.” Her voice broke and the words were slurred by tears.

“Well, you knew the risks when you started carrying illegal drugs and walking around with concealed weapons.” A little sterner now, more edge to the tones he spoke with because, of course, she had to understand the full gravity of the situation. “Long as you don’t have a record, they’ll probably let you off with a warning, but I do have to carry out my duties.” Her arm trembled beneath his hand.

“You do have a clean record, don’t you?” Oh, that one did it. She was crying into her hands, her whole body shaking. He made his face as neutral as he could.

Then he reached for the handcuffs. “Come on then, we’ll get this taken care of. You’ll be with your folks in no time.”

“No! Wait, please?”

He kept silent. It had to be her idea.

“Could we work something out?” Her voice was still shaking and ruined, but she had a little edge of strength coming back. No, not strength; resolve.

“Work something out? What did you have in mind?” He sounded doubtful himself now. It was important to make sure they thought it up all on their own.

Danielle Hopkins, her pretty face still red from crying, reached out with her hand and stroked the front of his pants. The contact got his attention as quickly as it always did.

“Say it. Tell me what you want to work out.” His voice was still stern, his demeanor as professional as possible when he considered where her fingers were massaging.

“We could . . . you know . . . and you could forget this happened?” Oh, and she sounded so desperately hopeful when she said it.

Brian reached for the front pocket of his shirt, his fingers patting the package of condoms he kept there. He wasn’t stupid enough to get caught in the act. And he wasn’t going to leave around any DNA evidence that could cause him grief later.

“I think maybe we could work something out, Danielle.”

And was that hope he saw in her eyes? Yes, yes it was. Because, really, it had to be better rolling in the back seat of a squad car with him than it would be riding in the back alone and heading for a holding cell.

It worked damned near every time.

Sometimes it was good to be a cop. He let his hand slide under her jacket, under her blouse, to feel one of her full breasts. Her hand started tugging at his zipper as he guided her away from the road and into a small copse of trees.