Page 104

“I didn’t miss it,” she says, merging lazily into the left lane.“I rerouted.”

“Rachel.”

“It’s a backroad.Trust me, I know this state better than you.”

She sounds casual, but her hands tighten slightly on the wheel.I glance at her.“You’re enjoying this.”

“No,” she says.“Yes.Maybe.It’s nice being useful.”

I snort.“Post office wasn’t enough for you?”

She starts to answer—but the lights bloom in the rearview before she gets the chance.

Red.Blue.Flashing like a bad omen.

Rachel goes still.Her mouth parts slightly.“Shit.”

The siren blurts once, short and sharp.A bark, not a conversation.

“Don’t panic,” I say, already tucking the notebook down by my feet.

“Don’t panic?You look like you’ve been through a wood chipper, and I’m driving a car that smells like gasoline and entitlement.”

“We didn’t do anything.”

“We mailed something.Right before I almost drove into a tree.”

She signals, pulls over slowly, the way innocent people do.The tires crunch onto gravel.My pulse isn’t fast, not exactly.Just focused.Like all my blood has pooled behind my eyes.

“Keep your hands where they can see them,” I say.

She doesn’t respond.

I watch the mirror.A lone cop steps out.Hat tilted low.Hand on the belt—not on the gun, not yet.

He walks slow.Methodical.Like he’s deciding whether this is going to be a problem.

Rachel rolls the window down.

Even her breath sounds performative.

“Evening, officer.”

“It’s past midnight,” the cop says, looking between us.“License and registration?”

Rachel leans over to the glove box, digs out the documents.Her movements are smooth.Too smooth.

“You know why I pulled you over?”

“No, sir.”

He nods once, glancing over me like I’m an unclaimed duffel bag.

“You were swerving,” he says.“Looked like you might be impaired.”

“I’m not,” Rachel says brightly.“Just distracted.My dad’s sick.”

She doesn’t blink.Doesn’t stammer.I almost believe her.