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The pickup turned left.

Luke was behind it when he activated his lights and siren, pulling it over.

A cactus-gray Ford Maverick.

He already knew the plate was registered to an address in Sellron, north of town. For the last few days, he’d been subtly scoping out the neighborhood from time to time while on patrol, watching for the pickup for a chance to make a casual, routine traffic stop.

And here we go.

He stepped out and approached. The woman behind the wheel dropped her window. A wisp of pleasant-smelling conditioned air spilled from the interior.

She was alone.

“Good afternoon, ma’am.”

“Hi. Did I do something wrong, Deputy?”

“You failed to signal.”

“Failed to signal?”

“People get distracted. Could you turn off the engine and let me see your driver’s license and registration, please?”

“Oh, gosh.” She shut off the motor, then grabbed her purse from the console. Rummaging, she gave him the items. “Am I getting a ticket?”

“Thank you. Please wait here.”

Luke was walking a fine line.

Getting into his car, taking up his radio, starting the process of running her license and registration, he assured himself this would be okay. It would be logged as a legitimate traffic stop and check.

The fact was, before the stop, he knew the driver was Brenda Gwen Jones, ex-wife of Raylin Thurman Nash. Luke knew of the alleged abuse and her protective order against Nash.

What Luke didn’t know was if Brenda was the woman he’d struck in the storm.

Recently, he’d played several possibilities in his mind. Maybe Nash violated the order, confronted her that night, and she tried to run off? Maybe Nash terrified her into not filing a complaint?

Making this traffic stop was Luke’s cryptic way of checking on her. And if his imagined scenarios were true and she wanted to file a report, he’d help her. It could solve his mystery. He could fess up, and maybe, just maybe, mitigate his situation. It’s one of the reasons he hadn’t repaired his car, to show he had nothing to hide.

He knew this was wishful thinking. Evidence of his offense existed in that blurry video clip, and time was working against him. His radio blurted a response to his query, which was moot. Luke already had all he needed.

Letting out a tense breath, he went back to the pickup, giving Brenda Jones her license and registration. Putting them away, she noticed he was empty-handed, and a question rose.

“I’m not getting a ticket?”

“No, ma’am, just a caution to be careful.”

Sighing, she smiled. “I will, thank you.” She moved to start her truck.

“Ma’am, if I may?”

She paused. “Yes?”

“In checking you in our system, I noticed you have a protection order in effect.”

Her cheeks reddened, her eyes mixing with regret and unease. Luke realized he was pushing it as he studied her again, unable to determine if she was the woman who he had struck that night.

“Yes,” she said.

“Is everything okay on that front?”

“Okay?”

“No recent issues, no problems?”

Now she studied him. As if puzzled.

“Yes. My ex is in compliance, as my attorney says.”

“Good, then. If anything comes up, you let us know.”

“I will. Thank you.”

“Have a good rest of your day.”

“You, too. Thank you.”

After watching her drive away, Luke got back into his patrol car, sitting still for several seconds, going through his jumbled thoughts. The immediate sense he’d gotten was that Brenda Jones was not the woman he’d struck, and was not being harassed by her ex.

Glad that he’d run down this aspect of his private investigation, he was considering his remaining options when his burner phone vibrated.

It was Derek in Los Angeles.

He’d been attempting to use facial recognition on the blurred video clip from the construction site security camera footage.

“Hey, man,” Luke said.

“I’ll make this quick, and I won’t get technical. It wasn’t easy, but I have a face for you.”