“I was driving below the speed limit, my registration was valid, and I committed no crime,” Maya said evenly. “You stopped me because you were bored, or because you wanted to flex authority, and when I asked for a legal basis, you threw a tantrum like a child and destroyed my property.”
Derek lunged forward, grabbing the collar of Maya’s shirt and hauling her up off the cot so her feet barely brushed the floor. His face was twisted with fury, spittle flying from his lips as he hissed into her face. “You listen to me, you arrogant bitch. By the time I’m done with you, you’ll be facing felony charges that will stick to your record for the rest of your life. You won't ever drive another expensive car in this state, and you certainly won't ever walk out of this station with your head held high.”
Maya did not struggle. She looked directly into his bloodshot eyes, her expression completely devoid of fear, filled instead with a chilling, clinical observation.
“You’re sweating, Deputy,” she whispered. “And you’re shaking. Because deep down, underneath all that bluster, you know you just ended your own career.”
Derek shoved her backward onto the cot with enough force to knock the wind out of her lungs, then stepped out of the cell, slamming the heavy iron door shut with a resounding crash that echoed through the entire block. He spun the key in the lock, turned on his heel, and stormed down the corridor, his boots striking the concrete like hammer blows.
Back in the bullpen, Aaron was sitting at his computer, his hands hovering over the keyboard. He hadn't written a single word of the false report. When Derek stormed into the room, tossing his coffee mug onto his desk so hard that dark liquid splashed across the paperwork, Aaron looked up calmly.
“Is the report done?” Derek demanded.
“I’m working on it,” Aaron said.
“Don't work on it. Print out the arrest jacket and bring it to my office. We’re filing the paperwork now before the midnight shift change.”
Derek turned and walked into his glass-walled office at the corner of the bullpen, slamming the door behind him. Aaron sat frozen for a moment, his heart hammering against his ribs. He looked at the clock in the corner of his monitor. It was 11:30 p.m. In seventeen minutes, the midnight shift would begin, and a new day would start. But more importantly, the county commissioners had scheduled the formal announcement of the new sheriff for midnight precisely, a transition that had been kept under wraps from the rank-and-file deputies to avoid precisely the kind of political interference Derek specialized in.
The clock on the wall of the Cedar Ridge County Sheriff’s Office ticked toward 11:45 p.m. with agonizing slowness. Brenda sat at the front desk, sipping lukewarm coffee and watching the security monitors. The rain had picked up outside, drumming a heavy, steady rhythm against the roof and the glass doors of the entrance. Inside the station, the fluorescent lights flickered once, twice, and then settled into a steady, albeit dim, hum. Down the hall, the old rotary telephone on the supervisor's desk began to ring, an archaic sound that nobody bothered to answer because everyone knew it was just an automated notification system or a wrong number at this hour of the night.
Aaron stood up from his desk, grabbed his jacket, and walked over to Derek’s office. He didn't knock. He simply pushed the door open and stepped inside. Derek looked up from his desk, a scowl darkening his features.
“I told you to bring the arrest jacket, Bell. Where is it?”
“I’m not writing it, Derek,” Aaron said, his voice surprisingly steady.
Derek froze. He slowly leaned back in his leather chair, his eyes narrowing into cold slits. “What did you say to me?”
“I said I’m not writing it. And I’m not signing off on a false report,” Aaron repeated clearly. “You stopped her for no reason, you searched her car illegally, and you smashed her windows with your baton. I was standing right there, and I’m not committing perjury to cover for you.”
Derek stood up so fast his chair rolled backward and hit the wall with a dull thud. He rounded the desk, towering over Aaron, his face dark with rage. “You little piece of trash. You think you can walk in here and tell me how to run a shift? I made you, Bell. I signed off on your probationary period. I can have you stripped of your badge and run out of this county before breakfast tomorrow.”
“You can try,” Aaron said, holding his ground. “But you won't have the badge to do it by tomorrow morning.”
Before Derek could respond, the heavy front doors of the station swung open.
The sound of footsteps echoed across the linoleum of the lobby. Brenda looked up from the front desk, her eyes widening in surprise. Walking through the entrance was County Commissioner Robert Vance, accompanied by two suits from the state attorney general’s office and a tall, impeccably dressed woman wearing a dark trench coat that shed rain onto the floor.
Derek heard the commotion from his office. He pushed past Aaron, storming out into the bullpen with a scowl on his face, ready to chew out whoever was wandering into the restricted area after midnight.
“Hey! This is a secure facility, you can’t just—” Derek started, stopping dead in his tracks as he recognized Commissioner Vance.
Commissioner Vance didn't even look at Derek. He walked straight toward the hallway leading to the holding cells, flanked by the state investigators.
“Commissioner!” Derek called out, stepping into the center of the bullpen. “What’s going on here? We have a hostile prisoner in the back holding block who just—”
“Shut up, Derek,” Commissioner Vance said coldly, turning around to face him.
Derek blinked, genuine confusion flickering across his face for the first time all evening. “Sir? What do you mean, shut up? We have an active arrest for obstruction and—”