"Are you a lawyer now?" Briggs sneered, taking two more steps up, bridging the gap between them. He was now standing fully on her porch, towering over where she sat. "I am giving you a lawful order to identify yourself."
"It is not a lawful order," Elara corrected him calmly, though she finally stood up, placing her book and tea on the small side table. She was not a tall woman, but the way she held herself made her seem larger than life. "You are now trespassing on private property without a warrant, exigent circumstances, or probable cause. I am asking you to leave."
Kowalski, standing on the grass, shifted uncomfortably. "Hey, Briggs, maybe we should just—"
"Shut up, Kowalski," Briggs snapped, never taking his eyes off Elara. He reached forward, pointing a thick, gloved finger in Elara's face. "You are interfering with a police investigation. You are going to give me your ID, or I am going to place you under arrest for obstruction."
The situation was rapidly spiraling out of control. Briggs took another step forward, forcing Elara to step back. She hit the heavy wooden frame of her front door. She was trapped. Briggs moved in closer, invading her personal space, his hand dropping menacingly to the pair of steel handcuffs clipped to his belt.
"Turn around and put your hands behind your back," Briggs growled, his breath smelling faintly of stale coffee and peppermint. "You're under arrest."
"On what charge?" Elara demanded, her voice still remarkably steady. She did not raise her hands, nor did she turn around. She locked eyes with Briggs, her gaze piercing and fearless.
"Resisting, obstruction, trespassing—take your pick," Briggs snarled. He lunged forward, grabbing Elara’s left wrist with a bruising force.
Elara didn't struggle, but she didn't yield. She looked at her wrist in his grasp, then back up to his face. "You are making a catastrophic mistake, Officer."
Just as Briggs unclipped his handcuffs, ready to force her arms behind her back, a sound roared down the quiet suburban street. It was a deep, guttural roar of a massive engine, completely out of place on the tranquil Maplewood Drive.
Both officers froze. Briggs loosened his grip on Elara’s wrist just a fraction, his head snapping toward the street.
Speeding around the corner at the end of the cul-de-sac was a massive, matte-black Chevrolet Suburban. It had no license plates, heavy reinforced push-bumpers, and windows tinted so dark they looked like obsidian. It wasn't just driving; it was hunting.
The SUV roared down the street, ignoring the speed limits, and slammed its brakes right in front of Elara’s house. The driver executed a flawless, aggressive tactical maneuver, sliding the massive vehicle sideways. The tires screamed against the asphalt, leaving thick black skid marks, until the SUV came to a violent halt directly in front of the police cruiser, blocking it in completely. There was no way the police car could move forward or backward.