"No cameras running. No radio calls. No probable cause," Immani listed calmly. "Almost like you were told to keep this quiet."
Brener's face went still. Ror's neck flushed red. "We were told you'd be alone out here," Brener spat, then immediately clamped his mouth shut, realizing his mistake. "Told by whom?" Immani pressed.
"You don't get to leave with that load," Ror growled. "Not from our county. Not with what's riding on it." Immani allowed herself a small smile.
Both confessions were captured cleanly on audio. She pulled their keys from their belts and walked to their patrol car, popping the trunk. The evidence of their real operation lay organized in neat rows. Small plastic baggies, spare latex gloves, an extra badge without a number, and there, paper-clipped to a folder, a crisp photo of her stepping down from her cab at the weigh station 40 miles back.
The timestamp showed yesterday afternoon. They'd been hunting her specifically. The question was why. Immani pulled out her phone and dialed 911.
The line clicked, connected, then went dead with a sharp click. She tried again. This time, a female voice answered, sweet as artificial sugar. "Pine Hollow Emergency Services."
"I need to report two deputies conducting an illegal stop on Route 23, mile marker 156. I have them restrained after they attempted to—" "Ma'am," the dispatcher cut in, voice dripping concern. "Please stay exactly where you are. Help is coming right away."
No request for details. No standard questions. Just syrupy reassurance and a clear instruction to stay put. Immani's neck prickled.
"What units are responding?" she asked. "Help is coming, ma'am. Please remain stationary." No sirens wailed in the distance.
No radio chatter crackled from the patrol car. Just that sugary voice telling her to stay still like a spider encouraging a fly to wait in its web. The deputies had stopped struggling. Instead, they watched her with small, knowing smiles.
A low rumble grew in the distance. Immani turned toward the sound as multiple sets of headlights crested the hill ahead. The vehicles moved fast, running dark. No light bars, no sirens, just shadows flowing down the highway like oil, closing the distance with predatory purpose.
Both deputies started laughing. The headlights grew larger, eating up the dark road. Immani moved fast, grabbing both deputies by their collar backs and dragging them behind her trailer's bulk. They struggled and cursed, but the cuffs held.
"Shut up," she ordered quietly. Her voice carried the kind of authority that made even Ror's mouth snap closed. Years of command experience didn't fade. She pulled their body cameras off first, fingers working with practiced efficiency.
The small devices contained everything she needed. Their approach, their threats, their slip-ups, admitting they'd targeted her. Working quickly, she connected each camera to her encrypted phone, copying the files. "You really think that'll help?" Brener sneered, but his voice shook slightly.
"Nobody's going to believe you over us." Immani didn't respond, focused on uploading the footage to her dead-man drop, a secure server that would release everything if she didn't check in regularly. Insurance against disappearing. The approaching vehicles were close now, their engines a low growl in the gathering dusk.