I’m barely able to process the brush-off before Perez turns his gaze on me fully. He folds his arms across his chest, and I swear the temperature in the room drops a few degrees.
“If you haven’t figured it out yet,” he says, tone clipped, “I’m not thrilled about this arrangement.”
I blink and my mouth parts slightly, caught somewhere between surprise and irritation. “Excuse me?”
“I don’t like babysitting,” he adds, not even bothering to mask the disdain.
My eyes narrow, the bite in his tone flaring something sharp in my chest. “Well, don’t look at it that way,” I say, doing my best not to let the frustration slip too far into my voice. “I’m not here for a joyride,Officer Perez. I’m serious about what I’m doing.” I say his name like it leaves a bad taste in my mouth. His brows lift slightly, as if he wasn’t expecting me to push back. “I’m here because I give a damn about this job and the path I’m on,” I continue. “And I’d appreciate not being treated like some kid tagging along for extra credit.”
Perez doesn’t flinch, but his expression shifts slightly as he studies me, his eyes dark and unreadable.
“Then you should understand well enough that you’re not trained,” he says calmly, but firmly. “If Kline or I tell you to stay in the car, back off, or leave a scene, youdo it. No debate.”
My jaw clenches. He’s already grating on every nerve I have. I’m not stupid. I’ve done ride-alongs before. I know how to keep myself out of the way, and I sure as hell don’t need to be treated like some clueless kid on a field trip.
Before I can fire back, Kline returns, holding a neon yellow vest in one hand. The word “OBSERVER” is printed in bold, peeling black letters across the back. The thing looks like it’s been through hell—frayed at the edges, faint stains along the shoulder seams, and the dingy thing had to be slipped on like a t-shirt because the straps had been tied together at the buckle. No one cared enough to try to undo the hellish knot. Kline holds it out with a sheepish grin. “It’s seen better days, but it does the job.”
I nod, take it from him with a soft sigh already dreading the scratchy material, and slip it over my head. The scent of sweatand something artificially floral itches my nostrils as it falls into place.
“All right, she’s ready—let’s go,” Perez says, his tone clipped as he turns on his heel and strides out of the roll call room without waiting for a response.
I quickly grab my bag and fall into step behind him and Officer Kline, trailing them down the hallway and out into the morning light. It’s past 7 a.m. now, and the day is already warming up, the sunlight casting long shadows across the concrete as we head toward the gated lot reserved for police-issued vehicles.
The parking lot is quiet, nearly empty aside from a few crime scene vans parked off to the side and a few specialty units. Only three patrol cars remain; of those, just one is running—headlights glowing faintly against the pavement, engine humming low.
Kline heads straight for it, sliding into the driver’s seat with practiced ease, while Perez circles to the back of the cruiser. He opens the rear door and pulls out a folded wool blanket from the trunk. Without a word, he spreads it across the hard plastic bench seat in the back.
I blink, a little surprised by the gesture. I’d forgotten entirely that the backseat of a cruiser has those molded, unforgiving seats that weren’t built for comfort—and it hadn’t occurred to me until now that I’d be spending the ride-along in the back like an arrestee, not an intern.
“Thank you,” I say quietly as I climb in, easing myself down onto the thinly padded blanket. It doesn’t do much to soften the seat, but I appreciate the effort all the same.
Perez glances at me, the corner of his mouth twitching faintly. “No problem,” he mutters, then shuts the door behind me with a solid thunk.
He circles the car and slides into the passenger seat up front without another word. He then spins the MDT toward him, his fingers already tapping across the keyboard like he’s tuning me out completely as Kline pulls out of the parking lot.
I lean back against the seat, hands folded in my lap, and brace myself for whatever the next few hours might bring.
FIVE
RAELYNN
We were onlytwo hours into the ride-along and had already been on six calls, one of which was a regular traffic stop. The rest of the calls were two domestic violence cases back-to-back and one drunk and disorderly.
Who the fuck is out drinking this early in the morning?
We also had one call about a homeless man dumpster-diving at Circle K and a welfare check on a little old lady who hadn’t answered her phone or door for a few days. She was okay, thankfully, just almost entirely deaf and didn’t hear the door or her landline. Paramedics, however, did take her in to be checked out.
At each call, a second cruiser pulled up to assist. Kline had explained earlier that they couldn’t detain or transport anyone with me in the backseat. Safety and liability concerns. I knew this already, but still politely nodded in understanding.
By the third hour, things began to slow down, and by the fourth hour, Kline and Perez decide to head back toward the station, since my shift is almost over and they know Rodriguez wants to chat with me.
“So,” Kline says, breaking the silence as he drives. His tone is casual, curious. “What made you want to go into law enforcement?”
I glance up, fiddling absently with a section of frayed pieces on the observer vest. Through the metal grating that separated arrestees from officers, I can see Kline staring at me through his rear-view mirror, his expression curious. “Oh… um,” I pause, debating on how honest I want to be. “Several reasons, I guess.”
Kline hums thoughtfully and returns his gaze to the road. “Care to share?” he asks as Perez turns partially in his seat to look at me. His expression is unreadable.
I shift slightly under his gaze, unease building in my stomach as I sink deeper into the molded plastic seat; the blanket does little to ease the discomfort I’m really starting to feel now. “I’m not sure I want to share,” I admit. “It’s kind of… personal.”
