Ten-oh-seven.
Any minute now.
I’ve mapped this night down to the minute. Follow him. Capture him stepping out of the car. Capture him escorting a woman into the motel. Closed blinds don’t matter if the pattern is undeniable. Enough footage over enough nights, and doubt does the rest. Operation Destruction plays out cleanly in my head as his car eases toward the curb, brake lights glowing red.
I’m already lifting the camera when a sharp knock hits the passenger-side window.
I jolt, heart slamming hard enough to rattle my ribs, and whip my head around.
A uniformed police officer stands there, one hand resting on his belt, the other motioning downward. “Ma’am. Window. Now.”
I lower it, pulse roaring in my ears.
“Ma’am,” he says, voice clipped and professional, “you’re parked in a no-standing zone.”
Fuck.
“I’m sorry, officer,” I apologize quickly. “I’ll move right now.”
My eyes flick back to the street. Marcus Delaney’s car is already gone.Oh shit.
“No can do,” the officer replies. “I’ll need your license and registration.”
“It’s a rental,” I say, reaching toward the glovebox.
“Hands where I can see them, please.”
I freeze.
He shifts his stance slightly, just enough to signal this isn’t a warning anymore. “You’re in violation of municipal code—no standing, no parking. And you’re sitting in a vehicle with the engine off in a designated high-incidence prostitution corridor.”
My jaw tightens. “That’s not a crime.”
“It becomes one under the Anti-Loitering for Solicitation Act,” he states, too calmly. “Remaining in a vehicle without lawful purpose, after hours, in a known prostitution zone, while observing pedestrian traffic. Especially when the vehicle is stationary.”
“That’s ridiculous,” I snap. “I’m not soliciting anyone.”
“I didn’t say you were,” he replies evenly. “I said you meet the criteria for investigatory detention. And right now, you’re refusing to comply.”
“I’m not refusing,” I say sharply. “I’m explaining. I’m a law student. I was waiting?—”
“Waiting for what?” he asks.
I stop.
Because the answer isn’t something I can say out loud.
Silence stretches. His eyes harden.
“Step out of the vehicle, ma’am.”
“No,” I say automatically. “You don’t have probable cause?—”
“I have reasonable suspicion,” he cuts in. “And now you’re obstructing. Step out of the vehicle.”
This is spiraling. Fast.
I push the door open and climb out, fury buzzing under my skin like exposed wire. “This is absurd. I’ve done nothing wrong.”
