The Texas Highway Patrol pulls off behind me, kicking on his flashlight as he walks toward the passenger side of the SUV. I turn to look for Noah.
But he’s not there.
“Are you serious?” I call out into the car. “He probably saw you do that!”
“Just play it cool,” Noah calls back in a whisper.
Bullet lets out a bay at the trooper, and I grab his leash as I roll down the window. I’m met with the stone-cold expression of a man not much older than me.
“Good evening, Miss,” he greets me, his southern drawl almost charming. “You know how fast you were going?”
I swallow hard. “Um… Too fast?” It comes out in a nervous squeak. “I’m just ready to get home.” The lie comes out easier than I expected it would, but then again…
It’s not really a lie. I just don’t know wherehomeis. Or if I’ll ever have one.
“Long drive back to California.”
I nod. “Yeah, I was visiting my mom.”
“Hmm.” He pauses for a beat as Bullet growls but doesn’t acknowledge the dog. “License and insurance, please.”
“Right,” I say quickly, grabbing for my wallet and fishing out my license and insurance card. I hand them across to him, the movement awkward as I try to restrain Bullet from attacking the officer.
He shines the flashlight on them and then nods. “I’ll be back.”
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
I leave the window down, and white-knuckle the leash while my free hand pets the top of Bullet’s head. “We might be so fucked.”
My whole body feels light in the seat, and my foot taps nervously against the floorboard. I don’t freakingdarelook into the back of the car, even if the trooper can’t see where I’m looking.
Just stay cool. You can do this. You fucking murdered someone and got away with it.
The intrusive thought is unsettling. I blink, unable to let go of it. Imurderedsomeone and got away with it. I think that almost makes me a pro.
Except the man framed for it is in the back of my car.
What a fucked-up kind of situationship.
I take a deep breath and slowly settle my heart rate, surprising myself as I calm down in an almost eerie sort of way.
Footsteps grow louder on the passenger side of the car, and the trooper reappears with my license, insurance, and a slip of paper.
Shit. Am I seriously getting a ticket?
“Ma’am, I clocked you going twelve over,” the trooper begins. “At this time of night, you need to be mindful. You never know when an animal might end up in the road.”
Wow. Okay.
“You need to slow down.”
“Yes, sir.” My tone is flat.
He then goes into the jargon, explaining the violation, and where to remit payment for the ticket. And I tune him out, still clinging to Bullet’s leash.
My dog continues to growl at the trooper, and I don’t even bother hushing him. Honestly, I wish he’d just bite him at this point.
“Sign here,” he passes the little clipboard to me.
