“You’re kidding. Right?”
She glared at him. “Do I look like I’m kidding?” She lowered her eyes to the pad and wrote. “The speed limit here is fifty.”
“I never saw anything posted.”
“Well, it is,” she replied, still not looking into his startling blue eyes. “But then you were going so fast, how could you see it?”
“I see a lot of things. If there was a sign posted, I would have seen it. I’ve been all over these country roads.”
“You have.”
“I know people here. Austin and Katia McCreary.”
Violet also knew Austin and Katia. A little. Some said Austin was the wealthiest man in town. He owned the antique car museum, and, according to Isabelle, he’d been a recluse for years until he married Katia. Violet had worked a couple charity events with Katia.
How did this guy know Austin?
She heard the deputies snickering at her, so she pressed on. “It doesn’t matter who you know in town. I need your driver’s license and registration.” She held out her hand.
At that point the deputies broke into guffaws.
This was too much. She took a step away from the car and shot a laser look at the tallest of the four deputies. “What?”
He broke from the barricade as the other deputies walked back to their cars hooting to themselves. “You don’t know who this is, do you, Officer...?”
“Hawks,” she replied officially. “I’m about to find out once I get his driver’s...”
“Josh Stevens,” the deputy sheriff said. “He’s just about the most famous race car driver to come out of Indiana. I saw him race.”
Violet felt herself flush. She imagined she’d gone from red to crimson to deep purple. Of course she knew who he was. You couldn’t grow up in the Hawks house and not know names like Danica Patrick, Fernando Alonso and Josh Stevens. Violet’s brothers had spent nearly every Memorial Day weekend in college seated in the bleachers in Speedway, Indiana, watching the Indianapolis 500.
All she could do was follow through with her job. If she didn’t, the deputy would report it to the county sheriff, who would report her to the chief. She may have egg on her face, but she was in the right and she knew the law. Violet wrote Josh’s name on the top of the ticket.
“I still need your license.”
Josh looked at the sheriff, who shrugged.
“Apparently, you don’t need us anymore, Officer Hawks.”
“No. I don’t.”
Josh pulled his wallet from his back pocket. “I don’t believe this.” He pulled the license out along with the car’s registration.
It was all Violet could do to keep her hands from shaking as she finished writing the ticket. “Court is two weeks from Friday. Be there.”
“I will not. I’m in training.”
“Excuse me?”
He waved the ticket at her. “This is ridiculous and so are you for giving it to me. I’m not a criminal, and I won’t be treated like one.”
Violet felt her ire sail to the top of her skull.
“You broke the law,” she countered.
“You don’t want to take me on, Officer Hawks. I’ll have your job for this.”
“Is that a threat?”
“A promise.”
“You’re under arrest.”
“I refuse.”
“I’ll gladly add resisting arrest to the charges.”
“This isn’t happening,” he spat.
“It is,” she replied, feeling that same rage she’d once felt when she was bullied at school, the day Billy Pope had knocked her to the ground. Violet had vowed never to look up into the face of an assailant and feel powerless again. “You have the right to remain silent...” She began reciting his Miranda rights.
Before Josh could say another word, Violet had flipped handcuffs around his right wrist and had spun him around to clasp his hands behind his back. She tightened the handcuffs.
“You can’t do this to me!” he snarled. “This is ridiculous. I won’t let you arrest me. My lawyer will tear you apart.”
She continued reciting. “...and if you have no lawyer, the court will appoint one to represent you.”
“Trust me, I have the best.” Josh cracked a harsh chuckle. His smile spread across his face, but his eyes glinted icily.
The remaining deputy sheriff had stopped walking and was recording the scene on his iPhone. He stopped, lowered the phone and asked, “You need help?”
“I got this,” Violet said.
Josh shook his head and laughed. He turned his back to the deputy sheriff and flipped his keys onto the pavement at the man’s feet.
Josh was still laughing as he said, “Drive my Bugatti back to town, will ya?”
“Don’t mind if I do,” the deputy said with a grin, then picked up the keys and gave Josh a little salute.
Violet rolled her eyes. The admiration she saw in the deputy’s eyes was killing her. She steered Josh toward her Taurus, putting her hand on the top of his head. “Watch your head. And those long legs of yours are going to smash up against my seat.”
Josh spun to face her. They were nearly nose to nose as his angry eyes bored into hers. “You have no idea what you’ve just done. You’re going to regret this till your dying day.”
“I doubt that seriously. The way I see it, you’re a danger to others.” Violet somehow managed to keep her voice steady, despite her rage. She’d come out here today to gather information on a drug lord. She despised drug dealers, pushers and the traffickers who preyed on kids.
So Josh wasn’t a drug dealer, but he had been a danger. It wasn’t merely the fact that Josh Stevens had been speeding, it was his attitude that he could get away with his infraction that kicked up her ire. People like Josh Stevens felt they could wheedle, bully, intimidate and charm their way through all their actions, legal and otherwise.
Violet was just one cop, and she knew that sometimes, all it took was one person to make a difference.
CHAPTER TWO
JOSH INSPECTED THE ink on the pads of his fingers. When he was photographed, he was wise enough to drop his indignation and flash his celebrated smile for the camera. As he was escorted from area to area, desk to desk, he watched Officer Hawks carry out her duties with by-the-book efficiency.
She typed her report like a demon and asked him only requisite questions. He thought of dozens of smart-mouthed barbs he could shoot her with, but she appeared impervious to his taunts. She treated him like a bug. He was a perp. A wrongdoer.
“I get a phone call,” he said.
“You’re entitled to several calls, actually. However, the station cannot allow you to tie up our phone lines talking to your, er, ‘people.’” She kept her eyes on the computer screen as she typed.
“I’ll use my cell.”
“Not for now you won’t.”
“Fine. So, when can I make my calls?”
“When I feel like it.”
“I’m not answering another question until I talk to my lawyer. That’s the law, Officer Hawks,” Josh said bluntly. He’d already figured out that threats didn’t dent this woman’s disposition. Neither did his charm. She was a rock. A government robot. She was the kind of powerless bureaucrat who validated her position by exercising her influence on innocent citizens.
Like me.
He’d seen plenty of people like her. His parents had been killed when their car had been hit head-on by a drug addict. As an only child and with no other family, he’d been shuffled by state officials from one foster home to another.
This cop made him think of his best friend back then. Diego Lopez had had such a severe distrust of authority. He’d also barely spoken English, but Josh had enjoyed teaching him.
“Give me your attorney’s number and I’ll place the call for you. What’s
his name?”
“Paul Saylor.”
“In Indianapolis?”
“Yes. You know him?”
“I went to a seminar he gave when I was at the police academy in Indianapolis.”
“And that was when?”
Her eyes narrowed. She was instantly on the defensive.
Josh had guessed she was young, twenty-three or twenty-four. She carried herself stiff, like a rookie. She was out of her league with him. That was for sure.
“I can look up the number if you forgot it.”
“Actually, he’s in Europe...” Josh checked his watch. “Just my luck. He’s back tomorrow. He’s always around for my time trials and the race Memorial Day weekend.” He smiled pleasantly, without too much force.
She glared at him.
He dropped the smile. Nothing worked on this woman. “I’ll call Harry instead.”
“Harry?”
“My manager.”
Silence.
Josh swallowed and then rhymed off Harry’s cell number, and Violet dialed.
Once it started to ring, she handed Josh the receiver. She went back to typing, but she didn’t leave him alone.
Josh turned his back to her and held the receiver close. His manager answered on the fourth ring. “Harry. It’s Josh. I need your help.”
“Sure. What’s up?”
“I need you to find Paul Saylor when he gets back tomorrow.”
“Why would you need Paul?”
“To bail me out of jail.”
The long pause segued into a low groan. “What for? Drugs?”
“For Pete’s sake, Harry! You know me better than that. I was ticketed for speeding.”
“Where are you?”
“Indian Lake. I told you. I was here to see Austin and Katia McCreary.”
“Right, the antique car guy. Did you buy anything?”
“Harry. Focus. I’m in a jam here.”
“No big deal. Paul can clear this up... Wait. You said jail. Why jail for speeding?”
Josh lowered his voice to a whisper. “They’ve got me for threatening the officer. I resisted her arrest.”
“Her? Well, that explains it.”
“Thanks a lot,” Josh retorted. “Look, I want to get out of here.”
“I want you out, too. Mainly so I can wring your neck!” Harry blasted him. “Has anybody seen you?”
“Seen me?”
“Yeah. Like the press. Some kid on social media? This kind of thing can really hurt us. Bad publicity only weeks before the Indianapolis race. Just what I need, Josh.”
“Hey, this is my career we’re talking about here.”
“Precisely. And your career affects my career and my life. You have responsibilities, Josh. To the sponsors, the crew, the advertisers. You’ve been on a glory roll for nearly three years. No crashes. No bust ups. Not a glitch. Now you go out joyriding in some backwater town. Who knows what the locals think of you.”
Josh’s head inched downward with each of Harry’s accusations. He was right. Josh was a man of duty and massive commitments. His sponsors put up hundreds of thousands of dollars for him to spend his life screaming around a raceway in some of the most expensive cars on the planet. His entourage depended on him to do everything right. Eat right, exercise, train and make lightning-quick decisions on the track. His job was to stay alive and be a good guy while doing it.
Today, he’d let everyone down.
“I’m telling you, Josh. This may have been fun for you, but it can cost us. If that cop has you on resisting arrest, that tells me you let your mouth run away with you. Again.”
“It wasn’t that bad,” Josh muttered.
“Yeah? Tell it to the judge. And believe me, you will. In the meantime, shut your trap. You got that?”
“Got it.”
“Good. Be as polite as you know how. I don’t know anything about this Indian Lake, but I’m going to find out. These little towns take small infractions seriously. It’s not Indianapolis where you can buy or autograph your way out of just about anything.”
“I’m seeing that.” Josh’s eyes tracked up to Violet. He watched the hard set to her jaw as she banged away at the computer. She scrolled the mouse over a section of writing and cut it. Then she licked her bottom lip and went back to work. The harsh light shone on her heart-shaped face, and he noticed the long, dark lashes that cast shadows over naturally pink cheeks. She had expressive dark brows that pinched at the bridge of her pert nose when she found another section to cut. Until this moment, he hadn’t thought about what she must think of him besides the fact that he was a criminal. He was curious to know her thoughts. And that surprised him.
To Harry, he said, “So, how do I get out of here?”
“I can post the bail for you. Is there anyone there who can tell you how much?”
“Hold on.” Josh turned around, put his palm over the receiver and asked, “Officer Hawks, how much is my bail going to be?”
She stopped typing and pointed to a poster on the far wall. “Five hundred dollars.”
Josh went back to his call. “Five hundred.”
“Great. I’ll get in touch with the bail bondsman there in Indian Lake. Just chill. Make the best of your afternoon.”
“Easy for you to say,” Josh replied, and hung up. He handed the receiver to Violet. “You do realize this is costing me a lot more than a few hundred bucks.”
“How’s that?”
“I’m missing an interview with the South Bend Tribune’s sports writer. A radio program and television interview, as well. Interviews translate to tickets sold to the race. These things are important to me.”
“You shoulda thought of that earlier.”
“I was thinking...” His voice trailed off. “Oh, what do you care?”
She rose from her chair. “Until your bail is posted, I have to take you to a cell.”
“A jail cell? I can’t just stay here? Harry said it won’t take long to post bail.”
She cocked her head to the right, indicating a heavy metal door with a small wired-glass window. “Through there.”
“I don’t believe this. Sure you don’t want to put leg irons on me?”
“I can do that if you wish,” she bit out.
Josh remembered what Harry had said about being polite. “No. You’ve gone to enough trouble for me, Officer Hawks.”
They went to the hall that led to four jail cells. Officer Hawks spoke to the young officer just inside the hall. “Cell three has been assigned to...”
“Josh Stevens! Officer Trey McLaughlin. Glad to meet you,” he said, holding out his hand to Josh. “I’ve seen or heard nearly every race. How’s it lining up for the Indianapolis race?”
Josh shook his hand exuberantly. “You follow the races?”
“I do. I’m a huge fan.”
“Thanks, man.” Josh felt his grin grow. Two minutes ago he’d felt dirty. Now he felt whole again thanks to his fan. He would go back to his world, and his life would return to normal. It would. It had to. “Trey, I promise you, it’s looking great.”
Officer Hawks took Josh’s arm. “In here,” she barked.
Josh entered the cell, turned and put his hands on the bars. He was in jail. He’d fought all his young years to make the right choices, even when others lobbied with very persuasive skills for him to go down another road. The quick road. The road of drug deals and stunning amounts of cash. Hot cars. Expensive clothes. Tropical resorts where women would flock to him.
But Josh’s parents had taught him that his integrity was what mattered. With integrity and honesty, he would win the respect of even his critics.
Right now he had to remember that.
As he looked through the iron bars at the startlingly and surprisingly compassionate green eyes of his captor, he coul
dn’t help wondering what it would take to win her respect.
With his gaze locked on hers, Josh said humbly, “Thank you, Officer Hawks.”
CHAPTER THREE
“DO YOU KNOW what a Bugatti Chiron costs?” Trent Davis asked as he paced his office while Violet stood near his desk. Many times in the past she’d felt like running from confrontation, but this time wasn’t one of them. Deep in her belly, as much as Chief Williams and Detective Davis believed she’d bungled this assignment, she knew she was right. Josh Stevens might be a celebrity—he had fame, fortune and influence—and she was barely more than a traffic cop, but Josh had questioned her authority. She’d clocked him speeding. Anything over a hundred miles an hour was considered “reckless driving.” She was in the right, and she would stand her ground.
“A lot, I presume.”
“It’s so expensive, Officer Hawks, that I had a difficult time finding the price.”
“Sir?”
Frustrated, he said, “I don’t care about the car or its cost. My point is that you left your post at the stakeout farmhouse.”
“Sir, I was told that Miguel Garcia was known to drive a very expensive sports car. The Bugatti fits that bill. I thought I was chasing Garcia.”
“That’s your first mistake, Officer. You assumed before you had the facts. Sal was working the database and had found that Garcia drives a Maserati 2016. If you had checked in with him, you would have known that.”
Violet remembered how fast the Bugatti had streamed past her. She knew what a Maserati looked like. But she’d never seen a Bugatti Chiron. They were both fast cars. It was an understandable mistake.
She promised herself that over the weekend she’d comb the internet for images of every expensive car made. She’d log them into her brain and the next time a Bugatti sailed past her, she’d know what she was looking at.
Trent was still pacing.
“What color is the Maserati, sir?”
Trent halted, lifted his head and cleared his throat. “Blue.”
Violet’s eyebrow cranked up in surprise, and she quickly corrected her expression. Blue. Well, she had that one right.
“The bottom line is that I’m disappointed in your work. The next time I give you an assignment, you carry it out.”
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