“I get one phone call,” she reminds me.
“Of course you do. You can even have a cup of cocoa. I’m not into police brutality. Just upholding the law.”
A derisive sniff is her only answer.
I exit the cruiser, pocketing my keys, and then I open the back door for Miss Keller.
“Oh. Wait here, would ya? I’ve got to unlock the building after hours.”
She nods, rolling her eyes as if I’m putting her out. At least she’s consistent.
Once the metal-framed glass double doors are jiggled open, I return to my cruiser to help Miss Keller to her feet. Then I lead her into the station, my hand on her back. When she shrugs me off, I shift to exerting a light grip to her upper arm.
I hit the light switch on the wall and the fluorescents overhead flicker to life. No one’s here at this time of night, so I’m going to have to process her alone.
“I’m going to have to … uh … frisk you.” My voice cracks on the last word.Perfect.
This is business. I’ll be a gentleman—one hundred percent professional.
“You’re what?!” She practically screeches. “This is ridiculous.”
“Frisk you. I have to. You could be armed. It’s protocol.”
“You … no.” She shakes her head.
“Now, now, Miss Keller. We can do this the hard way or the easy way. That’s going to be entirely up to you.”
She shakes her head at me and then mutters something that sounds like: “Bucket list item number two.”
“If you’ll just spread your legs so I can pat each one down …”
I deserve a raise. She thinks this is mortifying to her?
Images of the other officers and our chief flash through my head. No one takes me seriously enough. I’m going to do this the way it needs to be done. The last thing I need is one of them asking if I frisked her and me having to confess that I skipped a step. Nope. We’re going by the book.
I squat, starting at her ankles, patting up each calf then quickly working around each thigh—fast but thorough—and by the time I look up, her face is beet red, and mine’s not far behind.
“I’m truly sorry, ma’am. This isn’t either of our favorite part of this situation. I wouldn’t be down here if you hadn’t gotten it into your mind to steal Lexi and Trevor’s van.”
“My cousin!” she shouts. Then she regulates her breathing. It’s impressive how quickly she can tame her emotions. “My cousin. Lexi is my cousin. Memaw is her grandma. Trevor is her husband. Her children are Poppy and Oliver. They live in a house you people call the Finch place.”
She does know an awful lot about the MacIntyre family. That’s not proof of her innocence, though. Anyone could look up facts and gather intel.
“I appreciate your familiarity with the locals,” I tell her. “I still need to do my job.”
She sighs. “Go ahead, then.”
She lifts her chin and closes her eyes while I pat around her midriff and shoulders, politely avoiding anything I shouldn’t touch without being issued a marriage license.
The image of her at an altar pops into my head unbidden. I swat it away like a summer fly.
“Okay, then,” I say, stepping back. “Looks like you’re unarmed.”
“Hmph.”
“Did you want your one call before I lock you in the cell?”
“Yes. Please.”
