“Then you’ve got nothing to worry about.”
She almost smiled.
“That phrase usually means the opposite.”
Five minutes passed.
The second deputy returned.
“No warrants.”
The senior deputy looked disappointed.
“Registration?”
“Matches.”
“Insurance?”
“Active.”
Everything checked out.
The woman held out her hand.
“My license.”
Instead of returning it, the senior deputy walked toward the Ducati.
“Open the storage compartment.”
“There is almost no storage compartment.”
“Open it.”
“Why?”
His voice rose.
“Because I told you to.”
The woman looked at the other deputy.
“Is that your legal justification too?”
He avoided her eyes.
The senior deputy stepped into her space.
“You need to lose the attitude.”
“And you need to articulate a lawful reason before searching my property.”
The deputy’s jaw moved.
Then he said, “Suspicion of stolen property.”
“The VIN is clean.”
“We’re still investigating.”
“You verified ownership.”
“Hands behind your back.”
The woman stared at him.
“What?”
“Hands behind your back.”
“For what offense?”
“Obstruction.”
She gave a tiny incredulous laugh.
“Asking why you’re searching my motorcycle is obstruction?”
“Turn around.”
The second deputy reached for her arm.
The woman immediately looked at him.
“Think carefully before you do that.”
He paused.
The senior deputy barked, “Cuff her.”
The second deputy grabbed her wrist.
She did not resist.
That seemed to surprise both men.
She simply turned slowly and allowed her hands to be brought behind her.
Metal closed around one wrist.
Then the other.
Click.
Click.
The sound was strangely small.
The senior deputy stepped in front of her.
“Maybe now you understand who’s in charge.”
The woman looked directly through his sunglasses.
“No.”
He frowned.
“No?”
“I understand exactly what you’ve done.”
The deputy pointed toward the Ducati.
“A bike like this isn’t yours. Save the story for booking.”
The woman’s expression changed.
Not fear.
Something colder.
“Then tighten those cuffs.”
The deputy blinked.
“What?”
“I want them visible when you enter my courtroom.”
His face twisted with amusement.
“Your courtroom?”
He stepped closer.
“Who the hell do you think you are?”
The woman held his stare.
“The federal judge hearing your department’s case in forty minutes.”
Silence.
The second deputy stopped searching the motorcycle.
The senior deputy laughed.
It came out too loudly.
“Federal judge.”
“Yes.”
“Right.”
She said nothing.
“You expect me to believe a federal judge rides around dressed like this?”
Her expression remained controlled.
“I wasn’t aware judicial appointments included wardrobe restrictions on Saturdays.”
“It’s Tuesday.”
“I know.”
That wiped away his smile.
She continued.
“And I’m due at the federal courthouse downtown at eleven.”
The second deputy looked at his watch.
10:21 a.m.
Something shifted in his face.
The senior deputy noticed.
“Don’t.”
The younger deputy lowered his voice.
“Maybe we should verify.”