“Baby or cuffs, ma’am. Pick one. Your choice how this goes down.” Noah’s wheezing had grown worse, his cries taking on a worrying whistling quality that Alana recognized from his previous breathing episodes. Fear clawed at her throat, but she forced herself to think clearly.
She needed to end this now. “I want your supervisor here immediately,” she demanded, her voice carrying the authority she’d developed over years in courtrooms. “This stop is unauthorized, and your conduct is completely inappropriate.” Dy’s laugh was ugly.
“You don’t set the terms here, lady. Maybe we need to call child services. Check if you’re fit to have that kid at all. Drinking and driving with a baby. That’s serious business.”
“Yeah,” Mercer added. “Shame if something happened to make you lose custody. Lots of paperwork, though. Might be easier if you just showed some respect.” The casual cruelty in their voices made it clear they’d done this before, probably countless times.
How many other mothers had they terrorized? How many other children had they traumatized? The realization crystallized something in Alana’s mind. She straightened her spine despite Dy’s attempting to keep her bent over the trunk.
“I am Alana Pierce,” she announced, her voice ringing with clarity and purpose. “I am the elected state’s attorney for this county. And you are currently detaining me unlawfully. I want your badge numbers now.”
The pressure on her back vanished as Daly stepped away so quickly he nearly stumbled. The silence that followed was broken only by Noah’s continued crying. She turned to face them, noting how Mercer’s cocky expression had drained away, replaced by something that looked very much like fear. Daly recovered first, plastering an obviously fake smile across his face.
“Just a routine safety check, Ms. Pierce. Can’t be too careful these days.” He practically threw her license and registration at her. “You have a nice day now.” They retreated to their cruiser with barely concealed haste.
All previous bravado evaporated in the face of who she actually was. Alana waited until they pulled away before rushing to check on Noah. His face was red and tear streaked, his breathing still labored from the stress. “It’s okay, baby,” she murmured, gently wiping his cheeks.
“Mommy’s here. You’re safe now.” She adjusted his car seat straps where Mercer had disturbed them, checking twice to ensure everything was secure. Back behind the wheel, Alana gripped it so tightly her knuckles turned white. Noah’s sobs gradually quieted to hiccuping breaths in the back seat.
She pulled away from the curb with textbook precision, hyper aware of the retreating police cruiser in her rear view mirror. As soon as Alana stepped through her front door, her legal training kicked in. She knew the next 24 hours would be crucial. Still carrying Noah’s car seat, she headed straight to her home office.
Her steps were quick and purposeful on the hardwood floors. “Everything fresh,” she muttered, setting Noah’s carrier down beside her desk. Her son had finally fallen into an exhausted sleep, his breathing still slightly ragged. She touched his cheek gently before turning to her computer.
Alana opened her phone’s voice memo app first. “Thursday, September 15th, 4:37 p.m.,” she began, her voice clear and steady. “Documenting unlawful traffic stop by Sergeant Brent Daly and Officer Kyle Mercer.” She detailed everything, the exact location, the officers’ words, their actions, the threats.
She described Daly’s coffee breath, Mercer’s flashlight beam, the way they’d positioned themselves to intimidate her. Next came photos. She used her phone’s camera to capture the slight redness on her wrists where Daly had grabbed her. The marks weren’t dramatic, but they were visible.
She photographed Noah’s reened eyes, still puffy from crying, and made sure the timestamp showed on each image. Her fingers flew across her keyboard as she typed a detailed email to herself, copying every word from her voice memo and adding more details. The email would create a timestamped record that couldn’t be altered later. She knew how evidence could mysteriously disappear in cases involving police misconduct.
Picking up her office phone, she dialed Chief Elena Hardwick’s direct line. The chief’s secretary tried to deflect her, but Alana used her state’s attorney authority to get through. “Chief Hardwick,” Alana said, keeping her tone professional despite her simmering anger. “I need all body cam footage from officers Daily and Mercer preserved immediately from today’s incident.”
“I’m also requesting their dash cam footage and any surveillance from nearby traffic cameras.” “M Pierce,” Hardwick sounded surprised. “What incident are we talking about?” “The one where your officers threatened to arrest me and take my baby over a fabricated DUI charge.”
“I trust you’ll make sure nothing happens to that footage.” There was a long pause. “I’ll look into it personally,” Hardwick finally said, her voice careful. “Though I’m sure it was just a misunderstanding.”
“The footage, Chief, today.” Alana hung up and immediately called internal affairs, making the same preservation request. She knew from experience how footage could get accidentally deleted during sensitive investigations. Her cell phone buzzed.
Judge Harold Whitaker returning her text. She’d worked with him for years, trusted his judgment. “Hold your cards close,” his message read. “Document everything, but don’t confront yet. Let them show their hand first.”
Noah stirred in his car seat, making small distressed sounds. Alana lifted him out, cradling him against her shoulder as she called the nearest certified mechanic shop. “I need an inspection today,” she told them. “Full documentation of all lights and safety features.”
They agreed to squeeze her in within the hour. She changed Noah’s diaper and packed his bag, knowing she needed to move quickly. Just as she was heading for the door, someone knocked. Through the security camera feed on her phone, she saw two people in business casual attire standing on her porch.
Their body language screamed, “Government workers.” Alana’s stomach clenched, but she wasn’t surprised. She opened the door to find exactly what she’d expected. Child protective services.
“Miss Pierce.” The older woman showed her badge. “I’m Sandra Mitchell from CPS. This is my colleague Tom Rivera. We received an anonymous report about an incident today involving possible child endangerment.”
Alana kept her face neutral. “Please come in.” She led them to her living room, noting how they scanned everything, the clean floors, the baby gear, the legal books on the shelves. “We received a concerning report,” Mitchell continued, pulling out a notepad.
“The caller stated you appeared hysterical and possibly intoxicated during a traffic stop this afternoon with an infant in the vehicle.” “Interesting timing,” Alena replied calmly. “I just finished documenting that unlawful stop with internal affairs. Would you like to see the evidence I’ve collected?”
Rivera glanced at his partner. “We need to do a standard home inspection first. Check the baby’s sleeping area, feeding supplies, general safety measures.” “Of course.” Alana showed them everything.