She could have reached into her center console, pulled out her gold captain's badge, and watched the color drain from this arrogant cop's face. She could have called Chief Henderson on her personal cell and had Travis suspended on the side of the road. But Emma Grace was a tactician.
If she stopped him now, it would be a reprimand, a slap on the wrist. He would claim he made a mistake. The union would back him, and he would be back on the streets harassing citizens in a week. No, she needed to see exactly how deep the rot went. She needed him to commit a felony. Wordlessly, Emma unbuckled her seat belt, pushed the door open, and stepped out into the freezing rain.
"Hands on the hood," Travis barked. She complied. Travis kicked her legs apart roughly and patted her down far more aggressively than protocol demanded. Finding nothing, he smirked.
"Watch her, Benny. I'm going to search the vehicle." "Travis, we don't have probable cause," Ben whispered frantically. "She's clean. Let's just run the name and let her go."
"I said I smelled weed. That's probable cause," Travis hissed back.
Emma watched silently in the rain as Travis tore through her car. He ripped things out of the glove box, tossed her expensive makeup bag onto the floorboards, and pulled the back seats down. He was frustrated. He wasn't finding anything.
Finally, he popped the trunk. He leaned in, obscuring her view with his broad shoulders. Emma saw his right hand dip down toward his utility belt into a small tactical pouch that was strictly not standard issue. A second later, Travis pulled back, holding up a small, clear plastic baggie filled with a white powdery substance.
"Well, well, well," Travis announced loudly, his voice carrying over the rain. "Look what we have here. Looks like about two ounces of cocaine hidden in the spare tire compartment." Ben's eyes widened in shock.
Emma's face remained a mask of stone. "Turn around. Put your hands behind your back," Travis ordered, pulling his handcuffs from his belt. As the cold steel clicked tightly around her wrists, biting into her skin, Emma looked Travis dead in the eye.
"You put that in there. You and I both know that car was clean." Travis leaned in close, smiling a cruel, yellow toothed smile. "It's your word against a decorated officer of the law, sweetheart. Who do you think the judge is going to believe? Welcome to Oak Haven."
The ride to the District 9 precinct was a masterclass in psychological abuse. Travis Holt drove with reckless speed, taking sharp turns deliberately to send Emma sliding across the hard plastic of the cruiser's back seat. Her hands were cuffed uncomfortably tight behind her back, her shoulders aching with every jolt. Up front, Travis was having the time of his life.
He keyed his radio. "Dispatch, this is unit 4 bringing in a female suspect possession of a controlled substance with intent to distribute. Looks like we took a major player off the board tonight." "Copy that, unit 4."
The dispatcher's voice crackled back, bored and mechanical.
Ben Collins sat in the passenger seat, staring out the window into the rain, his jaw tight. "What's the matter, Benny?" Travis taunted. "You look like you're going to puke. This is real police work. This is how we keep the neighborhood safe from the trash trying to move in."