At 10:47 on a humid Saturday night, Officer Nathan Cole was heading west along Briarwood Avenue when a silver luxury SUV turned directly in front of his patrol car.
He hit the brakes hard enough to make the equipment mounted beside his dashboard shake.
The SUV crossed halfway over the center line before correcting itself.
Nathan watched it continue down the road.
No front license plate.
No turn signal.
A moment later, the driver drifted toward the center again.
Nathan sighed.
“Here we go.”
He activated his emergency lights.
The silver SUV continued for nearly two blocks.
For a moment, Nathan wondered whether the driver had even noticed him.
Then the vehicle turned into the parking lot of a closed furniture store and stopped beneath a bright white streetlamp.
Nathan parked several yards behind it.
His body camera had already begun recording.
He radioed the location and plate information.
“Dispatch, traffic stop. Briarwood and North Creek. Silver SUV, one occupant visible.”
He opened his door.
The woman inside the SUV did not lower her window.
Nathan noticed immediately.
She was holding a phone.
Not simply looking at it.
Recording.
Nathan approached the driver’s side.
The glass remained completely closed.
He tapped lightly on the window.
The woman looked at him.
Nathan motioned downward.
“Roll the window down.”
She shook her head.
Nathan leaned slightly closer.
“Ma’am, roll the window down.”
She held the phone toward him.
Nathan could see his own reflection on her screen.
“No.”
Nathan paused.
He had been a police officer for eleven years.
He had encountered frightened drivers, angry drivers, drunk drivers, teenagers who cried before he said a word, elderly drivers who could not locate their registration, and people who began shouting the moment he approached.
This woman was different.
She looked almost pleased.
Not happy.
Prepared.
As though this was a conversation she had been rehearsing.
Nathan pointed toward the window controls.
“Roll your window down enough so we can speak.”
“I can hear you.”
Nathan nodded slowly.
“Okay. Then step out of the vehicle.”
The woman smiled.
“No.”
Nathan looked through the glass.
She appeared to be in her mid-forties.
Blonde hair pulled into a loose ponytail.
Designer glasses.
White blouse.
Large gold watch.
She sat perfectly upright.
Her phone remained aimed at him.
Nathan tapped the glass again.
“This is a traffic stop.”
“For what crime?”
“Roll the window down, and I’ll explain why I stopped you.”
“You can explain it right there.”
Nathan resisted the urge to sigh.
“You failed to signal before turning onto Briarwood. You crossed the center line when you turned. You don’t have a front license plate displayed.”
The woman’s smile disappeared.
“That’s not true.”
Nathan nodded toward the front of the SUV.
“There is no front plate.”
“That’s not a crime.”
“It is a traffic violation in this state.”
“No, it isn’t.”
Nathan studied her for a second.
“What’s your name?”
“What’s yours?”
Nathan pointed to the badge on his chest.